CapanneLido

Samuel Little

British Council Venice Biennale Fellowship 2015

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In 1912, German writer Thomas Mann chose to site one of his most significant novella’s on the Venetian Island of Lido. In ‘Death in Venice’, Mann describes an architecture that enables one to take in; “the scene on the beach, the spectacle of civilization taking its carefree sensuous ease at the brink of the element.” 1

He is describing a distinctly modern typology, the beach ‘capannes’ of Lido.

‘Capanne’ is an Italian term referring to a very specific type of hut. A unique blend of Victorian morality and western modernity, from the outset the intention was that these capannes would provide people with a place to change, out of sight of the rest of the beach whilst also providing a place to store their belongings. People were now able to retain their dignity, whilst pursuing such modern and recreational leisure activities as bathing in the Adriatic.

Usually the capanne would consist of a number different features in the aim of offering; privacy, security, protection. But their most important and defining feature is that they harnessed a deep seated connection to the sun, they either shielded people from it or enabled people to utilize it in new and radical ways.Sitting on the eastern shores of the Lido, this beach on the Adriatic is dominated by these characterful constructions.

One of the first resorts of its kind, Lido was once Europe’s most fashionable beach resort. Since conception these capanne have not changed, and what stands today on the beach of Lido is frozen in time. The architecture feels beautifully, awquardly tense, dancing between the vernacular, lighthearted and joyful spirit of the beach, and the rigid modular habits of the modern world. The resilience of the idea that created these unsophisticated and rudimentary constructions is strengthened further when thinking about the huge change that has happened around them.

Like the city of Venice ploughing onm seemingly unaltered by time, its charm accumulates amidst the changing world around it. These cappanne have retained and even increased their composure amongst the fluctuating tide of the Lido, a location notorious for its eclecticism, uncertainty and its fabrication by the modern world.

“The Lido is an entirely modern creation. At the end of the eighteenth century it was a deserted sandbar, a Jewish cemetery and the site of the marble Murazzi, the sea wall at Pellestrina. In the early nineteenth century Byron rode his horses there, and until 1866 it was a fortress area for the French and the Austrians. With the advent of sea bathing the Lido became one of the most sophisticated pleasure grounds in Europe, with two grand hotels.” 2

Lido is known for it its unique association with

CapanneLido

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what became a new industry devoted to tourism. By the end of the 18th Century, Lido had already established itself as the spiritual home of bathing. In 1794 the ‘Gazzetta Urbana Veneta’ issued the following statement

“We warn that the Lido is not only dangerous due to the possibility of stray cattle that have escaped, but also for certain thieves that pretend to amuse themselves on the beach and instead steal the silver buckles from the swimmers shoes or the money from the pockets of their clothes left in piles on the beach. Keep your eyes open. Be careful.”3

This statement captures the Lido in a moment of change. The stray cattle indicate the land being divided up, boundaries are being drawn between the old agricultural land and this new solely recreational land, thus marking the start of an entirely new form of tourism.

Bathing and leisure on the Lido took its first step towards commercialization in 1857 with the establishment of the world’s first sea bathing facility. Formalizing an earlier practice called ‘Luni di Lio’ which translates as ‘Lido Mondays’, Monday evening trips to the beach would involve Venetians flocking to the Lido to exercise, walk and most importantly bathe. Italian poet, journalist, novelist and composer Arrigo Boito was a compelling witness. In his short story ‘Quattro’ore al Lido’ which translates as ‘Four Hours at the Lido: A True Sketch’ Boito documents the sheer exhilaration of his new found recreational

pursuit. Half-floating, half-drowning Boito is exercising the freedom that the 20th century would bring, and at one point he positions his relative proximity to the beach by stating that he is so far out to sea that the capanne and bathing huts appear “piccino” (very small).4

Although this beach on Lido was originally the preserve of wealthy European families, the growth in popularity of the Lido and its Capanne throughout the past century can be seen as a symbol of ‘the democratization of the coast’.

There was not ubiquitous support for the opening up of the Lido to wider society. When American writer Henry James visited the Island in 1869, he had found only dunes with a few shacks and bath houses: “a very natural place”. Returning thirteen years later in 1882 he stated that the Lido had “been made the victim of villainous improvements. A little cockney village had sprung up on its rural bosom” now being increasingly overrun with lodgings, shops, bad-restaurants, the island now had a “third rate boulevard” dissecting it from the Lagoon to the Adriatic5.

Leisure on the Lido started off as something that could be used by the Venetians, it was part of the City. But at the turn of the century it became its own autonomous force. A number of wealthy capitalists were to turn this ‘once deserted strip of sand into an international tourist haven.’ 6

Early 20th century Lido postcard, showing the capanne as an inherent part of the scene on the beach.

