Bulletin KNOB is a scholarly journal in the field of Dutch spatial heritage that appears four times a year, recognized in the Netherlands and abroad as an important source of knowledge.
Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond (KNOB)
Bericht vanuit Bestuur KNOB en Archiefopruiming van oude Bulletins en Over Hollands.
Copyright (c) 2026 Bestuur KNOB https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Dit is de derde editie van de rubriek Afstudeerwerk, dat alle inzendingen voor de KNOB-scriptieprijs 2025 bevat. Inzenders van de afstudeerwerken zijn: Alisha van Heek - Arthur Friederichs - Britt Wouters - Emma Van der Donckt - Femke Van Dycke - Imane Huyghebaert - Isa Walvoort - Liam Borger - Stan Liebrand - Stijn van de Ven - Zomer Zeijlemaker
Copyright (c) 2026 Alisha van Heek, Arthur Friederichs, Britt Wouters, Emma Van der Donckt, Femke Van Dycke, Imane Huyghebaert, Isa Walvoort, Liam Borger, Stan Liebrand, Stijn van de Ven, Zomer Zeijlemaker https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Book written by Willem Schermerhorn.
Copyright (c) 2026 Jan van 't Hof https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Natasja Hogen.
Copyright (c) 2026 Dolf Broekhuizen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
This article examines the formative role of the ‘place function’ of airports in the architectural and spatial development of early airport terminals. The place function is characterized by facilities and spaces not directly related to air transport but intended for visitors. Whereas existing scholarship often interprets airport typology primarily in terms of technological advances in aviation and the changing operational needs of air transport, this study argues that the emergence of civil aviation in the Netherlands between 1920 and 1949 was also deeply shaped by the ambition to cultivate public airmindedness (luchtvaartgezindheid). Because flying remained inaccessible and too costly for most citizens, airports were deliberately promoted as public attractions, functioning as sites of leisure, spectacle and civic education. Using Amsterdam Airport Schiphol as a case study, the article traces how the concept of airmindedness informed the design, use and continual adaptation of Schiphol’s first two permanent terminal buildings (1928–1944 and 1949). Drawing on the Schiphol company archives, the archives of Public Works Amsterdam, municipal council records and diverse visual sources, this study shows how the airport’s architecture responded as much to the demands of visitors as to those of passengers and aircraft operations. The analysis demonstrates that the spatial integration of visitor facilities, such as the inclusion and expansion of terraces, viewing platforms, restaurants for visitors, promenade decks and generous airside glazing, became a defining component of the terminal typology. By the late 1940s, Schiphol’s semi-permanent postwar terminal incorporated this place function from the outset, offering more seating for visitors than for passengers and providing extensive vantage points for viewing airside activities. The article concludes that in the early decades of aviation, airports acquired considerable socio-cultural significance as public venues, and that this meaning directly shaped the architectural evolution of the airport terminal in the Netherlands.
Copyright (c) 2026 Iris Burgers https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
De restauratie van de Noodkist van Sint Servaas (1958-1962)
The legal distinction in the Netherlands between the protection of immovable and movable cultural heritage on the one hand and that of tangible and intangible cultural heritage on the other is confusing and has direct consequences for policy and research in the field of national heritage. It also prevents proper alignment with international regulations such as those of UNESCO's tangible and intangible cultural heritage. With the introduction of the Erfgoedwet (Heritage Act) in 2016, more order was created in the multitude of regulations, methods of protection and subsidies. Nevertheless, the distinction remained, with direct consequences for the optimal preservation of objects in a cultural context. This study of the practices and ethical aspects of the restoration of the Chest of Distress of St. Servatius in Maastricht between 1958 and 1962 explains why it is necessary to examine and protect tangible and intangible cultural heritage conjointly. The Chest of Distress owes its remarkable name to the practice of carrying this reliquary through the streets of Maastricht to pray publicly for protection in times of war, epidemics or other threats to the city. In addition, the Chest of Distress is paraded along with other relics approximately every seven years during the so-called Heiligdomsvaart (Holy Procession). During these public events, the Chest of Distress is surrounded by all kinds of intangible expressions, such as prayers, singing, music, theatrical performances and the wafting of scents such as incense, which all contribute to the total experience. The Erfgoedwet brought greater uniformity to regulations but did not lead to more extensive protection. The policy is primarily aimed at reducing the number of objects that need to be protected and at ‘increasing knowledge and awareness, changing attitudes and improving management standards’. Dutch policy does not go as far as that of the Council of Europe, which ‘recommends that governments, as part of their general policies for the conservation of the built heritage, create conditions to ensure the protection of historic complexes composed of immovable and movable property’. Maintaining rather than expanding the level of protection within the Erfgoedwet can be seen as a missed opportunity. For the time being, therefore, the main focus remains on expanding knowledge in order to better protect tangible and intangible cultural heritage. This expanded knowledge must go beyond the simple provision of information to heritage owners or the creation of a database of protected cultural property. Knowledge enhancement, it is argued here, must be part of a comprehensive strategy to better protect the interconnectedness between tangible and intangible heritage in the future. This article argues that a combination of digital resources can make an important contribution to that strategy. Using a digital 3D reconstruction based on restoration drawings, the Chest of Distress and its restoration history from 1958 to 1962 are examined from multiple perspectives. By placing objects in context in this multidimensional way and linking them to national and international projects focused on research into tangible and intangible heritage, a knowledge architecture is created that contributes to integrated heritage protection.
