From the Sublime to the Ridiculous - Frances Muir by Cambridge Design Research Studio

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous: A Walk Along the Western Edge of the Greenwich Marshes

Frances Muir Supervisor: Professor Franรงois Penz Design Supervisors: Ingrid Schrรถder and Aram Mooradian

Churchill College, University of Cambridge. Essay 2: Pilot Thesis, submitted 19th April 2016. An essay submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the MPhil Examination in Architecture & Urban Design (2015-2017).

Word Count: 5,490

The intention of this paper is to begin to unravel the unique and interesting qualities of the Greenwich Peninsula, both historical and purely observed. In the coming years, the site faces total regeneration by a private developer, potentially destroying centuries of pattern and erosion. My design project - developed in parallel with the nuances I am able to derive from this paper - will propose an alternative masterplan, intended to enforce staggered redevelopment, in the hope that some of these qualities might, in part, be preserved for the benefit of future generations. I have chosen to explore a short route along the Thames Path on the western edge of the Peninsula, which has the most intact historical fabric; the eastern edge was cleared during the millennium regeneration in the last few years of the twentieth century and the northern tip is dominated by the Millennium Dome (now the O2 Arena). The direct link with historical Greenwich on this section of the path, also presents interesting architectural and historical paradigms; the hard edged, Baroque architecture of the Old Royal Naval College â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a UNESCO world heritage site - is just five hundred metres from decrepit industrial buildings facing demolition or gentrification.

k g f j

e i h d c

b a

‘It started with the Dome, the Millennium Dome. An urge to walk

away from the Teflon meteorite on Bugsby’s Marshes. A white thing

had dropped in the mud of the Greenwich peninsula. The ripples

had to stop somewhere. The city turned inside-out. Rubbish blown

against the perimeter fence. A journey, a provocation. An escape.

Keep moving, I told myself, until you hit tarmac, the outer circle’.

(Sinclair, 2003, p. 3)

ABSTRACT English architecture is typically additive. Traditional terraced housing, for instance, is easily replicable and lends itself well to adaptability and extension; this is an iterative, evolutionary architecture (Whyte, 2009, p. 461). By exploring the Thames path from Historic Greenwich (a) 1, a UNESCO world heritage site, to the old gasworks on the Greenwich Peninsula (g) , I will investigate the tangible histories offered by this uniquely transient and haunted 2 landscape, in an attempt to begin to unearth elements of a new English architecture where an international style 3 is rapidly taking hold. I hope that the careful application of these found elements may serve to supplement Fig. 1. Left: Satellite photography, Bing Maps.

large scale, revolutionary development by asserting a greater connection with their specific historical context.

1 (#) in the body of the text correlate to # points indicated on the map. 2 Pile’s Spectral Cities: Where the Repressed Returns and Other Short Stories (Pile, 2005) suggests that cities are haunted ‘at least in the sense that they force us to recognise the lives of those who have gone (before).’ p. 242. 3 The International Style refers to the architectural movement of the early twentieth century. An international style suggests the lack of any specific or regional vernacular within a contemporary context.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

INTRODUCTION The Greenwich Marshes 4, or the Millennium Experience Site, captured a brief epoch in contemporary British architecture during the last decade of the twentieth century. The anticipation of a new millennium provoked a charming optimism (Carling and Seely, 1998), which triggered the emergence of ecologically sustainable construction in mainstream architecture and the marshes, the site of the Millennium Dome 5 (l) , would also see the UK’s first eco-friendly supermarket (i) (Dunlop, 2013) [fig. 2]. Unlike the Dome, which was grossly unpopular amongst campaigners - including Greenpeace who questioned the toxicity of the construction’s PVC coating (Lean, 1997) - the new eco supermarket, designed by Chetwood Associates, was shortlisted for the RIBA Stirling Prize 2000, and awarded first place in the people’s choice category (BBC, 2000). The building was abandoned by Sainsbury’s in 2014 and has recently been demolished, to make way for a new IKEA store. Despite its place in the story of recent architectural history, English Heritage had advised against listing it. (The Twentieth Century Society, 2014). The extreme transience of the marshes , (with the exception of its piers which Fig. 2. Left, top: The Sainsbury’s store on the Greenwich Peninsula in 1999, designed by Chetwood associates. Now awaiting demolition. Fig. 3. Existing skeleton piers on the western edge of the marshes, 2015.

cling to the eroding edge [fig. 3] (e) , - the remaining skeletons of an industrial past) , is perhaps a symptom of the landscape’s relative youth; as a society we are guilty of placing a higher value on ancient occupation (Strangleman, 2013). Or perhaps it is the impracticality of the physical nature of the marshes, surrounded on all sides by water: Sinclair called the Isle of Dogs, the marshes twin 6, an ‘uncircumcised peg of land’ (2004, p. 346) and ‘an actively malign geometry of earth and water’ (2004, p. 350).

