Antonín Škamrada: We lack the courage to be progressive

A few days ago he celebrated his eighty-eighth birthday, but many a fifty-something could envy him his energy. Antonín Škamrada, architect, urban planner, specialist in heritage reconstruction. As a birthday gift, he treated himself to a book, his own autobiography. And it was this that spurred our meeting and conversation. What could be done on the island after the Milo factory, how he repaired Hradisko, how he resisted the construction of apartment blocks, and how the tracks of Bedřich Václavek lost one floor? He willingly recounted everything.
At two o'clock in the morning, on a fast train from Prague to Olomouc, I turned the last page of architect Antonín Škamrada's memoirs. For me, as a native and patriot of Olomouc, it was fascinating reading. Just a few hours later that same day, I was to meet with its author. Such opportunities don’t come along every day. We met at a café on Ostružnická Street. "This house had problems..." he immediately began to reminisce and brilliantly described the entire case in detail. He is credited with the fact that many buildings in the center are still standing today. We talked for over two hours about the past and present. Very little of it was excluded from the conversation...

“We won’t need architects; everything will be prefabricated.” This is a sentence that appears in the first part of your book as a warning from a certain party member you met at the beginning of your studies. It was 1948. Were you afraid that this would really happen?
Everything was heading that way. The panel construction began. Private construction companies were abolished. Our field was divided into A and B directions, with the latter having nothing to do with architecture. It had become a building faculty. Only a few of us remained. We were lucky that, for the time being, the best professors stayed at the university, such as Bohuslav Fuchs.

However, Fuchs fell out of favor with the communist regime. Weren’t you afraid that working with him might harm you?
In that famous February, it hadn't erupted so dramatically yet. There were just hints of it, but people were already beginning to split into those for and against. Professor Fuchs, whose work was purely functionalist, had problems, but it wasn’t yet that serious or hateful. He had his institute of urban construction and planning, where they dealt with everything possible: from transport buildings to cultural and even health facilities. The first year of study was still calm, only later did party members start to slowly make their presence known. I remained at the faculty even after my state exam as an assistant to Professor Fuchs. I returned to Olomouc only in 1956, and that was when it actually began. They assigned two elements against him in his institute; these operated covertly. The following year, Professor Fuchs was dismissed from the faculty. But even after that, we remained on friendly terms.

But you really didn’t want to build apartment blocks...
Yes. I systematically resisted them. It was very humiliating design work. A model was created that was gradually repeated. The documentation had to be signed by the architect, but he had no merits in it. That’s something I really didn’t want to do. My fortune was that I had a friend, architect Capoušek, in Olomouc. I asked him if I could join him at Stavoprojekt, in the heritage reconstruction studio.

The renewal of historical buildings then became the leitmotif of your entire career...
Yes. That was launched at Stavoprojekt. And for me, it was a wonderful opportunity to avoid those panel blocks and do something useful.

What was the state of the historical core of Olomouc at that time?
In a rather miserable state. After the abolition of private ownership, everything was taken over by the Property Administration. Even at that time, the houses in the city center did not look good and no maintenance was being done on them. At Stavoprojekt, we were the first to begin to address this comprehensively. We developed a so-called sanitation plan and pointed out urgent cases. Some were successfully repaired. But the salvation of the overall heritage could not be realized with just a few craftsmen from the municipal construction enterprise.

You say some. Does that mean that more of historical Olomouc was lost? Did some structures have to be demolished?
They began to collapse on their own. We saved what we could, but it was demanding and there were no resources to save everything. But the work, compared to those apartments, was at least cultural. Historical buildings had to be technically modernized to meet current standards.

