From a model kolkhoz to an anonymous suburb
The built history of Ādaži
Ādaži Secondary School, 2024
Image: By author
Soviet Modernism often gets criticised for its dull appearance or homogeneous nature, however, that’s not how I felt growing up in a former model kolkhoz – Ādaži. Even though it was after the restoration of independence my childhood unfolded amidst infrastructure largely built under the USSR- red and beige brick blocks adapted to the countryside by the addition of slanted roofs, a kindergarten welcoming visitors with a jungle-like botanical garden, and a school filled with warm wood tones and a sunlit atrium. These and other modernist structures sprinkled throughout the town fostered a sense of belonging and community as well as created a distinct character. But recently re-visiting the town it reminded me more of a generic suburb than a once progressive kolkhoz.
Although Ādaži has a long history predating the Soviet Union - being a Livonian settlement and later a wealthy manor up until the First World War – there is no denying that the establishment of the kolkhoz¹ in 1948 was a pivotal moment in the town’s development. In the late 60’s the kolkhoz started expanding its activities beyond agriculture, incorporating fur animal breeding, an agricultural product processing plant, a plastic production facility, and more.² This is when the town truly started to flourish, becoming a model kolkhoz that attracted visitors not only from the Soviet Union but also from abroad. There are many accounts of the visitors being impressed by the quality of life in Ādaži and how it was governed. The leadership were strong advocates for the industrialisation of the collective farms and apparently put a lot of emphasis on individual responsibility with disciplinary action for loud arguments, drinking or any kind of behaviour that would embarrass the kolkhoz.³ In return they gave the workers many perks like free childcare in one of the most modern kindergartens in Latvia. But of course, it’s worth noting that these accounts come from the newspapers at the time - not the most objective source.
Kindergarten ‘Strautiņš’
Kindergarten 'Strautiņš'', 1988
Image: Author Unknown, From: galerija.adazikultura.lv
While being the ‘ideal’ example of a collective farm often used for propaganda contributed to the kolkhoz's ability to resist standardisation and build many experimental one-off designs, the progressive leadership was another key factor. Ārija Kaula, the wife of Alberts Kauls (the chairman of the Ādaži kolkhoz), sought an original design for the town’s kindergarten. Although she only served as a consultant, with Andris Melngalvis as the architect, what they accomplished was remarkable – especially given that most buildings at the time followed standardised, cost-efficient designs that offered little more than the bare essentials.
Opened in 1983, kindergarten ‘Strautiņš’ had everything (and more) that a child could need for a harmonious development – a lush winter garden with a nature corner where kids could feed birds and turtles, two swimming pools, various specialised rooms including a speech therapy room and physiotherapy room, library, music hall, assembly and sports hall, laundry, kitchen, hair salon and a staff dining area. It was designed for 325 kids divided into 13 groups (one of them for children with special needs) and even had a night group for parents who worked shifts.⁴
Even though the turtles were gone by the time I was attending it (if they ever even existed), I still remember the ease that I felt there. The main entrance led through an atrium filled with plants, with corridors leading to different sections hidden behind the greenery. Each group had its own wing, complete with a private entrance from the courtyard, an outdoor space, and a terrace. On the inside the rooms were light and open, overlooking the private outdoor spaces.
One of the reasons I got to experience the building as originally intended, was because of the director at the time – Sandra Breidaka. During the collapse of the Soviet Union, collective farms were dismantled, reorganised or simply running out of money. Naturally, this impacted the public buildings within them, a lot of the kindergartens were getting closed down - the same happened to ‘Strautiņš’. Some of its classrooms were rented for Ādaži Secondary School, some for Ādaži Private Waldorf School. However, the teachers had nowhere to put their own kids so they united and pleaded for one of the classrooms to stay open. So Sandra took on a group of kids of varying ages, brought in her own furniture and became a teacher, a nanny and a cleaner all in one.⁵ With time, more and more groups were added to the kindergarten and the building was given back to the municipality.
Kindergarten''Strautiņš'', 2024
Image: By author
Ādaži Secondary School
Ādaži Secondary School, 2024
Image: By author
Another original project that the kolkhoz commissioned was for Ādaži Secondary School. The building was designed by an architect from ‘Pilsētprojekts’ with vast experience in educational architecture – Vitālijs Fjodorovs.⁶ It was designed for 1300 kids with different functional volumes. One wing was designated for humanitarian subjects (including the library), one for sciences and another for younger kids. The hallways are light with seating organised by the windows. The central part functions as the heart of the building with a big atrium and a small stage for more informal gatherings, multifunctional rooms arranged around it and informal seating spaces by the large horizontal glazing. Adjacent to this is a big volume for all the sports facilities and assembly hall. What sets this school apart is the various facilities for after-school activities. Most notable one is the observatory (although when I went there it was not functioning and the tower was used for music classes), but the closest to my heart was the art school that has since been moved to the new cultural centre. (They were even planning to have a shooting range in the school, but it is difficult to differentiate between the intended uses and new activities so it’s hard to say whether it was ever realised.)
After the completion of the building, the architect praised the town’s construction workers emphasising the importance of craftsmen and the overall quality of construction stating that ‘any ordinary building in the hands of Ādaži craftsmen would take on a completely different look’.⁷ Furthermore, in a departure from typical Soviet practices, the architectural project held authoritative status, and the architect was regarded as the most important person on the construction site. He even added that sometimes the workers were more demanding than the architects themselves.