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Luchino Visconti’s critically acclaimed film ‘Death in Venice’, is set on the beach at Lido. Based on the novella by Thomas Mann, the film captures the culturally desirable, fashionable and beautiful world of the Lido. The Lido in 1912 is seen as a fitting location for the main character, Aschenbach, to overcome his writer’s block. The film’s central concerns are with themes of beauty and mortality, as Aschenbach becomes infatuated with a young Polish boy called Tadzio.

The story unfolds in the setting of the Lido for a number of reasons; it is not the natural landscape which draws Mann to the island, it is the lifestyle enjoyed by its inhabitants and the recently executed manmade coastal forms which combine to make it such a poignant and prevelant location.

The centre of gravity of the narrative is shifted towards the Lido, away from the main island of Venice with its well-trodden hotspots of San Marco and the Rialto. This is, perhaps illustrative of the Lido’s escalating relevance and status as a worldwide destination.

Played out in front of an audience of empty capannes, the final scene captures the charged cutting-edge atmosphere of Lido’s beach. The rows of unoccupied capannes emphasise the individual isolation of the characters. A withered Aschenbach sits back in his chair looking longingly at Tadzio alone bathing in the Adriatic. The final scene captures the permanency of this new form of tourism, as this well-known writer ages and decays whilst the capannes around him stand firm, carrying strength and stamina forward on the sands of the Lido.

‘Death in Venice’ also documents an important moment in the history of the Lido. The Hotel Des Bains, built in 1900 is chosen as the location of Aschenbach’s stay. The original novella was inspired by the writer Mann’s trip to the hotel in 1911, it reveals the refined clientele on which the hotel thrived. There are many strains of truth in Mann’s story. His wife Katia remembered the incident clearly being able to describe the polish aristocratic family in detail including the strikingly beautiful thirteen year-old boy in an open-collared sailor suit . Yet Katia was able to clarify the line between fact and fiction, rejecting the idea that Thomas might have pursued Tadzio across Venice.7

A screen shot from the final scene of Visconti’s ‘Death in Venice’. The capannes are a rhythmic backdrop, illustrating the 20th century’s new and increasingly popular scene on the beach.

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This hotel was the first of “two great international tourist centres” 8 that were built on the island at the start of the 20th century.

The architecture of the ‘Grand Hotel Des Bains’ echoes the restrained classical figure of Aschenbach, attempting to deny himself loose moments of hedonism, of which the Lido stood for. As Hotel Des Bains looks down the beach it stares lookingly at a younger more flamboyant example.

Hotel Excelsior, the second grand hotel on the beach was constructed only six years later in 1906 it carries its own architectural character. Standing directly on the beach it feels festive and joyful, directly involved, encouraging the life of the beach. The sheer scale of the building goes some way to communicating its significance. Its grandeur flows onto the beach, it is free and relaxed, and like modernism aimed at stylistically breaking from the past, the Excelsior does so its own unique way. The building harnesses the formality of classicism, the spirit of Venetian gothic whilst dressed on some faces with Byzantine or Moorish flourishes. It must have been the most ‘Modern’ feeling building in the lagoon, in that it distinguished itself from any pure or overarching style. The Excelsior looked to be fun and uplifting, it was to provide the world with something new. It was a place where ‘guests exchanged their responsibilities for an intense interlude of masterfully managed hedonism not available to them in the elegant though somewhat forbidding European spas and sanatoria’ 9.

The beach and the capanne were the extra facets which gave the Excelsior and the Hotel des Bains their purpose. They were a sign of a changing society, sufficiently unique and cosmopolitan enough, they allowed the hotels to satisfy the new wealth of international clientele that had emerged at the start of the 20th century. The beach and the areas around these two hotels were to be the centre of Venetian social life for the next forty years.

The First World War curtailed a number of housing projects on the Lido such as a garden city scheme designed by Duilio Torres10, meaning that the owners and investors behind this new tourism remained the dominant force driving development on the island. From the 1880s the developers had been cooperating to greater achieve their aims. First they established the ‘Societa dei Bagni’ which then turned into the ‘Compadnia Italiana Grandi Alberghi’ (CIGA) which became and still is an internationally recognized company. This first company harnessed modest ambitions, they were simply in charge of the administration of the commune of Lido, yet CIGA’s grander ambition and role was to control Lido as a leisure centre.

Various CIGA initiatives throughout the start of the 20th century refreshed Lido’s role, especially in its relationship to Venice. By the 1920s golf, tennis and riding facilities had been set up, as had the airport

Blackpool Swimming Pool, built in 1923.