But you didn’t only do reconstructions. Your first major independent project is the two tall residential buildings on Šmeralova Street, built in 1967. The contractor Pozemní stavby Olomouc pressured you to build them from panels. However, you resisted and created a unique work for its time...
I still wonder how I managed to resist and do it differently than was customary. It’s a coincidence. The investor was the rectorate, which wanted dormitories for a thousand beds. It was up to us how we would arrange it. We could have built one eight-story panel monoblock, and it would have been resolved. Moreover, cheaply. But that was certainly not what I wanted. I considered it necessary to first get an overall idea of the Envelopa locality. What was actually supposed to be built there? It was a former military training area, and for example, there was a powder magazine building. The entire area was in a desperate condition. Furthermore, there was already consideration of building additional buildings for Palacký University, for example, a new building for the Faculty of Science. Based on all of this, I designed a twin building connected by a social hall with an atrium. To avoid building with panels, we conceived it as an experimental structure, which was probably the only way it could pass at that time. The construction is made of cast reinforced concrete, the ceilings from panels, and the façade is brick. The window sills were clad in orange glass mosaic. Unfortunately, the execution was not of high quality and it gradually began to flake. When insulation was done a few years ago, it turned out that the mosaic could no longer be supplemented. So it ended up under the insulation. It is hidden there, but nobody will ever restore it. The building lost its original elegance.

The dormitories were supposed to have another floor...
Yes. A rather curious situation arose. The twin structure was supposed to have eleven floors. However, in the end, we were told by the rectorate that they had only nine million crowns for the construction. Our estimators calculated that the intended building would cost almost ten. However, the university did not have that missing million. We had to revise the completed project and remove one floor. However, this significantly affected the proportions of the buildings.

You later began to work in the Main Architect's Office in the 1960s. There, you often found yourself in conflict with the then city leadership. Were you able to steer the comrades' plans?
Politicians often promoted their intentions and were not always willing to listen to us. The chief architect Zdeněk Hynek participated in those meetings. A typical case was the construction of the Mototechny on the Envelopa. Its director from Ostrava had chosen a location in the rose garden in Bezručových Sady for the building, did not want to hear about anything else, and initially had strong party support for that. I consider it a stroke of luck that we managed to push the construction at least to the other side of Envelopa by the river, where the car showroom stands to this day.

Back then you managed to prevent damage. When did it fail, and politicians got their way?
For example, with the construction of Prior. An old department store ASO, but also an emergency service station, stood at its current location. Some solution was certainly needed. Even at the beginning of the sixties, when I was developing the sanitation plan, I hadn’t even thought that a new department store could stand there! I proposed the construction of a building across from the bank on today's třída Svobody. Next to the entrance to the passage stands a building recessed from the building line. It has no significant value and does not belong among those monumental buildings. It's a perfectly ideal place for a large department store with an area of ten thousand square meters! A large parking lot could be built in the basement, along with a ramp for deliveries, warehouses... But unfortunately, on the national committee back then, they didn’t understand this. It was shortly after the abolition of the wall watercourse; they didn’t yet consider that area as a center. Later, when the construction of the Prior department store began to be addressed, the leadership decided to build it in a location where people were accustomed to going shopping. What nonsense! And the political power fully complied with them. There was nothing to be done about it. The project was handed to my colleague Melichar, who was unhappy about it. Pozemní stavby dictated to him what they wanted there and how it had to be built! It was a very sad story.

Despite that, the center of Olomouc was otherwise quite spared. Some cities were marked much worse by the wild socialist construction.
Fortunately! The houses around the square were in quite good condition. If there had been some gap there, I can hardly imagine what they would have been able to come up with.

Your book also features a piece of the city's history. I was struck, for example, that Hradisko was to be seized by the Soviet Army after the occupation in 1968...
The fact that this did not happen is largely due to the chief city architect Hynek. In the neighborhood of Hradisko, the Russians built a housing estate for their officers, and even a school, where the Slovanského gymnázium now resides. The idea that the military hospital would be theirs was literally appealing. Negotiations took place during which the Soviets made this request. Hynek, however, stated that this was out of the question since it was an extremely valuable historical object! It was a huge and brave move and probably also a stroke of luck.

Fortunately, it didn’t happen, and the reconstruction of Hradisko became one of your major tasks at the turn of the eighties and nineties.
In 1987 I led the Olomouc branch of SÚRPMO (State Institute for the Reconstruction of Monumental Towns and Objects - editor's note). A chief of the military accommodation and construction administration contacted me and came to ask whether we could prepare a project for the general repair of Hradisko's outer shell. He had already chosen a contractor for the construction - JZD Otice.

That a cooperative was to do the renovation of a baroque monument?
Yes. Isn’t that amazing? The cooperative had its masons who repaired cattle sheds and similar buildings. And the soldiers agreed with them that they would manage the façade of Hradisko. But in the end, they were recalled from the operation, as such a project was obviously beyond their capabilities.