4 I will often refer to the Peninsula as the marshes, its former name; the site was drained in the sixteenth century by Dutch engineers (Mills, 1999), to be used as pasture by the Royal Palace, and so the term most accurately reflects the site’s history as an engineered landscape. 5 Now the O2 Arena. 6 The Isle of Dogs and the Greenwich Peninsula are the two distinctive land masses formed into the bends of the characteristic s-shape in the river Thames.

Fig. 4.

Subsequent redevelopment entirely halted until recent years as the contamination of groundwater and matter by years of heavy industry, coupled with the artificial infill of land during the twentieth century with toxic material, have proven to be a significant hurdle. [Fig. 4]. The decontamination of land in preparation for the Millennium Dome (l) and Village (j) was ‘one of the most extensive and integrated ground contamination remediation exercises ever carried out in the UK’, representing a relatively small area of the Peninsula and costing £21.5 million in the 1990s (Barry et al., 2000). Knight Dragon, a Chinese developer, gained a majority control in 2012, providing significant financial backing which prompted widespread decontamination to progress (Hammond, 2012). In November 2013, Knight Dragon purchased the remaining 40% share from British developer Quintain, which along with backing from the Mayor of London has resulted in an exponential acceleration through planning (Knight Dragon, 2016), (Martin, 2015), (Barbalov, 2016). The new masterplan designed by Allies and Morrison, supports the proviFig. 4. Left: Red hatching indicates ground that has been infilled or modified using artificial deposits. Fig. 5. Overleaf: Allies and Morrison masterplan model. Figures 6-9. Overleaf: A study of existing and proposed housing typologies.

sion for 20,000 new homes and a loss of 7,000 jobs across 200 acres (Lister, 2016). The implication of such revolutionary regeneration, concerning an unusual intensity of residential units, is likely to provoke significant issues regarding access to local services and the longevity of the resulting community (853 Blog, 2015). The low rise blocks are inward looking and more reminiscent of continental European courtyard housing models [figures 6-8], whilst the sheer density of high rise blocks has seen the marshes dubbed ‘London’s Hong Kong Island’ (Upton, 2016) [fig. 9.].

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

Fig. 9.

Clockwise from top left: A piece of the Allies and Morrison masterplan, Hausmannian courtyard building in Paris, a visualisation of Peninsula Quay (a high-rise development on the marshes by Knight Dragon), existing housing typologies to the South of the marshes (h) .

Fig. 10.

HISTORIC GREENWICH7 We begin our walk at Historic Greenwich, southwest of the marshes, where the Cutty Sark (a) once sat tired but glorious in her dry dock as if one day she had decided not to return to sea. After a catastrophic industrial hoover fire in 2007, she has been restored and now sits, curiously preserved, atop a glassy bed akin to an oversized paperweight. Here, transience is viciously contested and a distinct sense of national might is asserted via the immaculate symmetry of the Old Royal Naval College (b) which dominates the manicured edge. [Fig. 10]. Inside, the ceiling of the famous Painted Hall [fig. 12.] – in the King Edward Quarter - perpetuates the power of the monarchy, ‘seated in glory’ at the centre, and flanked at each end by huge naval ships, symbols of the power of the British Empire (Old Royal Naval College, n.d.). Fig. 10. Left: The Thames Path, in front of the Old Royal Naval College

(b).

Below, in secret, the JASON Argonaut nuclear reactor served the Navy from 1962-1996 in ‘the training of future engineering officers on nuclear-powered submarines’ - the only known reactor to have been housed in a listed build-

Fig.11. Overleaf: The Cutty Sark and entrance to the Victorian foot tunnel, 2016 (a) .

ing (Historic England, n.d.). Now preserved as part of the UNESCO world

Fig. 12. (Page 16): The Painted Hall, Old Royal Naval College.

(The Economist, 1999). A language of hard-edged precision pervades over

Fig. 13. (Page 17, top): Replica of Drake’s Golden Hind salutes Greenwich, 1973. Fig. 14. (Page 17, bottom): The engraving that Ian Sinclair references is his book, Downriver.

heritage site, the buildings speak of the longevity of British power from the bombastic Age of Discovery to the quieter consequences of the nuclear age the soft erosion of the marshes, just a little further along the Thames path. In his 2004 book Downriver, Iain Sinclair commands us to see an engraving looking towards Greenwich, held at the National Maritime Museum, which he calls ‘the classical vision of form : hospitals, avenues, churches, order’ (p. 386) [fig. 14, page 17]; the foreground is dominated by the cluttered edge of the Blackwall docks which melts into the distance, amplifying the classical order of the Old Royal Naval College in the far background.

