New Moscow Architecture or Dreams and Realities of New Manilovs

He thought of the amenities of a life of friendship, and of how nice it would be to live with a friend on, say, a riverbank somewhere. Then a bridge started to be built across the river in his mind, and then an enormous mansion with a balcony so high that it could even afford a view of Moscow. And on that balcony he would drink afternoon tea with company in the open air, and have discussions on some interesting topics.

Nikolai Gogol, "Dead Souls."


Architecture is not art. It is an answer to rather immediate needs of an individual and society in general. Architecture only becomes art in rare moments of overall cultural growth, when a synthesis of the arts is possible, as these are moments of personification and impregnation of this utilitarian matter too. However, architecture is traditionally regarded as art. This is odd and amazing, just as the fact that architecture itself loves to be considered as art, or somehow unconsciously wants to be it. Either because the architect imagines himself to be an Artist and a Creator, or because of an inferiority complex caused by the derivative nature of architecture and the absence of real artistic tasks—either way, the aesthetic component that is present in architecture is, as with everything visual, prone to manipulation. This is no simple manipulation, but rather one by those in power, such as the government; it manages to convince architecture that it is beautiful and glorious while in fact it is not always so. In this case, architecture becomes beautiful as far as it is useful to the state, and its glory depends on its ability to glorify the state. This is how style arises.

Egor Larichev, "Architecture of Non-Disclosure."






Anyone returning to Moscow after a long absence, 15 years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, will hardly be able to recognize the place that has long been called “The Heart of My Motherland.” But even someone who has been away for only five years would be astounded by what they see.
The first thing that catches the eye is the ever-present construction work—everything is under construction. It seems that in any part of the city—whatever you are photographing—your viewfinder will catch building cranes that have become such an ordinary part of the landscape that the city seems impossible without them. Once a building is destroyed, resolutely and quickly, a new one takes its place at unbelievable speed. Entire streets and blocks of buildings disappear; and those Muscovites, who some time ago were horrified and tried to save the swiftly dissolving “good old Moscow,” have nothing left to save. That Moscow is no longer; there are only small shards hidden in inner courtyards and side streets.
Instead, there is a new city, already familiar, yet still striking with its speed and scale of change. Skeptics, in snap judgment, fresh upon arrival, claim that there is no style at all; it is not so. It is simply that during a very short period, styles changed several times as they served official and anonymous bodies of power. At first, the Soviet legacy—Russian historicism and neoclassicism—had been pushed out by what was later called the “Luzhkov style.” Now, before our eyes, this style is being replaced by neo-constructivism. Moscow architecture of the 90s had different names: historicism, postmodernism or eclectics. Now, one tends to be a bit embarrassed about it, admitting that, in general, it was “bad architecture.” It is, nonetheless, a great testimony to the transformation of power—the replacement of one form of government with another.

First-Born of Post-Soviet Architecture
The first building that demonstrated an intersection of the eras was the Mayakovsky Museum at Lubyanka Square (1987-88), which later was called “the first sample of deconstructivism.” Although actively propagated revolutionary avant-garde, the museum appeared to be entirely hidden by the new KGB building, which surrounded it on all sides. As such, the main task of the reconstruction work was to “reveal” the museum, to make it visible. Now it looks somewhat strange as the museum can only be seen through the bars of locked gates, and is only accessible through a shopping mall that is filled, almost as if on purpose, with odd cast-iron objects—the aim presumably being to prepare spectators to encounter beauty.
Headed by Andrey Bokov, the museum’s reconstruction began during perestroika’s euphoria when everybody thought that everything could be different and everything would be allowed. Both literary classic and revolutionary, Vladimir Mayakovsky “legitimized innovation.” As such the architects cast away all bans and uncertainties, and created the most radical public interior design for the next decade and a half. As Nikolai Malinin wrote, “Today we tend to admire their ability to catch ‘the freshest spirit of deconstructivism.’ But they didn’t know such a word back then. They made a museum that emerged from the realities of place and time.”
The place was great, for sure: the poet’s house appeared to be surrounded by a new KGB building. The metaphor was ready; they had only to make it come alive. Everything was done with articulate precision. Outside, there is an installation—a prologue. A ramshackle frame that symbolizes both constructivism’s simplicity: Rodchenko’s signature—and a broken revolution. Inside, a magical multi-level space had no equal at that time. Here a gaping void, there gathering in bunches, the visitor is lurred through the poet’s biography, marking key moments with decorative items. The climb ends in an ascetic room where the poet lived and died.
It was an absolute masterpiece, a brilliant conjunction of everything: place, time, aesthetics, the poet’s personality, and the architect. Alas, Russian architecture failed to either develop or repeat this success. The place itself, however, remained open and beloved by the public: the museum remains the arena of the most important poetry gatherings.
As an example of a new time and a new Russian history standing aloof, the Mayakovsky Museum forestalls all trends in architecture which could have, but failed to develop. Regardless, the 90s will remain in history as the “era of turrets.”