Did you hesitate about accepting such a substantial contract?
On the contrary, I was actually excited. As early as the late fifties, I had slightly participated in the measurement of the old state of Hradisko at Stavoprojekt under architect Capoušek, so I knew the building quite well. A substantial bundle of perfect drawings was created from that - a perfect basis for further work. At that time, architect Capoušek must have suspected that it would one day be useful. And it was as if he prepared it for me! I worked on the reconstruction, which expanded significantly, even after the revolution. Even as a private individual and retiree. It lasted ten years.

You say that the project expanded. What all was done?
The reconstruction of the outer shell included not only the plasters but also modifications of all four courtyards, restoration of the main tower, which until then had neither a dome nor a clock. However, the main work was the window replacement. The previous ones were made of soft wood, with white paint. But in such a massive structure, when the painter finished, he could start again from the beginning. Therefore, I advocated an unusual solution: the outdoor leaves made of oak, treated and varnished, and the inner ones made of spruce with white paint. This fundamentally changed the expression of the building. Initially, this met with misunderstanding: hospital buildings should have white windows! But time proved that this was prescient: even after all those years, the windows are still in flawless condition. Moreover, it added a certain nobility to Hradisko. To this day, I take pride in that.

There were also problems with the color of the façade; there was even a risk that it would be red. Did you have to fight hard for your proposal for ochre to go through?
I was afraid that if I proposed it myself, which I could have done, someone would turn it into a cause célèbre. I wanted to prevent this, so I approached experts, but they didn’t clearly express their opinion. Therefore, in cooperation with conservationists, I wrote to a certain Doctor Kroupa, who was considered an expert on baroque architecture. But he never responded. So I decided to propose the color scheme myself. Our workspace then fell under a center in Brno, which again fell under Prague. The highest architect Číla even attended meetings. When it came to the coloring of Hradisko, he declared, "Well, baroque should be red! We have it that way in Roudnice and in Prague..." Of course, I disagreed! I argued that Moravia is much closer to Austria and Austrian monasteries are yellow. I’ve seen them myself. In the end, ochre won. Instead of those masons from Otice, we called in the company REFAS for the façades, which chose very high-quality paints. To this day, that is still fine.

In the nineties, you also contributed to the preparation of the reconstruction of Horní náměstí. However, in the end, your entire team was dismissed. What happened?
That is quite a delicate matter. The initiative came from Deputy Mayor Tomáš Kvapil, a future MP and minister. A team was formed to prepare the entry materials for a future international architectural competition. Our task was mainly to prepare technical background documents. For instance, we found that all the electric cables under the square’s pavement completely illogically converged in a transformer station located at the base of the town hall tower. By relocating it to another building, the path to restoring the entrance to the tower from the level of the sidewalk would open up, as historically there used to be an entrance. From a tourist attraction standpoint, this would be very interesting, and the distribution companies agreed quite enthusiastically. We proposed constructing a passageway collector around the square: it would carry water, gas, electricity... When a need arises to make repairs, there would be no need to dig. Unfortunately, we were accused by council members of secretly preparing our own reconstruction of the square. Although that was nonsense, that's how things go in politics. The work was in vain. When a problem arises, the whole famous pavement will have to be dug up. In the subsequent competition, a team of architects from Prague won and reserved the right to make any future interventions in their realization.

This brings me to the question: should an architect really have such strict copyrights? So that the city cannot manage "its" square practically without the architect’s blessing? I'm referring to the recent hysteria over the replacement of light fixtures and adjustments to benches in Horní náměstí.
Copyright obviously belongs to the architect, like to any author. But it is not possible for them to treat it in such a way as it was the case on Horní náměstí. That no one may touch them and move the benches a few meters, replace the furniture, or the lights. That's just nonsense.

