FIFTY SHADES OF CONCRETE The Fetishization of a Brutalist Estate: The case of Brunswick
FIFTY SHADES OF CONCRETE. The Fetishization of a Brutalist Estate: The Case of Brunswick
Panagiotis Demiris 1056863
(MOMENTUM, 2004)
Something to talk about
I would like to view this essay as a mechanism that will generate a healthy debate over a wide range of issues that will be covered or briefly mentioned here. It is intentionally a mixture of writing styles - academic, straightforward, narrative, slightly informal, with the occasional sarcastic overtones along the way - that are conducing to the aforementioned purposes. Hence, not everything that is being said here is presented as an unquestionable fact but merely an opinion, open to interpretation and criticism.
(Stone, 2013)
Introduction
The aim of this essay is to shed light on the complex issues of gentrification processes through an architectural example that conveys and incites a wide range of issues in regards to that matter. The Brunswick has undergone a long series of planning negotiations and redevelopment such that there simply cannot be a sole account of its architectural demeanor and its role, whether this is within a social or an urban context. Its contradictory history of design and the evolution of its portrayal provokes thought and invites critical commentary on the ways a city works, or is supposed to work. It is quite interesting to see how some people refer to the recent redevelopment, or gentrification, if you will , of the Brunswick as “filth, noise and horror” (Hodgkinson, 2006) and “the death of a housing ideal” (Moss, 2011), presenting it as a loss of the last remaining social housings in Central London and the gradual eviction of its council tenants a great offense to one of the main principles of Brutalism (Taylor, 2000); an architecture movement which was originally conveyed and designed for the welfare of the common people (Meades, 2014). I said it is interesting as the Brunswick’s architect, Patrick Hodgkinson, actually hated the term “Brutalism” (according to R. Payne, 2006) and it was, in fact, himself that designed and carried out its recent redevelopment plans. Furthermore, the Brunswick was originally intended to consist mainly of luxurious flats (Swenarton, 2013) but a lack of funding and due to tensions with the local council (Camden Council), it was converted into a mixed development property, this time consisting of council housing as well as privately owned flats which, due to the property’s decline during the 80s and 90s, were made undesirable. Also, now with English Heritage in the game, the Brunswick’s listing as a Grade II building and its representation as “one of the greatest modern buildings in Britain” (Rogers, 2014) and “one of the first and best examples of megastructures” (Kerr, 2000), issues regarding the true purpose of the Brunswick arise. How can a “megastructure” be referred as such and freeze in time in order to “protect and preserve history” (EH, 2000), when its main purpose is to keep expanding and change function throughout time? (Melhuish, 2006)
(Kondrat, 2008)
(Robertsons, 2010)
Destroyed Beauty
It is hard not to notice that dystopia is all the rage now. From the millions of dollars mindlessly spent by Hollywood firms into extravagant VFXs for their blockbusters to the gallons of tears shed by some architecture students for their renders of “derelictchic” (McCotter, 2013) landscapes, we live in an era of a pop culture dominated by post-apocalyptic imagery. It might be, thus, only expected to see this ongoing attraction to fanciful crises and deterioration conveyed from the fictional to the physical realm. This is usually made possible through a capitalization of the ‘decayed’ veiled with supposedly benevolent intentions (Brahinsky, 2014), such as those of improving an area (see: gentrification), in the form of polished quasi-dystopian café bars and sophisticated galleries housed in dilapidated buildings, bathed in neon lights. This is especially true in London, a megacity currently undergoing a period of (relative) prosperity (Merkel, 2014) and construction frenzy. London with its great past comes with a vast array of previously neglected building heritage, mostly industrial or even socialist, ready to be exploited and rebranded as a soughtafter commodity and status symbol. Among them are Brutalist and social housing buildings, built remnants of a time when Britain flirted dangerously with socialist ideals (Bottoms, 2014). As it is often the case with many great works of art, they are appreciated subsequent to the period they were created in. The current reappreciation of Brutalism as a style is a reminiscent of the architecture community’s and the public’s former and critical attitudes towards several architectural and artistic genres that now many consider ‘beautiful’ and describe them as being ‘ahead of their time’. Corresponding architectural examples that first come to mind are Victorian Era’s sheer industrial works of iron that were, at first, not taken seriously by architects of the time which stated that outright expressions