| Urban landscapes (of Tallinn) |
| rasmus kask |
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Landscape is memory and palimpsest One possible way of seeing Tallinn is described extremely well by Hasso Krull (1), who proposes that it 'resembles a film, filmed in different locations but the narrative tries to leave the impression that events unravel in the same place, although only haphazardly; [random] shots seem to be taken in different towns, in different streets.' With this passage he tries to grasp the qualities explicit to Tallinn and at the same times makes a statement about his specific way of engaging with the city - gazing as a local citizen. Although different 'gazes' and 'gazers' come down to quite different personal impressions, even of the same landscape, some generalizations about ways of looking (maybe even of different impressions) can be made. This article tries to deal with questions of what 'landscape' is, how it is used and - on the practical side - if the streets of Tallinn are similar to other cities and what makes them unique. 'Landscape' is a very rich term in academic writing, with a notable history and carrying a great deal of baggage (not to say a burden) of meaning. Three main discourses can be distinguished - landscapes as physical or mental objects, human and natural spatio-temporal processes that create them, and their interpretations and the ways they are used by collectives or individuals. While the first discourse has prevailed since the beginning of landscape studies, the other two have become more dominant lately. Thus using the notion of landscape when speaking of Tallinn means to state first - as in the case of any city - that it is a built environment reflecting the natural, socio-economic, cultural and political orders within the history of its development. The following is not meant to be a brief historical overview, but is an attempt to show how cities are shaped, using Tallinn as an example and, in addition, giving hints of what Reval (Tallinn's German name) is about. It is considered common knowledge that the Old Town used to be a fortress, which passed from one ruler to another, and that its location was partly chosen initially for defensive purposes - a steep cliff on one side and a hill on the other - and it prospered due to its membership in the Hanseatic League beginning in 1285. Even these days the natural location of Tallinn affects its development and landscape quite strongly. (2) For instance, Lasnamäe is considered a district with a bad image, partly due to its lack of greenery, which is in turn related to geology - the limestone cliff it resides on has only a few centimetres of soil, making it naturally unsuitable for trees. This has been a problem since it was first planned and even now most citizens find it less preferable and sometimes even ugly for that reason. However, since it is nearer to the centre, some prefer Lasnamäe over Õismäe. The northern climate imposes itself on the architecture, the historical selection of locations, the species of urban greenery, nearby natural recreational areas and - some say - on the faces of people, influencing the urban landscape in manifold ways.  The early growth of Tallinn - both physically and in population - compared to other nearby Estonian towns is mostly attributed to a better location economically in terms of global and local geography, being an important trading port between Russia and Europe at the time. To counteract the influence of Tallinn in the West Sea region, Swedish king Gustav I established Helsinki in 1550, which has played an important role in Tallinn's development, both as a trade partner and competitor. Even architectural ideals have drifted here from the north, climaxing in Eliel Saarinen's Greater Tallinn project, which was never carried out. (3) Urbanization, in its contemporary meaning, is considered to be a result of push factors, such as a demographic explosion in rural areas, and pull factors, such as higher living standards in cities at the time of industrialization. Whole new city districts were built for newcomers and reflect the social and economic relations of those periods seen in the landscape. The Kopli peninsula, in northern Tallinn, is a textbook case of a development where, in time, new developments reconfigure and reuse the old ones - a park where there used to be a cemetery, a futuristic skyscraper (yet to be built) in the old Baltic manufacturing area, plans for replacing physically and socially degrading worker residential blocks with new apartments etc. Many other factors have influenced the population of Tallinn and left their marks on the landscape: the migration during the Soviet era and the modernistic block house areas of Lasnamäe, Õismäe and Mustamäe, the introduction of suburban lifestyles and parking problems in the town centre, notable emigration to Europe for better economic living standards etc. The same remarks can be made about city governance and street structures (organic Old Town vs neatly planned Õismäe), and hints of economic and cultural powers at work down to single laws that affect the landscape in some ways. While these processes have already happened, they form a crucial part of understanding how people - citizens and outsiders - use the landscape, leave their personal impressions on the city and relate to the urban landscape. These macro level events set the stage for daily performances, where all of the pre-set props are never fully put to use. For when I stumble on a cobblestone in the Old Town, it is not words of admiration of its history that follow, even though the encapsulated sense of the 'medieval' can be felt physically on the rugged path.
So how are the landscapes of Tallinn used? One way to describe their use is given in Tallinna juht. A user's guide to Tallinn, by the novelist Peeter Sauter:  Mustamäe is a city district south-west of the centre, built during the 1960's as a token of modernistic ideals prevailing in architecture, supporting the ideology of socialism and in accordance with the means and ends of its time. (5) The main structure consists of five-storey concrete-panel residential buildings with a multi-functional service centre forming the core of each micro region. This urban design took Le Corbusier's statement that houses are machines of living literally, not only in architecture, but also on the city district level (later Õismäe and Lasnamäe followed). Although made somewhat as a symbol of its age, residents have started to find ways to use it for their personal goals and (some) consider it just as much a Home as others think of Nõmme - a single house garden district next to Mustamäe. Why do I make it seem such a surprising place? Many citizens from other parts of town, and visitors from outside of Tallinn and Estonia are often frightened by its monotonous, imposing and grey (especially in the winter) landscapes. But to Sauter, for instance, Mustamäe is a 'dream come true.' Citizens establish their personal goals, ideals and values and use them through, within and on the landscape. Some of the alleged green oases on city maps are only parking lots or wastelands with islands of grass. But the actual meaning of vegetation arises in its use, whether it be trees creating shelter from the rain, aesthetic appreciation or challenges of climbing.  Instead of saying what Tallinn is, I have been trying to show that every glance and imagination of it is dependent on the particular angle one is looking from, the way in which it is engaged (whether from the perspective of a gardener or a police officer, for instance) and personally affected by its landscape. When a tourist takes a look around the Town Hall Square, he or she sees history, cafes, souvenir shops and other tourists, and gets a personal impression. Whether it comes close to the tourist's previous images determines his or her satisfaction. A citizen from some neighbourhoods might have an issue with a detail of the planning in his or her neighbourhood. A citizen from Kopli, on the other hand, dashing straight across the square to the corner-most building where the Heritage Protection Department of the City Council resides, might only pay attention to finding a particular house. These different ways of looking or experiencing urban landscapes form an essential part of understanding what and - more importantly - how cities are. On the other hand some generalizations can be made. The macro level events, particular ways of looking and experiencing, of rationalizing urbanism, of understanding the meanings of the physical environment and seasonal, or even momentary, attributes form categories and, finally, in combination with particular mixtures of these instances, landscapes. The 'tourist's gaze', for example, has been and still is a constant topic in many geographical disputes where some of its unitary qualities are considered unquestionable: colonialism or searches for Something Else or the Unbelievable. While Tallinn has its own Eiffel towers (in the sense of icons and high places to look at the city), asphalt Central Parks, miniature Silicon Valleys and other architectural or planning wonders worth visiting and experiencing, their specific qualities can never be reduced to single adjectives. Kalamaja is an area associated with shanty-town romanticism, but it is much more than that for the residents. The same applies for the city as a whole. But if someone asked me to put Tallinn into a single sentence, then borrowing words from my friend, I'd say that it is a warm bowl of soup (consisting of Unimaginable Ingredients) eaten in a Soviet canteen with a Silver Spoon; never able to be finished so that one can see the Picture at the bottom of the Bowl.
(1) Hasso Krull. Life like a fairy-tale. In Practices of Tallinn, pp 14-15. Centre for Contemporary Arts, Estonia; Tallinn, 2005. |