A useless, ghostly, worn out shell of cement is being torn down in Yerevan. A familiar enough sight in a place where many a building has 'miraculously' been wiped out under the mantle of a single night. But this particular disappearing act is causing a lot of havoc and noise than is normal. Architects are aghast, the Church is voicing its 'rights', while the government is busy drafting various justifications for yet another act of cultural vandalism. The 'concrete shell' in question is a building in a city that had somehow forgotten about its existence, outgrowing, outsmarting its once noble function - to show cinema.

But a city like Yerevan, which operates more as a tableaux vivant or better yet a 'living theater' that would terrify even the glassy-eyed "Magus" from John Fowles' eponymous novel - obviously has no need for the safe dangers of cinematic fiction which can be quietly experienced in a movie theater. The visceral thrills of fiction have spilled onto the street making most Hollywood films pale in comparison.

In fact, out of nearly forty movie theaters that operated throughout the city up until 1991, Yerevan currently has only two commercial cinema houses left - one of which barely operates these days. Which leaves us the 'Moscow' cinema. Built in 1934, it was the first grand movie 'palace' in the capital and has unquestionably remained the favorite film-viewing venue for the locals up to this day. It shut down briefly during the mid 90s due to Armenia's economic meltdown and re-opened in 1997 to a tired, exhausted and in many ways indifferent population that had quickly learned to drown its sorrows in an endless cycle of Latin American TV serials.

By cleverly turning the architecturally beautiful complex of the cinema into a central hub of social networking, the new, capitalist managers had succeeded in slowly luring back the audiences into the theater - despite the abundance of pirated DVDs, illegal TV screening and now, internet downloads.

However, this enterprising beginning did not extend to the open-air Summer hall of the complex that has remained generally unused and shut off from the public for two decades. It is this 'useless' appendage of the Moscow cinema complex that has been put on the chopping block. The Government published its decision on February the 25th, announcing that the management of the 'Moscow' film theater has decided to give this territory (without any monetary compensation) to the Holy Seat of Ejmiatsin, which plans to reconstruct a 17th century church that once stood in that same area.

The announcement generated an large-scale outcry from architects, historians and the general public alike. This must have come as a shock to the parties concerned as the building in question didn't have nearly the same kind of public profile as numerous other now demolished buildings in Yerevan (most striking example of which was the enormous Youth Palace which was dismantled a few years back despite being one Yerevan's significant architectural calling cards).

A bit of back story:


The current site of the 'Moscow' theater used to be an extremely important area of historic and archaeological significance. The central structure of the site was the 17th century St Peter (Surb Poghos-Petros) church, which was built upon the ruins of an earlier, 5th century church that was destroyed during the enormous earthquake of 1678. The entire surrounding territory was heavily built up over the years with quite significant public structures (a large mosque, bathhouses, shops and the like) which in itself constituted an irreplaceable cross-section of medieval Yerevan - now forever lost. After the arrival of Soviet power in 1921, the local government took active steps towards 'rebuilding' of the little 'oriental' town into a modern city worthy of a Soviet capital. This effectively meant the total destruction of the medieval architectural layer - including most of the churches, the mosques, the ruins of the Persian palace and over 90% of traditional houses.

Alexander Tamanian's general plan of the city grafted an entirely new grid-like composition upon the tightly woven, irregular structures of the ancient city. Which meant that everything that stood on the way of the wide, long streets with their sidewalks would have to go. To be fair, Tamanian was very sensitive to the issue of architectural heritage and was closely involved in the study, preservation and restoration of numerous architectural monuments throughout the country. And he did try to save what he considered to be the heart of historic Yerevan - the Abovyan street axis - from significant destruction. Neither are we to suppose that he agreed with the utterly senseless vandalism that resulted in the disappearance of so many of the city's valuable historic buildings. In fact, the demolition of the St Peters occurred AFTER Tamanian's untimely death in 1936. But the fact remains that the great architect planted the seed of rather blind practice of 'renewal' and 'modernisation' and a incomprehensible prejudice against anything 'old' that has plagued Yerevan for over 90 years now.

Ashkharhabek Kalantar (1884-1942) - a pioneering Armenian archaeologist - left an invaluable historical study of Yerevan that gives us a bitter picture of the immense loss of our patrimony in the hands of the Soviet government. His description of the St. Peters' dismantling is particularly heart-breaking (see here). It was done on the spur of the moment, without any preliminary studies or the presence of archaeologists. As a result most of the buildings inscriptions, frescoes and valuable architectural details were lost to posterity. Moreover, during the deconstruction works, many, much older (and more valuable) historical layers came to light, including the well preserved foundations of what appeared to be an extremely large pagan temple. The presence of pagan burials around this structure as well as the discovery of two well preserved Ionic capitals (only a photo of which survives alas) testifies to this exceptional archaeological find that now lies forever buried under thick layers of concrete.