7 Historic Greenwich specifically refers to the site of The Queen’s House and park, The National Maritime Museum and the Old Royal Naval College, southwest of the marshes.

Fig. 11.

Everything here, untouched by the meander, is precise in form; the ‘snaildomed’ glass roofs (Sinclair, 2004, p. 389), which signal the entrances either side of the river to the Victorian foot tunnel, are inherently mathematical. In 1884, at the Prime Meridian Conference, the decision was made to ‘establish Greenwich as the zero Meridian’ (Kern, 1983). ‘As any child quickly learns, there is only one time. It flows uniformly and may be divided into equal parts anywhere along the line. This is the time Isaac Newton defined in 1687: “Absolute, true, and mathematical time, of itself, and from its own nature, flows equally without relation to anything external.” In The Critique of Pure Reason (1781) Immanuel Kant rejected the Newtonian theory of absolute, objective time (because it could not possibly be experienced) and maintained that time was a subjective form or foundation of all experience’ . (Kern, 1983, p. 11) If Old Greenwich is characteristically Newtonian, then by contrast, the marshes must be Kantian in nature.

Fig. 12.

Fig. 13.

Fig. 14. Right, foreground: the cluttered edge of the Blackwall docks. Left, background: Historic Greenwich, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;the classical vision of form: hospitals, avenues, churches, orderâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; (Sinclair, 2004, p. 386).

Fig. 15.

Fig. 16.

A BEND IN THE RIVER We continue along the Thames path to the east, away from historic Greenwich and towards the uncertainty of the marshes. As the expansive façade of the Old Naval College ends, a sharp bend to the left becomes the dominant feature of the landscape, made apparent by the filling of the horizon with low, industrial sheds - the northern tip of the peninsula is punctuated by the O2 Arena. ‘The loops of the meander have made something like figure of eights, and that’s stupid. Suddenly, at the most desperate moment, there they are touching at the outermost point of their curves! Miracle! The river runs straight!’ (Corbusier, 2015, p. 143). Le Corbusier called this the law of the meander. He believed that such shapes, in the context of urban planning as in the context of nature, were the result of incidents or obstacles causing pathways to run wildly off course. Such convoluted shapes contradicted his passions for efficiency and the economy potentially afforded to us by the short cuts of the machine age (Le Corbusier, 1967). Drawings for his 1932 proposal for the International exhibition of 1937 demonstrate his wilful desire to undermine the wild and natural meanders of the Seine with an abrupt indication of ‘La Véritable Grand Voie de Circulation’ [fig. 15.]. (Le Corbusier, 1967). It is no coincidence that the centre of Paris (outlined here by Le Corbusier) is itself located at the section of the Seine least affected by the meander; our instinct for efficiency precedes the Fig. 15. Left, top: Le Corbusier’s 1932 proposal for the International exhibition of 1937. Fig. 16. Left, bottom: Mr Reverley’s Plan No. 1, to straighten the Thames.

machine age and has provided the Greenwich marshes an unstable existence. Highly implausible plans were formulated to straighten the river Thames, removing both the Greenwich marshes and The Isle of Dogs. [Fig. 16.]. In 1857, an application for a huge dock was filed, intended to support the various industries lining the river’s edge and an extension to the railway line connecting Greenwich with London Bridge. Forty acres of the land required

Fig. 17.

Fig. 18.

Fig. 19.

Fig. 20.

for the dock and railway were owned by William Angerstein, who at the time was running for parliament. In 1858, the Kentish Mercury - in support of the dock proposal - wrote of the current state of Greenwich: “even if you see some active pedestrian approaching the public baths, from having nothing else to do, his gloomy countenance renders it doubtful whether he is about to enter for the purposes of ablution or to drown himself.” Refusing to bow to pressure and surrender his land, Angerstein exited the race and the dock was never realised (Mills, 1999. p. 161-163). A vast nothingness has persisted in the dock’s proposed position, (now predominantly car parking for the O2 Arena) [fig. 20.] and is most evident in historical maps demonstrating the distribution of industrial clutter prior to the millennium regeneration [figures 17-19]. For others, the curve or meander is less a contradiction of efficiency and more a celebration of the picturesque. For William Hogarth, the beauty of the s-shaped curve, which he termed ogee (Macfarlane, 2013) and the line of beauty (Hogarth, 1753), was a source of great inspiration and featured heavily in his 1753 publication The Analysis of Beauty, in which he exclaims: ‘The eye hath this sort of enjoyment in winding walks, and serpentine rivers, and Figures 17-20. Left:

all sorts of objects, whose forms, as we shall see hereafter, are composed principal-

Fig. 17. 1853-1904. Fig. 18. 1906-1939. Fig. 19. 1943-1995. Fig. 20. 2015.

ly of what, I call, the waving and serpentine lines.’

