Décollage II

The frenzy of construction has reached its apex. Built-up in every direction. The entire plot is occupied. When the ground was full, they simply built upward. And now, we begin. The first instinct might be to tear it all down. That would certainly free up space. But there’s something about these constructions that charms us. There’s an Escher-like quality to the tangle. Like a 19th-century romantic park, each turn reveals a new and unexpected view. It would be a pity to erase all of that. And, truthfully, quite a bit of work.

If we’re both enchanted and a little lazy, perhaps we can work with what’s already there. Like archaeologists, we proceed with care—trowel and brush in hand—exposing the essence, removing only what’s unnecessary. We’re after softness, daylight, and greenery. So we don’t just think in terms of buildings, but also of ruins. Ivy-covered outdoor rooms. An external staircase. A pergola shaped like a dismantled roof. Where the true threshold between inside and outside starts to blur. The building becomes a décollage: an unearthed site, where new life unfolds in the shadows of previous ones.