Copyright (c) 2026 Charles van den Heuvel https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
The first building designed by H.P. Berlage (1856-1934) in Indonesia is located in Surabaya. He designed it for the Algemeene Maatschappij van Levensverzekering en Lijfrente (‘de Algemeene’) between 1898 and 1900. It is a striking building, partly due to the tile tableau by Jan Toorop (1858-1928) on the facade and the two entrance sculptures by Joseph Mendes da Costa (1863-1939), from which it derives its current Indonesian nickname: Gedung Singa, the lion building. Architectural historians often consider the building to be of minor importance within Berlages oeuvre. It is mentioned in the literature, albeit with varying qualifications. This article is based on new archival research into the origin and significance of this building, which refutes the previously prevailing view that the design was primarily the work of Marius J. Hulswit (1862-1921). In addition, detailed xamination of historical images has provided new insight into the striking original decoration of the facade. Around 1900, the Algemeene was the largest life insurer in the Netherlands. The Dutch East Indies was their most important market outside the Netherlands, with the cosmopolitan city of Surabaya as their headquarters. Their prominent position was reflected in high-quality ‘promonotianal buildings’ that stood out in the streetscape. The fact that a well-known architect such as Berlage had been commissioned for this purpose only added to this effect. After initially renting an office in the old city’s Chinese quarter, the company sought to erect a building of its own in Surabaya. Contact had already been made with Berlage in 1895, but shortly afterwards the company approached Marius J. Hulswit, a Dutch architect and contractor based in Surabaya. Hulswit submitted his design in 1898. Berlage, adviser to the Algemeene, rejected the design. In addition to practical objections, he had serious objections to the style of the facade design: too European and petty bourgeois. The client followed Berlages advice. Hulswit was thanked and the commission went to Berlage. Berlage drew up a completely new plan. His lack of experience in building in the tropics was compensated for by the necessary know-how within the Algemeene and of his advisers in Surabaya. When, after major delays, W.H. Scheffer, a contractor from The Hague with extensive tropical experience, took on the construction in November 1900, the realization of Berlage’s design gained momentum. The building was completed in May 1902. It contained both familiar Berlage features and stylistic and technical innovations. The admission of light, fresh air and shading made the building tropical-proof, while the decoration contained motifs borrowed from indigenous buildings. Where Toorops tile tableau and Mendes da Costa’s entrance sculptures symbolize the role of the Algemeene as a life insurer in the colony, the integration of indigenous motifs seems to be an early and up to that point unique tribute to Indonesian culture. The building in Surabaya is the first manifestation of the new architectural style that Berlage advocated for the Dutch East Indies, analogous to his ideas for a new architecture in the Netherlands.