The neglected spine. The 1857 dock proposal and its impact on the development of the marshes between the 1850s and the current day. Green indicates the position of the 1857 dock proposal, brown indicates the O2 Arena car park (2015).

The Thames path on the marshes, despite its inefficient route along a wind-

(Chapter 5, Of Intricacy)

ing edge, and the small problem of it effectively leading to nowhere, does not render it under used; on a fair day it is dotted with aimless walkers (Quincey, 2013), drawn in by the curious abandonment of its skeleton piers, or perhaps by the rare opportunity to witness a decluttering of the horizon (Macfarlane, 2013).

Fig. 21.

GREENWICH POWER STATION A little way along the Thames path, we pass underneath the great coal jetty of the Greenwich Power Station (c) [fig. 21], the unofficial gateway to the marshes. One might assume the station, like its pier is abandoned, but it still operates providing a backup power supply for Transport for London (Mills, 1999). Whilst pausing to take a photograph, I overhear a conversation between a young couple: “that [the power station] would make amazing apartments!” We are quick to imagine buildings of such great scale and no outwardly evident function as ruin, ripe for redevelopment. In the context of the current housing crisis, disused industrial spaces have become symbols of opportunity rather than failure, being ‘divided up, quantified and apportioned as property and exploited for profit’ (Edensor, 2005. p. 8). This subdivision only serves to damage the mysterious sublimity of such buildings, perhaps emblematic of a new age where great scale and detail exists digitally, not materially (Salingaros, 1999). Despite being smaller in footprint than the Old Naval College, the power station possesses, in the words of Edmund Burke in A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, ‘a greatness of dimension’: ‘I am apt to imagine [likewise], that height is less grand than depth; and that we are more struck at looking down from a precipice, than at looking up at an object of equal height, but of that I am not very positive. A perpendicular has more force in forming the sublime, than an inclined plane; and the effects of a rugged and broken surface seem stronger than where it is smooth and polished’. (Burke and Phillips, 1990, p. 66) Fig. 21. Left: The Thames Path, in front of the Greenwich Power Station

(c).

The towering face of the building presses right up against the edge of the Thames path, and the jetty, now a cast iron skeleton, where its wooden boards have rotted away, reaches over us and into the river. Perpendicular

Fig. 22.

Fig. 23.

to the river, the brick mass stretches deep into the marshes and behind, the faĂ§ade recoils where it meets small houses at the road, and neatly imitates their roofline. The chimneys were once much taller, at 250 ft. high (76.2 metres) [fig. 22], however objections from the Royal Observatory saw them reduced to their now stocky proportions (Mills, 1998), perhaps inducing a greater sense of mass. The jetty stands on cast iron columns of the Doric order: a reference to the classical nature of historic Greenwich in their form, and to British industry in their material [fig. 24, page 26]. In Paris too, industrial process allowed such decoration, usually the reserve of castles and palaces, to emerge within building typologies previously beyond the reaches of such frivolities in carved masonry; the additive nature of ironwork allowing for retrospective embellishment. J.J. Grandville, a French caricaturist considered the sublime possibilities afforded by iron in the industrial age, a plate from Fig. 22. Left, top: The Greenwich Power Station, with original, full height chimneys, July 1968.

his book Un Autre Monde, shows elaborate iron bridges stretching between

Fig. 23. Left, bottom: The Greenwich Power Station chimneys today, as viewed from the Trafalgar pub.

lifeblood and the destroyer of the marshes in the industrial era; its indus-

Fig. 24. Overleaf: Underneath the coal jetty, 2015. Fig. 25. Overleaf: J.J. Grandvilleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s etching in Un Autre Monde.

the planets of our solar system [fig. 25, page 27]. (Grandville, 1844). Such details are not products of craft but of manufacture. Capitalism was both the trial buildings born of a requirement for surplus, and their destruction by the realisation that surplus can be generated faster and cheaper elsewhere (Harvey, 2008). This loss of the tangible and enchanting qualities of making and process in manufacture, evidenced so clearly in Grandvilleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s engraving, represents the beginnings of a new international style, where such detail is not consciously removed but is in fact unobtainable - a costly product of small scale craft.

Fig. 24.

Fig. 25.

Fig. 26.

