Het Bulletin KNOB is een wetenschappelijk tijdschrift op het terrein van het ruimtelijk erfgoed dat vier keer per jaar verschijnt en in binnen- en buitenland als belangrijke kennisbron wordt erkend.
Koninklijke Nederlandse Oudheidkundige Bond (KNOB)
Bericht vanuit Bestuur KNOB en Archiefopruiming van oude Bulletins en Over Hollands.
Auteursrecht (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
Auteursrecht (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
Boek geschreven door Willem Schermerhorn.
Auteursrecht (c) 2026 Jan van 't Hof https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Recensie van een boek geschreven door Natasja Hogen.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Arne Vande Capelle, Lionel Devlieger https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
De Betoncentrale als Terraformingsmachine
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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Jesse Foster Honsa https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Auteursrecht (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).
Auteursrecht (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.).
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Pauline K.M. van Roosmalen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review van een boek geschreven door Jeroen Cornilly.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Sophie van Ginneken https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book written by Arjan den Boer.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Dirk J. de Vries, Boudewijn Bakker https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
De wetgevende macht van de Belgische bouwvakker
Hoewel geen enkel architectuurproject zonder bouwvakkers wordt opgetrokken, blijven arbeiders pijnlijk onderbelicht in architectuur- en bouwgeschiedenis. Door het ontstaan en de ontwikkeling te traceren van de Algemene Centrale van de Bouw, de socialistische bouwvakbond in België, tracht dit artikel dit te remediëren. Het probeert daarbij voorbij te gaan aan de conventionele nadruk op de relatie tussen arbeiders en bouwpraktijk, en probeert juist aan te tonen hoe ook voorbij de werf bouwvakkers een belangrijke impact hadden op het wetgevend kader van de Belgische bouwsector. Hierbij wordt gefocust op de twee belangrijkste speerpunten van de bouwvakbond: de strijd voor een eerlijk loon, en betere veiligheid op de bouwplaats. Eerst via staking en later via meer geïnstitutionaliseerd overleg slaagde de organisatie erin het loon van bouwvakkers stevig te verankeren en te beschermen, terwijl het aan de hand van onderhandeling en perscampagnes het ontstaan van veiligheidsregulering op de werf vormgaf. Bovendien wist de vakbond deskundig te navigeren in het complex legaal landschap van de Belgische bouwsector: via collectieve arbeidsovereenkomsten en publieke lastenboeken zette het strategisch in op alternatieve vormen van regelgeving. Hierdoor moesten aanpassingen niet langs de vaak logge procedures van officiële wetgeving, en kon de vakbond een direct voelbare invloed uitoefenen op de bouwpraktijk. Deze legale instrumenten lieten de Centrale daarenboven toe om een antwoord te bieden op de ingrijpende technologische veranderingen en bouwmaterialen die op dat moment hun intrede deden in de bouwsector, door de nieuwe arbeidsrisico’s en technische skills die deze technologieën met zich meebrachten te valoriseren in verbeterde looncondities. Zo wisten bouwvakkers, een vergeten stem binnen architectuur-, bouw-, en sociale geschiedenis, hun wetgevende macht te laten gelden, en legden ze op beide strijdfronten de cruciale basis voor de verdere naoorlogse welvaartsontwikkelingen in de Belgische bouwsector.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Simon De Nys-Ketels https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
In het centrum van Brussel staat aan de Pachecolaan 44 een opmerkelijk gebouwcomplex van zestien bouwlagen (dertien bovengronds en drie ondergronds). Strategisch gelegen aan de Kleine Ring, fungeert het als herkenningspunt voor de buurt. Het gebouw is een blikvanger door het vlechtwerk van betonnen elementen in de gevel. Architect Marcel Lambrichs en zijn team ontwierpen het gebouw in 1964 voor het toenmalige Gemeentekrediet van België (Crédit Communal de Belgique). Pacheco, zoals het complex kortweg werd genoemd, bood meer dan zesduizend vierkante meter kantoorruimte en was tot 2015 de hoofdzetel van de bank. In de plint ter hoogte van de Kruidtuinlaan bevond zich een commerciële galerij met bioscoop, restaurants, winkels en auditorium. Deze ‘Passage 44’ stond in de jaren 1970 bekend als een bruisend cultureel centrum. Vandaag huisvest de toren de Dienst Vreemdelingenzaken, terwijl de plint wordt omgebouwd tot campus van de KU Leuven. Pacheco en Passage 44 zijn een onmiskenbaar onderdeel van het Brusselse collectieve geheugen en bij uitbreiding van dat van België. Aanleiding hiervoor zijn onder andere de drukbezochte tentoonstellingen en lezingen die het Gemeentekrediet in ‘zijn’ galerij organiseerde. De bank profileerde zich als maatschappelijk geëngageerd bedrijf en beschouwde het bevorderen van kunst en kennis als een van haar kerntaken. Daarnaast is de geschiedenis van het gebouw nauw verbonden met de naoorlogse ontwikkelingen op het gebied van stedenbouw en architectuur in Brussel. Omwille van, onder andere, zijn historische en stedenbouwkundige waarden is de voormalige hoofdzetel van het Gemeentekrediet sinds 2024 ingeschreven in de wettelijke erfgoedinventaris van het Brussels Hoofdstedelijk Gewest. Ondanks de interesse uit de