Copyright (c) 2026 Petra Timmer https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Schuitenbouwers, Middenstanders en Sjacheraars
In the early 20th century, Valkenburgerstraat was the centre of one of the poorest and most densely-populated neighbourhoods of Amsterdam’s Jewish quarter, where large families lived in cramped ‘alley dwellings’. In contrast, in the early 17th century the first occupants of this street on the man-made island of Marken had been wealthy shipbuilders who owned large wharf plots. This article draws on archaeological data from two sites on Valkenburgerstraat in combination with historical records, creating multiple lines of evidence illuminating life on Marken from the late 16th to the 19th century. Marken was one of the shipbuilding islands created by the city extension of 1592. The modern lots on the northern side of Valkenburgerstraat can be traced back to the original 16th-century shipyards. After 1660, maritime activities shifted to a new maritime quarter and the island became a multi-ethnic, predominantly Jewish, residential area. The former wharf parcels were subdivided, and houses were built in the alleys connecting the main street with the water. At the same time, properties encroached on Uilenburgergracht as private land reclamation projects appropriated space from the canal. Archival records provide the names of the occupants in Marken’s alleys, as well as information about their families, religion, occupation and socio-economic position. Connecting these data to the archaeological record offers a unique opportunity to shed light on how different circumstances were reflected in the material culture of these households. Poverty was usually hidden, while material displays often claimed – or attested to – higher status. Despite this, and what is basically a universal urban material culture for each era, the archaeological record can yield criteria for defining poverty by evaluating nuances and significant cultural markers. The finds from two artefact assemblages on Marken reveal a variety of everyday household material culture common in the 18th and early 19th century. Poverty is reflected by the presence of relatively inexpensive ceramics, and signs of extensive use or repair of objects. Jewish ethnicity is reflected in the animal remains, which point to a predominantly kosher diet. While inventories of Jewish residents' possessions include ceremonial objects, such as Sabbath lamps, these were also found hanging in a non-Jewish grocer's shop. Marken was a not exclusively Jewish neighbourhood of low-paid transport workers, tobacco spinners, hawkers and other economically-disadvantaged people. Records reveal the presence of more affluent middle-class residents of non-Jewish backgrounds, such as grocers and innkeepers. On Marken though, the majority were living in poverty in dwellings with the lowest rents in the city. The Valkenburgerstraat excavations documented rows of houses in which large families sometimes shared a space no bigger than 20 square metres. These could be one-room dwellings or tenements in which many rooms, floors and even basements were inserted and rented out for occupation. Built as workers’ cottages in the 17th century, extensive modifications in the 18th and 19th centuries had degraded these dwellings into notorious slums by the 20th century.
Copyright (c) 2026 Maarten Hell, Ranjith Jayasena https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Recently, the notion of material harvesting, collection, and reworking has gained significant attention as a crucial step in understanding essential aspects of building culture, particularly in relation to reuse, ma-terial scarcity, or, conversely, material availability. The ‘Recycling Beauty’ exhibition (Fondazione Prada, Milan 2022), which displayed Greek and Roman spolia, marble fragments, and pieces of sculptures placed alongside one other, alluded to practices of appropriation and possession, to the relationship between craftsmen and found resources, and to the need to store and preserve material in times of scarcity or political uncertainty. Similar questions have emerged in Dutch and Belgian contexts, for example, from research into the work of designer Marcel Raymaekers and his way of organizing salvaged materials (Marcel Raymaekers, pioneer in circular architecture, Vai, Antwerp 2023). Besides highlighting the relevance of practices linked to material reuse, exhibitions and installations also make clear by their very organization, how material collections take space and, at the same time, sculpt ever-changing landscapes. Building on these premises, and shifting the focus towards contemporary and less curated cases, this article critically examines the purpose, spatial qualities and configurations of three material storage typologies in the Dutch context – bricks and tiles, soil, and trees – highlighting their pivotal role in relation to material accessibility and availability. These sites, termed ‘material gardens’, are understood as experimental laboratories or ‘banks’, where the notion of availability is translated into the allocation and management of (material) reserves. Though often overlooked and considered marginal, such open spaces are in fact key sites where design and other creative processes are crucially tied to resource allocation and disposal, and impact collective imagination and practices. They are increasingly being positioned at the core of construction and deconstruction processes, raising relevant ecological questions and helping to shape tacit knowledge on material reuse.