Luzhkov and Little Turrets
The Luzhkov or Moscow style, which is above all characterized by these tiny towers, is named after Yury Luzhkov, the famous Moscow mayor who has held office since 1992. Because the mayor became especially fond of these unsophisticated architectural details they were put on nearly every building, just to please him. Their multitude, in fact, explains why they make everyone sick. By the roughest estimate, there are 250 of them.
As the city grows upward, previously dominant structures disappear among ordinary buildings, and the city skyline needs new reference points. The same logic is used to explain the appearance of seven Stalin skyscrapers from the late 40s—Seven Sisters, as they are sometimes called. It’s quite another matter that those skyscrapers were a real leap forward and today’s little towers are just a shy little jump. (With the exception of the Triumph-Palace building completed in 2006, which rightly came to be called “the 8th skyscraper.”)
The spires of the tall buildings logically grow out of tiered constructions, while turrets look as if they were attached at the last moment somewhere on the side. As Nikolai Malinin elegantly put it, “The building, as if failing to reach the sky, spits into it out of spite; phlegm falls back down and, landing, becomes a turret.” Nevertheless, restoration of the special Moscow style can be regarded as a well-founded justification for the appearance of the turrets.
In addition, postmodernism enabled the architect not to invent something new in agony, but to draw from the old, widely and freely, to combine and re-interpret. Postmodernism successfully coordinated with the search for a national identity, which the collapsed empire was actively engaged in. The first thought that came into mind, then, was to reinstall the connections that were severed in 1917. So, everything under construction was built exclusively in historical styles; and little turrets were a natural reference to the past, since the city’s primary symbol, the Kremlin, has 20 of them.
The appearance of the very first turret, on the Balchug Hotel in 1991, was natural, as it popped up precisely in front of the Kremlin. But then they began sprouting up like mushrooms. The main absurdity of the “tower project” was in its unreasonable omnipresence. “When a reconstructed building in the center was crowned with a turret, it was understandable. When turrets appeared on modern buildings in the suburbs, it was absurd. The paranoia began when the turret became an architect’s ticket into the center. Anyone would place them wherever they could. Nobody cared what it was about; it was obviously a pass that the gradsovet construction permit office would accept. It then conquered the suburbs and became a symbol of not only new Moscow architecture, but of Moscow of the 90s—a symbol not unlike traffic jams, hobos, cigarette stands and plastered ads, night clubs or exchange offices. But unlike these, the turret has never been a natural consequence of the economic market, democracy, or other Yeltsin reforms. That was just our local idiocy.”
By the way, note that in the new buildings in Nizhniy Novgorod or St. Petersburg there are practically no turrets. And this is typical. The approach to “Russian style”—tower chambers, architraves, and kokoshniks—has always been inspired by hard times and the necessity of national self-affirmation, be it the second half of the 19th century (the Crimean war), the beginning of the 20th century (the Russo-Japanese war), or its middle (WWII – The Great Patriotic War). This is why that approach was everywhere in Russia. However, at the end of the century, we get an exclusively “Moscow Russian style,” where only turrets remained, despite all the richness and diversity of its foundations.
Three stages can be discerned in the evolution of turrets:
First: 1991 – 1995
The little towers are modeled to blend with the existing high-rise landmarks such as bell towers, spires, and hipped roofs. They act as dominant elements, attempting to complete the city skyline. Their prototypes are historical: bell towers, fortresses and monasteries. The most remarkable samples are: the Russian Cultural Center Red Hills, the Toko Bank on Krasnopresnenskaya embankment, Usad’ba Center behind Mossovet.
Second: 1996 – 2000
The number of turrets grows so it is not possible to take them seriously anymore. They are like toys. They are deconstructed, tower carcasses left empty, they are transformed into pigeon lofts, circus tops, belvederes, and rotundas. The apartment buildings in Daev Lane are noteworthy, as are the ones on Sokolnicheskaya Street and, of course, “Patriarchy,” designed by Sergey Tkachenko (1997 – 2002)—with column caps a la Vignola crowned by Tatlin’s tower of the Third International. It is not a house; it is a cream cake with Roman patricians instead of cream roses. By the way, on closer examination of the patricians, one can recognize 13 of Moscow’s main town-planners—architects and chiefs. A luxurious wonder with four different facades, the best example of eclecticism, postmodernism and the impetuous flight of bold fancy was recognized by the Schusev Museum of Architecture as a museum masterpiece already during its design and construction stages.
Third: 2000 – 2004
Historical turrets have become no longer possible, but the mechanism has already been developed. So, remaining on the same course, the turrets become explicitly high-tech in nature. They are now made of glass and iron and resemble spirals and gears capped not with weather vanes, but antennas. Here, some of the examples include Energogarant (an insurance joint-stock company) office on the Sadovnicheskaya embankment, the apartment house on Tishinskaya square, and the Nikoil office behind the Youth Palace.
By the way, this building faced a fairly typical fate. First, the house was crowned with the tower according to “Moscow style” canons, but construction wasn’t completed because of the 1998 market crisis. After it became clear that the good old days were over only a cubical body remained of the tower. After a year, it disappeared. But in 2001, the house received a new tower—a 35-meter high-tech spire. We just cannot hide from them. (By Nikolai Malinin, "SPITTLES INTO THE SKY: Short Course in the History of Moscow's Little Towers," Head-Quarters, 2004, p.10)