And we’re again getting into politics, which you pointed out in different forms even during the previous regime. I was struck by a passage in the book where you describe the beginning of the nineties. I quote: “I was afraid of the ruthless penetration of predators from the realm of commerce and entertainment into the center of the city.” You mention the infamously notorious Palác Morava planned on the Tržnice site. This was prevented, but a few years later, Gallery Šantovka similarly sprang up nearby...
I’m terribly sorry about that. I have worked several times in the past on land use plans for the regeneration of the central zone of the city. In the last revision we did at SÚRPMO, we considered the island with the Milo factory to be an absolutely unique plot. We wanted to keep it as a reserve for cultural use. Since the sixties, I have been advocating that a plot be reserved somewhere for a future dignified concert hall for the Moravian Philharmonic, which deserves something more than the Reduta. After the revolution, I tried even more emphatically, because it was genuinely feared that those mentioned predators would pick apart everything that would be available. The island seemed to me to be the most ideal place for that concert hall. Imagine beautiful modern architecture, surrounded by living water and bordered with greenery... In the city center! And compare that to what eventually grew there. It’s a shame.
The silo by the Tržnice was also meant to be demolished; it is nonsensical for a silo to stand in the city center and even be elevated with an extension! The whole space is utterly degraded by it. Yet it was marvelously and comprehensively addressed by the renowned architect Klaudius Madlmayr during the First Republic, who wanted a new town hall where the bus station is now! But nothing was realized. However, that is the fate of architects who engage in urban planning. Typically, ideas survive only one generation, and the next one sees them in an entirely different light.

Were you grateful when the archbishopric approached you in the late nineties, allowing you to "change the environment"?
That was an entirely different world. Noble. It actually started with the visit of the Pope in 1995. I had to prepare spaces for the Pope and his suite in the Archbishop's Palace. Together with the archbishop, we then designed the papal apartment. Since I got to know the palace in detail during those works, I subsequently received a number of other adjustments. I was also asked to assist with Velehrad and eventually with the reconstruction of the Cathedral. I became somewhat of a permanent part of the chapter inventory. (laughs) To this day, I attend working meetings of the committee for sacred art.

But you ultimately encountered intrigues even in the church environment...
Unfortunately, I got caught up in matters plotted against the archbishop. An ambit was supposed to be built at Velehrad. And something similar happened as in the case of Horní náměstí. Certain architects from Brno were establishing a monopoly at Velehrad, and the then-mayor was supporting them. He rejected the solution we proposed for the building. The archbishop finally declared that nothing would be built then. Yet the mayor allowed the ambit to be built there in the end. Recently I drove by... Well, to put it mildly, it does not at all correspond to the ideas we had about that building. It does not respect the surroundings, the requirements of the church... It simply does not belong there.

While reading your book, one becomes aware that some things have stretched through the modern history of the city like evergreens. For example, the gap in Denisova Street. You suggested its development in the sixties, and you are somewhat a "co-author" of this gap. What do you think about the Central European Forum project, those "bunkers" that are not very popular with the public?
You see, that is true. Some things get resolved over and over. Thank God that SEFO was not built in this form. The current leadership of the Museum of Art is already in different hands, and I hope that once the museum receives funding, they will announce a regular architectural competition that will offer a slightly higher standard than that of the monstrosities.

How did that gap actually come to be?
Two of the houses that stood there were in terrible condition. Around 1967, we were tasked with renovating them. However, this was impossible. They had a layout that was completely unsuitable for contemporary needs. Therefore, we proposed to demolish them, and along with them, we brought down a third house that was in a similar state. We agreed that it would be better to replace the old houses with a new building respecting the surroundings. The Museum of Art did not yet exist back then; it was supposed to be mainly residential buildings. The contractor was designated to be Pozemní stavby. However, it was mass production: cranes, trucks, storage materials... (laughs) For them, this was an absolutely atypical and unprofitable matter. They insisted that the gap must be enlarged so that a crane could fit into it and construction could actually start. So the fourth house was torn down, which was, however, in perfect condition! But in the end, nothing was built because Pozemní stavby withdrew. That was unfortunately how things went back then.

A similar case that stretches through the past like a red thread: the mausoleum in Bezručovy Sady. You addressed its reconstruction as early as the late eighties...
There was a long-standing problem with dual ownership. The pavilion was built as a tomb for Yugoslav soldiers who fell in World War I and therefore belonged to both Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia. In view of the internal relations within the socialist bloc, however, the regime did not particularly care about addressing the decay of this monument. Things began to move only at the end of the eighties when I had negotiations with the Yugoslav ambassador, who expressed his country's willingness to pay for the reconstruction. But then the revolution came, shortly thereafter, war broke out in Yugoslavia, and everything changed... Only now has it finally been possible to initiate the reconstruction.