THE NEW DEVELOPMENT AT ENDERBY’S WHARF8 Away from the power station, the true softness of the eroded edge becomes apparent, where temporary fencing has been installed to mask it [fig. 26]. The grey powder-coated façade panels of the new housing development at Enderby’s Wharf (d) (Barratt Homes, 2015) do not invite erosion, nor does the stark white render. Of course they will erode or at least will become dirty, but then they will be cleaned and repainted. There will be no silvering of wood or patination of metal. There will be no retrospective cast-iron decoration; the design does little to invite adaptation and goes to great lengths to disguise pattern. Pattern will develop on a façade as a consequence of plan; stairwells interrupt the regular spacing of windows, as do different room sizes and uses (Salingaros, 1999). Here the designer has fought to expel such patterns, to achieve complete uniformity. Salingaros goes on to explain, in his paper Architecture, Patterns and Mathematics, that the persistent removal of decoration and pattern from modern architecture, a novelty of the early twentieth century, has become a dangerous contradiction to the current rapid growth in the technological industries. We associate technology with simplification, the removal of complex mathematical data from our Fig. 26. Left. The Barratt development at Enderby’s Wharf with temporary fencing to the left.

environment, both virtual and physical. Architecture has become, as a direct consequence, a mundane process of manufacture, beyond our comprehension and irrelevant to our cultural values.

8 Development by Barratt London called Enderby Wharf. Enderby’s Wharf, the old jetty, still exists further along the Thames path and will be retained. (Barratt Homes, Accessed December 2015).

Fig. 27.

Just as the building works to conceal the method by which it was constructed, it also conceals the open horizon of the marshes. The buildings here, though some were sublime in scale, were not greedy in every dimension; they were tall or long or deep and so persevered the unique qualities of the landscape, a work of engineering in its own respect [fig. 27]. Bonnett suggests that nostalgia for the past can incite a radical decluttering of the landscape; the weight of layers of history too complex to understand, can inspire an authorFig. 27. Left. The old Telcon cables factory at Enderby’s Wharf in August 1946. The buildings are expansive but- relatively low in height - they preserve the qualities of the marshland landscape.

itative building response that wilfully ignores its environment (Bonnett, 2009). ‘... Now the vistas are filled. A sense of sterilisation... The ghosts are gone’. (Sinclair, 2004. p. 361)

Fig. 28.

ENDERBY’S WHARF JETTY ‘For me too, as for some latter-day stranger ignorant of the nature of our society wandering about among heaps of scrap metal and defunct machinery, the beings who had once lived and worked here were an enigma, as was the purpose of the primitive contraptions and fittings inside the bunkers, the iron railings under the ceilings, the hooks on the still partially tiled walls, the showerheads the size of plates, the ramps and the soakaways’. (Sebald, 2002, p. 237) Enderby’s jetty (e) is separated from the Thames path by metal security fencing, with each piece of defunct machinery given its own, additional galvanised barrier, insinuating a degree of worth. There is a metal wheel, perhaps used for winding rope or cable, and nearest the path a strange antenna shaped object again in metal, and almost other worldly. These objects allow us some of the essence of the lives those who once worked on the marshes but our grasp is hollow; the meaning of such objects is altered in the context of every new year, decade and century, and misrecognition begins to seep in, manipulating their symbolism (Pile, 2005). Enderby’s Wharf, formally a gunpowder test site was acquired by Samuel Enderby in 1840 for the manufacture of canvas and rope; the long thin building that reached deep into the marshes lent itself well to the twisting of fibres. However, the distinctive structure burnt down in 1845 heralding a change from rope manufacture to wire rope or cabling (Mills, 1999). The Atlantic cable was made here, connecting London with North America so that by 1871 their stock markets were ‘effectively integrated’ (Mills, 1999, p. 65). Later, the same technologies would ensure a fuel supply to Normandy following the D-Day landings, via the Pluto fuel-line which was built in the same factory on the marshes, using the hollow rubber Fig. 28. Left. Enderby’s Wharf jetty with old cable loading equipment still in place (e).

casings designed to protect cable on the sea bed (Enderby Wharf, Accessed December 2015) (American Oil and Gas Hist. Soc., Accessed December 2015). The strange familiarity of the objects left behind combined with the

Fig. 29.

site’s rich history is enough to trigger their commodification; the excessive fencing a clear sign of the site’s ‘musuemification’ (Mah, 2010). This ‘exhibition value’, has made the site a target for gentrification (Lahusen, 2006). Permission has been granted for a cruise liner terminal at this site (London City Cruise Port, 2012); early renderings show an enclosed glassy tunnel reaching over the edge and into the Thames [fig. 29]. Enderby’s Wharf is shown to be sterilised. Resurfaced and neat, the industrial clutter on the jetty will form an open-air museum for visitors stepping off their floating hotels; stories surrounding the mysterious objects will be dampened by concise plaques presenting their assumed origins. “On the jetty itself, cable-loading gear still stands, unmarked, but for the moment preserved as a monument” (Mills, 1999. p. 67).

Fig. 29. Left: A visualisation showing the completed Barratt Homes scheme, resurfaced jetty and the new cruise liner terminal. Fig. 30. Overleaf, page 36: A visualisation of the glass entrance tunnel to the cruise liner terminal. Fig. 31. Overleaf, page 37: Enderby’s Wharf jetty today.