But the deed was done and soon enough the current structure of the Moscow cinema by architect G. Kochar - a handsome and beautifully realised fusion of Bauhaus, Social Realism and Art Deco - was built in the exact spot of the church. The architectural harmony of the small semi-square formed by the cinema and the neighboring hotel Yerevan (designed by another classic of modern Armenian architecture N. Buniatyan) resulted in one of the most perfectly formed corners of the New Yerevan. It was immediately embraced by the public and praised as a complete architectural success all over the USSR (no major overview of Soviet architecture has so far failed to mention this stunning ensemble).

In mid 1960s, during a particularly heightened period of cinema-going in Armenia, a whole slate of new movie theaters were going up all over the city. A very popular mode of film-viewing were the open-air theaters that operated during the summer months in all the major cities of the country. Yerevan to my knowledge had no major structures of this kind and plans were put in place to construct such a hall directly behind the main building of 'Moscow' cinema. The job was given to architects Spartak Knteghtsian and Telman Gevorgian. Both of these architects were proponents of high modernism that was taking a strong foothold in Yerevan during those years. Inspired by the works of such prominent Western figureheads as Sol le Wit, Miers van der Rohe, Asplund and others, Knteghtsian and Gevorgian designed a building that was radically, almost indignantly opposed to the predominant paradigmatic notions in Armenian architecture of the time.



Their hall was poured in concrete, white, cleanly modulated in the simplest of forms, utterly devoid of decorations (aside from mosaic lobby interiors by Hovhannes Minassian and Nikolay Kotanjian - artists who were active proponents of modernism in Armenian painting) and ... most shockingly of all, hardly visible! In short, the building was a stupendously successful example of cutting-edge minimalist aesthetics that was fundamentally different in formal qualities from their surroundings yet seamlessly blended and reflected the more 'extroverted' structures it was called to complement. The hall was not only a small architectural masterpiece (as testified by numerous fellow architects like Jim Torosyan and Albert Zurabian - see here) but also a triumph of urban planning. It turned what used to be a very ugly, empty backyard in the center of the city into a fully functional, modern cultural 'temple' (the building purposefully recalled a Greek amphitheater).

The Hall served its purpose successfully for the next twenty odd years, until the collapse of the Soviet Union and subsequently of Armenian economy forced the shut-down of the 'Moscow' cinema in 1992. It has not been in use since, despite the increasing demand for more cultural venues that can accommodate the numerous film, theater and music festivals that have sprung up in Armenia in the last decade. The failure of the 'Moscow' cinema's current management to utilize this unique structure in a constructive fashion is particularly puzzling considering the presence of the major international film festival 'Golden Apricot' that is held in Summer and which it hosts, as well as the enormous festival of theater arts 'Hayfest' (held in September), which is always in desperate need of appropriate venues for its ever-expanding program.

A recently held week-long festival of rock music which finally made use of the open-air hall was an immediate success with the young public who crowded the 'abandoned' amphitheater making it come alive once more. Hopes were raised that this occasion would mark the rebirth of hall. But all these illusions were shuttered when the government and the city council announced its plans to demolish the building and build in its stead a small replica of the St Peters basilica. The ludicrousness of the decision is underlined by the same provincial stupidity that governed the attitudes of the ruling bodies back in 1930s. The senseless destruction of the cinema is called above all "an act of historic justice" (see here) through which the mistakes of the past are somehow going to be redeemed. The proposed new church, aside from its obvious religious function, obviously can not restore any sense of the historical or architectural heritage that has been irrevocably lost. It can not even be an exact replica, since the exact measurements of the old St. Peters don't exist and the exact spot of the structure is taken not by the summer hall (which is much too small) but by the main building of the 'Moscow' cinema.

As a result, if the proposed plan goes ahead, Yerevan will become devoid of a truly unique architectural marvel, not to mention one of the very few working cinema halls still in existence only to gain an unquestionably hideous, ill placed, ungainly symbol of cultural backwardness and religious fanaticism.

The supporters of this ghastly plan argue that the hall has lost its significance and is not a major monument - despite its being placed on the national architectural heritage list (from which it was promptly taken off just prior to the announcement) - and that the city's growing population is "in need for more places of worship" (again, see here). This statement, made by the press secretary of urban development beggars belief, when one considers that barely a kilometer down the street, another large building (the Institute of Languages) was demolished to make way for the Yerevan residence of the holy Catolicos - together with a new, enormous church. Besides, with at least four churches in the small center of Yerevan, it can hardly be argued that there is need for more places of worship in what is quickly becoming a business and shopping district. Whether Yerevan and its population needs more churches is in effect, besides the point. These can be of more use in the immediate outlying suburbs where there have already been successful examples of new temples (such as the church in the suburb of Bangladesh that has helped to humanise the hitherto monstrous conglomeration of ugly high-rise concrete panel buildings). The prerogative is to stop making the same irrevocable, unpardonable crime of ignorance that we've been committing for the past 90 years.

The constant, I would say rabid 'stripping' of Yerevan's historic layers has resulted in a 2800 year old city which has no history to speak of. In the last twenty years especially, we have a lost a more or less architecturally formed city with a distinct aesthetic character and gained a unfathomable Frankenstein monster composed of unclassifiable, idiotic architectural bric-a-brac poured in concrete and thinly covered in a stupefyingly random rainbow palette of tufa stone. Perhaps this latest attempt by the government and real-estate speculators has finally cut down to the bone of the rather passive and apathetic community that had been blankly watching the vanishing act of their city for the last twenty years. The almost unanimous outcry by architects against the cinema hall's demolition, led by the head of their union was echoed by the numerous voices of other intellectuals (from which the filmmakers were somewhat conspicuously absent) and the general public at large.