Copyright (c) 2025 Chiara Pradel https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
In order to gain insight into the specifics of circular architecture as a necessary alternative to contemporary extractive building practices, this article examines the work of Marcel Raymaekers. Between 1962 and 2014, the Belgian architect and trader developed a practice in the reuse of building materials. In the post-war context, in which the construction sector began to rely increasingly on cheap, standardised, industrially produced materials, Raymaekers made a radical choice for alternative elements. His aversion to mass-produced elements stemmed from aesthetic preferences. A preference for sensory experiences as a guideline for living, and a great affinity with Assemblage Art, in which a design process starts from existing materials. His way of working was thus characterised by a totally different notion of 'availability' than is common today. Raymaekers started out as a hunter-gatherer, criss- crossing the country in search of material graveyards and demolition sites. For the first ten years, he worked extensively with materials from industrial waste streams, such as mesh stones (a residual product of sand and gravel extraction) and ship steel (recovered from obsolete ships for the steel processing industry). The immense demolition frenzy of 'Les Trente Glorieuses' also ensured the availability of materials such as bricks and roof tiles, which were recovered and processed in bulk. In addition, many high-quality, unique building components were released, which were finely crafted and ornamented and for which there was no longer any new equivalent on the materials market. In 1972, he founded Queen of the South (QotS), his materials stock and headquarters in Genk. From then on, Raymaekers became a permanent trader-designer. His established network of demolition contractors and wholesalers was crucial in this regard. During his career, he developed close partnerships with players such as reuse wholesaler Spinois and demolition contractors Scheerlinck, Leunen and Vander Elst, each active in their own geographical area and building niche. Raymaekers' architecture became increasingly baroque, but also more homogeneous due to his focus on architectural antiques. QotS was set up as a veritable machine for convincing people of the power of these elements. From the 1980s onwards, the supply of building antiques declined due to the mechanisation of the demolition sector, rising labour costs and the increasing clout of heritage protection. His supply chains came to a standstill. Raymaekers began importing more materials from abroad. His practice became increasingly exclusive, targeting wealthy clients, although he also continued to build for middle-class clients through self-build and long-term construction projects. Eventually, Raymaekers had to go as far as India to find building materials. After 2000, the influx of materials became too expensive and too difficult, and clients began to stay away. In 2014, QotS went bankrupt. Raymaekers' work shows how circular architecture depends on locally anchored supply networks, which are difficult to scale up due to the nature of the urban mine, where a wide variety of materials are released unpredictably, scattered and in small quantities. His practice was also strongly linked to a specific phase in the urbanisation and modernisation process: the period of unbridled demolition of pre-war buildings. Raymaekers' identity as a designer-trader was so intertwined with this period that his business inevitably ceased to exist with the demise of the ideology of progress that had given rise to it. This case study shows that the sustainable matching of supply and demand in second-hand materials will always have to be dynamic.
Copyright (c) 2025 Arne Vande Capelle, Lionel Devlieger https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
The Concrete Plant as a Terraforming Machine
This article reconstructs how the development of a dense network of concrete plants was crucial in making concrete the basic material of an urbanizing construction culture. Belgium is treated as a paradigmatic case to argue that one – perhaps the main – reason why concrete became the most dominant building material in the world was due to the intensive way in which it was distributed and made available as a self-evident consumer product. The article describes how the relentless output of horizontal rotary kilns compelled the cement industry to adopt a bold 'politics of realization' – ensuring that massive cement volumes being produced actually found their way to the market. The solution lie in the development of a dense logistics network of concrete plants that efficiently produced and delivered ready-mix concrete directly to construction sites – actively shaping urbanization regimes capable of absorbing large volumes of concrete. Spurred on by cement giants CBR (Cimenteries et Briqueteries Réunies), CO (Ciments d’Obourg) and CCB (Compagnie des Ciments Belges), together with the establishment of the BVSB (Belgian Professional Association for Ready-Mix Concrete, 1962) and the IB joint venture (Inter-Beton, 1967), this strategy was increasingly formalized. In the fragmented Belgian urban landscape, concrete plants spread rapidly across the entire country. During the 1960s and ’70s, this new concrete regime put a veritable form of ‘terraforming’ into practice. Important material flows of sand, water and gravel were rationalized and distributed in bulk to the concrete plants in the network. From there, concrete spread across the country, driving a surge in construction —from major infrastructure to everyday urban practices—that transformed the Belgian landscape. As Belgium’s construction recession in the late 1970s deepened into a full-blown crisis in the early 1980s, the ready-mix concrete sector was sustained through major public contracts and a strategic pivot toward specialized concrete mixes that unlocked new niche markets. In this way, the concrete plant became increasingly entrenched as an indisputable cause of Belgian urbanization’s ‘cement addiction’. By focusing on the concrete plant, the article provides a new spatial perspective on the political ecology of concrete and raises questions about the sustainability of a building culture in which the overproduction and overcon-sumption of this extractive material is a structural component.