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to the north of the island. The establishment of the Venice Film Festival in 1932 ensured that the Lido would remain culturally relevant, but also had the side affect of fixing Lido as a very seasonal destination. It was at this inter-war period that Venice and Lido sat mutually connected, complimenting each other as a unique mix of the romantic allure of Venice and the comfort and sanctuary that Lido had to offer. Visitors in the summer could use Lido as a retreat, relaxation and refuge by the beach was available away from the intensity of the main island. It was this idea that was promoted across the world.

Large advertising campaigns accompanied the large scale development on the island, the name Lido becoming synonymous with sunbathing, relaxation and recreational bathing all around the world. In Britain the term started to be used for many of the socially driven, and modern public bathing projects. ‘Pools’ became ‘Lidos’, dressing them with the style and glamour associated with this Venetian beach resort. This rebranding created a new architectural vision for public bathing projects in the UK, they were now seen as more adventurous, more exotic institutions than previously imagined.

If you look at Blackpool’s classically designed baths built in 1923, a centrally domed pavilion is fronted by large doric columns and the surrounding colonnades address the oval-shaped pool, with the building grasping on to an historically recognizable architectural form.

“In opening itself up to the skies, the lido paid homage ’to unbounded nature’; it also offered the feel of fresh air on unclothes skin .” 11

“Lidos were represented as places of modernity, social and sexual equality and liberation. Shorn of their everyday clothing, the pool users appeared classless.” 12

Adapting to the term ‘lido’ brought a noticeable change to the architecture. Saltdean Lido on the outskirts of Brighton, represents this evolution. Completed in 1937, the new vision for public bathing in Britain was suitably expressed as an unashamedly modernist piece of design. Curvilinear and streamlined, this ‘natutical moderne’ style aimed at capturing the adventure and revolutionary spirit of the beach at Lido and bringing into the mainstream of British society. This new architecture had evolved from the capanne, it was similarly sun, beach and leisure orientated but it was enacted on a larger, more populist scale.

Saltdean Lido, built in 1937.

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“The lido became the city’s beach” 14

The capanne which stand on Lido today are not symbols of an egalitarian vision for the beach. They represent tentative yet significant architectural steps onto the beach, being the first attempt at accommodating the 20th century’s growing compulsion towards sunshine and the sea.

The beach at Lido is a man-made concoction, a synthetic landscape where societally placed thresholds have created a spectrum of different architectural typology. These different typology zones naturally reflect different aspects of society; some are more public in spirit whilst some more private.

The perceived desirability of the different capanne is directly reflected in the cost of hiring them. Prices range from 5,000 Euros per season for the more modest capanne, whilst in the more desirable zones they cost 15,000 Euros for the season.15

Like when comparing the architectural character of different cities, some of the differences in these capanne metropolises are subtle and some are more profound, there is a hierarchy as you move from one end of the beach to the other. These are not just a result of economic forces; the way the users in different zones interact and engage with the beach has formed different architectural responses. The sea remains communal and the two metre strip

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of land before it keeps a public boulevard running from the north of the beach to the south. It is not just this concessionary route, architecturally they are bound together, they are all from the same world. A world where ephemerality is celebrated, resilience is replaced with modularity. The elemental and exposed conditions of the beach are embraced. Discernibly modern, modular components replace the finely crafted details of traditional construction. Artificial and mechanically created textures fade in the sun while simulating the appearance of weathered timber, revelling in their synthetic formation. The prefabricated timber of old has in some cases made way for polycarbonate panels that are equally easily and routinely replaced. In a way this highlights the nature of the past 100 years of globalized industrialisation, where even timber is no longer the sacrificial material of cheap construction.

Unlike the city of Venice, which over a long period has accumulated its sense of history. These capanne have not, great expanses of time are not embraced, these ca pennes have and always will be permanently ephemeral. It is the ease with which they can be replaced and their instinctive renewal that gives them their permanence, and it is their enduring courage connecting the historic city of Venice to the sunshine architecture of the 20th century which keep their alluring spirit alive.

