But that €50 million does not tell the whole story. The city council and other public bodies took responsibility for essential work, starting with the remediation of land contaminated by gas production, which cost around €25 million according to the account of Evert Verhagen, the project manager at the time. This was supplemented by investment in creating the park and financial instruments to support the restoration of the buildings. The land remained within the municipal landholding system, while the private developer took on investment and management obligations for the buildings. This was therefore not a freehold sale of the entire complex, but a public-private arrangement that distributed costs and responsibilities.

In 2018, a group of investors, including electronic music entrepreneur Duncan Stutterheim, acquired rights and ownership interests relating to 17 historic landmark buildings, encompassing cultural spaces, offices, restaurants and accommodation. The Gashouder thus operates within an economic ecosystem much broader than a single concert venue. Today, its operator aims to support the artistic programme through ticket sales, commercial events and rental income. The model is clear, although neither the cost of the latest restoration nor the financial results of the new management have yet been fully documented publicly.

There is also a risk, of course: when commercial spaces generate more income than cultural ones, the temptation to turn a creative district into a large dining and entertainment complex is hardly remote. Verhagen himself warned of this drift years ago.

In Milan, however, the story is different. BASE occupies part of the former Ansaldo industrial complex on Via Bergognone, which is owned by the city council. It has not purchased the buildings: it manages them under a concession agreement. The project grew out of a collaboration between several cultural and business organisations, which established OXA, a company with social enterprise status. BASE opened in 2016, gradually developing exhibitions, events, workshops, coworking spaces, residencies and commercial activities.

In September 2026, Milan City Council formally recognised the public interest in BASE XL, a proposal for a special public-private partnership to restore two further unused sections of the former Ansaldo complex. The plan envisages around €9 million in investment in the additional buildings, with no direct financial contribution from the council towards that work, plus €2.5 million to improve those already under management. The proposed agreement would run for thirty years, from 2026 to 2055. The spaces currently occupied by BASE, meanwhile, are covered by an existing concession agreement that runs until March 2033.

The proposal was published to allow other parties to submit alternatives or additions. None were received. This administrative process does not, however, mean that the work has already been authorised or completed. BASE’s case shows that buying a building is not necessarily a prerequisite for investing in it and managing it. Expertise, guarantees and a credible financial plan are essential, though. As is a certain amount of patience, since public authorities are not exactly known for moving at the pace of the festivals they hope to host.

In Turin, the issue was approached from a very different starting point. The Officine Grandi Riparazioni, built in the late nineteenth century for railway maintenance, ceased operations in the early 1990s. Deterioration and abandonment followed, and demolition was even considered. In 2013, Fondazione CRT stepped in through OGR-CRT, launching a restoration project costing around €100 million. Here too, however, describing the operation simply as the purchase of the entire complex would be reductive.

Municipal records describe an arrangement in which the City of Turin acquired the land beneath the former industrial site, while OGR-CRT was granted a 99-year surface right to restore and repurpose the buildings. The foundation therefore invested in a property whose ownership structure is more complex than it might appear. OGR reopened in 2017. Today, it hosts exhibitions, concerts, educational activities, research, innovation and programmes for startups.

In 2025, the value of production reached €15.3 million, up 34% on the previous year. The reported operating surplus exceeded €1 million, while visitor numbers grew by more than 35%. Significant figures, although they do not demonstrate that the venue is independent of Fondazione CRT’s strategic support. This is a model built on the investment capacity of a major philanthropic institution. Certainly interesting. But hardly within reach of a small cultural association that has found an abandoned factory in a provincial town.

So what can those hoping to restore an unused public space actually do? In Italy, several mechanisms are available, from concessions for the regeneration and use of public property to public-private partnerships. Some properties can be sold; others, because of their nature or heritage protection restrictions, must remain publicly owned. For certain categories of state-owned property, these concessions can run for up to fifty years, while other mechanisms provide for different terms. Buying a building is therefore not essential to restoring it. The challenge is everything that comes afterwards.

Ownership, planning designation, restrictions and structural condition all need to be checked. Building permits must be obtained, along with any necessary approvals from the heritage authority; building services must be upgraded, and accessibility and safety ensured. Concerts, catering and accommodation bring further requirements. Permits are necessary, of course. Nobody would want to attend a concert in a restored factory only to discover that fire safety had been treated as a creative optional extra. But for a small organisation, paying technical and administrative costs upfront without any certainty of securing the property can become an insurmountable obstacle.

This is also why consortia and partnerships often emerge. An architect knows how to restore the building. A cultural organisation develops the programme. An investor provides the capital. A specialist operator knows how to keep the venue running day to day. These roles do not necessarily have to be filled by different organisations, but a small organisation is unlikely to possess all these skills and the resources needed to deal with unexpected setbacks.

Then there is the question of time. A concession that is too short makes it difficult to recoup investment; a very long one commits public assets for decades. It is necessary to establish who pays for maintenance, what happens if the operator goes bankrupt and how to prevent cultural programming from gradually being replaced by more profitable activities. A restored building can, after all, become a beautiful venue for corporate events. That is not necessarily a bad thing. But it is different from creating a cultural institution.

Amsterdam, Milan and Turin show how the selection of those able to manage these places begins before a cultural programme is even assessed. The length of the agreement, the investment required and the financial guarantees determine who can come to the table. If participating means financing the restoration of an industrial complex, many organisations are excluded from the outset, regardless of the quality of their work. There may be practical reasons for this choice, but it also ends up determining who will have a voice in the city’s cultural life.

The composition of these partnerships therefore becomes decisive. Those providing the capital, those developing the programme and those granting use of the property may have different priorities. A restaurant can help fund an exhibition; it can also secure the most favourable opening hours, occupy the most sought-after spaces and gradually influence neighbouring activities. To understand whether the balance holds, we need to examine how revenue, costs and decision-making power are distributed, and how much room remains for initiatives that have cultural value but generate little income.

The public contribution should also be considered in full. Remediated land, a building made available for decades, a park created by the city council: these are economic conditions that make the operator’s activities possible, even when they do not appear on its accounts as annual funding. Acknowledging them allows a more precise discussion of what the city can ask for in return: accessible spaces, continuity of programming and opportunities for those unable to afford market rents.

Yet no initial programme can suffice for an agreement lasting thirty, ninety-nine or a hundred years. Operators, audiences, neighbourhoods and income-generating activities change. Periodic reviews are needed so that the public authority can assess whether cultural commitments are being honoured, while also recognising when the original conditions have become unworkable. Otherwise, there is a risk of leaving everything to the operator’s goodwill, or of defending a contract that no longer reflects the life of the place.

Amsterdam’s symbolic euro is the figure that sticks in the memory. Far less visible are the choices that determine who will be able to use those spaces, and on what terms. When a small theatre company asks for a rehearsal room, when a project cannot afford the rent, when a commercial event takes the best dates, the agreement’s effects will become apparent. The value returned to the city will also be measured by the responses to those requests.