Copyright (c) 2025 Tom Broes https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Housing programmes in the early twentieth century were meant to overcome shortages of dwellings for workers in many European industrial centres. Yet what was often overlooked was the fact that housing needed to be built by construction labour, and that labour also needed housing in order to be able to continue working. This article considers how housing scarcity intersected with the overlooked issue of labour scarcity: how the needs of construction workers were or were not addressed. It focuses on garden cities and related suburban settlements in England and Belgium – forms of development which, given their scale, required the mobilization of workers to remote sites, where workers often became the first occupants of what they were building. The first section considers the earliest garden cities in the UK, designed by Raymond Unwin and his associates: Letchworth, founded in 1903 by Ebenezer Howard’s Garden City Association; and Gretna, developed by the Ministry of Munitions during the First World War to support weapons production. The second section focuses on the post-armistice British housebuilding programme, when local municipalities were granted special subsidies to provide dwellings for workers on large suburban estates. The third section looks at reconstruction efforts in the devastated Westhoek region of Belgium, led by Raphaël Verwilghen and the Dienst der Verwoeste Gewesten (Department of Devastated Regions). In the British context, the contradictions in housing programmes were clearly articulated: cheap construction labour was needed for cheap dwellings, and this led to a paradox when the producers (workers) were also the consumers (residents). The underlying problem was that cheapness obscured actual costs. In Belgium, the connections were not so obvious: housing was promoted as a do-it-yourself activity, and even social housing was facilitated through a variety of special-interest groups. Nevertheless, in both cases, the unprecedented need for housing in both contexts prompted innovative efforts to house those who build.
Copyright (c) 2025 Jesse Foster Honsa https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Copyright (c) 2025 Tom Broes, Michiel Dehaene https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
De Gevelstenen van Amsterdam & Waar Haarlem in de Gevel Staat
Review of two books: the first one is written by Onno W. Boers (De Gevelstenen van Amsterda), the second book is written by Peter van Graafeiland (Waar Haarlem in de Gevel Staat).
Copyright (c) 2025 Dirk J. de Vries https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Berlages Indische Reis/ Berlage Di Nusantara/ Berlage's Journey to the Indies
Review of a book written by Angeline Basuki, Loes van Iperen, Ester van Steekelenburg, Petra Timmer (red.).
Copyright (c) 2025 Pauline K.M. van Roosmalen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Jeroen Cornilly.
Copyright (c) 2025 Sophie van Ginneken https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Arjan den Boer.
Copyright (c) 2025 Coert Peter Krabbe https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Jacobus Vrel is known as the painter of over twenty townscapes from the period 1640-1660, which is to say shortly before the active period of such specialists of the genre as Jan van der Heijden, Gerrit Berckheyde and Jan Abrahamsz Beerstraten. However, nothing is known about Vrel himself, and until recently it had proved impossible to pinpoint the location of his townscapes. Now a step-by-step analysis of a limited number of pictures using building history indicators, maps and other historical tools, has made it possible to decipher many of the topographical and architectural elements of the townscape depicted by Vrel. They point to the northern part of the centre of Zwolle. Although Vrel had scant mastery of mathematical perspective, his townscapes were convincing spatial compositions and while not intended as a topographical records, they clearly referred to a specific neighbourhood. The completely non-academic and nonidealized nature of his depictions also makes them interesting as authentic visual documents of street life in the medieval part of an East Netherlands town in the mid-seventeenth century. Four townscapes can be placed near the town wall along Waterstraat, and two others on the corner of the Broeren- and Nieuwstraat. An interesting detail in this respect is that Vrel painted the same bakery eight times, and that four of those paintings show the same man, wearing a red cap and white shirt, looking out of the first-floor window. Three bakeries have an awning with a sign reading ‘this house is for rent’. Historical research has revealed that the bakery belonged to a certain Reijner Gerrijts, who also owned a rental property located next door on the street corner beneath a continuous tiled roof. According to hearth tax records, that property stood vacant in 1641. This unique piece of information led to the precise location of the bakery and to the names of the baker and the tenant.