In a country that is notorious for the severe embargoes placed on free speech, the sound of protest is being loudly heard on online blogs and social networking sites such as Facebook. Initiated by architects Sarhat Petrosian and a group of fellow activists the Facebook group 'Save Cinema Moscow Open-Air hall' attracted over 2000 supporters in just two days. Social activism of this scale (especially in regards to cultural matters) is considered to be unprecedented in Armenia and is getting wide-spread media attention who are closely monitoring the escalating debate surrounding every development in this controversial project. It is hoped that the official appeals sent to the President, the Prime Minister and the Holy Catholicos by a large group of intellectuals will somehow prevent this travesty from becoming a reality.

While the founders of the Facebook group have stated that they're not campaigning against the church (see here), but simply against the demolition of Yerevan's architectural heritage, the unfortunate side-effect of the debacle is that it has pitted the cultural elite against the church. Thus the 'battle' has quickly spilled into a somewhat trite discourse on culture vs religion - an arena where the unquestionable heavyweight is the Mighty God.

Whatever the consequences, it is heartening to see that social activism can make a difference and can make itself heard through the last bastion of democracy we call the Internet.

By Vigen Galstyan March 2010.

This interesting news item just appeared on the culturally alert Hetq.am site.
Reporting on the press conference held by Stepan Nalbandian, co-director of the ‘Association of Armenian Historical Monuments Architects’, the article goes on to describe in Nalbandian’s words the terrible condition of most of the historic monuments in Armenia. The issue of regular up-keep of these sites presents constant problems, as unlike Europe or even Middle-East, most of these monuments are very far from urban centers (such as the churches and monasteries) are often extremely difficult to access (try getting to Tatev monastery or Khndzoresk village in winter) and are more often than not, impossible to “use”.
The issue is not unique to Armenia of course, as most countries with a rich heritage face an ever-growing challenge to maintain and preserve it. But the fact that enormously significant monuments such as Sanahin, which is listed on the UNESCO World Heritage list, is almost totally left to the folly of natural elements and the ignorant vandals… this fact is simply beyond comprehension.
Sanahin is not nearly as isolated as Tatev or most of the other churches. It’s about two hours drive from Yerevan, is right next to a very large village, is a significant tourist attraction with thousands of visitors every year… thus the cruel neglect inflicted upon this truly breathtaking complex speaks to me of a much bigger, insidious problem. And this problem is the general indifference of the Armenian people towards the material remnants of their history and the cultural heritage of their ancestors. The utter lack of respect by today’s generation of Armenians is reflected everywhere – in the detached cultural potpourri of Yerevan’s bazaar-like ‘New’ architecture, the presence of enormous rubbish heaps in churches, graveyards and archaeological sites such as Shengavit and Armavir, the idiotic ‘mementoes’ carved or painted on ancient stones by ‘appreciative’ tourists and the ironic rust that eats away the metal plaques that read ‘Protected by the Government’ put up during the 60s and 70s…
For a country relying so much on its ancient culture as a cornerstone of its international façade, this situation is clearly beyond ludicrous. Solutions that are realistic, achievable (even in the economically challenged Armenia) and sustainable do exist. Implementing them is an entirely different matter. First and foremost Armenia lacks the nexus of passionate individuals (with the exception of the few lone renagades such as Samvel Karapetian of RAA) who can come together and help educate the masses at large about their responsibility not only to their past but also their future.
In a future series of articles we will look at a number of historical sites in Armenia and broadly analyse the various avenues of their maintenance and development. The first of these will be a look at the incredible cultural strata of the northern city of Talin. Meanwhile, if you can read Armenian, take a look at the article here...

A casual visitor to Armenia does not usually contemplate too long about what to see. There seems to be an unspoken, but much cemented itinerary that suits just about everyone around – the locals, the guides, the mini-bus drivers and the tourists themselves. You can see an extraordinary, 5000 year old cross-section of Armenian history and culture in about three days without venturing more than 100km from Yerevan’s radius. It’s what the locals call “Garni-Sevan” – a route used to describe all the tourist clichés in the country.

One route however is generally avoided: an almost straight, unwinding road towards north. The flat expanses of valleys and shallow river-beds are an anomaly in a country known for its extreme ruggedness and harshness. The road parallels the course of Akhurian River, which forms a natural border with Turkey. In about an hour and a half it takes you from Yerevan to what used to be known as Armenia’s northern capital – Gyumri. That name alone is reason enough for most people interested in sight-seeing to avoid taking it. For nearly twenty years, Gyumri, or as it was known during Soviet Union – Leninakan – was synonymous with one of the biggest natural disasters of twentieth century – the 1988 earthquake that killed over 30 000 people in about two minutes.