As a kid I felt safe here, everything I needed could be found on the school grounds. After classes, I went to the art school that occupied the top floor of another separate wing. I could get snacks from one of the stores located here and then go to folk dancing classes held in the spacious assembly hall. I only truly realized how fortunate I had been after transferring to a school in Riga. Unlike in Ādaži, this new school had a sports hall barely a quarter of the size, no gathering spaces, a complicated layout, and narrow hallways with hardly any windows. Ironically, despite its impracticality, that school remains untouched, as it's considered to be a cultural monument. Meanwhile, one of the most innovative Soviet Modernist educational facilities, Ādaži Secondary School, is being “renovated” as I write this. By renovation, of course, I mean insulation—diminishing its materiality and original form. The same treatment was given to the kindergarten Strautiņš as well.
The renovated wing of Ādaži Secondary School, 2024
Image: By author
Ādaži Market Hall
Kolkhoz ‘Ādaži’ Market Hall
Image: Author Unknown, From: adazubildes.blogspot.com
While going through old photos of Ādaži, I was stunned to see how the building now housing the ‘Elvi’ supermarket once looked. Originally built as a market hall for Kolkhoz Ādaži, it was completed in just 4 months by the kolkhoz workers mostly from materials that were left over after other projects⁸, something that seems very rare nowadays even with constant talks about reuse and sustainability. This hall wasn’t just for selling produce from the agricultural company; it also featured products from local residents' gardens. And just a few metres away the first (dedicated) pizza place in Latvia was opened. The futuristic modernist pavilion lived many lives after the collapse of the USSR trying on different identities, and for some time now, it has been home to a small casino… because, of course, what’s a small town without a Fēnikss?
Pizza place in Ādaži
Image: Author Unknown, From: adazubildes.blogspot.com
‘Kukulītis’
‘Kukulītis’
Image: Author Unknown, From: adazubildes.blogspot.com
The former bakery ‘Kukulītis’ has shared a similar journey, adapting to new uses and owners since the dissolution of Kolkhoz Ādaži. Once a modern bakery where customers could watch the entire baking process through glass, it now hosts multiple eateries and shops, functioning as a social hub in the town center. Back in the day, it was a place where customers and workers came together making the production process more open and personal.⁹ Though the space has changed considerably, traces of the original design intent remain visible, with glimpses of the building’s initial materiality, detail, and scale still readable today.
‘Kukulītis’, 2024
Image: By author
Boiler House
Boiler House
Image: From Google Maps
A building that I did not pay a lot of attention to growing up (and I think that says a lot about the surrounding architecture) was the boiler house. Though it may seem like a pretty standard, industrial object, the engineer Ēvalds Bērziņš included a lot of original architectural and technical solutions resulting in a peculiarly shaped building that instead of hiding, like many utilitarian buildings do, draws attention to it.
All of these buildings have a similar architectural quality, materiality and a spirit of experimentation. Ādaži is filled with interesting structures that all work together to create the town’s charming and distinct identity. Or maybe it would be more accurate to use the past tense here. It seems like most of the apartment buildings have been insulated, drastically changing their appearance and the same is happening with the public buildings. I’m not trying to idealise the past, however, it’s important to understand that these are not your run-of-the-mill soviet projects, they are some of the most experimental and innovative buildings of the time. If we cannot appreciate and protect the architectural heritage of a former model kolkhoz—one that enjoyed more resources and creative freedom than most—what hope is there for preserving the heritage of other towns? And, of course, one might argue that there is no need to protect these buildings, but is it right to erase all traces of kolkhoz life and the work and ideas of Latvian architects of the time instead of trying to learn from them?
A form of a collective farm in the Soviet Union
Celvezilv, 2022. Ādaži. [Online] Available at: https://www.celvezi.lv/teritorijas/ciemati/adazi/.
[Accessed: 05.10.2024]Sprundzāne, M., 1989. Mēs bijām Ādažos. In Valduguns, Balvi, Nr 53. Availabe at: https://www.periodika.lv/periodika2-viewer/?lang=fr#panel:pa|issue:365092|article:DIVL156|query:%C4%80da%C5%BEi%20
Arvīdsons, Ā., 2014. Ādažu Bērnudārzs. [Online] Available at: https://adazubildes.blogspot.com/2014/01/adazu-bernudarzs.html
[Accessed: 06.10.2024]Ibid.
Šabads, J., 1984. Nākotnes skola. Pilsēta - Laukiem. In Rīgas Balss,Rīga, Nr 226. Available at: https://www.periodika.lv/periodika2-viewer/?lang=fr#panel:pa|issue:541450|article:DIVL156|query:%C4%80da%C5%BEi%20vidusskolas%20
Ibid.
Vaduguns, 1988 In Vaduguns, Balvi, Nr 135 Available at: https://www.periodika.lv/periodika2-viewer/?lang=fr#panel:pa|issue:365019|article:DIVL154|query:%C4%80da%C5%BEi%20
Kovaļska, T.., 1986. In Dzimtenes Balss. Available at: https://adazubildes.blogspot.com/search/label/Kukul%C4%ABtis
[Accessed: 06.10.2024]