Luxuries
At the same time, in 1992, the first elite dwelling complex called Park Place appeared—a “junction of Russian constructivism and Western neobrutalism,” a prototype for all future “elites” with garages, kindergartens, laundromats, restaurants, and fitness centers. Initially, they were supposed to house, in complete isolation, representatives of embassies (the house was commissioned by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), however, after some time, the search for enemies got old, and the house was inhabited by others too.
Favorite materials of that period were stone, marble and anything that looked impressive and “rich.” The best example is the new Manezh building. A brilliant work by Bove and Betankur in the 19th century, it was built to replace the old one that had burned down. It inspires the love of the people and trembling among professional architects. There would be no complaints if it had not been so modernized during reconstruction in 2004 – 2005. The Alexanderovsky Garden looks somewhat odd, rather obvious and not very natural with all those lamps, benches, and pomposity, but they had never been so popular before.
Around that time, a first mirror building appeared in Moscow. It was the MacDonald’s building, about which opinions varied. Some believed that it was architect Alexey Vorontov’s mockery of the empire of cheeseburgers and hamburgers; others were delighted with this piece of “modernity.”
Along with Vorontov, Zurab Tseretely came to Moscow; his statues of occasionally striking sizes, multiplied in unthinkable numbers. As my artist friend said, “You look at this Peter the Great and think—what a thing! Cheap stuff, but how huge! That’s why it is so good. If it were smaller, they’d just throw it out.”
In 2002, this style declined. Russia got stronger, Moscow began trying to get rid of Russian free-and-easy sensuality and exaltation, which would have been excessive and sometimes displayed incredible levels of bad taste, but still remained a sincere Russian manifestation. Capitalism finally won, and Russian sensitivity gave way to brilliant forms of universal globalism.
Today, restraint and simple geometrical forms, smooth surfaces and absence of decoration are fashionable. Such architecture reminds one of the Moscow of the 1920s, the architecture of the Russian avant-garde, in particular, of constructivism. This is why the new “Moscow style” has been called neo-constructivism.
I seized the opportunity to speak about this topic with Alexander Zmeul, an expert in contemporary Moscow architecture.