Copyright (c) 2025 Dirk J. de Vries, Boudewijn Bakker https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
The Legislative Power of the Belgian Construction Worker
Although no architectural project is built without construction workers, labourers remain woefully underrepresented in architectural and construction history. By tracing the emergence and development of the Algemene Centrale van de Bouw, the socialist construction workers’ union in Belgium, this article seeks to address that gap. It aims to move beyond the conventional emphasis on the relationship between workers and construction practice and to demonstrate how construction workers also had a significant impact on the legislative framework of the Belgian construction sector – far beyond the construction site itself. The article focuses on the union’s two main priorities: the struggle for fair wages and for improved safety on construction sites. Initially through strikes and later through more institutionalized negotiations, the organization succeeded in securing and protecting construction workers’ wages, while also helping to shape the development of safety regulations on site through bargaining and media campaigns. Furthermore, the union skilfully navigated the complex legal landscape of the Belgian construction sector. By strategically leveraging collective labour agreements and public procurement documents, it promoted alternative forms of regulation. This allowed changes to be implemented without relying on the often cumbersome procedures of formal legislation, granting the union a tangible influence on construction practices. These legal instruments also enabled the union to respond to the sweeping technological changes and new building materials that were entering the construction sector at the time. They valorised the new labour risks and technical skills these innovations entailed by incorporating them into improved wage conditions. In doing so, construction workers –too often overlooked in architectural, construction and social history – asserted their legislative power and laid the essential groundwork for improved wages and safety in the construction sector during the post-war development of the Belgian welfare state.
Copyright (c) 2025 Simon De Nys-Ketels https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Located in the centre of Brussels, Pachecolaan 44 is a remarkable sixteen-level office building (thirteen aboveground and three underground). Strategically situated on Brussels’ ring road, it acts as a landmark for the neighbourhood. The building is an eye-catcher owing to the wickerwork pattern of the concrete modules in the elevations. It was designed in 1964 by the architect Marcel Lambrichs and his team for the former Gemeentekrediet (Crédit Communal de Belgique) bank. Pacheco, as the complex was known, provided over six thousand square metres of office space and was the bank’s headquarters until 2015. Its plinth was a mixed-use arcade housing a cinema, restaurants, shops, exhibition space and an auditorium. In the 1970s, this ‘Passage 44’ had a reputation as a vibrant centre of cultural life. Today the tower is home to Belgium’s Immigration Department, while the plinth has been converted into a KU Leuven campus. Pacheco and Passage 44 belong indisputably to Brussels’ collective memory and by extension to that of Belgium, due in part to the well-attended exhibitions and lectures that Gemeentekrediet organized in ‘its’ arcade. The bank presented itself as a socially engaged business and regarded the promotion of art and knowledge as one of its core tasks. In addition, the building’s history is closely tied to post-war developments in the fields of urban planning and architecture in Brussels. Its historical and urban design values were part of the reason why the Gemeentekrediet’s former headquarters was added to the Brussels Capital Region’s official heritage register in 2024. Despite Pacheco’s heritage credentials, it has received very little attention in the literature. By placing Pacheco and Passage 44 in their architectural-historical context once more, this article aims to contribute to knowledge of Brussels’ post-war heritage. It does so by considering two key moments: the original design and construction phase in the 1960s, and the staff restaurant project by the designer Frans L. Van Praet, which was executed around the turn of the century. The works carried out in these two periods can be classified respectively as ‘modern’ and ‘postmodern’. The integration of these antithetical design concepts within the same building complex is unique in the Belgian context. As well as an examination of the past, this article offers an insight into future possibilities for large-scale post-war projects. In light of growing interest in the modern movement and in young heritage, the article considers theory, heritage policy and restoration practice within the Brussels Capital Region. Although young heritage has gained (academic) recognition and legal protection, the translation of theoretical heritage evaluation into restoration practice is faltering. The development of a broader methodology in the field of ‘value mapping’ can offer a solution to this. An analysis of the Pacheco case provides valuable insights of benefit to the sustainability of future projects.
