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A room is moving, but not just any room, it’s the Berlin's famous Aleppo Room. Not for the first time and certainly not without ceremony. Once the heart of a 17th-century Syrian home, and now a crown jewel of the Museum for Islamic Art, it is being dismantled, transported, and re-installed in its new home.
I sat down with Dr. Anke Scharrahs, the conservator of the Aleppo Room, and together we revisited her memories. In this story, we follow her through the conservation and restoration process - which was a decade long and certainly not without hiccups. We then take a look behind the scenes of the dismantling process, and finally the transport and re-installation of the Aleppo Room in the newly renovated North Wing of the Pergamon Museum.
We had agreed to meet in the old halls of the Pergamon Museum on a chilly April morning in 2024. She had been preparing the Aleppo Room for dismantling, and I was curious to understand the journey of this four-hundred-twenty-five-year-old, now restored room.
In one corner of the space, she had recreated the welcoming atmosphere of a Syrian reception room, just as it might have appeared in the 17th-century. A brass tray with engraving rested on a small wooden inlaid folding table, set with delicate tea cups, an engraved teapot, a cookie platter, complete with vases of fresh flowers.
“Let’s go back to the year 2002,” she began, “That’s when I got a call from the former director Prof. Dr. Claus Peter Haase. They were planning the move of the collection of the museum and wanted to know how long deinstallation would take.”
The Aleppo room had been undergoing conservation for many years due to the delicate state of its panels. The museum team, under the supervision of the current director, Prof. Dr. Stefan Weber, and led by Jutta Maria Schwed, who is responsible for wooden objects at the museum, has been spearheading the conservation efforts. This includes securing funding, continuing research, and commissioning conservation work. Dr. Anke Scharrahs, expert in painted wooden surfaces from Syria and since 2003 involved in the conservation of the Aleppo Room explained the process.
“There was no stable climate in the Pergamon Museum in the old building back then.” She recalled. “Which means that the wood shrinks and swells every day and the old brittle paint layers are not flexible enough to move that way, they lose connection to the wooden surface and start chipping off.” She explained that the humidity range should fluctuate no more than 2–5%.
The first phase of her work took place in 2005-06, when she and a team of three conservators worked on the red frameworks. They got adhesive between the paint layer and the wood and gently pushed it down to glue it back to the wood. Consolidation of the panels and cornices happened during 2017-18, as this work required removing the panels and cornices, not waiting any longer until the relocation as the plan to move the collection and the museum was postponed several times.
“Again, with a team of three, we did the consolidation of the cornices. We removed each cornice, one by one, consolidated the gilding and paint layers, and put them back up,” she said explaining that while it looked impressive from a distance, a closer look to the surface would reveal that the work was not yet done. The surface had endured a lot of losses over 400 years. The old lacquer, applied over earlier varnish layers, was becoming unstable. “Over time, it builds up internal tension,” she explained. “Eventually, this tension leads the paint layer to lift and flake off.”
So, when COVID happened in 2020, and the world shut down, Dr. Scharrahs was working on the panels. “I was the only person allowed to go to the museum. Panel by panel, I took them down, sat at my table beneath the gallery lights, masked against acetone fumes, and peeled away centuries of varnish. For almost four years that’s what I did, still sat there, working behind the glass, as visitors watched.”
“It's an old object and it should still look like an old piece.” She told me about her conservator’s ethic, using watercolors for filling in the losses so that future restorers might lift her work without harming the original beneath. “No invention,” she emphasized. “Only filling losses where the original was clear.”
The empty surrounding rooms, where the dismantled elements would eventually be stored, needed time for the climate to stabilize. The relative humidity levels were monitored closely for two to three months.
In April 2024, with the climate stabilized, the protective glass door sealing off the room was finally removed. With this the dismantling process could finally begin.
After this, the wooden panels were carefully removed individually by Dr. Scharrahs, who has worked on the room for over a decade. She keeps thorough documentation of each panel. Each panel is numbered and the screws that keep them in place are also identified.