From time to time, when various planned building controversies arise, it is mentioned that Olomouc lacks the authority of a city architect. You worked in a similar office in the 1960s, but after the revolution, it was you who said it shouldn’t be restored. Do you still think so?
You are right that I did not recommend establishing that office. Mainly to avoid the impression that socialist methods were returning. But some institute with similar powers that creatively supervises compliance with and updates to the land use plan should function within the magistrate. It should not be explicitly a design office, but it should not just be a rubber-stamping office either. I therefore recommended establishing a new unit called the Department of Development Concepts. Because development should indeed have a concept! However, they misunderstood this and added the conjunction "and," creating the Department of Concepts and Development! That’s nonsensical. How can there be development without a concept? Unfortunately, today no one can erase that "and," and with it, the original meaning has somewhat faded...
There were certain efforts to restore the city architect's unit, but it was always just temporary. Political power dictated before and is dictating again today. That's just the way it is.

What is your feeling about what is being built today?
You know, everything is subject to time and economic situation. And today, the economy prevails over any other aspect. That is evidenced by Šantovka. Recently, I have a rather bad feeling about it. Against the gray socialist façades, a wave of colors has suddenly surged. Entirely spontaneous.
Opposite the post office by the station stands a group of buildings designed by my colleague, architect Ladislav Pospíšil. The residents decided to insulate them but did not consider it appropriate to consult with the architect. They arbitrarily chose different colors: there is blue, pink, gray with green... Simply utter tastelessness. When someone damages your work like that, of course, you want to defend it. I tried to help him, but we were at a loss. The building authority has no power to approve the color of the façade. You can see that particularly in housing estates. Residents decide for themselves what color their house will be. That’s a catastrophe! They don’t consider anything, they don’t follow the building tectonics. Or they paint pictures on the façades. The building authority should have something to say in this matter because it is, after all, a public interest. And I believe they should have called the original designer for consultation. A change in the law would help. This is not just the problem of Olomouc; it concerns the whole republic.

To conclude positively... How much has Olomouc changed since 1990, and what do you think has succeeded?
It has changed a lot, and much good has been created. For example, I advocate the tall buildings on Kosmonautů Street. The BEA center is tasteful, elegant; it fits into the environment, harms nothing, and is quite distant from the historical center.

Since you mentioned it, I can’t help but ask about Šantovka tower. What do you think of this project?
Nothing. (laughs) I avoid that debate. I don’t want to say anything about it because in an hour it might regret it. But I will tell you from another angle. The ridiculous elevation of the silo at the bus station by the market should not have been allowed, nor should the existence of the silo itself... A clear no should have been stated there, and it could have set a precedent that could possibly help in the case of that tower building. But the matter is much more complicated and also pertains to the economic and legal areas. And those are areas I don’t understand and do not want to understand.

And tall buildings in Olomouc in general?
I would not oppose that at all. After all, those "my" dormitories are also tall buildings. It is necessary to find a suitable place, and reasonable people, not extremists, must assess it. I think - and it sounds a bit exaggerated - that this will elevate the entire city even symbolically. The elegance of the BEA center confirms that. Other buildings could be shaped in a similar spirit.

Is there anything currently being built that you consider remarkable? Or will we be left only with shopping centers, offices, and residential buildings on the outskirts?
I am following with interest the new construction in the gap at Sokolská No. 5. A building is rising there that will include not only commercial spaces but also apartments. In the context of the historical core, it is an extraordinary building. Of course, there may be some opposition to it. It has always been that way. It’s just a matter of courage to approve something so extraordinary and stand by it. I claim that we generally lack the courage to be progressive. As time goes by, matter changes. That is a natural law. I respect the preservation of historical objects, I am against building monstrous structures or undertaking wild renovations. But it also has to be taken into account that the demands for comfort, for the furnishing of houses change, that construction materials and technologies change. Everything leads to the fact that houses in the new era must look different. And buildings must be built in a way that current people want to live in them. And only building offices in the center? That is to deaden it. That’s why I like that building on Sokolská so much. Building in a way that buildings are alive. I think that is a trend that should be applied wherever possible. Not to be afraid.