Alena Boika (AB): Bearing in mind the last 15-20 years, could we speak of any particular “Moscow style?” The question comes from Vladimir Resin’s statement that Moscow style is already 850 years old, and as such it would be a mistake to refer to it exclusively as post-perestroika architecture.
Alexander Zmeul (AZ): In the Soviet era, house-building was on a mass scale. For architects, it was not creation but rather a question of adjusting the standard design to certain regions. When Soviet power ended, they got an opportunity to build; so many architects, who had dreamed of, say, fairy castles, for their entire professional lives, rushed to transform their dreams to reality. The same happened to the government, which was born and lived in the same boxes. Mayor Yury Luzhkov wrote a book, "Moscow Model" (2004); he grew up in a working district where there was nothing beautiful. So he also has his own idea of beauty. Postmodernism within historical styles was performed in the weirdest manner to embody those dreams—gold-domed Moscow, toffees-and-cracknels, little turrets, little arcs—this is what gushed out in early 90s and was called “Moscow style” or “Luzhkov style.” Imitations of the 19th century, imitations of tenement houses, but, of course, of poor quality, with poorly drawn details; all in all, it is appalling. Since the early 90s, or even mid-90s, it all started and then, especially recently, some progress has been made.
Although in some places they still build in this popular manner, a tendency has appeared to consider Russia a part of the global world. Now our mayor wants something made of glass and concrete. An infinite number of foreign architects are invited. This is why I think that if “Moscow style” of 90s could be somehow described: towers, little turrets, arcs, pilasters, and “Moscow style” involves enormous scale, luxury, but, stylistically it can be whatever—it may be a stylization of some palace such as Tsaritsyno, or a City skyscraper projected by some American company—investor architecture, which can be present anywhere. This is why I think that there is no such stylistic definition as “Moscow style.”
AB: Do you agree that the basic tendency in contemporary architecture can be labeled neo-constructivism? Everyone says that now is the time to construct those buildings that failed to be built in 1920s and 30s, or were built from bad material, not the ones projected by architects. The Moscow Hotel is an example.
AZ: You mean the engineering part? Then yes, probably. As for the stylistic part, I doubt it. There are architects such as Vladimir Plotkin, Sergey Kiselev, Nikolai Lyzlov, who used to work and are still within this trend of neo-constructivism and have more orders than ever before along with all the others. I think that the Moscow Hotel is not the best possible example as initially this was a constructivist project and then, Alexey Shchusev interfered, and so on. The problem is that the Moscow Authority thinks that City Center is the wrong place for such architecture. High ideas drawn from neo-constructivism can now be implemented: it just depends on the place. Even during those wild outbursts of architectural obscurantism, honest architects did not permit themselves to build little turrets.
House Catamaran by Vladimir Plotkin is the best example of this style. Just imagine the entire process: the architect’s idea, the customer, the contractor. Then there are building materials and the necessity to economize on everything. Low-tech, low-skyscrapers, low-cities. Nobody wants to spend money for technologies, for expensive building materials, because our capitalism is wild, with wild profits. Whatever you build, everything will be sold.

AB: What’s the deal with the Yacht House, which was under construction for so long, and then suddenly so many ecological and other problems were found that now they don’t know what to do with it?
AZ: But it’s on sale already! And the booklet of Capital Group, a real estate company that works with the house, is very significant as it shows the Yacht House on one side and on the other, an imperial house of Neo-Stalinist style.
AB: Among the skeptical opinions that can be heard of Moscow architecture is that we have many buildings and much construction, but little architecture. What do you think of this?
AZ: Yes, someone even said “there is construction, and there is architecture.” This is right, as it is simply space that is needed for construction. For example, the Mega shopping center on Leningradskoe Shosse; is there architecture? No, there isn’t; but all right, it’s not needed that much there. It’s quite another matter when an office center is built in front of the Kremlin. There is no architecture either. It is “something” from the point of view of people with average taste. The problem is in the number of these buildings that bear no relation to architecture at all. The lack of architects is bizarre and students begin to work since they are in their third year as no matter how good you are you’ll be hired anyway.
Finally, who goes for architecture? For a decade there were very few applicants to the Moscow Architectural Institute, and so everyone was enrolled. There are few architects in their mid thirties. Whatever you can draw, whatever characteristics you have, you’ll be hired. As such, you can imagine the fantastic number of such architects. But someone is needed for construction! Take, for example, Kudzu prospect, a prestigious district where a huge complex of six big buildings is projected, and nobody I know ever heard of any of the architects. And this is a person to whom a huge project has been committed.