I experienced this tragedy first-hand in 1988, although not in Gyumri. The tremors were felt throughout the country and I can still see the pen on my school desk jumping up and down from the quakes. You didn’t have to go up north to see the horror; all you had to do was watch the television and the faces of shell-shocked adults who were coming back from Gyumri after digging up bodies from the rubble. The tragedy was not simply limited to the loss of human lives. Everyone seemed to mourn the loss of the city itself, which many considered to be not just the most beautiful in Armenia but one of the prettiest in all of Soviet Union.

I avoided going to Gyumri, like many other diasporans and expatriates precisely because it seemed like revisiting an old nightmare that was too close for comfort. But by 2006, the tremors seemed like a distant echo and I decided to finally explore this legendary city.
On the approach, you’re immediately conscious of the fact that Gyumri is unlike any other Armenian city and it is first of all due to its geographical position. While most Armenian towns and cities are built around natural enforcements, such as mountain slopes, riverbeds and even gorges, like the southern cities of Goris and Kapan, Gyumri is spread flat on the Shirak plain, which is almost completely devoid of hills. This has allowed for an unusually (for Armenia) balanced ground plan, with wide, grid-like street systems, which come as a pleasant surprise after the intolerable clutter of Yerevan. Once you get off at the bus interchange the striking contrast of the hideously deformed marketplace on one side and the symphonic beauty of the restored Dzitoghiants house on the other, hits you in the face. It’s akin to being stuck between two time-frames: a constantly mutating present and a nobly beautiful and idealistic past which perhaps never existed in the first place. So what of this past?

The region itself has been populated for many thousand of years. The settlement is known by name since Urartian times – Kumayri – a name that has reverberated through time remarkably unchanged. But the city as we know it today was truly born after Eastern Armenia became part of the Russian Empire in 1804 during the Russo-Persian wars. It was nominated as the capital of Erivan province and after the visit of Czar Nicholas I in 1837 was renamed Alexandrapol in honor of his wife – Empress Alexandra. Nicholas was in Gyumri to inaugurate a massive military fortress, which still dominates the city from a nearby hill.

As a result of Turkish-Russian wars, many Armenians relocated across the river Akhurian from the neighboring city of Kars (which also used to be Armenia’s capital city in the 11th century). Kars was renown across the Middle-East as a city of craftsmen and builders. The exquisite silverwork, carpets, clothes and furniture made in the city traveled far and wide around the region and the small number of these masterworks that survive to our days, still dazzle with their astonishing inventiveness and beauty. The émigrés from Kars immediately set to build a new city out of mostly black and red tufa found in the Shirak region. With the increasing emphasis placed on Alexandrapol as a strategic defense point, the city quickly became a key trading centre in Trans-Caucasus, trailing only behind Tiflis and Baku in importance. Even after Yerevan superseded it as the capital of Armenia, Gyurmi continued to grow and develop, becoming a major industrial and cultural centre with a population that reached 250 000 by early 80s. But its glorious march through history was cut short in 1988.

Gyumri is one of the cradles of Armenian modern culture. It is the place from where many noted artists, writers, musicians and filmmakers were born and formed. Just a few names will do: poets Avetik Isahakian and Hovhannes Shiraz, filmmakers Mher and Albert Mkrtchians, sculptor Sergei Merkurov, composer Armen Tigranian and even the mystic Gurdjieff. Most of them moved later in life to Yerevan, Moscow and other cities across the world, but all of them carried the undeniable stamp of their birthplace throughout their lives.

What makes this city so special, so powerful in its presence and distinctive influence? My immediate impression of Gyumri was that of an indestructible cultural topos – a nearly autonomous entity that seemed to have a wholly unique set of customs and traditions, not to mention the bullet-proof fecundity of the local dialect. It made anyone who opened their mouths instantly exotic, funny and otherworldly, making me feel a foreigner in my own country. The rough, at times even ugly textures of the local dialect come as a strange contrast to the rarefied elegancy and impeccable taste that graces Gyumri’s architecture. And this is one aspect that I want to focus on primarily – the face of the city.

A JEWELED FACE


After seeing the complete, by-the-hour destruction of Yerevan’s historical ‘visage’ – I stood stupefied at the sight in front of me: whole streets crowned by 18th and 19th century facades, ingenious apartment complexes from the tragically brief avant-garde period of 1920s, five churches and even a magnificently ominous “black” fortress. I anxiously looked around for signs of the devastating earthquake - rubble, homeless people, caravans and the all too familiar signs of ‘modernisation’. Not a single high-rise in sight; even the ugly ‘American-style’ shop-fronts with their ridiculous English names spelled in Armenian letters were kept in check. As we walked through the city, the devastating traces of the 1988 earthquake were still gaping at us through the empty sockets of windows and enormous cracks in walls. The crowning jewel of the city – the church of Our Saint Savior – was the most potent reminder, with its upper half completely gone. But the church and many of the buildings clustered around the main square were in the process of active restoration – a stark contrast to the situation in Yerevan. But even more amazing was the fact that over ninety percent of Gyumri’s historic strata had withstood the earthquake where practically all the post-1950 buildings had not. The repulsive tastelessness of rabid Soviet urbanization with its unstable multi-storey apartment blocks had been wiped off. Was this some kind of poetic justice? A forced clean-up by Mother Nature demanding respect for its power? It’s a power that the nameless master-builders of Gyumri understood instinctively and through experience. The region’s seismic volatility was well known and the houses were built with careful consideration of the inevitability of the disaster. The innate showmanship of Gyumretsis, their love for spectacle and colour never seems to have overwhelmed their sense of measure and harmony. While each and every house is considerably different in scale and style, all the buildings are seamlessly coordinated to create an architectural whole. It helps, of course, that the main building material is tufa – generally of darker colour.