erfgoedhoek komt de casus Pacheco in de bestaande literatuur weinig aan bod. Dit artikel kadert Pacheco en Passage 44 opnieuw in hun architectuurhistorische context en levert zo een bijdrage aan de kennis over het Brusselse naoorlogse erfgoed. Daarbij wordt stilgestaan bij twee sleutelmomenten: de ontwerpfase en opbouw in de jaren zestig en het project voor het personeelsrestaurant door ontwerper Frans L. Van Praet, dat rond de eeuwwisseling werd uitgevoerd. De werken die in deze periodes werden uitgevoerd, vallen respectievelijk onder te brengen onder de noemers ‘modern’ en ‘postmodern’. De integratie van deze tegengestelde ontwerpvisies binnen eenzelfde gebouwencomplex is uniek in de Belgische context. Naast een blik op het verleden biedt dit artikel een inkijk in de toekomstmogelijkheden voor grootschalige naoorlogse projecten. In het licht van een groeiende interesse voor de moderne beweging en voor jong erfgoed wordt stilgestaan bij theorie, erfgoedbeleid en restauratiepraktijk binnen het Brussels Hoofdstedelijk Gewest. Hoewel het jonge erfgoed aan (academische) waardering en juridische bescherming heeft gewonnen, hapert de vertaling van de theoretische erfgoedwaardebepaling naar de restauratiepraktijk. De ontwikkeling van een bredere methodologie op het gebied van value mapping, kan hiervoor een oplossing bieden. Een analyse van de casus Pacheco biedt waardevolle inzichten die de duurzaamheid van toekomstige projecten ten goede komen.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Emma Bekaert, Ryan Niezgocki, María Inés Tobar Palacios, Angad Ankala Rajasekar https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Het nieuwe zeemagazijn van de Admiraliteit op de Maze, gebouwd tussen 1785 en 1788 op het Reuzeneiland aan de oostkant van Rotterdam, was een van de grootste bouwwerken uit de Republiek der Nederlanden, desalniettemin is het nadat het in 1891 afbrandde bijna geheel in de vergetelheid geraakt. Vijftien bewaarde ontwerptekeningen van de architect, de Italiaan Giovanni Giudici (1746-1819), geven inzicht in de ontwerpfases, technische detaillering en veranderende vormgeving van façade en interieur. Het zeemagazijn had primair de functie van opslag van wapentuig en scheepsmateriaal. Toch verried de architectuur deze utilitaire bestemming niet. De symmetrische, monumentale gevel met geblokte lisenen, bel-etage, balkons en beeldhouwwerk op het bekronende attiekblok gaf het gebouw een paleisachtig voorkomen. Vandaar dat het zeemagazijn in Rotterdam ook wel bekend stond als het ‘Paleis’. Giudici’s ontwerp week af van Stalpaerts zeventiende-eeuwse pakhuizen van de VOC en Amsterdamse Admiraliteit, die weliswaar ook een monumentale vormgeving hadden, maar waarvan de functie als pakhuis zichtbaar tot uitdrukking kwam in het exterieur. De paleisachtige vormgeving van het Rotterdamse magazijn hield verband met het hybride karakter van het gebouw: deels pakhuis, deels kantoor en deels ‘evenementenhal’. Naast opslagruimtes, werkplaatsen en kantoren was een aanzienlijk deel van het gebouw bestemd voor representatieve vertrekken. Het westelijke paviljoen bevatte onder andere een monumentale vestibule, een bibliotheekkamer, een wapenkamer en een salon met uitzicht op de rivier. Opvallend voor een magazijn is ook de aanwezigheid van een forse keuken die was toegerust voor grote eetfestijnen. In het middenpaviljoen werd een enorme multifunctionele ruimte gecreëerd met een vrije overspanning van elf meter, mogelijk gemaakt door een zware hulpconstructie, waaraan de vloerbalken van de tweede verdieping werden opgehangen. Deze ruimte kon worden gebruikt voor opslag, maar ook voor grootschalige evenementen, zoals het bezoek van tsaar Alexander I in 1814. Door zijn ligging in de bocht van de Maas, met een bewust ontworpen façade gericht op de waterzijde, speelde het zeemagazijn een prominente rol in het stadsbeeld van Rotterdam. Daarmee sluit het aan bij bredere achttiende-eeuwse ontwikkelingen waarin admiraliteitsgebouwen niet alleen als logistieke infrastructuur fungeerden, maar ook militaire en politieke ambities tot uitdrukking brachten. Het Rotterdamse voorbeeld toont hoe utilitaire architectuur kon worden ingezet voor visuele representatie op stedelijke schaal en de bouwhistorische analyse ervan draagt bij aan een beter begrip van de rol van maritieme bouwkunst in de late achttiende-eeuwse Republiek.
Auteursrecht (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
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Dolf Broekhuizen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Review of a book redacted by J. van Kesteren-Lok.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (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.
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 David Keuning, Bente Peters https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Bespreking van een boek van Thijs Weststeijn
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Caroline Baetens https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Bespreking van een boek van Stefan Glasbergen
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Arjan de Koomen https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Bespreking van een boek van Kees Somer en Ronald Stenvert (red.)
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Inge Bertels https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0
Bespreking van twee boeken van Sanne van den Breemer & Robert Winkel en Uri Gilad, Annuska Pronkhorst & Jan Peter Wingender (red.)
Auteursrecht (c) 2025 Marie-Thérèse van Thoor https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0