Ruin Porn: Greek Orphanage, Büyükada

Büyükada is one of the Prince's Islands, in the sea of Marmara just outside of Istanbul. The Büyükada Greek Orphanage (Büyükada Rum Yetimhanesi) is one of the world's largest wooden buildings, now a stunning semi-ruin. Built in the 1898-1899 by French-Turkish architect Alexandre Vallaury, it's the largest and one of the finest examples of Ottoman Beaux-Arts architecture. Vallaury, the head of the architecture department of the School of Fine Arts ("Sanayi-i Nefise Mektebi", now Mimar Sinan University), also designed the Istanbul Archaeology Museum and was a friend of Osman Hamdi Bey.

They're serious with the dogs and guards, otherwise I would have been in here in a hot second. The orphanage was used as a government building in the 1940s, and was abandoned in the 1960s. After a lengthy court battle, title to the building was returned to the Greek Orthodox patriarchate last year.

I've had trouble finding interior photos, but this one from the Turkish Forest and Environment Ministry's website gives a taste of the incredible interior decor. There's vague rumors of restoration plans, but I have trouble even imagining the expense involved.

Kunstler: Vinyl siding and the archaeology of the suburbs

I recently discovered James Howard Kunstler's amazing 'Eyesore of the Month' series, in which he drives me hysterics with his evocations of everything that's wrong with north American architecture. His meditation on covering old buildings with new siding:

Another tragedy in the making: vinyl siding goes up over a brick row house in Saratoga Springs, New York. This helps explain why Americans have no faith in the new. In this case study, the new literally swallows up history. There are some interesting things we've learned about vinyl siding since it came into use about three decades ago. One is that exposure to sunlight makes it torque, warp, crack, and eventually disintegrate. Since paint doesn't stick to it, and it comes with the "promise" of no maintainence (so the owners won't wash it), what you inevitably get after only a few years is a dingy patina of automobile exhaust. Eventually, vinyl siding's inherent crumminess and acquired scunginess will depress the property values of all the other houses in proximity.

Interesting to think of the archaeological record of the future: while it's an overwhelming visual statement, covering old buildings in new siding will probably leave little or no trace in the archaeological record. But assume these evanescent (compared to brick) coverings really do depress property values, thereby changing the social fabric of the neighborhood. Would it alter material culture patterns in a way that archaeologists could detect? Is there a ghost signature of vinyl siding - to be found in different food consumption, children's toys, car tires, or whatever it is that will lie underneath the backyards of America's less affluent suburban neighborhoods, centuries in the future? (High concentrations of saturated fats in the soil perhaps?)