La Rapidissima is a publication created to accompany the repurposing of the ICO Workshops in Ivrea, the redefinition and resumption of activities that started in 2019 with the new owner Icona Srl, after more than twenty years of closure and neglect. When we were presented with this idea, we accepted enthusiastically for two reasons: to inform those all around the world who are interested in the destiny of these factories, home to one of the most fascinating industrial experiments of the twentieth century (the buildings are part of what is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site); to contribute new contents, reflections, examples — suggestions from near or far in time and space — to the renovation project that will culturally enrich the work experience for us all. …

The ICO Workshops (the acronym stands for “Ingegner Camillo Olivetti”) in Ivrea are everything and its contrary. This is the place where, for glorious decades in the last century, work found its true mission, the highest and clearest, where products were manufactured with a global horizon in mind. This is also the place where, later, desolation settled in and the lights were turned off, leaving empty corridors, rusting gates, and flaking paint scattered on the floors in darkness for decades.

Today marks the dawn of a new day for this imposing glass giant and its still vastness. The new owners — a group of eighteen local and equal partners — have set out to repopulate these spaces and restore their centrality in the productive, social, and cultural fabric of the community. A new day is always an option when someone cares — redeveloping, renovating, rethinking processes come later. And in this case, there are many who do care — a vital energy that took many forms, expressing itself alternatively as a vocation, an ambition, a specific vision or a very concrete interest. All these driving forces are precious and necessary to imagine a common destiny and trace a new course. The lights are finally back on in Via Jervis, and the ICO Workshop are once again a bright beacon pointing the way. …

Germany’s first
experiment in democracy

The Weimar Republic was Germany’s first experiment in democracy. Usually, this era is regarded as a transitional period between the two World Wars. In fact, the Weimar Republic and its constitution laid the legal foundations for democratic Germany. The Weimar Republic was proclaimed after the defeat of the German Empire at the end of World War I. History tells us that, in the last days of October 1918, during the peace negotiations between the United States and Germany, sailors at the port of Kiel received the order to set sail. The reasons behind this order generated concern and anguish among those who were ordered to leave: some believed that the fleet was sailing to fight one last desperate battle against the British, others that the real purpose of the mission was to sink the fleet in accordance with the absurd military code of honor, and still others that the higher military ranks wanted to bring the peace negotiations with the United States to an end to resume the war.
The sailors decided not to follow the order and on 29 October 1918 they mutinied in the port of Kiel, starting the revolution that would eventually bring imperial Germany to an end. They met with representatives of the government led by Prince Maximilian of Baden, a liberal who had been appointed Chancellor on 3 October 1918. The coalition government, that also included the Social Democrats, was tasked with negotiating an honorable surrender with the United States.
In order to negotiate with the government delegation, the mutinous sailors created an institution that became the mainstay of the German Revolution: the Council. Based on the Soviet from the Russian Revolution, the Council was the political organization that navigated the country across the stormy beginnings of the republic. Normally, councils were elected at large assemblies that gathered striking workers, rebel soldiers, artists intent on using a particular gallery or theatre for a certain purpose. After the election, the delegates went on to negotiate, as the case required, with representatives of law and order, employers, theatre directors, city authorities, army officers, and then reported back to the assembly. Their mandate as delegates could be unceremoniously revoked by those who had elected them just a few days, or even hours, earlier, but they could then be re-elected shortly thereafter by acclamation.
From Kiel the revolution spread throughout the whole of Germany; assemblies were formed everywhere and councils of soldiers and workers were elected: the German people, exhausted by years of war, wanted peace and demanded it loudly. In order to reach a peace agreement, the United States demanded the abdication of the Kaiser, a condition that Prince Maximilian of Baden conveyed to Wilhelm II to prevent the social upheaval from getting completely out of hand.
On 9 November 1918, the situation took a sudden turn for the worse: Prince Maximilian of Baden, acting on questionable constitutional bases, passed the powers of government over to the Social Democrat Friedrich Ebert; shortly thereafter, news of the abdication of the Kaiser, who had fled to Holland, were made public. It was at this point that the secretary of the SPD (the German Social Democratic Party), Philipp Scheidemann, with no mandate or legitimacy, proclaimed the Republic from the steps of the Reichstag, a proclamation welcomed by jubilant cheering crowds (at least according to Erich Eyck, author of an important History of the Weimar Republic).
The German Republic issued therefore from a revolutionary proclamation. …

