“If they can’t see at least 10 years ahead, don’t call them an architect” – Frank Lloyd Wright

Although this year marks the 10th birthday of Levitt Bernstein’s Manchester studio, the practice’s connection to the city goes back much further, to the 1970s and the refurbishment of the Royal Exchange Theatre. A seminal project that cemented the practice’s commitment to restoration, it also provided a world class example of retrofitting existing structures - an approach to architecture that could help achieve the myriad of sustainability targets society is reaching for.

Architectural salvation has been undertaken for centuries, but the idea of refurbishment and retrofitting is an extension of this. How do we decide what deserves our care and attention?

A form of trickle-down protection has occurred in the UK regarding our architectural heritage. The first state safeguarding for buildings was introduced in the late 19th Century but was only aimed at 50 ‘Monuments’.

What’s monumental?

This developed during the mid-20th Century, in response to the Second World War, a case-by-case basis of whether a building deserves be saved after sustaining damage from bombing raids.

What’s deserving?

The rapid re-build of post-war Britain accelerated the need to assess what we had before buildings were demolished, that could otherwise be salvaged.

What’s salvageable?

The point of the above is to emphasize that decisions regarding salvage and restoration are highly subjective and complex. An architectural treasure in one person’s opinion is an eyesore in another’s, and the act of restoration can be time consuming and expensive.

I would argue the question is not whether we enjoy the aesthetic and deem it beautiful or not, but whether we respect the process undertaken to get this building into existence.

A building is a time capsule, displaying the zeitgeist of its construction period through numerous architectural interventions. Materials, proportions, layouts make a nod to a previous era with nuanced ways of living and societal trends in arts and culture. It’s obvious to recognise these grand gestures in ‘monuments’ and grade them accordingly, but it’s far more challenging to apply the same logic to all structures that may appear generic but hide stories of the past, if only we would look a little bit harder.

This can be evident in large scale formats, but can also be reflected in the smallest building elements such as architraves, skirting boards, handles. Doors are embellished with intricate joinery and windows adorned with expressive lintels.

As architects, I would argue it is vitally important for us to safeguard these details, as they can easily be overlooked in the grand scheme of a renovation project, but ironically these small details are what make a space remarkable and will inevitably be the focal point, especially when seen as a whole.

Levitt Bernstein has undertaken numerous restoration projects, presiding over complex restorations and safeguarding beautiful buildings from a variety of eras. Bristol Beacon involved the sensitive restoration of a Listed Victorian building, and the careful refurbishment of these protected spaces, giving them a new purpose while preserving the character. (Fig. 1 and 2)

Stonyhurst College has a plethora of refurbishment projects dispersed across its grounds. A crucial element of this work is the intricate restoration of windows on a key elevation. The fenestration has been painstakingly salvaged and restored where possible, with particular attention paid to the thickness of frames and masonry details surrounding the openings.(Fig. 3, 4 and 5)

A further example of attention to key details is the Victoria Gallery and Museum, a refurbishment and retrofit project working within the confines of a beautiful protected Victorian structure. A key detail salvaged and restored is the large internal pillars, intricately detailed with a scallop pattern wrapping the main body. These elements are at the mercy of early project decisions and could easily be sacrificed to reduce budgets or speed up construction programmes. However, the benefit of celebrating and respecting such key components is at the heart of restoration, and its importance cannot be underestimated. (Fig. 6 and 7)

From a personal perspective I have experienced first-hand the renovation process, albeit at a much smaller, domestic scale. Since June 2022 my wife and I have been renovating and attempting to restore our own property. The building is a 1900s Victorian mid-terrace that has been overlooked and disrespected for over a century, bearing these scars in key places. Beautiful elements remain such as elaborate ceiling roses and an intricate entrance door frame (with only one half remaining after further investigation), but evidence of eradicated fireplaces, cracked ceramics and smashed glazing hint at a lost era.

Through the renovation process I have faced the same decisions encountered when undertaking large scale restorations. Can we afford to save these original floorboards? Is it worth spending months of sporadic work to restore this door frame? Are these tiles deserving of refurbishment (they are not the most beautiful tiles but it goes back to the above question, is it about aesthetics or respect?)

The door frame I initially encountered was clearly an add on, appearing as a second skin hiding something underneath, however the question lingered of what state was the frame underneath. Why go to effort of covering up something unless it was in decline? (Fig. 8)

Upon removing the add-ons, the original 1900s frame was visible, revealing a stunning timber structure with delicate mouldings, and intricate changes in planes casting beautiful shadows. The negatives were this detail only existed on one side (hence the cover up), with the other side bearing a substructure to hold the second skin previously removed. There were also only shards of the original side panel glazing and half of the circular timber Victorian bell. (Fig. 9, 10 and 11)

And so began the process detailed earlier in this essay. What could be saved? What was worth saving? The glass was unsalvageable, splintered and cracked, which only worsened when trying to remove it from the frame. The bell also was beyond repair, with a huge crack through the centre.

However, as the joinery was still in-situ on one side, it gave us a template to imitate opposite. The initial frame footing was rebuilt, with multiple layers of timber sandwiched together to imitate the depth and contours of the original structure. (Fig. 12 and 13)

Each original timber detail was then removed, cleaned-up and measured. We then re-built these details by hand, using architraves, beading and other timber off cuts, layered up to create an almost identical adornment. (Fig. 14, 15 and 16)

The finished work is suitably convincing, but more importantly the process undertaken to get there was extremely rewarding and invaluable, as an architect who can hopefully take these lessons into large scale restorations in the future. (Fig. 17 and 18)

I believe more concern should be given to restoration in all architectural endeavours and Levitt Bernstein has displayed this ethos in numerous projects. Buildings are unique in their ability to speak of eras gone by, and display periods of history through their existence. Architecture is an archive, and we are the curators.