of industry and engineering shall never be acknowledged as architecture (Frampton, 1980). Nowadays, however, some of these buildings have evolved to be the pioneering works that set the foundations for the consequential emergence of Modernism (along with all its subdivisions) (Meades, 2014) and, quite possibly, inspired the most famous and trite quotes of the architectural world: Sullivan’s (1896) “form (ever) follows function” and Le Corbusier’s (1923) “the house is a machine for living in”. The Barbican comes as the shining example of an architectural underdog transformed into a swanky building in the middle of London’s sleek corporate district. It served as a solution to Britain’s housing problems after WWII, intended for those who were left homeless during the Blitz (Grindrod, 2014). Repeatedly voted as the “ugliest building in Britain” (TimeOut, 2014) it is simultaneously amongst the most dazzling, yet expensive, properties of London (Slater, 2014). Analogous models of contradictory perceptions are observed in the cases of
Goldfinger’s Trellick Tower and Lasdun’s Keeling Tower in Bethnal Green, to name a few. Both of them erstwhile social housing projects that have been converted into luxurious flats, conflicting the views of the architects and the locals. In fact, regarding the Keeling’s renovation, Denys Lasdun (2000) remarked that “it’s the same with Goldfinger’s Trellick Tower [1972, Kensington]. It’s become very popular with the yuppies. I’m glad the building is being restored and they are doing a good job, but it was designed for the locals of Bethnal Green”. Even the Preston Bus Station, a building that was long due to be demolished “was recently saved for the nation in the 11th hour” (Beanland, 2014). It was also granted a Grade II building status after consecutive demands for its preservation by the architecture community and citizen movements alike, even with its high maintenance costs as it is no longer used as frequently as before (Rackard, 2013). Without any further elaboration, although there is obviously a reassessment of Brutalism going on, it remains a vague and controversial issue as many people still question their aesthetic value and oppose the (capitalist) methods adopted for their preservation. Seemingly, it is currently the educated and the well-off folk (as has always been the case) and some day soon, perhaps, the new and upcoming generation that is still growing up in the era of casual dystopian pop.
(Telford, 2014)
L.K. Bennett and the pink colossus
It is the first thing you notice once you step outside the Russell Square subway station. A modernist elephant sitting stiffly on Bernard Street tinted in pastel shades of green and cream. It was finally applied its long-awaited coat of paint during the building’s renovation in 2006, nearly thirty years after its construction. In due time, it will soon need another finish as the elements have again begun exposing the natural, rough, grey skin of the giant. The Brunswick is one of those gems that come every once in a while, a vestige of a time when architecture was more about experimentation and prosperity rather than commercialization (or was it?). Its unique handling of space in a horizontal arrangement was one of the first two attempts to achieve “a high density without building high” (Swenarton, 2014); at least in Britain. This peculiar layout is the brainchild of the Brunswick’s principal architect, Patrick Hodgkinson, who conceived it during his fourth year of studies (1953) at the Architectural Association. It was so intriguing that sir Leslie Martin invited him to join his practice and after a second (also unbuilt) project (1957-1958) that carried the same properties of a high linear density, the overall concept, albeit modified, was finally utilized in the redevelopment of the Foundling estate in Bloomsbury, aka The Brunswick (planning approval in 1961). Almost four city blocks were cleared in order to make way for this behemoth with the promise of bringing back a sense of family life to the area (Spencer, 1967). According to Claire Melhuish’s (2006) extensive report, the buildings that preceded the Brunswick were deteriorated traditional brick buildings with a distinct charm and character which disheartened many people after they were gone. Furthermore, the urban fabric of the area used to be “one of the most architecturally celebrated of London’s Georgian developments” (Swenarton, 2013), however as a whole “rather than to individual streets or terraces” (Eden, 1960) which enabled the developers to level it out without the intervention of a Building Preservation Order or other similar regulations. Even before that, there was the Foundling Hospital which prior to its eventual demolition and relocation to the country, was isolated amidst a rural setting and its subsequent large-scale expansion to the surrounding fields had led to a public outcry for the loss of more open country. The gradual disappearance of the British countryside is something that has interestingly inspired Hodgkinson’s ‘carpet’ scheme, not directly per se, but it was indeed, after all, his objective to revisit and redefine British architecture and the arts-and-crafts movement (Swenarton, 2014). The influential origins of the Brunswick have long been a matter of debate and conflict as it has divided architects and critics alike in regards to its identity and allocation of an architectural ‘style’. The Brunswick has most often been described as a ‘megastructure’, ‘Corbusian’ and a homage to Sant‘Elia (Melhuish, 2014). Ironically, none of these descriptions have been approved by Hodgkinson and only one commentator, who is also a friend of