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Notes/References

1. Mann, Thomas. Death in Venice, and Seven Other Stories. Vintage Books, 1989. pp 68-692. Plant, Margaret. Venice: Fragile City, 1797-1997. Yale University Press, 2002. pp 23. Saiki, Robin. The Venice Lido. A Blue Guide ‘Travel Monograph’ 2010 pp 494. Boito, Camillo. Il maestro di setticlavio. Colombo, 1945.5. Jr, Henry James. Italian Hours. 1st World Library, 2007. pp 406. Davis, Robert Charles, and Garry Marvin. Venice, the Tourist Maze: A Cultural Critique of the World’s Most Touristed City. University of California Press, 2004. pp 1667. Saiki, Robin. The Venice Lido. A Blue Guide ‘Travel Monograph’ 2010 pp948. Davis, Robert Charles, and Garry Marvin. Venice, the Tourist Maze: A Cultural Critique of the World’s Most Touristed City. University of California Press, 2004.9. Saiki, Robin. The Venice Lido. A Blue Guide ‘Travel Monograph’ 2010 pp8710. Plant, Margaret. Venice: Fragile City, 1797-1997. Yale University Press, 200. pp 15111. Feigel, Lara, and Alexandra Harris. Modernism on Sea: Art and Culture at the British Seaside. Peter Lang, 2009. pp 16712. Andrew Fenner, quoted in; Worpole, Ken. Here Comes the Sun: Architecture and Public Space in Twen-tieth-Century European Culture. 2000 pp11413. Gray, Fred. Designing the Seaside: Architecture, So-ciety and Nature. Reaktion Books, 2006. pp18214. Worpole, Ken. Here Comes the Sun: Architecture and Public Space in Twentieth-Century European Cul-ture. Reaktion Books, 2000. pp 11315. Coles, Polly. The Politics of Washing: Real Life in Venice. Hale, 2013

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Out of season, we are left looking at the sculptural qualities of the beach.The capanne used to be ubiquitous in form and monotonous in nature. From the outset, Lido’s beach was organised around a repetitive pulse flowing up and down. Over time this pulse has turned into an idiosyncratic rhythm with an eccentric collection of characterful notations; giving life, vitality and spirit to this often overlooked component of 20th century history. These observations were noted on a number of bright, cold and wet trips to the Lido in November 2014, in an ongoing investigation I discovered the capanne in a raw, unprepared and honest state.

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1.

The furthest zone south of the beach forms the barrier between the inaccesible, unpopulated part of Lido’s Adriatic coast and the start of the tourist beach.

A number of different hut typologies are intimately arranged on a raised concrete bed, they are removed from the beach but retain an intimate position, orienting this garden-like enclosure toward the sea.

The larger huts are detached, giving each space its own indivicduality. The smaller huts are semi detached, but they retain there individuality with an alternating pattern of colour, with Red/Yellow giving definition to each.

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2.

A small concrete block faces directly at the sea.

Consisting of entirely structural concrete the feeling of redundancy and joyful excess has been lost in the construction of this modern interpretation of the beach capanne.

The horizontal massing of these beach huts, has defined all its architectural qualities. The service space at the back of the huts, takes up more of the floor plan than the floorspace of all the capanne. In this instance the servant space has well and truly triumphed over the served space.

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3.

An ‘L’ shaped cloister creates an informal and sheltered public space. It retreats away from the boulevard running down the beach, and performs its role as a communal reception area to these individual capanne.

These capanne are configured around this communal space, this typology is given the collective spirit on which the beach has always thrived.

The equally spaced columns alternate between structural and non-structural, concrete and steel. there is a composed rythm flowing along the front of the facade that the strong blue goes some way to neaturalising.

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4.

The turquoise capanne are the oldest, gradually they are going through a process of renewal. Of traditional timber construction, these aged capanne are being replaced by new. These new capanne are intentionally built with the same qualities in mind, yet are scarred by signs of the modern world.

The blue appears more synthetic than the turquoise, it is explicitly newer. The reasons for the colour change feels disputed, is the turquoise colour a sign of the exposed conditions of the beach? Or does it indicate a considered intentional change.

The application of this blue paint appears to be a threshold, it describes a distinct moment in time, from which the huts never regressed. The newest huts have been constructed using modern machine made fabrication techniques, signs of contemporary methods of manufacture are expressed on the exterior. The design has not changed only the way it is achieved, it is an ‘architecure of continuity.’

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The white exterior panels show their only signs of life at the edges. The ironmongery promotes itself as the most expressive material, emphasising the delicate structural system of the ca-panne. Rust collects at seams and on the imperfect surface of the PVC panel, giving them an age far beyond there years.

Mint green stripes compliment the powerful pitched roof giving the blocks of small cappanne a lively repetitive and unified facade.

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Sitting in their skeletal state, these rigid steel-frame construc-tions appear as if they are soft tensile structures. They relate to the Grand Hotel Excelsior to which they all belong by being a unique character on the beach. With their size they provide a series of humble spaces in relation to the grand interiors of the hotel. The eccentricity of this unique building extends onto the beach, grand vertical proportions are maintained in the generous ceiling heights of these capennes. A large void is created in a square hipped roof, this spacious void feels opulent and as a result modern construction techniques it is free of roof structure.