AB: Considering, let’s say, the post-perestroika period from 1986 to now, can you mark out any stages besides the pronounced Luzhkov style and so-called neo-constructivism?
AZ: Take 1986. The projection of many big projects began under Brezhnev, construction began under Gorbachev, continued under Yeltsin, and it opened under Putin. The construction of the Trubnaya metro station opened in September; it had started in 1990—a late Soviet project. Many projects underwent those amusing changes as they were built as Soviet buildings first and then acquired some odd supplements. Transition—Luzhkovsky period—this increased and increased. But I think that the initial idea was good: to regenerate construction. Then it increased: first they restored, then demolished and built something similar, then they began to demolish good buildings and build something not so similar.
When speaking about this century, one can say that the scale is growing, but differentiation is also developing. For example, the renovation of factory buildings has become important. Typology develops as new buildings appear, kinds that had never existed before: apartments, art-hotels and others. The order gives birth to the new architecture. Highly specialized things give birth to the new architecture. You can’t say that everything is so bad. The taste begins to appear as the number of trends grows.

AB: If architecture is regarded as a peculiar reflection of tastes and wishes of a ruling class or the power as such, could contemporary architecture be called “Putin architecture?”
AZ: I don’t know, I’m not sure if you can say so; but yes, aesthetics of supreme power is in fashion. At the same time as is with the yellow glamour press, which is flourishing now but never existed in Soviet times—everything can be united. Putin doesn’t express any aesthetic preferences. During the opening in Tsaritsyno, he said, “Restoration is a question of historians; above all, it should be good for people.” This is why, I think, no directions from the top are sent to Russian cities. I believe that the only thing to say about “Putin architecture” is the appearance of vast sums of money—petrodollars—which can be seen among these endless skyscrapers, shopping centers—and such crazy projects as “the biggest resort in Europe with a roof,” with ski trails, aqua parks, hotels, and a skating rink. Whatever.
There are huge sums of money and lots of people who see that they can profit off the real estate market. Whereas the oil and telecommunication industries are somehow structured, real estate markets are not: people come, buy land, think up what they want to do on it, and build whatever they want. The only thing to be said about Putin’s era is that it is a gigantic project. The federation tower where the Biennale took place is a tiny turret. The state-run Corporation Vneshtorgbank occupies 35 floors, if I’m not mistaken. This is symbolic. But, of course, there are no aesthetic preferences there at all.
AB: What do you think of the statements about Moscow-City, where it is said that construction of some huge complexes began and afterwards the problems emerged—like swampy soil and illiterate Asian builders who construct complicated buildings where the functions are not clear?
AZ: "City" is such a funny project, a swan-song of the Soviet power. They thought for a long time what to do and finally, in 1990, Mossovet, the Moscow City Council, decided to construct a corporate center. Architects created a concept, drew “simply a building,” without consulting anybody, an abstract building for abstract people. The shapes and proportions of Moscow-city, its kernel, were to duplicate those of Red Square with bordering buildings. Skyscrapers were to be placed in the form of an arc along the turn of the river in height order. When the construction was launched, officials were proud of “the biggest foundation pit in Europe.” For a long time, nothing happened there. A lot of money was stolen; for roads 20 times more was “spent” than was required.
The first structure was built in 1997, in time for the 850th anniversary of Moscow. That was Bagration Bridge. Then, in 2001, Tower 2000. Moscow-City was not so needed as the demand for the space was not high. The main idea was to relieve the center. If it were done reasonably, it’d be great, but the will of the administration was absent. Construction was launched when money appeared, the economy began to boom, and oil began to cost as much as it does now. Naturally, the number of floors was no longer regulated—something far-reaching. From the center one cannot tell whether there are seventy or ninety, but masses of people are herded into it, and it is not clear how they can come and go, because the transportation system is poor.
As to whether these huge spaces are needed or not, I say that as long as oil costs as much as it does, then yes, they are needed. For example, in London and New York there are vast empty spaces, office buildings that were built in approximately the same situation. So, it’s the norm. As for the quality of the construction, it is a general Moscow scourge. On the one hand, watching all these workers I feel terrified, on the other, I have the only hope that if foreign companies are involved they not only project, but also monitor the course and quality of construction.
Besides, we still have “wild” construction safety requirements—everyone is overcautious. For example, in Europe, fire resistance norm for an average building is two hours, meaning that after two hours no one who stayed inside can be alive. Our norm is four hours. So, the walls are thicker, the floors are thicker, and even if half of all materials are stolen and the quality of construction is poor. But this margin of safety arouses optimism.
As for the soil, Moscow stands upon swamps. In Malaysia it is even worse. Unless protected, anything new will be given a hostile reception. When the first underground shopping center in Manezhnaya Square was built, everybody said that it would come down. I think that it will not; to be sure, there are problems of poor quality there, but you and I probably will not face them.