the architect, recognized his intention for a return to the English Tradition (Melhuish, 2006). After a reading of Mark Swenarton’s meticulous account on “Politics, Property and Planning: building the Brunswick, 1958-74” (2013) it is obvious that the Brunswick has had a long and troubling history of planning with the latest developments a mere addition to the list. Synoptically, the territory on which the Brunswick now sits on, has changed many hands. It passed from Foundling Estate to the Dominion Students’ Hall Trust (now known as Goodenough College named after Frederick Goodenough, a Barclays banker) and ended up in Alec Colman’s ownership for a long period of time. Colman set up Marchmont Properties and collaborated with Sir Robert McAlpine and Company for the finances, one of the biggest contractors at the time. He came up with two high-rise proposals that were both rejected by the LCC’s architect and chief planning officer, Hubert Bennett. Colman, remaining obstinate came up with a third scheme, this time non-high-rise, which is the one we are now familiar with. Interestingly the architect who Colman hired for the third (and final) project was the former chief architect of the LCC, Leslie Martin, with undoubtedly a lot of connections at the LCC as well as the Ministry of Housing and Local Government. Hodgkinson was already working for Leslie Martin and Martin was aware of his talent and, ultimately, he (Hodgkinson) became the leading, although unofficial, architect of the program. It was shaping up to be a quite diverse amalgam of people, comprising of student one-bedroom flats, family dwellings, hotels for visitors and businessmen as well as servicing areas for the Territorial Army Centre (!) (Hodgkinson, 1987). On the other hand, occurring at the same time with the planning process, there was a significant rise in homelessness in London due to the diminishment of affordable rents and property for the working class (Weiler, 2000). This applied significant pressure on the scheme in order to get consent by the LCC and had to be extensively revised to counterbalance the distribution of space and provide lowbudget accommodation for the existing tenants of the site. Allocations were made, however, the matter of reasonably priced quarters remained widely ignored. This led to a back and forth relationship with LCC with regard to attaining a satisfactory socio-spatial arrangement with a chameleon-like design that kept changing guise. The more prominent ones were a luxurious housing scheme, which was discarded due to financial risks, and an ‘economy’ version that included accommodation for nurses (Swenarton, 2013). Nevertheless, it must be noted that, in overall, they kept revising the addressing groups of people while the ground level was always intended to become a commercial space. Simultaneous to these developments, it was also the government that was shifting colors. Labour came into power and among the first things they did was to abolish Conservatives’ Rent Act, a controversial scheme that disposed of rent control
impositions over property, a move that had drenched real estate into the free market. By “restoring security of tenure to those in already decontrolled rented flats and houses” (The Times, 1964) the tide was turned. Eventually negotiations started for establishing a joint public-private scheme in partnership with Camden Council, where the architects had again a favorable reputation thanks to their friendly relationship with Peggy Duff, current chair of Camden’s planning and development committee. A large project of this liking had such an appeal that was hard to ignore and forged an unlikely liaison between ‘big property companies’ (Swenarton, 2014) and left-wing councilors. Now, with the management of the construction shared between Camden Council (which appointed their own architects to oversee the project), Hodgkinson’s team and McAlpine’s (who removed Colman from chairmanship position and terminated Hodgkinson’s appointment), it led to a number of financial cuts which saw the project never being fully realized. Construction came to a halt in 1974 with 30% of the project incomplete (Swenarton, 2013). Instead of connecting Bernard Street and Tavistock Place, it became rather an enclosed courtyard leading to a dead end. The high retail shopping destination that Hodgkinson and Marchmont Properties had envisioned never came to fruition and the Brunswick fell into a gloomy condition without a status, save for an art-house cinema and a few specialist shops that used