If Yerevan was known as the ‘pink’ city for its use of pink and ochre tufa, Gyumri is certifiably ‘black’. Despite the darkness of the palette, the city is anything but Gothic. In fact, it’s hard to think of a more cheerfully looking ‘black’ city. The overriding atmosphere is one of drama and playfulness. The black stones enhance the intensity of strategically placed red and orange plates. In addition, the buildings are predominantly horizontal and never more than two stories high, which together with their exceptionally large gates and windows creates a charming rhythm, a sense of openness and light that makes one think of the dark masses of Florentine palazzos. The considerable size of most of the houses in the historical center hints conspicuously at the economic prosperity of the town’s middle classes before the Soviet revolution. Each house would be comprised of numerous bedrooms (sometimes up to twenty) and drawing rooms and would inevitably include a stable, winery, workshops and enormous basements all built around a large yard framed by a wooden veranda. However, by the beginning of 20th century, many of the numerous business owners had begun separating their living quarters from their prosperous businesses, hence the profusion of distinctly European-style housing quarters around the main square, which would not be out of place in Berlin or Moscow.

This is also characteristic of vernacular architecture in Yerevan, with the significant exception being the attention given to the façade of the houses. In Gyumri, the façade carried the all-important mark of class hierarchy – the more opulent and elaborate it was, the more prominent and prestigious its occupant.

But what makes Gyumri’s architecture so special, not only within Armenia but in the whole of Caucasian region, is the extraordinary mélange of seemingly diametrically opposed styles that somehow defy concrete definitions. Due to its very multi-ethnic make-up, Gyumri achieved a cosmopolitan face that was at once very local and very global. Besides the Armenian population, (which was also comprised of true locals and émigrés from Kars and Erzrum) Gyumri also had substantial numbers of Russians, Greeks, Turks, Georgians as well as German and French citizens who were often employed in the capacities of teachers or schoolmasters. As an important trading post of the Russian Empire with one of the first railway systems in the whole region, the city received a lot of cultural traffic and was inevitably shaped by the equally powerful influences coming from West and East.

Architecturally this is evident in the distinctly Oriental planning of the buildings with their centralized networks coupled with the benevolent influence of Armenian Rennaisance architecture from the nearby ruins of Ani. In fact, this most famous of Armenian capital cities is the direct prototype for Gyumri. From its grid work-like planning and predominant use of stone as building material to the central architectural ensemble of the Church of our Saint Savior (an exact replica of the Ani’s cathedral) Gyurmi has ingeniously appropriated Ani’s heritage as its solid foundation into which the city’s citizens could incorporate a plethora of rapidly changing tastes and fads without radically altering or damaging the city’s unifying look (that would come much later with the insane building developments of the Soviet government).

DISTINCTLY PARISIAN YET RADICALLY ARMENIAN IN DETAILS, THIS 'SLIVER' TYPE APARTMENT BUILDING IS ONE OF THE VERY FEW TO BE FOUND IN ARMENIA

The fads were often brought in by the Russians or visiting Europeans, although one should also consider the work done here (and in other cities of Trans-Caucasus) by a number of professional Armenian architects who were actively imported from Moscow and St Petersburg by the richest portion of the upper-class population. Of particular note are the elaborate wooden verandas and balconies which became a staple of urban architecture not only in Gyumri and Yerevan but also, even more prominently in Tiflis and Dilijan (a resort town north of Lake Sevan). The general simplicity and grace of the early 19th century building were livened by the use of contrasting stone plates and a variety of inventive window panes. But this restraint soon gives way to opulence by the end of the century. The long-lasting craze of Art Nouveau decadence that was so overwhelming in Russia, soon trickled down to Gyumri. The local businessmen who traveled widely across the Russian empire were heavily fashion-conscious if their houses are anything to go by. Within a few years whole street blocks were built in the new style.

But Art Nouveau had its origins in the Orient and the twisting, swirling feminine line of this neo-Baroque style was not alien to the Armenian masters who had long perfected the technique of meticulous floral/animal patterning and semi-abstract design. Indeed, it’d be hard to imagine anything more elaborate than a large Armenian cross-stone or a bridal silver belt from Karin. But this new ‘European’ style was at odds with the heavy lines of the traditional architecture. The local craftsmen and carvers avoided a jarring contrast by sheer restraint. The decorative motives were used sparsely, mainly on the gates, doors, windows and cornices. In some cases, the styles become completely blurred, simultaneously combining neo-classicism, Russian Ampir and Art Nouveau with a distinctly local sense of colour and scale. Of particular note is the exquisite ironwork that graces many of the gates. The local masters were renowned for it in the whole of Russian Empire but unfortunately their skills and trade secrets are fast disappearing.