AB: What do you think of the statement that “good old Moscow” has been demolished and everything that has been erected or restored is a Potemkin village along with a “grin of capitalism?”
AZ: I think that it is absolutely useless to talk about it now as there are some separate objects and small parts remaining. For example, there is the Kremlin, though what is around it is wrong, it has no historic value: the burnt and rebuilt Manege, the rebuilt Moscow Hotel and, near them, the University where even the remaining brick fence was demolished and replaced with a concrete wall.
The way tourist routes are developed in Moscow is funny; it is not clear where to go and what to see on these walking routes. Either there are remakes or a few corners of patriarchal Moscow in the Kitai-gorod, in the Boulevard Ring district where there is a special spirit and environment, but their buildings of the 18th and 19th centuries have no historic value. But since they are not protected because of having no value, they are also condemned, unfortunately. It is our tradition, only the very best of the first level is under protection. As for the second and third levels, they are demolished. If the developers simply demolished and built something new of the same size, it wouldn’t be so bad, but it is obvious to the naked eye that the number of storeys grows wildly and steadily in Moscow. For example, earlier, when restoring a structure, they built an attic; so if a building originally had two floors, after restoration it also had two floors and an attic. Now it would have two additional floors and an attic.
Factory areas that are far from the center are more historic than the “historic center.” The hand of builders and Moscow authorities has not reached there yet, because the direction is rather new.

AB: What do you think of all of this? Maybe all those old buildings that really lack cultural and historic value had to be demolished, because the city needs to grow and develop?
AZ: Well, in the 20th century it was concluded that the past should be appreciated and preserved. On the other hand, good architecture and a comfortable city environment often don’t meet. On Ostozhenka, we have remarkable houses: the Copper House by Sergey Skuratov, Milk House by Yury Grigoryan and Meganom. However, the environment there is absolutely not comfortable—it is a lifeless space. On the other hand, there are lanes in Kitai-gorod, where houses have no value, but there are some grocery stores, some cafés where everybody—it is unimportant who—gathers and feels there much more comfortable. For example, in Istanbul, all the ground floors are occupied with stores and cafes, and only when you twist your head you see all those mosques and minarets, this staggering architecture, which at the same time does not press down on you. In Moscow, this kind of public space development has only been started.

