Image Courtesy of Arno Brandlhuber.
Let’s go back to basics. According to the Oxford Dictionary, a villa is “a house, often larger and more expensive than average, in the countryside or on the coast, often used as a retreat.” By that definition, the old lingerie factory may look like any other villa, but it certainly doesn’t function like one. The brutalist space is both a residence and studio representing sustainable architecture and design, cultural influences, and a little anarchy to boot. Hence the apt naming.
The understated, monochromatic colour palette nods to the building’s history with original brick structure plastered with fine grey mortar. Shades of grey and a considered use of textures, from rendered concrete to delicate curtains, lend interesting details to the tonal colour palette. Set across two floors, the Antivilla exists within the pillars of adaptive reuse. That is, reusing, recycling or converting an existing building for a purpose other than it was designed.
Adaptive reuse is the upcycling of architecture and construction and is one way to sustainably answer an architecture brief. The design principle also allows for practical upgrades and gives way for new uses while simultaneously maintaining historical features — think the now-ubiquitous model of warehouses converted into apartments. This rebirth of sorts straddles history and modern day and minimises the homogenisation of inhabited spaces. It’s also an easy way to sidestep high demolition costs and new build regulations. Indeed, the potential cost to demolish this former lingerie factory is what took it away from ‘shiny new building’ and into ‘adaptive reuse’ territory.
Starting from the outside, Antivilla expresses adaptive reuse by maintaining the structure of its shell. While indoors, the team removed all load-bearing pillars and replaced them with a central concrete core. This maintains the factory’s sense of openness, particularly on the ground floor, which was originally used for deliveries, storage and garage.
"Adaptive reuse is the upcycling of architecture and construction and is one way to sustainably answer an architecture brief."
Upstairs, the living area features a kitchen and bathroom, as well as spaces for a sauna and fireplace. And this is where things become a little more intriguing. Naturally, an open-plan, brick-built, former factory with no insulation does not exactly pass as ‘cosy’ for those notoriously cold German winters. In light of this, the architects drew on the principles of Reyner Banham’s pioneering — and now iconic — book, ‘The Architecture of the Well-Tempered Environment’ (1969), to create a space adaptable and suitable for the winters and the drawn out summer days.
‘The Architecture of the Well-Tempered Environment’ encourages the notion of solving design problems through the structure itself before factoring in machines and technology. Likewise, it strives for design thinking that prioritises light, ventilation and temperature modulation. Antivilla answers this in a few ways: Geothermal pipes in the floor meet the basic German heating requirements. Meanwhile the sauna stove adds an extra heating point and acts as the central point for adapting the space to the seasons. The delicate curtains around the sauna stove allow for temperature regulation in winter. When closed, the curtains create an intimate space of 70 square metres, whereas in summer they can give way to an available 250 square metres of space.
Aesthetically, however, Antivilla’s windows are perhaps one of its most iconic elements. Within the context of ‘The Architecture of the Well-Tempered Environment’, the windows offer a site-specific solution that overlook the natural lake and its surrounding forest. This aspect maintains the spaciousness of the site while offering a sense of the outside being invited in.
These giant, crumbled window holes on the top floor culturally reference Claude Faraldo’s 1973 dark comedy, ‘Themroc’. In this film, Themroc, the protagonist, does away with the monotony of work and everyday life. He quits his job, takes a sledgehammer to his Paris apartment, and starts communicating solely through Neanderthal-style grunting. The film is overall anarchic and the themes suggest that reverting to the stone age may be better than the stale, sanitised existence of modern day. It’s a fitting reference for a building dubbed the Antivilla and is perhaps an idea that resonates with supporters of adaptive reuse principles.
While any other villa exists to uphold traditional cultural and design laws, Antivilla holds true to its name showcasing forward-thinking sustainable design and alternative-thinking culture while maintaining a sense of history.