Around 1940 starts the construction of Bairro da Madre de Deus, in Beato. An austere urban planning directed by Salazar aimed at reinventing the typical Portuguese house, to host the rising number of workers arriving from the south. By the 1950s, the project was at its peak and Beato had reached its current dimensions. In 1965, the Chelas renovation project aimed to transform the industrial neighborhood into a modern and urbanized area. But, by the 1970s, the district was described as a “cemetery of industries”. Today, Beato is an Urban Void.
Located at 40, Luís Cadote Street, moradia 361 was the home of my grandparents until the end of their lives, - the place where they lived their daily life and also where my grandmother worked as a seamstress, where they raised their children and where they grew old. But it has been void since my grandmother passed away, over 10 years ago. moradia 361 is a ‘void’ located in an ‘urban void’. A house that was forgotten in space and in time. By definition ‘void’ is the absence of contents; in this case is the absence of those that used to occupy the house. Those that are gone but left it filled with history. Each corner tells a story, each fissure or peeling paint tells a different episode.
The word ‘house’ is familiar: a house is a residence for human beings; a building waiting to be lived in by people, a place to be called home. As human beings, our home is our third skin, after the epidermis and clothing. Human beings need references; our home gives our place on earth. It is our shelter, our place of rest and our identity. It is where we live our life.
But what happens when our house is too tight for our life? What happens if our private space does not gives any privacy? What happens if our house pushes us out of the door?
moradia 361 reveals a private space, resurfacing memories of confidential ceremonies and daily routines that are the shadow of my grandparents home. Above all, it highlights the fullness of voids, the empty spaces full of history. It frees that history from the tightness of its space! [Claudia Conduto]
Located at 40, Luís Cadote Street, moradia 361 was the home of my grandparents until the end of their lives, - the place where they lived their daily life and also where my grandmother worked as a seamstress, where they raised their children and where they grew old. But it has been void since my grandmother passed away, over 10 years ago. moradia 361 is a ‘void’ located in an ‘urban void’. A house that was forgotten in space and in time. By definition ‘void’ is the absence of contents; in this case is the absence of those that used to occupy the house. Those that are gone but left it filled with history. Each corner tells a story, each fissure or peeling paint tells a different episode.
The word ‘house’ is familiar: a house is a residence for human beings; a building waiting to be lived in by people, a place to be called home. As human beings, our home is our third skin, after the epidermis and clothing. Human beings need references; our home gives our place on earth. It is our shelter, our place of rest and our identity. It is where we live our life.
But what happens when our house is too tight for our life? What happens if our private space does not gives any privacy? What happens if our house pushes us out of the door?
moradia 361 reveals a private space, resurfacing memories of confidential ceremonies and daily routines that are the shadow of my grandparents home. Above all, it highlights the fullness of voids, the empty spaces full of history. It frees that history from the tightness of its space! [Claudia Conduto]
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