I hamnen i Lerberget står tiden still
(2024) AAHM01 20241Department of Architecture and Built Environment
- Abstract
- In the northwest of Skåne, a peninsula stretches out and tapers off out into the ocean. This is Kullahalvön, a stronghold of contrasts that swings between the dramatic and romantic. Its edge rises from the sea like armor: shaped by weather and protective of all the landscape that rests behind it. Forests, meadows,fields and beaches overlap between the old fishing villages that have grown into towns and cities. Having spent most of my life here I know that this is the sort of place that doesn’t leave you, even when you leave it and perhaps that’s why it can’t be entirely frictionless when the inevitable question arises: how do we continue to shape our way of living here?
The towns along the coastline all have their own harbor, as does the... (More) - In the northwest of Skåne, a peninsula stretches out and tapers off out into the ocean. This is Kullahalvön, a stronghold of contrasts that swings between the dramatic and romantic. Its edge rises from the sea like armor: shaped by weather and protective of all the landscape that rests behind it. Forests, meadows,fields and beaches overlap between the old fishing villages that have grown into towns and cities. Having spent most of my life here I know that this is the sort of place that doesn’t leave you, even when you leave it and perhaps that’s why it can’t be entirely frictionless when the inevitable question arises: how do we continue to shape our way of living here?
The towns along the coastline all have their own harbor, as does the one I grew up in. In 2017 a dispute arose over a proposed recreational building placed on the harbor plot. The disagreement persists, widening the village’s divide. While some see it as a chance to bolster the harbor’s role and community ties, others perceive it as sabotage and recklessness. The discussion has lost its anchor in the love for the harbor that sparked it in the first place and as the conflict progresses the latter side seem to take more refuge in nostalgia and I wonder: Perhaps it’s possible to use our memories but for the purpose to move forward?
I believe, in line with phenomenologist theories, that architecture is something we experience with all our senses. To really appreciate a building we must experience it. But as Robin Evans points out: “Architects do not make buildings; they make drawings of buildings.” So what does that leave us with? Can we, with a comprehensive visual material, evoke memories and associations that in turn can awaken a longing for the yet unexplored? To furthur analyze this I have divided my work into two main parts addressing two separate questions that interact with each other:
How does the interplay between architecture and memory at the site today inform our understanding and relationship with future buildings?
Can measurable elements from the site be translated from a functional language into architectural gestures that relates to us humans in a new (Less)
Please use this url to cite or link to this publication:
http://lup.lub.lu.se/student-papers/record/9178583
- author
- Lundqvist, Matilda LU
- supervisor
- organization
- course
- AAHM01 20241
- year
- 2024
- type
- H2 - Master's Degree (Two Years)
- subject
- keywords
- architecture, phenomenology, nostalgia
- language
- Swedish
- id
- 9178583
- date added to LUP
- 2024-12-10 13:35:43
- date last changed
- 2024-12-10 13:35:43
@misc{9178583,
abstract = {{In the northwest of Skåne, a peninsula stretches out and tapers off out into the ocean. This is Kullahalvön, a stronghold of contrasts that swings between the dramatic and romantic. Its edge rises from the sea like armor: shaped by weather and protective of all the landscape that rests behind it. Forests, meadows,fields and beaches overlap between the old fishing villages that have grown into towns and cities. Having spent most of my life here I know that this is the sort of place that doesn’t leave you, even when you leave it and perhaps that’s why it can’t be entirely frictionless when the inevitable question arises: how do we continue to shape our way of living here?
The towns along the coastline all have their own harbor, as does the one I grew up in. In 2017 a dispute arose over a proposed recreational building placed on the harbor plot. The disagreement persists, widening the village’s divide. While some see it as a chance to bolster the harbor’s role and community ties, others perceive it as sabotage and recklessness. The discussion has lost its anchor in the love for the harbor that sparked it in the first place and as the conflict progresses the latter side seem to take more refuge in nostalgia and I wonder: Perhaps it’s possible to use our memories but for the purpose to move forward?
I believe, in line with phenomenologist theories, that architecture is something we experience with all our senses. To really appreciate a building we must experience it. But as Robin Evans points out: “Architects do not make buildings; they make drawings of buildings.” So what does that leave us with? Can we, with a comprehensive visual material, evoke memories and associations that in turn can awaken a longing for the yet unexplored? To furthur analyze this I have divided my work into two main parts addressing two separate questions that interact with each other:
How does the interplay between architecture and memory at the site today inform our understanding and relationship with future buildings?
Can measurable elements from the site be translated from a functional language into architectural gestures that relates to us humans in a new}},
author = {{Lundqvist, Matilda}},
language = {{swe}},
note = {{Student Paper}},
title = {{I hamnen i Lerberget står tiden still}},
year = {{2024}},
}