The sentimentalization of a productive past, as an alternative to our consumerist present, is perhaps controversial in forgetting the suffering production inspired: factories by their very nature were abused, ‘in a state of constant decay – in ruins – from the very beginning. As for the people, they endured’ (Lahusen, 2006). The commodification of such instruments undermines the lives of those who drew their meagre salaries by operating them. We can be sure that the marshes played host to routine horrors such as child exploitation; in 1803, a huge explosion at the tide mill was caused by ‘a boy, who had been left in charge of the engine’ (Mills, 1999).

Fig. 30.

Fig. 31.

Fig. 32.

MORDEN WHARF AND THE AMYLUM PIER The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint. . . . A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness’. (Conrad, 2007. p. 1. Cited in Maleuvre, 2011, p. 1.) The Amylum Pier, adjacent to Morden Wharf (f) has been left unfenced, accessible by the public for their enjoyment. However, it is not a precursor to Heatherwick’s Garden Bridge; it has been left much as it was except for some economical metal fencing to protect the public from the edge, and some rough concrete poured over to conceal the abuse inflicted by its industrial past. Despite its ugliness, it reaches out in the river such that the feeling of an open horizon, the parting of buildings, is stronger here than at any other point on our walk (Sebald, 2002). Low structures fence the edges of the water - an indiscernible shape at this point - where our ‘perception trails off’ (Maleuvre, 2011). Google Maps indicates positions where members of the general public have uploaded photo spheres (360 degree panoramas of any Fig. 32. Left: The Thames path in front of the Morden Wharf building, and the Amylum pier (f). Fig. 33. Overleaf, page 40: Screenshot of Google maps, indicating the positions of the three uploaded photo spheres. Figures 34-36. Overleaf, p. 41: Screenshots of the three photo spheres at Morden Wharf.

publicly accessible location). Although Google Street View does not access this section of the Thames path, three photo spheres have been uploaded: two taken on the Amylum pier and one within its immediate vicinity. [figures 33-36, pages 40-41]. It seems that we are programmed to respond pictorially to such sites, where we have the opportunity to step away from surrounding buildings and boundaries and be surrounded on all sides by space. The Victorians took great pleasure in indulging such longings as recreational piers sprang out into the sea all the way along the British coast, many of which are still heavily used.

Fig. 33. Screenshot, Google Maps. Photo sphere positions are numbered.

Fig. 34. Photo sphere 1. On the Amylum Pier.

Fig. 35. Photo sphere 2. On the Amylum Pier.

Fig. 36. Photo sphere 3. On the concrete beach.

Fig. 37.

In his book The Horizon: A History of Our Infinite Longing, Didier Maleuvre cites Monk by the Sea (1809), a lesser known painting by the romantic artist Caspar David Friedrich [fig. 37]. The tiny, dark figure stands at what is likely to be the Baltic shoreline (Wyss, 2008), surrounded on all sides by emptiness; Maleuvre suggests that the figure is there to remind us that ‘the sky is being seen’ (p. 243), alluding specifically to the human experience of the horizon. Coyne proposes that the horizon, in this context, can trigger melancholic emotions and feelings of loss although the real cause may not be immediately clear; similar responses are often associated with ruins, the vast Morden Wharf building a reminder than we are becoming ever more detached from the process of making (Coyne, forthcoming 2016). A little further on, the eroding edge of the marshes, has been bolstered by the haphazard pouring of concrete. Over the decades, this has been softened by the tide and coated with a thin layer of green algae making it resemble a natural beach. A number of small weeping willows bow to the river and the rapidly changing tide forces the contaminated water to lap rhythmically at Fig. 37. Left: Monk by the Sea by Caspar David Friedrich. c. 1809. Fig. 38. Overleaf, page 44: A View of Greenwich Reach from the Amylum Pier, 2015. Fig. 39. Overleaf, page 45: A View of Greenwich Reach from Enderby House and the Telegraph House by Henry Pether. c. 1828-1845.

the edge. It is almost picturesque! Henry Pether painted a moonlit scene at almost exactly this point probably between 1828 and 1845 9 [fig. 39, page 45]. The painting encapsulates the soft erosion and gentle undulation of the landscape, synonymous with the Picturesque; it is also peppered with the haunting carcasses of old boats and decaying, ramshackle buildings (Kemp and Rheuban, 1990). In the distant foreground, a tiny figure waits on a timber pier as a rowing boat sets off into the water; Pether is employing the same techniques as Friedrich in Monk by the Sea, reminding us of the human impact on the landscape and our pensive response to the open horizon.