After the Soviet revolution, Gyumri continued to evolve and change rapidly. The devastating earthquake in 1926 gave the Soviet Armenian government all the more reason to ‘modernise’ this city of “kulaks” (derogatory reference to rich business owners). Gyumri also changed its name, from Alexandrapol to Leninakan (meaning Lenin’s city). While it did not suffer the kind of fundamental overhaul that met Yerevan in the early 20s and 30s, Gyumri did become a kind of hotbed for experimental styles. It was a time of enormous cultural activity as the country begun rapid reconstruction and ideological transformation. Gyumri’s architecture reflects these changes with some striking examples, although many of the buildings from this period were subsequently demolished or destroyed by the 1988 earthquake. Architects such as Chisliev, Tamanian, Mazmanian and Kochar implemented everything from Art Deco to Constructivism, although great care was taken to stay within certain parameters in order to preserve the unifying look of the city that was achieved in the past century.

In many ways, Gyumri-Leninakan was closer to Alexander Tamanian’s ideal of a garden-city than Yerevan ever came to be. With its wide boulevards, generous green zones and very active café-life, Gyumri was markedly different to Yerevan’s increasingly industrial profile. Culturally the city continued to flourish. Its theaters and art schools were considered to be the best in the country with many home-grown talents subsequently becoming key representatives of Armenian culture.

But the growth of the population was not beneficial to the intimate scale of the city and from 1950s onwards whole new suburbs rose from the outskirts widening Leninakan’s parameters by nearly ten times. The fact that the city was built on a major fault line was well known, yet countless high rise buildings were popping up like mushrooms. The footage shot on the morning of December 7, 1988 shows how these 10-12 storey buildings crumble down like stacks of cards, burying thirty thousand people within them. Further investigations revealed that most of these constructions were poorly planned and were built with insufficient quantities of cement and sand. According to some sources, nearly 80% of Gyumri’s buildings were destroyed. That would basically mean, every single high-rise apartment block, as today, there isn’t a single one on the city’s horizon. In contrast, most of the 19th century houses remained standing… not surprising… considering that they were built to last.

BUILDING FUTURE

So what is Gyumri’s place within Armenian society and culture today? After being stripped of its status in 1988 as an industrial and cultural center, Gyumri and its citizens have fought long and hard to put the broken pieces back. Of course the old Gyumri has now disappeared forever into the folds of history and the jagged puzzle that is left in its place has too many missing pieces to make a complete picture.
Nearly twenty years after the earthquake, the city still shows its wounds with either half finished or half ruined buildings, an occasional caravan still perched on a street corner and a generally shaky infrastructure. While it would be easy to blame the incompetent government, corrupt officials and fate, this is not the place to elaborate on the reasons behind this shameful neglect.
The reality is that the possibilities of Gyumri’s future development are immense and entirely achievable.
Even during this time of crisis the city proved that it was an independent cultural entity. In late 90s the very first Armenian commercial art gallery was founded in Gyumri, paving the way for many similar businesses in Yerevan. The city is also home to the only Armenian Arts Biennale founded in 1997 which has enjoyed tremendous international acclaim. The three theaters, which were such pivotal cultural centers throughout Gyumri’s history, remain active despite the insurmountable difficulties. It also has one of the rare operating cinemas in Armenia – the neo-classical “October” theater built in 1924, which has been wonderfully renovated recently.
Then there are the museums. All seven of them. Clustered around the city center, the museums provide a truly authentic experience, which is much more intimate and pleasurable than one would expect. The largest by far is the Museum of Architecture and Ethnography, situated in the magnificent ‘Dzitoghiants’ house. The exposition is remarkably rich, giving a complete sense of the daily life of an upper-class family, as well as highlighting the exceptional mastery of the local craftsmen.
Right next door is the house-museum of famous Soviet sculptor Sergei Merkurov. Of Greek heritage, Merkurov was born and educated in Gyumri and subsequently became one of the most important monumental sculptors in USSR. The iconic statue of Lenin that used to grace the central square in Yerevan is his work. His home-museum doesn’t have much in terms of his work, but it does posses a remarkable collection of original death-masks by Merkurov, which are being displayed for the first time ever. The eerie feeling one gets from the smiling, dead faces of Lenin, Hovhannes Tumanian and many other famous personalities is exacerbated by Kamo Nigarian’s astonishing exposition design comprising of pyramids and painted circles. The other home museums are also worth visiting just because of the people they’re associated with: Hovhannes Shiraz, Avetik Isahakian, Mher Mkrtchian and the Aslamazian sisters.
Unfortunately, the two biggest museums are not operating anymore – the city’s gallery and the history museum. These two institutions had extraordinary collections that came second only to Yerevan’s museums. Their closure is a big loss to Gyumri and the fate of their holdings remains a bureaucratic mystery.