to cater for a flipside crowd. This turned the Brunswick into a sort of an urban legend, its coarse nature attracting filmmakers and its malaise romanticized by hipsters. Fast forward to the present day it is now almost unrecognizable with its sparkly makeover and the hottest urban trends and accessories like Waitrose and L.K. Bennett, the Brunswick is “now somewhere you’d actually want to go” (Davis, 2006). It had to pass from McAlpine to Tranmac Construction and then to Allied London’s control in 1998, in order to put £200 stilettos in place of second-hand books. After Allied London’s acquisition of The Brunswick, two years prior to its Grade II listing, they eventually called Hodgkinson back to restore it and complete his vision of a vibrant high retail space. Typically Hollywood, it is now simply called ‘The Brunswick’ (instead of “The Brunswick Centre”) and it is, essentially, a reboot. And like all movie remakes, prequels and sequels, it is intended for winning a new audience and disappointing old fans. Modifications and further additions to the building continue to this day, with the latest component being the “Eyecatcher”; a restaurant “sandwiched between the Renoir cinema (which, by the way, has been purchased by Curzon Cinemas) and the second floor residential accommodation” (thebrunswick.org, 2014), which would obstruct views to the A-shaped frames that hold the building. Residents have thus started a petition for cancelling the planning permission with
many prominent supporters. Even Richard Rogers (2014) has also expressed his disagreement with the scheme, which is surprising, considering that he used to be a pioneer of customizable and high-tech architecture - which comprises largely of modular and external additions (the restaurant, if realized, will be pre-assembled and put together on site). Patrick Hodgkinson, on the other hand, has said that it would be a “sympathetic addition” (Hopkirk, 2014). In addition to that, there are also plans to construct additional floors on top to a great disdain from the residents and preservationists who support that this would completely destroy this magnificent ‘megastructure’ and obscure the appealing Sant’Elia-like towering vent stacks (Morris, 2014). Let this irony sink in for a moment. Along these lines, it is worth quoting DOCOMOMO (2000) in regards to the Brunwick’s “framework that accepts and assumes change within it over time… The great space-making structure which accommodates the communal spaces and the fundamental relationships of parts is fixed, and the detailed pattern of uses and components within it reflects change.” Even I have to guiltily admit that I prefer the former appearance of the Brunswick as it has a more ‘retro’ look and tend to romanticize similar ‘urban voids’ as exclusive spaces for a kind of highbrow gathering that most are not sophisticated enough to understand. I am sure many have enjoyed crossing the derelict square in order to get to the Renoir; a kind of rite for an invisible audience. Worry not though, other buildings will always grow old for us pseudo-vagabonds to rhapsodize about. It is, however, its ambiguity and not its belligerence that makes it a building so commemorative.
(Swann, 2007)
Formaldehyde?
What was once considered new will begin to wane until it becomes contemporary again, within a different context. According to Florida (2002), with property, subsequent to this eventual loss of significance, in order to make it again noteworthy, the vehicle of rebirth will often take the form of gentrification. We saw it with the conversion of industrial warehouses into deluxe lofts some years after the industries moved out of the cities (Florida, 2002) and we see it now with a number of (Brutalist) estates as the people they were initially built to serve have to leave since they are no longer able to afford the increasing living costs in central areas (Meades, 2014). Like a snake, the city is an alive organism that sheds its skin, continuously renewing and readapting itself (rural fields to hospitals to Georgian buildings). At the moment, the factors for a city’s perseverance and competitiveness in the global market is an active economy and capital; elements that are only fueled with the prospect of profit. Aesthetics to these notions are secondary but they do, however, follow function. Though contrary to some opinions, I do not see the gentrification of the Brunswick as the destruction of a historically important site, but instead view it as a building being used for the purpose it was built, forty-two [42] years after its construction. The Brunswick will survive as a megastructure and will have just another transformation pegged to its name... It is, after all, architecture’s principal role to evolve and be altered throughout time, reflecting the values of the society, however virtuous or dismal these may be, it was built and modified to serve.
(Baxevanis, 2012)
(In the end, if you think about it, the Brunswick, now with Starbucks, is a more honest dystopia.)
(Aaroscape, 2007)
Bibliography
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