Interpreting
change

It may happen that, at some point in history, we lose our bearings. This phase of passage can last for years, it can be hard to acknowledge (and only reluctantly, at that) from the inside, and the realization can trigger nostalgic reactions that, while understandable, are ultimately pointless. When we no longer know what to do, we build a wall that serves to hide our weakness. That is what happened, for example, in the third century when Emperor Aurelian attempted to discourage the inflow of men from the north in search of new resources and a less complicated life. From the French Revolution onwards, everything appeared more final: a stratified society, culture as window-dressing for the dominant bourgeoisie, the enterprise as a production model but also as a reference for social dynamics and well-being intended as an accumulation of goods. Mass production required standard business models, laborers willing to replicate mechanical gestures indefinitely, and a range of metrics based eminently on size. The very concept of well-being (and even happiness) came to be valued according to a dimensional misunderstanding: for over two centuries, quantity has stubbornly prevailed over quality. Reality, however, is more versatile than the interpretations we make of it, and it marches on slowly but inexorably. The disorientation of these past years (but when did it really start?) is a symptom of a profound change that requires our utmost attention. It is a landslide which, for the first time since the Industrial Revolution, calls into question our relationship with space and time, and there is little point in looking for reference models. Instead, it is time to explore new territories in society, economics and culture, that are rooted in the very intuitions that were readily dismissed as anomalies when everything appeared to be working just fine, and that now can open paths leading in new directions. …

Ivreatronic speaks
the language of youth

We meet with the Ivreatronic team on a sunny afternoon near the Rowing Club, as the Dora river rumbles softly in the background and the city on the other bank appears relaxed, meditating and lost in thought. Droves of children run around on the green grass and small groups of adults sit along the river watching their eldest practicing in the water. Ivreatronic is an electronic music collective based in Ivrea. It is made up of various artists including its founders Marco Foresta, (aka “Fabio Fabio”), Marco Bianchi (“Cosmo”), Michele Pascarella (“Enea Pascal”), Mattia Barro (“Splendore”). To them, their individual names come after that of the collective. The movement that revolves around Ivreatronic is familiar to all but those who deliberately choose to turn a deaf ear to the city, out of weariness or apathy. Since the establishment of the network “Cittadini Illumina(n)ti” (which translates as “Enlightened/Enlightening Citizens”), the opportunities to engage in public debate — just like this one — have been numerous, and hopefully many more will follow. But if Ivreatronic needs no introduction, what are we doing here today? Well, we are here because their work intersects with two of the issues that we have been discussing in recent months as a network — that is, publicly — based on the results of over a thousand questionnaires filled out by the local community. First: that existing cultural activities are not entirely fulfilling, above all for one category of people, the twenty-to-thirty-year olds, especially those with a higher education (that is, those who should be retained or attracted in order to give a future to this town). Second: the spaces to organize cultural activities are very limited, extremely expensive to rent and therefore very difficult to use. …

Le Officine ICO (Ing. Camillo Olivetti) di Ivrea, tutto e il contrario di tutto. Il posto dove, per gloriosi decenni del secolo scorso, il lavoro si era dato una missione, la più alta e chiara, e dove si fabbricavano prodotti e orizzonti all’attenzione del mondo. Ma anche il posto dove, a seguire, la desolazione si era fatta il nido, con le luci spente, i corridoi vuoti, la ruggine sui cancelli, le croste di vernice sui pavimenti a segnalare decenni di segno opposto.