Can Gyumri then become a kind of a “museum city” akin to such similar sites in Italy and Germany (Florence, Venice, Dresden, etc…)? From the brief outline above, it is clear that there are wide possibilities for this transformation and since it is unlikely that Gyumri will ever retain its position as a major industrial centre in the region, its future seems to lie squarely within the sphere of cultural tourism. The abundance of well-preserved historical architecture, the numerous cultural institutions and of course, the strategic proximity to both Georgia and Turkey are factors that could transform this city into the true center of cultural tourism which Yerevan is never likely to become.

This vision is not as far-fetched as it might seem. During its Soviet period, Gyumri’s center was proclaimed as a historical-architectural reserve called 'Kumayri' – a kind of architectural museum in itself, which has remained more or less intact after the earthquake. Should a proper development plan be implemented, the 'Kumayri' district can sustain the whole city with jobs by becoming a major tourism and hospitality center. There are already a number of very good hotels in the city and an excellent array of restaurants and authentic pubs or wineries (ginetun) which can satisfy even the most jaded of tourists. Add to it the excellent, summer climate, the lack of noise or pollution and the innate generosity of the locals and you’ve got a winning formula.

Steps are being taken by the local government and independent organizations to turn this idea into a reality. The restoration of Gyumri’s landmark buildings is in full swing, but it’s a painfully long process, overwhelming in its sheer scale and complexity. Of particular importance is the work carried out by Jane Britt Greenwood - an associate dean at the College of Architecture, Art, and Design at Mississippi State University. With the help of the international Earthwatch institute, Greenwood’s team carried out detailed examination of Gyumri’s vernacular architecture in 2007. The results of this research will significantly aid any future plans of city’s reconstruction. But the impending doom that hangs above the city’s heritage is not just a vague premonition. As Greenwood states; “if and when the border of Kars and Gyumri opens up, there is going to be a big economic boom in Gyumri. So, that historic district [Kumayri] is at risk of being destroyed through this whole notion of economic development, and if we go through this process of education and documentation and look at restoring some of these structures, we can get a foothold in helping people recognize the value of what they have”.
Indeed, if only people recognized the value of what they had… Yerevan, with its buoyant night life, drowning in a sea of cafes, leaves a resolutely pathetic impression. As you sit in a posh restaurant such as “Old Yerevan” or “Mer Gyughe” with their risible, faux-historic interiors… you come to a realization that in this country, people understand what they had only when they loose it. Eating a “traditional” meal in one of these places is an extremely fake experience akin to a bad spectacle in which you – the customer – plays the central part. All the re-assembled 19th century cutlery, the old carpets, the clay pottery and even the traditional, live music (for which you have to pay of course)… all the effort that has gone into making the restaurants, cafes and hotels feel authentic, while the real thing is being destroyed right next door. In many ways, Yerevan is busy creating a whole culture of false nostalgia, manufacturing the past as a valuable commodity. The irony is so potent that it becomes not just funny but sometimes unbearably tragic.
The same fate unquestionably, threatens Gyumri, especially if proper steps are not taken right now to control the rebuilding of the city. We, as visitors, can play an important role by not thinking of Gyumri as a disaster zone to be avoided but as a major historic and cultural center that is as essential to our understanding of Armenia as the Holy city of Ejmiatsin or even that banal trip to “Garni-Sevan”. Գյումրի, հայկական ճարտարապետություն Վիգեն Գալստյան, արտ նուվո

text & images by Vigen Galstyan ©2008

BARKHUDARIAN HOUSE IN ARTASHAT BEFORE THE DEMOLITION

The city of Artashat is not on any tourist map while visiting Armenia. Unless they confuse with it with the ruins of the ancient Hellenistic capital of the same name, which is located about 5 km south near the Khor-Virap village.

The new Artashat became a large settlement only in the early 19th century, when a large wave of Armenian migrants from northern Iran moved into the Ararat valley. As it stands today, the city is the administrative center of the Ararat region and has retained all the hallmarks of a typical, soulless Soviet town. Its current look is mainly predetermined by box-like apartment blocks, with their ungainly facades and some disastrously bad examples of 80s Armenian architecture (the shopping mall, the hotel and other administrative buildings).

Looking at the city now, you'd be forgiven if you'd think it was founded less than 30 years ago. Nothing on view here indicates otherwise. In fact, practically nothing is know of its history prior to the Soviet revolution. Apparently a small ethnographic museum existed during the 60s, but it is no longer active and we have no information about its holdings. To the best of my knowledge no archaeological surveys have been conducted on the city's territory.
But up until 1950s, this small town had an entirely different look... one that seems utterly idyllic compared with the picture we have today.

Located in the most agriculturally fertile lands of the country, Artashat was a magnet for the Iranian-Armenians who moved to the region after 1828. It presented excellent conditions for wine growing and has remained one of country's most active wine-producers up to this day.

The growth of the industry also predicated the formation of an upper-middle class society in the city, which actively begun to display their wealth by building large houses in the city center. This crust of society was known as 'kulaks' - a term attached to landowners who employed villagers to work on their fields. According to the locals who witnessed the pre-1950s Artashat, many of their houses were still standing amongst the lush gardens that spread for many hectares.