9 Pether was active as an artist in London between 1828 and 1865. A single chimney is visible on the left, bearing a resemblance to that of the Ropewalk at Enderby Wharf which burnt down in 1845. A similar painting of Pether’s, of Greenwich Reach, was exhibited at the Tate in 1854.

Fig. 38.

Fig. 39.

Fig. 40.

We have always romanticised urban ruins, particularly those associated with a socialist past or abandonment. Our fascination is largely ‘image-driven’: ‘The happiest pictures are in black and white. Black-and-white pictures are an abstraction by means of which, more often than not, the past is de-loused, sanitized and - customarily - rendered nostalgic.’ (Strangleman, 2013. p. 27) Robert Doisneau, inspired by the resilience of the working classes in postWorld War II Paris, photographed urban scenes which spoke of the romantic nature of the city and the simple lives of its workers. Often contrived, he would instruct subjects to perform the perfect scene (Doisneau, 2012). In these photographs [see fig. 40], the industrial landscape is almost always softened, by the presence of water, steam or smoke; a layer of snow or vegetation; the glistening of rain or the glare of the sun. Nature always has a hold; there is a sense of wild erosion and ruin, an ironic softening of these brutal landscapes. Despite our notions of the urban picturesque, we are starkly reminded of a new layer of human control quite divorced from the natural: The Morden Wharf building is adorned with warnings of surveillance and the cameras at its corners stick out against the otherwise empty sky [fig. 42, page 49]. There is something rather ominous about the application of cameras in this way, different to the placement of similar devices on street lights or similar Fig. 40. Left: Down to the Factory by Robert Doisneau, 1946. Fig. 41. Overleaf, page 48: The concrete beach. Fig. 42. Overleaf, page 49: CCTV at Morden Wharf.

structures. When they are fitted to a building they indicate the protection of a commodity from the people, rather than the protection of the people from the urban environment (Amin, 2006). The growing privatisation of the marshes marks its absorption into the fabric of our consumerist society; it is now a commodity, its socialist history a tool in the process of gentrification (Lahusen, 2006).

Fig. 41.

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Fig. 43.

Fig. 44.

CONCLUSION The ambition of this paper was to outline the mysterious and distinctive qualities of the Greenwich marshes, both historical and purely observed, which we must fight to preserve within the context of necessary redevelopment. Firstly, access to the open horizon must be retained within this exceptionally open piece of the urban topography; several sites boast picturesque qualities, the gentle erosion of the edge supplements the desire to capture this landscape in an image, be it painting or photograph (Kemp and Rheuban, 1990). This should not be ignored as such a quality would be impossible to reproduce within the confines of rapid redevelopment. In addition, we must consider the incredible industrial history of the site and the mysterious sublimity of its architecture, without romanticising its dubious past; such Fig. 43. Left, top: Facade Panel for Paul Smith by 6a Architects. Manufactured by FSE Foundry. The panels were designed to have a self supporting profile without being too heavy. Prototypes were CNC milled before being cast in iron. Fig. 44. Left, bottom: Julie Tile by Grayson Perry. Manufactured by Darwen Terracotta. Grayson Perry formed the original tile by hand. It was then 3d scanned and a mould was produced so that the tiles could be manufactured in large enough numbers to clad Perry ‘s and FAT Architects’ House for Essex. Both examples above demonstrate an approach to decoration through manufacture, which is rooted in contemporary technology.

attitudes can result in clichéd and exclusive gentrification (Bonnett, 2009). The total eradication of decoration, our indifference to the inevitability of erosion and our irrational approach to dimension are all symbols of the growing disconnect between us and our environment (Salingaros, 1999) - It is clear that when we come to define a new English architecture, we must reference what has gone before, by re-engaging with process and manufacture within the context of the current digital age [see figures 43 and 44]. We are fascinated by the ruined industrial landscape, emblematic of a supposedly romantic past (Strangleman, 2013); these previously undesirable plots offer unparalleled scale for revolutionary regeneration and gentrification. In response to these emerging trends, the Prime Minister has earmarked ‘underused brownfield sites’ - like the marshes - for fast tracked development (GOV.UK, 2016), providing housing, not for those most in need, but for those aspiring to purchase. Recent changes to Section 106 of the Town and Country Planning Act 1990 (Department for Communities & Local Government,

Fig. 45.