AB: Can you name, say, five main achievements of New Moscow architecture to be seen?
AZ: I have some personal preferences: I like contemporary neomodernist architecture. Additionally, we have several architects who are great at neo-classicism. I personally don’t like it, but I can recognize their achievements. Personal preferences:
- Vladimir Plotkin, House Catamaran.
- Kvadro shopping center is a rare example of playing with landscape, usually constructors level everything and put something flat on it.
- Ostozhenka objects (projected by Bureau Ostozhenka and situated in lanes coming from Ostozhenka street): the Milk House, the Copper House, Brown-Brick house in Butikovsky Lane 5. (AB note: Something funny happened to me by the Milk House, when some guards who seem to stand guard over every building around Ostozhenka, could bear no more than two minutes of my manipulations with a camera and tried to tell me that “nothing is allowed.” To my insistent request to explain why I can’t photograph public buildings in a public place with purely artistic aims, the guard answered, “Not allowed and that’s it. And don’t write about them either.”)
- Bureau Ostozhenka’s object called City Tower, an insolent building, a penguin, a “pregnant house,” a sail, there are so many names it was given.
- a house made of glass of different tones, situated beside the church of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary on Malaya Gruzinskaya Street. The house is projected so as to preserve the view on the church’s spire;
- Mercedes shopping center by Alexander Asadov.
– Klyazma storage pool; neo-classic, the one which is not congenial to me.
- The Pompeii House by Mikhail Belov (2002 – 2005).
(AB note: I can’t but say here that all undoubted beauty of this house could only be seen and viewed if you had an opportunity to step back, and there is no such an opportunity there! A narrow street, a pit, and the only opportunity is to come inside a yard of Apostle Philip Church and to admire all the elegancy through the church domes.)
- Roman House by Mikhail Filippov in Kazachiy Lane.
They know how to work with context, with details, with technologies. For example, the Red Arc, an open-work arc in northwest Moscow. A platform will be fixed on it by 72 ropes, and a restaurant will be placed on the platform above the water. Or an apartment house called Aerobus by Vladimir Plotkin, a beautiful and horrible thing: a huge writing sheet with 2,000 apartments. The entrance is eight meters high where you have to go by escalator. A playground is also there, at the height of stylobate. You may have an ambiguous attitude towards such architecture, but, watching the process in Moscow you can be sure that there will be very many such complexes.

AB: What buildings would you abolish and wipe off the face of Moscow?
AZ: All the architects agree that the biggest catastrophe is a building in Arbatskaya square: on one side there is the beginning of the old Arbat and the Prague restaurant, and “this” is on the other. It is an old story too. There has long been an empty space. You know, in the Soviet period they liked to move the buildings; they wanted to put the Prague restaurant to the other side and to widen the New Arbat. For some time, they didn’t touch the space, and then, something monstrous grew up there. Ok, it grew up and that’s it, but, it’ll provoke the growth of other buildings there too.
Then, on Red Hills, near the Music House, there is a 33-floor hotel. It’s a hotel, ok, but now when you stand beside St. Basil’s Cathedral, you can see this spire from there.
The most terrible lack of taste is the space near Balchug Hotel, Kadashevskaya embankment. There is no a single old building there. At the same time, they don’t touch Tretyakov Gallery saying that no contemporary architecture is possible there.
Now, when I go to St. Petersburg and see people complaining of some bad monuments built there I think that if the monument is not big and not evident, then it is not so important. This is why what I enumerated here is what exceeds all possible sizes.
In summary, there is Grigory Revzin’s saying: “There is one big and bright idea—contemporary architecture, which lives in the West. Our task is to catch up with it, and then happiness will come. It is as if the Political Bureau has again moved to Zurich and is sending new directives from there. It is great, but we wanted something different. The theme of post-soviet architecture was to go away off Moscow’s imperial look. To leave for Moscow of non-state holidays, Moscow of Russian impressionism’s 'February azure,' for fairy and non-shaped Moscow, which in the beginning of the last century was such an outstanding opposition to state St. Petersburg.”
Will that “happy foam of lilac,” that Grigory Revzin talked about, appear through the new imperial style? Time will tell. Whatever happens, Moscow will remain the same city that amazes and seeks to exceed in every way possible with its vim, size and pomp—whatever way this pomp was expressed in the spirit of the time.

The author expresses gratitude to Nikolai Malinin, author of the Different Moscow website, Alexander Zmeul, architecture critic, and all others who helped to work on this article.

The following materials were used:
Different Moscow – drumsk.ru
Moscow, which is not there anymore - kotoroy.net
Ivan Yezersky. Constructivism in slippers. (“Itogi no. 44, November 2002)
citytrends.ru
walkingcity.ru
projectclassica.ru
archi.ru
compromat.ru/main/tsereteli/lepota.html

01.01.2008