Anticipating the habits of its seasonal user, a furniture associated with permanency and stature, a bookshelf is left tilted in a vulnerable state of temporality. The bookshelf has lost its dignity, instead it is highlighting the ephemeral character of the beach architecture and the transitory nature of life on the Lido.

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7.

There is a pronounced heirachy in the rows running back from road to beach. There is a distinct order in governing the qualities of each terrace, and the space between each terrace feels powerful, like the horizon of the Adriatic sitting before it.

The repeating hut formation creates strong reoccuring lines, in the structure and patterns of the huts. The planes of the pitched roof are repeated, which add to the strong rythm of the beach.

Each hut offers a different level of protection, different layers relate to each row’s proximity to the Adriatic.

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The most solid and monolothic feel cappanne on the beach.Their is an emphasis on craft. Stylized fonts and details are highlighted by an army green painted onto the structural timbers and around the door. The timbers used have a depth and weight masquerading as permanence.

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Explicitly lightweight, these capanne are arranged in doubles. Like semi-detached houses they have a direct connection, shared constructional elements with next door, a ‘party wall ’.

The side elevations of each contain two ventilation slots, both in the interior space and the external porch. This inclusion of a ventilation grille on an exterior space could be a product of a compositional idea, but it is more likely that it refers to the standardised nature of this capanne’s construction. The com-ponents are machine manufactured revealing even further its deep-seated connection to the modern world.

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A collection of circular capanne. They are trying to givr the impression of being lightweight and mobile as they are appearing to reference nomadic, tent-like structures. They fail in their quest for structural delicacy as they expressing it externally, revealing a portly and heavy skeleton holding it up.

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These terrace-like blocks run perpendicular to the coast of the Adriatic. They feel self-contained corresponding to each other rather than the beach. They have created a series of unique entrance-hall like spaces which mediate between the open space of the beach and the intimacy of each individual room.

In running perpendicular to the sea, the arrangement of the rooms seems more democratic giving everyone the same view of the Adriatic.

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12.

The roof explicitly separates itself from the rest of the structure. Perched on top an exaggerated detail at both of its edges creates a horizontal band uniting the whole block. This datum gives a proportional feeling of horizontality to this particular zone, it feels unusual on the beach. This unique roof detail also completes each capanne, giving each hut its own presence, and making it feel like they want to be together.

The lightweight steel, scaffolding-like frame is hidden, it is clad in polycarbonate to make it look solid. It sits on a suitably casual raft foundation made up of easily accessible timber and paving slab components.

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13.

The PVC exterior clads a steel frame. An artificially created tim-ber texture, reveals its intentions to appear like it is constructed out of natural timber. Where two different materials meet reveals the flimsiness in its construction.

Machine-made decorative craftsmanship reveals the ornamental ambitions of some of these humble capanne.

The effect of the corrugated roof ’s on the sand around creates an interestingly artificial but also natural imprint on the sand.

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These capanne feel more temporary in form, resisting the urge to persist with the pitched roof motif that dresses most of the beach. They exist as pairs.

Given the relative size of their elevations, even the smallest change, such as opening the top ventilation window, alters the character of them as a whole.

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Robustly constructed and intricately detailed. An efficient use of materials and space, the floor turns to door when not in use.

The roof is a continuous plane that unites them all under one homogeneous form. The strong geometry of their arrangement, reveals many paths dissecting the block.

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A decoratively pitched roof, with an expressive

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This zone is distinctive in that it is a repeat of a previous typol-ogy. This is something that I expected to see a lot more of, but in turn this reveals something in itself. It reveals an attitude on the beach that embraces the individual and the unique, it seems important that each of these zones has its own character.

The perpendicular configuration in relation to the sea creates a boulevard that is shared with the zone next door.

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The rich and considered painting of these capanne gives them a warm character and feel. They are constructed as pairs, and they are painted as pairs with the datum transition from yellow to blue being at the same level, uniting both rooms. To correspond with their neighbouring capanne, the distinctive yellow has extended onto select elevations of other cappanes.

A shelf unites the two semi private areas, this is the one truly shared space as both of the joined capanne have exactly the same relationship to it.

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Explicitely relating to the sun, the form of the sun shade changes from back row to front.

In each row a different hut typology is united by the overall consistentsy of the colour scheme.

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An elegant steel frame is expressed in blue, separating itself from the internal panelling. Chipboard and timber are treated as the same material under a layer of black paint. The balustrade is presented differently according to its proximity to the sea, giving the zone an incredible depth of detail and subtlety.

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