It is worthwhile, at certain hours of the day or night, to look closely at useful objects at rest […] The worn surfaces of things, the wear that hands give to them, the air, sometimes tragic, sometimes pathetic, emanating from these objects lends an attractiveness to the reality of the world that should not be scorned.

In them one sees the confused impurity of the human condition, the massing of things, the use and obsolescence of materials, the mark of a hand, footprints, the abiding presence of the human that permeates all artifacts.

Pablo Neruda, “Some Thoughts on an Impure Poetry”

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Such useful remains, often seemingly ephemeral, surround the work of archaeologists and preservationists. All artifacts show use, however minor this use might have been, revealing that people at one time invested their lives in some way in an object. Seen in this light, things take on a new and stronger meaning, and the histories and accumulations of use of the materials can be better understood.

Historic preservationists view buildings in such a light. In other words, a structure can be interpreted as an artifact, and the building’s telltale marks, not only obvious visual signs but the intangible cultural impressions a building conveys to the people who use it, can reenact significant stories amassed from generation to generation (Schneekloth et al. 1992; King 1992). According to some historic preservationists, American institutional buildings of the 19th and 20th centuries are representative of a certain time and reflect a “moment” that has since passed (Schneekloth et al. 1992: 21). Such a snapshot of the past is worth preserving because of the rapid cultural and technological changes that have taken place within recent centuries. However, buildings do change with their times: they are adapted from time to time to fit the needs of a generation. Through such transformations, some elements of the building’s past are preserved, while others are adapted and still others are erased entirely. Thus, institutional buildings often no longer reflect merely one “moment,” rather they represent an accumulation of artifacts and their histories. Indeed, this dilemma raises the historic preservationists challenge: which histories are more important, and by extension what should be preserved and how?

To tackle such questions, an understanding of why buildings must be altered is necessary. The conservation of buildings differs from the preservation of other objects in that buildings are more visible and socially relevant, more expensive to conserve, and, finally, subject to strict norms of safety and efficiency (Viñas 2005: 73-74). Clearly, buildings are forced to change with the times. Safety and security standards are constantly improved, and along with such regulations buildings must also be updated, especially those structures which were built long before building codes were established. In some cases, fire safety is of the utmost importance, and building materials may need to be replaced to ensure a stable structure (Taylor 1992: 357). Proper egress must also be ensured; for instance, in buildings that hold large capacities (such as auditoriums), the main room should be located on the ground floor. Elsewhere, handicap access must be improved by installing elevator systems, wide hallways, and exterior ramps (Taylor 1992: 358).

Energy conservation, especially in recent years, has also become a priority in the adaptive reuse of buildings. The simplest form of green construction is the recycling of building materials during construction, which is not only resource efficient but profitable. Furthermore, heating systems, plumbing, insulation, and lighting fixtures are all areas that can be updated to lessen impact on the environment. Old buildings are often misconceived as cold, drafty, and energy inefficient; however, such buildings are often innately more efficient than newer structures because common sense prevailed when technology was lacking (Taylor 1992: 358), forcing architects to rely on natural conditioning systems. For instance, many building designs would maximize the absorption of natural sunlight through window placement. But, especially when buildings have been renovated a number of times, energy efficiency can always be improved.

Since 1998, sustainable construction has been encouraged through the Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) rating system, which assigns points based on a construction project’s success in following a suite of standards in environmentally sound construction. Some of these standards fit into categories relating to water efficiency, energy and atmosphere, materials and resources, site selection, as well as the indoor environmental quality during construction (Vittori et al. 2008, Bruckerhoff 2009). The LEED point system is also adjusted based on the project; whether the project involves the construction of an entirely new building or the renovation of an existing building. The impetus, however, for most adaptive reuses of buildings lies in the changing function of the structure. Often a building’s function is no longer needed in society, nor does its layout match its future use. Typically, such buildings gradually become underutilized and eventually abandoned before funds and community involvement provide the possibility of reuse. In the worst scenarios, demolition becomes the only solution, when a building has fallen into irreversible waste and collapse. A number of Providence buildings, especially those previously associated with the industrial revolution remain in such a state: as the function of a building becomes obsolete, so too does the building itself.

Abandonment can also be a result of more conscious factors. Often a building represents a past that some view as better forgotten or erased rather than restored (Schneekloth 1992: 22). Usually such buildings – for example, prisons and insane asylums – were originally designed to house deviant populations. Recently, however, even prisons have become readapted into, ironically, luxury hotels, including the former Charles Street Jail in Boston, Massachusetts and the aptly named Malmaison Hotel in Oxford, England. More commonly, however, such deviant structures fall into disrepair and abandonment and are rarely cast in a positive light.

Recently, abandonment studies have intersected with archaeological practice in a number of novel projects. Edensor’s (2005) examination of abandoned urban landscapes contrasts the materiality and use of space in relation to temporality. In treating abandoned structures as industrial ruins, Edensor observes that in such places space becomes disordered, while new, sometimes deviant uses and aesthetics surface (Hetherington 1997). In their Archaeologies of the Contemporary Past, Buchli and Lucas (2001) strive to regard archaeology no longer as “a discipline defined by a particular time period” (3), rather as a field in which even garbage can be analyzed as material culture (Rathje and Murphy 2001). In July of 1997, Buchli and Lucas (2001) studied the “archaeology of alienation” (159) through the excavation of a recently abandoned British council house. According to Buchli and Lucas (2001), this project was similar to any typical archaeological excavation in its context: no informants were present. The people who had previously inhabited the building had vanished, leaving behind their material culture (159). Ongoing studies through the Joukowsky Institute at Brown University have implemented similar tactics at the abandoned Crook Point Bridge and Rocky Point Amusement Park, treating these areas as archaeological sites and meaningful places (Harmansah 2007).

Though abandonment studies are not entirely applicable in the case of Rhode Island Hall, as the building was never truly abandoned, the same concepts of heterotopia and social ordering remain apt. In fact, Rhode Island Hall has in a sense been abandoned a number of times, for example, when the Biology Department relocated to Arnold Laboratory in 1915 and when the Geology Department moved in 1982. In each instance, the people who had used Rhode Island Hall abandoned the building, often leaving behind their material culture. In addition, the process of restoration is not only a physical reordering of space but also a social one. The transformation from multiple purpose space to construction site to archaeology facility involves a major shift, in which the transitional state of the construction site becomes a temporary social order.

Nuding (2008) successfully demonstrated that the multiple temporalities of Rhode Island Hall are detectable, and the renovations of the building in 2008 and 2009 have provided a new chance to document the building in its transitional construction state as well as to enlighten the building’s past through abandoned material culture. Though the renovation has provided such a unique opportunity to learn more about Rhode Island Hall, the construction work has also raised complicated questions regarding preservation. Even in the renovations of the most innocent of institutional buildings, such as schools, memory is inevitably lost, either accidentally or intentionally. The goal of historic preservation, though, is the almost contradictory attempt to save artifacts – be they architectural, cultural, or the building itself – in a situation of transformation that some would call destruction. The practice of archaeology in general, however, is often a destructive one, thus, the hope is that the information gained will outweigh whatever damage is caused. The restoration of Rhode Island Hall’s importance on campus and a closer look at its “worn surfaces” and its “useful objects at rest” certainly helps to counterbalance the unfortunate consequences of historic preservation.

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