Moscow Silos 

Harvesting Architectural Heritage

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The Moscow grain silos rise from the center of town like quiet monuments—weathered, weighty, and steeped in memory. Built to store the harvests that once sustained the Palouse, they were never meant to be admired. Yet over time, their presence has become undeniable. Standing tall amid the city’s daily life, they embody both the labor of the land and the quiet poetry of permanence. Now hollow and disused, they wait—not for erasure, but for renewal.

 

This project begins with reverence. The design preserves the raw concrete forms of the silos, honoring their presence as both industrial relics and civic sculptures. No longer needed for grain, they become containers for something more abstract—light, memory, and community. Into their massive shells, a new rhythm is carved: a field of perforations etched into the concrete walls. These openings follow the topographic curves of the surrounding Palouse hills, transforming each silo into a kind of architectural echo of the land that shaped it. As the sun moves overhead, light filters through in ever-changing patterns—casting shadows that drift across the interior like wind over wheat fields.

 

Inside, the architecture is quiet and intentional. Minimal interventions—bridges, platforms, and stairs—thread gently through the volumes. The scale of the silos is allowed to breathe; the raw concrete remains exposed, textured by time, while new materials like glass, wood, and steel are introduced with restraint. There’s a careful balance between old and new, heavy and light, presence and openness. From within the silos a cathedral like space is created through it's monumental height and nave, Similar to the stained glass windows, the perforated openings allow for light to filter into the space revealing the deep cylindrical concrete forms that gesture towards the sky, softening the mass, and giving the space a subtle sense of life.

 

At the ground level, the project opens outward to the community. A café, food trucks, and gathering spaces bring everyday activity into the base of the silos. Below the cafe sits underground concrete basement that is converted into a wine cellar and lounge.  On top of the grain silos rests a restaurant allowing for panoramic views of Moscow, the University of Idaho campus and the greater Palouse. 

 

The silos are imagined not as isolated art objects or preserved ruins, but as a new kind of civic anchor—adaptable, expressive, and shared. Their transformation is not about spectacle, but care. Interpretive exhibits might trace the agricultural history of the Palouse or the indigenous relationships to the land. Community events, performances, or rotating installations can inhabit the structure seasonally. But just as meaningfully, the space can hold quiet moments of rest and observation—allowing the public to simply be with these forms, and with the land they rise from.

 

Rather than erasing the silos’ past, this project builds directly upon it. Their renewal is grounded in a respect for place—its history, its people, and its natural rhythms. What was once a storage vessel becomes a spatial and symbolic one: a place where light moves through history, where architecture listens more than it speaks. The silos no longer hold grain, but something just as vital—shared memory, and a sense of what’s possible when we care for the past without clinging to it.

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This is not just only about adaptive reuse but also a reclamation of spirit. The silos are no longer storage, but story. Their transformation is rooted not in novelty, but in reverence for the Palouse and its rich history. What once held grain now holds memory and imagination, casting dappled light on the future of the Palouse.

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