Copyright (c) 2025 Emma Bekaert, Ryan Niezgocki, María Inés Tobar Palacios, Angad Ankala Rajasekar https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
The new arsenal for the ‘Admiralty of the Meuse’, built between 1785 and 1788 on Reuzeneiland on the east side of Rotterdam, was one of the Dutch Republic’s largest structures, yet it has been all but forgotten since it burned to the ground in 1891. Fifteen surviving design drawings by its architect, the Italian Giovanni Giudici (1746-1819), provide insight into the design phases, technical detailing and the evolving design of the facade and interior. The arsenal’s primary function was to store naval weaponry and ship’s supplies. However, its architecture belied this utilitarian purpose. The symmetrical, monumental facade with checked pilaster strips, main floor, balconies and sculptures on the crowning attic block lent the building a palatial aura and explains why it was also known as ‘the Palace’. Giudici’s design differed from Daniël Stalpaert’s seventeenth-century warehouses for the Dutch East India Company (VOC) and the Amsterdam Admiralty. Although also of monumental design, their warehouse function was clearly visible in the their exteriors. The palatial design of the Rotterdam arsenal had to do with the building’s hybrid nature: part warehouse, part office and part ‘events hall’. In addition to storage spaces, workshops and offices, a large part of the building was reserved for ceremonial rooms. The west wing included a grand entrance hall, a library room, an armoury and a salon overlooking the river. Another surprising presence in an arsenal was a huge kitchen equipped for large banquets. The central wing contained a huge multifunctional space with an eleven-metre clear span made possible by a massive auxiliary structure from which the floor joists of the second storey were suspended. This space could be used for storage, but also for large-scale affairs like the visit of Tsar Alexander I in 1814. Thanks to its location at the bend in the river Maas, with a specially designed water-facing facade, the arsenal occupied a prominent place in Rotterdam’s cityscape. As such it was in keeping with wider eighteenth-century trends whereby admiralty buildings, in addition to their function as logistical infrastructure, also gave expression to military and political ambitions. This Rotterdam example demonstrates how utilitarian architecture could be deployed for visual representation on an urban scale and an analysis of its building history contributes to a better understanding of the role of maritime architecture in the late eighteenth-century Republic.
Copyright (c) 2025 Merlijn Hurx, Agnes Kooijman https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Natalie Dubois and Jessica van Geel
Copyright (c) 2025 Dolf Broekhuizen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book redacted by J. van Kesteren-Lok.
Copyright (c) 2025 Gabri Van Tussenbroek https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
‘Tweegesprek’ is een nieuwe, jaarlijkse rubriek in ons Bulletin waarin we een actueel en prikkelend vraagstuk binnen de interessegebieden van de KNOB (architectuur- en bouwgeschiedenis, stedenbouw, cultuurlandschap en monumentenzorg) centraal stellen. Op een Stelling volgt een Tegenstelling, waarin een vakgenoot reageert. Zo ontstaat een open dialoog tussen collega’s in het veld.
Copyright (c) 2025 Stijn Bussels, Marika Keblusek https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
This article discusses the use of tuff stone in the period around 1000-1250 in what is now the Netherlands. During the Middle Ages tuff was used from the Rhineland to Denmark. The historiography of this subject comprises a great many books and articles on tuff and the earliest tuff stone buildings in the Netherlands, but a lack of written sources makes it difficult to get a detailed picture of the trade in tuff and its use in construction. The dating of buildings from this period is also very challenging. This article draws on contextual information in an attempt to provide more insight into the extraction, transport and trade in tuff before the year 1250, while also discussing the principal actors and material characteristics. To understand the context of tuff in the Netherlands one must first look at its distribution in Roman times. Tuff is known to have been used in over a hundred places in the Roman context and that material was sometimes reused in the Middle Ages. Although this reuse has never been systematically investigated, it can have consequences for the dating of medieval buildings, since that dating was sometimes based in part on certain characteristics of the material (block sizes). The article then looks at medieval tuff stone quarrying near Andernach. Quarrying of the stone had resumed in the tenth century, although it is impossible to give a precise date. Buyers played a crucial role, in particular the Cologne archbishops. The article names a number of these bishops as possible initiators of the interregional tuff-stone trade from the eleventh century onwards. In the Netherlands it can be assumed that the church building campaign of the Utrecht bishop Bernold had a major impact on the import of tuff from the Eifel region, judging by the massive size and regularity of the tuff-stone blocks used in the churches he commissioned. Unfortunately, building-historical aspects like masonry composition and stone sizes offer few reliable indicators for accurate dating per whole, half or quarter century. Contrary to what some writers have suggested, large- and small-sized blocks were used interchangeably. The same applies to architecture. Features like spaarbogen (arches formed in the ground to save on building material), arch friezes and other architectural-historical characteristics were used over a longer time span, some as late as the thirteenth century by which time brick had become the main building material. So the architecture of the buildings discussed here does not furnish any hard evidence for dating either. The article provides an inventory of over 500 locations where tuff was used in the Middle Ages, augmented with some 250 examples of tuff stone use in the Rhineland, thereby shedding light on the associated tuff stone landscape between Cologne and the North Sea. It concludes with an appeal for further research into each object, including systematic investigation of evidence of primary or reused (Roman) material. It is also recommended that traces of finishing be documented and mortar research be conducted, with the aim of gaining more knowledge about the Netherlands’ earliest tuff stone buildings.