The earliest housing complexes were built using the traditional red-brick method (made out of the excellent local clay), that was the most popular construction material in Persian-dominated Armenia of 19th century. The Armenian masons creatively appropriated a whole set of traditions in building these houses, using finely polished blocks of tufa for gates and doorways, as well as implementing neo-classical elements imported into the country during the Russian rule. The result was s successful synthesis of many varied styles and traditions - a new architectural approach that was unique to Armenia.

With the arrival of Soviet government and the demonisation of all capitalist heritage, these grand houses were often taken away from their original owners and turned into administrative buildings or broken into many small apartments. But the worse was to come. In order to eradicate the memory of 'kulaks' from the pages of history, most of the houses were destroyed during the 50s.

A solitary example survived by some miracle up until 2007. Hidden away behind recently built houses and a large hospital building, this magnificent example of 19th century secular architecture was finally demolished two years ago - its demise, like its existence went completely unnoticed.

I had been fascinated by the house since childhood. We'd often creep inside with my friends in search of 'treasure' (the locals half-heartedly believed that the kulak owner had buried his money in the house's walls after the Soviets invaded). The building, by early 90s was already half-ruined and abandoned. It was apparently some kind of a government office, which was active until the left side of the house collapsed.
The house exerted a kind of a spell on its surroundings. It looked truly exotic amidst the grey buildings that encroached it from every corner. Even in its half-ruined state, its magnificence was distinctly palpable. One can only imagine the impression it made on the lower-class inhabitants of the town, who lived in tiny, one storey houses built from wet clay.

In 2006, I was fortunate enough to take photographs of the house. By then it had lost the wondrously detailed wooden balcony and some of the ruined walls.

The house is a long, rectangular, two-storey structure. The first floor and the foundations are built from roughly cut tufa stone, while the second storey is laid in brick. The facade is entirely covered by patterned arrangement of red bricks - a typical look of Persian-style architecture of the period. The main entrance of the house is under an archway, with a pointed end (betraying the Iranian origin of the builders). The entrance door is enclosed in a rectangle of finely grated dark tufa stone, giving it an imposing quality. Right above the door is an inscription in Armenian that states the name of the owner and the date of the house's completion - "Babakhanian 1882*29".
A finely carved wooden balcony was above the doorway. A particularly stunning feature of the woodwork were the four curved pillars, which were painted in white. A similar balcony existed in the left wing of the building, which fell down (or was demolished) in the 80s.

The main entrance led into a small inner courtyard and staircases led to the first floor. The kitchen and other utilitarian rooms, including a large storage space or a workshop with a vaulted ceiling were on the ground floor, with a separate entrance that led to the backyard.

All the living quarters were on the first floor, arranged in a gallery-like plan, one room leading into the other. Large double-bay windows let plenty of light from both sides of the building.
Unfortunately due to a lack of floor plan and any other details it is not clear what purpose each room served and we can not talk about the interior of the house as it was not possible to investigate it properly.


One could see numerous houses of this type in Yerevan, up until recently, although very few had the delicacy and elegance of the one in Artashat. Another special feature is the top cornice that frames the edge of the rood. Arranged in triangular shapes, the red tiles produce a crown like banner that ran along the entire front of the house. One should also note that the bricks were painted in different colours, which highlighted the patterned brickwork, giving it even a more festive look.

It is unknown whether the house had auxiliary buildings that stood in a separate plot of land, or whether it formed a part of a row of buildings.

According to eyewitnesses, Artashat had a number of other buildings in the same style. Even a larger two-storey house stood right next to this one, but was of later construction, built out of black tufa and in more neo-classical mode.

Not far from the Babakhanian residence stood another brick house. Also of two storeys, but more European in planning and design, this residence was constructed from white brick, had very high ceilings, lavishly designed interiors (including an enormous and elaborate iron heater) and a generous backyard with a well. Like the Babakhanian house, the side walls were constructed from mud-bricks, but were nearly a meter in width. It was a less original structure, but of immense importance to the town's history and unfortunately was demolished in 2001 to make way for a bank building.

No other 19th century houses are known in Artashat, although a further exploration might reveal more buildings from this period. The only historic buildings still standing in the town are the humble structures of the wine factory, built from black tufa at the turn of 20th century and an apartment complex, which might have been built in the 1920s.

The once small, pretty garden-town with elegant brick houses has become an ungainly, gray dust-magnet of today, completely devoid not only of character but any sense of the past. The sad fate of historic buildings and sites in Artashat is not a unique case by far. In Ejmiatsin, the entire strata of 19th century architecture has been reduced to a couple of buildings that stand on the outskirts of the city. In Armavir (Hoktemberyan) there are a few interesting examples that are on the verge of destruction. In Goris, hardly anything remains of its unique urban architecture. The same can be said about the wonderful examples of secular buildings in Dilijan, Kirovakan, Gavar and many other settlements.

We still have Gyumri, Meghri and remnants of Shushi to look forward to. Serious plans exist to restore and give these cities back their specifically 19th century character, but even if they come to fruition, these two architectural ensembles will never be able to represent the full spectrum and diversity of Armenia's delightfully eclectic urban architecture.

By Vigen Galstyan - June 2009 Vigen Galstian