Keywords: sight, layers, stadium

What did the landscape say, when it saw the first settlers in the forests, when they built their first houses, when those houses turned from wood to stone, when stone became block, and block became glass?

2026 09 22

My research site is the former Jewish cemetery, the former “Žalgiris“ stadium, and the current Business Stadium complex. It’s the same geographical location, yet it holds numerous distinct layers of history. It’s a microcosm reflecting the global phenomenon of urban homogenization—the smoothing of cities. Anyone who has traveled across major European cities will easily recognize these standardized spaces. They all look alike, erasing the specific city’s individuality, aesthetic, and unique character. For a fleeting moment, you might find yourself disoriented, unable to tell whether you are in Berlin, Düsseldorf, London, or Vilnius. There are many reasons for this transformation toward urban uniformity, spanning a wide range of fields. I cannot cover every aspect here, so I offer simply my own perspective, observation, and feeling.

I watch various plastics fluttering in the air, new bright red pipes left on the street, which will soon be underground, sidewalk tiles closed in stalls and hidden from the gaze of passers-by. I watch and think that sometimes I identify more with such images than with nature. The landscapes of construction and renovation become closer to me than the real ones. The city draws you into its rhythm, illuminated streets and squares extend the time of day. Reflections in shop windows announce that you have become independent from nature. Fresh snow from broken glass sparkles at the bus stop.

I am sitting between two buildings with „holes“. In front of me, I see lobby of the building and Šnipiškės neighborhood. I look back, I see lobby of other building, the rooms, and in the distance – the square. I sit as if I were in an aquarium. The overlapping layers of glass let life and movement pass by them. The only fluid forms – plants and passing by people. Only the sky is left open between massive glass walls. There is no horizon anymore. Can you overcome such shadows? Create horizons? Even trees wouldn’t help here, they look like bushes. How can you live without a horizon? Dust passing on the sidewalk. Scale is out of sync.

I’m standing. I’m tired. I see construction site overgrown with vegetation. Security guard locks the gate. Behind the field, the new residents of the stadium shine. The new vegetation protruding beyond construction site fence is specially ordered, brought in, planted. On the construction site, the same plants grow as those beyond the fence—yet some were wanted, while others are unwanted and will be destroyed. Is there graffiti nearby? Where is the dirt? Physical space shapes memory. What does this place preserve?