Concrete Dreams: Photo Journey Through Socialist Architecture
Unveiling the Hidden Beauty and Legacy of Socialist Architecture Through My Camera: Concrete Giants, Urban Design, and Stories of Resilience
Growing Up Among Concrete Giants
Socialism is something I grew up with. I spent a full decade living in socialist Yugoslavia, a country that dissolved in the early 1990s after 45 years of existence. Growing up in such an environment, my first associations with socialism were often negative. I associated it with poverty, monotony, repression, unreliable technology, and economic instability.
One of the most recognizable symbols of these feelings was the socialist buildings, which were everywhere around me. These massive concrete structures further intensified the feeling of monotony and anxiety. The thought of living in one of those giants, sometimes as tall as 30 stories, felt like a nightmare to me.
It was precisely their intimidating appearance that left a lasting impression on me — one that lay dormant until I discovered photography, which allowed me to see and explore these structures in a completely new light.
At the time, I didn’t have a camera. Instead, an iPhone was the only tool I possessed. My main goal was to portray them through photography exactly as I experienced them: intimidating and grotesque.
Therefore, I wanted to capture the raw concrete, whose massiveness and solidity evoked associations of indestructibility and eternity, while also showcasing the violence of concrete imposed by humans on nature, with little regard for aesthetics. To emphasize the massiveness and texture of the concrete, I edited the photos in Snapseed, primarily using black-and-white and drama effects.
Through the Lens of Brutalism
As I immersed myself in photographing these imposing structures, I became curious about their origins and the principles behind their design. This led me to discover the architectural movement they belong to — Brutalism.
Although the word “brutal” originates from Latin and means rough, raw, or harsh, Brutalism as an architectural movement got its name from the French term béton brut, which means “raw concrete.” The term was popularized by the Swiss architect Le Corbusier in the mid-20th century, describing the use of raw, unfinished concrete as the key building material.
Brutalism particularly came to prominence after World War II, during a period of intense urban reconstruction across both Western and Eastern Europe. In this context, socialist buildings from the 1950s to the 1980s are often associated with Brutalist architecture. Their defining features — functionality, massiveness, the absence of decoration, and the emphasis on material honesty — aligned with the ideology of socialist minimalism and collectivism.
Rediscovering Socialist Spaces
Although I processed most of my photos in black and white to highlight the massiveness, texture, and raw, almost lifeless aesthetic of concrete, I decided to leave some in color to capture a sense of nostalgia for the past — a time that, despite its harshness, now feels melancholic.
I experienced a special sense of nostalgia while photographing the interiors of socialist buildings. They exuded an atmosphere that cannot be felt these days, the that felt as though they were the setting for a 1970s sci-fi film. Here, I present some of the most impressive examples of interiors I encountered:
A New Perspective on Socialist Architecture
Over time, as I searched for and discovered these socialist “beauties” and their Brutalist appearance, I noticed how genuinely delighted I felt every time I spotted one of my targets. I no longer looked at them with disgust. Instead, I began to enjoy them in a strange way, primarily because of their unique aesthetics compared to modern-day buildings, but also because I realized they had certain advantages over contemporary construction practices, such as:
Emphasizing Collectivism over Individualism:
As I looked at these buildings, I noticed how these structures embody an emphasis on sameness and collective living, where spaces were designed to meet the needs of everyone, rather than to showcase individual wealth or status. Unlike today, where urban areas often highlight sharp economic divides between the extremely wealthy and those struggling to make ends meet, socialist-era neighborhoods were built with the idea that everyone deserved access to the same quality of housing and amenities.
A More Human Way of Living:
Although it may seem counterintuitive to describe life in these concrete behemoths as “more human,” walking through socialist-era neighborhoods reveals how thoughtfully they were designed to meet people’s everyday needs: large parks, wide roads, kindergartens, schools, and other essential amenities. When comparing the socialist approach to urban planning with today’s construction trends — dominated by cramped urban villas where every square meter of open space is exploited for profit — it becomes clear that socialist-era buildings offered a more considerate and livable environment.
The Value of Durability:
In today’s world, where buildings are often constructed as quickly and cheaply as possible — frequently cutting corners on materials and compromising quality — socialist-era buildings stand as a reminder of the value of durability. They may not be beautiful or luxurious, but they have endured for decades and give the impression that they could last forever. With socialist-era architecture, you know exactly what you’re getting: durability above all.
Never Say Never
Life often has a way of surprising us, leading us to contradict our own assumptions. Namely, although in my youth, I found it unimaginable that I would ever live in one of these concrete monstrosities, today, as I sit in my own apartment on the 12th floor, the view from my window tells a very different story. When you live in one of these buildings, you no longer see just raw concrete, grayness, and monotony. On the contrary, you see a space that works. You see thick reinforced concrete walls that provide silence, privacy, and security. You see a height from which the city appears small and the horizon infinite.
I’ve realized that living in this building — though imperfect — is actually quite comfortable. And as I stand on the balcony, looking out at the spacious parks, children playing, or the sun setting behind the hills in the distance, I think: maybe these buildings are not just symbols of the past, but also reminders of what we once had and are now losing.
A Legacy That Lasts
Although I view socialism as a period I wouldn’t want to see repeated — my parents could barely afford a new pair of sneakers, and I tasted kiwi for the first time in Germany — there are aspects of it that remain valuable to this day, such as socialist architecture. As I walk among these concrete mastodons, I understand that they are more than ordinary structures — they are monuments to a bygone era. While many still see them as ugly, they possess character and a story. Their strength lies not just in the thickness of their walls, but in the ideas they embodied — building for people, not for profit.
Through photographing them, I’ve learned another important lesson: beauty is not always obvious but reveals itself to those who know how to look. The ugliness that fascinates is not a contradiction but a lesson in shifting perception, durability, and the thoughtful design of environments that prioritize human needs. Perhaps that is the true secret of their beauty.
Thank you for reading my story.
These are amazing - thanks for sharing - I've only visited Croatia once and then stayed towards Dubrovnik - not a huge amount of Brutalism around there!, but I did get thechance to explore the derelict hotels in Kupari Bay...
This was so good and I really learned a lot. The photos are outstanding!