Un nuovo giorno è cominciato da quando l’enormità silenziosa di questo gigante di vetro ha una nuova proprietà, costituita da diciotto soci paritari del territorio intenzionati a ripopolarlo e rimetterlo al centro della vita produttiva, sociale, culturale del territorio stesso. Un nuovo giorno è sempre possibile se si riparte dalle attenzioni perché riqualificazione, riforma, processo sono parole che vengono dopo. E le attenzioni si erano già rivelate da tempo, erano diventate energie che affioravano in ordine sparso, qualcuna sprigionata a sua volta da una vocazione, qualcuna da un’ambizione, qualcuna da un progetto e qualcuna da un interessamento concreto. Tutto è prezioso, tutti sono preziosi, tutti servono se si vuole immaginare un destino comune e tracciare una nuova rotta. …

La Rapidissima è una pubblicazione che intende accompagnare il progetto di riforma delle officine ICO di Ivrea, la riqualificazione e l’insediamento di attività avviato dalla nuova proprietà Icona Srl nel 2019, dopo oltre vent’anni di chiusura e abbandono. Quando ci è stata proposta questa idea abbiamo accettato con entusiasmo di sostenerla per due motivi: per informare tutti coloro che in tutto il mondo sono interessati al destino di queste fabbriche, dove ha avuto luogo una delle vicende industriali più affascinanti del Novecento (non a caso questi edifici sono oggi patrimonio Unesco); per nutrire la riqualificazione stessa con contenuti nuovi, riflessioni, esempi — anche puramente suggestivi, lontani nel tempo o nello spazio — che possano essere di arricchimento culturale per il lavoro di noi tutti. …

Cino Zucchi is the architect appointed by Icona to redesign the historical Olivetti industrial buildings in Ivrea. Interview by Alberto Redolfi (Photographs by Davide Aichino)

Cino, you have been repeatedly called a “pop” architect. You are an irrationally passionate collector of objects and a music and cinema enthusiast. How would you introduce yourself to our readers?

The word pop is a neologism that actually refers to a long-standing debate: the dialectical relationship that exists in the arts and architecture between “high culture” and “popular culture” or, in more modern terms, between “high-brow” and “low-brow”. This distinction was famously made by Umberto Eco in Apocalyptic and Integrated, which along with Walter Benjamin’s The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, offers an unsurpassed commentary on the subject.
Many years ago, I wrote a book about Milan courtyards dating back to Spanish times, and in my research I traced the long genealogy of the arch on twin columns, that originated in the circle of artists around Raphael. Then, after the sack of Rome in 1527, it “traveled north” with Giulio Romano where it spread almost virally, and a hundred years later it was found in the courtyards of many palaces and public buildings in Milan and Turin. This motif started out as a “cultured neologism” but became widespread and almost “popular” over time. This happens quite often in the arts and I find it tremendously fascinating, just like its exact opposite: American pop art that borrows images from comics, advertising or magazines and elevates them to gallery material. When he was young, Claes Oldenburg explored in Ray Gun Wing the thousand degrees that lead from the figure to abstraction, from objects found in the street to artistic fruition.
Compared to what we might call the “classical eras”, today we no longer share a unitary culture, but we are divided into groups and subgroups with completely different thoughts, tastes, habits, fashion styles. All these subcultures coexist in shared urban environments that they actually alter day after day to adapt them to their needs. Unlike other art forms, architecture cannot choose its audience. And many of the architectural dilemmas that animate today’s cities — think for example of the controversial response in the press to the new skyscrapers in Milan or Turin — show us that people pass subjective judgments with no common ground on which to base them, according to aesthetic canons that are not shared by all. This is the predicament faced by architecture, planted on the ground and therefore exposed to many different audiences.
I wonder if it is possible to design an architecture that is both popular and cultured at the same time, where the two are not in opposition, but where the latter merely suggests higher and higher levels of understanding to those who are able to understand them. I would therefore define my work as a quest for the architectural equivalent of “sophisticated pop”. The music that I listen to while working at my desk — usually contemporary indie mixed with rock from the Sixties and Seventies — is catchy but not trivial, and it reveals its finesse only at the second or third listening. The same happens with architecture from the past and it should happen with more recent projects too: there are different levels of understanding art, but the second or third must never disavow the first. In terms of school education and background, the strange events of life have made me a cocktail of American scientism and European humanistic philology, which are often regarded as opposite but that are reconciled in my eminently empirical attitude. I have studied artificial intelligence programs such as LISP but then I have immersed myself in architectural treatises from the Italian sixteenth century. This oscillation from one extreme to the other has led me to distrust mathematical diagrams or pure historical erudition: my studies have led me to embrace the Docta Ignorantia advocated by Nicholas of Cusa and allow me to defend myself against people who use science or culture as a weapon to dominate or intimidate you. …