1990) have allowed starter homes to be classified as affordable, meaning that developers are able to avoid contributions to affordable housing provision under the act. In London, a starter home can hold a value of up to £450,000 and must be sold to a buyer under the age of 40 at a minimum discount of 20% below the open market value (Department for Communities & Local Government, 2015); currently the annual house price rate of change in London is 10.8%. (Office for National Statistics, January 2016). A one bedroom apartment in Columbus House - a building in the new Enderby Wharf development by Barratt Homes - cost £425,000 at the launch event on 23rd April 2015 (Barratt Homes, 2015), meaning that the smallest new properties on the Peninsula meet the maximum value allowed for starter home status. Reduced contributions from developers under the scheme mean that local authorities will struggle to offset the consequences of rapid, revolutionary development (BBC Sunday Politics, 2015). In the 1970s, Gordon Matta-Clark began to uncover the irrationalities of the New York property market by purchasing ‘gutterspace,’ tiny and often inaccessible plots of land (14 sites in Queens and one on Staten Island) for around $25 a piece. Matta-Clark meticulously documented each plot with photo collages, maps and deed information [fig. 45], but he never realised his ambitions to install art pieces, reactive to each location (Kastner, 2005). His fascination with the capricious definition of property boundaries in a declining New York and the ‘untenable but ownable’(Spector, n.d.), served to highlight the ease with which micro scale interventions could begin to alter the circumstances of their surroundings. On the marshes too – ‘where Fig. 45. Left: Reality Properties: Fake Estates, Little Alley Block 2497, Lot 42 by Gordon Matta-Clark (1974 (posthumous assembly, 1992)) .

[like Matta-Clark’s New York City] every patch of dirt is assumed to be a highly valuable, fungible commodity’ (Kastner, 2005. p. 4) - small scale architectural interventions could help to break up revolutionary regeneration into smaller segments, generating anchor points to the site’s specific historical and

Fig. 46.

experiential qualities. Staggering the rate of regeneration in this manner could result in a greater diversity of architectural character whilst reasserting the additive manner of Englishness (Whyte, 2009). A number of piers could serve this function by generating new plot boundaries, connecting the Thames and its path with the rest of the marshes, and critically its neglected spine [fig. 46]. The mysterious industrial artefacts in their extensive, linear Fig. 46, left: Masterplan proposal. Piers improve access to the spine, whilst imposing new site boundaries to help stagger regeneration. Green areas indicate possible sites for renaturalisation.

vicinities might also be preserved if the quality of the structures is enough to secure some notion of longevity. Most significantly, access to the extraordinary views of the urban horizon would be greatly enhanced, - despite the marshâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s inevitable cluttering - a unique characteristic of this sparse and open fragment of city.

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PICTURE CREDITS & SOURCES

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Fig. 18. Frances Muir, background mapping from Edina Digimaps [PDF map, Historical Download] At: <http://edina.ac.uk/digimap> Accessed January 2016. Fig. 19. Frances Muir, background mapping from Edina Digimaps [PDF map, Historical Download] At: <http://edina.ac.uk/digimap> Accessed January 2016. Fig. 20. Frances Muir, background mapping from Edina Digimaps [OS map, DWG Download] At: <http://edina.ac.uk/digimap> Accessed March 2016. Fig. 21. Frances Muir [Drawing] Fig. 22. Unknown, Greenwich Power Station from Luralda Wharf. [Photograph] From: Greenwich Library Local History Collection and At: http://www.portcities.org.uk/london/server/s how/conMediaFile.302/Greenwich-Power-Station.html Fig. 23. Frances Muir [Photograph] Fig. 24. Frances Muir [Photograph] Fig. 25. Grandvill, JJ (1844) Bridge of Infinities [Etching] At: http://prints.bl.uk/art/404349/ the-bridge-of-infinities Fig. 26. Frances Muir [Photograph] Fig. 27. Unknown (1946) Enderby’s Wharf Aerial [Photograph] At: http://www.britainfromabove.org.uk/ sites/default/files/imagecache/standard/sites/all/lib/aerofilms-images/public/england/EAW002288.jpg. Fig. 28. Frances Muir [Drawing] Fig. 29. Barratt Homes, Enderby’s Wharf and Cruise Liner Terminal [Visualisation] At: http:// 853blog.com/tag/enderbys-wharf/ Fig. 30. Barratt Homes, Enderby’s Wharf Cruise Liner Terminal at Night [Visualisation] At: http:// www.skyscrapercity.com/showthread.php?t=632984&page=34 Fig. 31. Frances Muir [Photograph] Fig. 32. Frances Muir [Drawing] Fig. 33. Google Maps (2016) Photo Spheres on the Amylum Pier [Aerial Photograph, altered] At: https:// w ww.google.co.uk

Fig. 34. Google Maps (2016) Photo Sphere on the Amylum Pier [Screenshots, manually stitched] At: https:// w ww.google.co.uk

Fig. 35. Google Maps (2016) Photo Sphere on the Amylum Pier [Screenshots, manually stitched] At: https:// w ww.google.co.uk

Fig. 36. Google Maps (2016) Photo Sphere on the ‘concrete beach’ [Screenshots, manually stitched] At: https://www.google.co.uk

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