She tells me that the screws that were used in 1960s were not of optimal quality, and the panels were fixed too rigidly, resulting in cracks in the wood. More than 650 screws had been used; most were later replaced with stainless steel during the conservation process a few years ago and none of the new screws were added in places where the wood had cracked. Therefore, she emphasized that it was very important that during the dismantling process a list to track where screws should not be added be maintained.
By the last week of April, all the panels had been removed and transferred into an adjacent, climate-controlled room. The move was done with extreme care, as the surfaces were vulnerable to damage.
Next came the cornices. These decorative upper elements were more delicate than they appeared, especially the curved sections which are backed with canvas.
“These are among the most fragile parts,” Anke noted while pointing towards the cornice. “Even gentle lifting risks paint chipping if you're not careful.”
They were lifted cautiously and stored alongside the panels.
The last structural elements to be removed were the wooden frames. These would not be transported by the transport vehicles, but rather by hand. Art handlers would carry them on foot from the South Wing of the museum to their new home in the North Wing.
Once all elements were dismantled and stored, there was another hiatus. The North Wing, where the Aleppo Room will eventually be reassembled, also needed to have stable climate. Only after the climate there stabilizes could the large objects be moved.
Finally, the wait is over. It is now the year 2025, just two years before the museum will reopen its doors to the public. When I arrive at the North Wing, I find Dr. Scharrahs speaking with the security personnel.
“Any minute now,” she says to me after we greet each other. “The art handlers will begin carrying parts of the Aleppo Room through these doors.”
The space that will soon house the Aleppo Room looks empty and feels quiet. The marble flooring at the entrance, a new addition to the new room, draws my attention. Its design is inspired by the original reception room in the Wakil House in Aleppo, the house from which the Aleppo Room originates. The geometric pattern on the floor subtly marks the location where a fountain once stood in the original house, bringing a sense of place back into this reconstructed context.
Standing in the Aleppo Room, you feel surrounded by a language of ornamentation that once spoke to merchants, pilgrims, and poets alike. Its painted surfaces tell stories of multicultural and multi-religious urban societies of Syria in the early 17th century. The photos really don’t do it justice, the carved wooden surface, the floral patterns and painted calligraphed verses, the use of lapis lazuli and shimmering gold flakes, all feel very alive in person.
Right now, the room is almost ready. I’ve tried to show what it means to work with fragile historical material in a museum, how much care, compromise, and uncertainty is involved. But really, you have to come see it with your own eyes when the museum reopens in 2027. Some things can’t be fully captured in writing. They’re meant to be walked into, stood inside, and felt.
Farwah Rizvi is a Storytelling Assistant at the Museum for Islamic Art. This story was written with immense gratitude to Jutta Maria Schwed, Dr. Miriam Kühn and Dr. Anke Scharrahs, Cornelia Weber, whose expertise and knowledge made it possible.
Further Reading:
What treasures lie hidden behind the ornate interiors of historic homes in Damascus, Aleppo, and beyond? What curious connection do fish have with these intricate decorations? And how can these delicate artworks be preserved for future generations?
Find out in this video with conservation expert Anke Scharrahs, as she reveals the secrets and techniques behind Syria’s rich interior design heritage.
The Syrian Heritage Archive Project team recently launched a series of restoration workshops in Bayt Wakil in Aleppo - the historic house from which the Aleppo Room in Berlin originates. These efforts are supported by the Friends of the Museum for Islamic Art in Berlin and funded by the Gerda Henkel Foundation.
Under the project titled “Restoration of Bayt Wakil in Aleppo – Revitalizing Trades of Traditional Building Crafts through On-the-Job Trainings”, the team has been conducting on-site stone carving training, completing essential structural restoration work, and preparing for upcoming stone masonry sessions. In addition, traditional carpentry commissions are underway. The team has welcomed visits from both local and international experts and is currently planning a hands-on restoration workshop and a public event at the site.
An insight into the dismantling of the permament exhibition of the Museum for Islamic Art.
The Alhambra cupola will be reinstalled in our future exhibition in the Pergamonmuseum’s north wing. Read about its dismantling process.
Wonder how the process of dismantling an exhibition in the museum looks like? Get an insight into the techniques and methods used for taking down the carpet exhibition in the Museum for Islamic Art.