Copyright (c) 2025 Gabri van Tussenbroek https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Since its introduction in 1912, the Auteurswet (Authors’ Act .copyright act) has protected works that have an ‘individual, original character’ and ‘bear the personal stamp of the maker’. The act grants that maker exclusive rights, including the right to exploitation. This means that the maker can decide for themselves how, where and when the work is made public or copied. In addition, the act confers personality rights, which protect the maker against changes or other impairments of the work that might damage their honour and reputation. Although the Auteurswet did not have its origins in the building industry, the act has certainly demonstrated its relevance to that sector, given that architects’ designs also fall under the protection of the act. Since 1912 several authors’ rights lawsuits have been filed in the context of the construction industry. These have focused in particular on the question of whether alterations to buildings encroach on the rights of the architect. Nowadays the debate often revolves around the tension between the creative vision of the architect on the one hand and functional or social interests on the other, such as a change of purpose. This leads to a weighing of interests in which the key consideration is how these interests relate to the personality rights of the architect. This article focuses on conflicts arising from changes to existing buildings during their architects’ lifetime. Four case histories are considered: the De Maerle villa (1917‑1918) in Huizen, the Metropool multi‑tenancy building (1991‑1992) in Amsterdam, the Ministry of Agriculture, Trade and Industry (2015) in The Hague, and the Naturalis Natural History Museum (2017) in Leiden. The key question is whether the arguments used in the evaluation and outcome of these cases have changed over time. The analysis of the four cases reveals that legislation, including the Auteurswet, is constantly subject to interpretation. In summary, the cases demonstrate that the act continues to evolve, partly in response to social change. There remains the important question of whether the application of the act (in other words, the interpretation of the weighing of interests) to architects’ designs is still consistent with current practice. The societal importance of preserving existing buildings and retrofitting them for sustainability is increasing. Demolition has become less acceptable from the viewpoint of sustainability, which only serves to heighten the tension between architectural authors’ rights and societal interests. Yet the jurisprudence shows that there is still scope for these societal interests. In the weighing of interests, arguments in favour of preserving a design are set against reasons for change, such as changing uses, modern functional requirements and sustainability. The cases discussed here illustrate how the interpretation of the Auteurswet has evolved and adapted to social change. This includes a greater focus on the personality rights of the maker. Although that does not result in a complete interdiction on changes to buildings, it does help to clarify the scope of these rights. It ensures that the Auteurswet remains balanced between creative freedom on the one hand and societal interests on the other, with room for continued development in the future.
Copyright (c) 2025 David Keuning, Bente Peters https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Thijs Weststeijn
Copyright (c) 2025 Caroline Baetens https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Stefan Glasbergen
Copyright (c) 2025 Arjan de Koomen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Kees Somer and Ronald Stenvert (eds)
Copyright (c) 2025 Inge Bertels https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of two books written by Sanne van den Breemer & Robert Winkel and Uri Gilad, Annuska Pronkhorst & Jan Peter Wingender (eds)
Copyright (c) 2025 Marie-Thérèse van Thoor https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0