Archives for category: architecture

I hold the The Tricorn (1964 – 2001) in only fond regard. This was a place where, in chronological order, my parents met, I cut my graffiti teeth, I bought records, I nightclubbed, bought clothes, bought more records, learnt (kind of) to DJ and finally worked.

The complex provoked and continues to provoke extreme reactions. A sprawling Brutalist complex that contained a shopping centre, apartments, car park and even a nightclub, the Tricorn was designed by Rodney Gordon at the Owen Luder Partnership and was completed in 1964 to general acclaim. In 1967 it won the Civic Trust Award for its “exciting visual composition”, three years later it was voted Britain’s fourth ugliest building. Go figure.

The Tricorn, like many similar, system built concrete structures built at this time soon both fell out of favour, fashion and into disrepair. Before it’s demolition nobody lived in the apartments besides pigeons, the club had long shut down and most of the shops had long moved on. The place had been left pretty much to rot, becoming a foreboding mass of crumbling concrete, a blot on the landscape. Despite appeals for it’s regeneration these were drowned out by the majority and the sad and tatty Tricorn was finally put out of it’s misery to a spiteful fanfare in 2004.

Personally, I’m sad it was demolished and I’m certainly not alone. Before its demolition, hoardings were put up around the site and Portsmouth City Council invited the artist Jeanie Kerswell to create a public art project which would both decorate the hoardings and display Portsmouth residents’ memories of the Tricorn. ‘The Colour Happened On The Inside’ concept covered the boards with Marmite jars (a neat take on ‘you either love it or hate it’) with white labels to be used for handwritten recollections of the soon to be demolished building.

What followed was an emotive set of comments from people who, like me, had learned to love the complex despite it’s failings. Somehow,within it’s alleyways, arcades and damp, crumbling facades a community had built up. Whether it had happened in the way Owen Luder and Rodney Gordon had intended was besides the point. While the bigger shops like Argos and Virgin Megastore (why isn’t anything a ‘mega’ anything anymore?) moved out of the building, a network of independent traders did their thing in Charlottes Superstore; an indoor market which seemed to absorb the noisiness and chaos of the Charlotte Street market outside.

In my era Charlottes and The Tricorn was home to the independent clothes shops, One Legged Jockey and Rif Raf (which was run by Pete Voss, the eventual lead singer of Indie Dance mob Campag Velocet), Domino Records which sold half decent Hip Hop and House music, a pet shop (with an agressive parrot if I recall), the obligatory greasy spoon and the haven for misfits, miscreants and all round good people, Mondo Comics.

The whole place was a bit of a mecca, a slice of alternative culture rarely found in Portsmouth at this time. This was people making the most of what they had. It’s my understanding that these independent shops were able to flourish as the rents were so low due to the poor state of The Tricorn but it’s interesting how this thriving community formed from nothing much.

Town planners of the late 60s and 70s had tried and so often failed to ‘create’ communities by building housing estates with schools, shops and pubs bolted on. But communities don’t just happen by plonking a group of people into one purpose built set of buildings. They evolve, untidily and unpredictably. Perhaps this was part of the reason The Tricorn failed; at least in it’s intended purpose. Structurally of course, it suffered the same problems as other Brutalist style buildings of that era; the bare concrete soon deteriorated when exposed to the unforgiving weather of the South Coast and the buildings warren-like layout and barely negotiable alleyways and foreboding voids seem quite bizarre on reflection.

The Tricorn demolition finally started in 2001, accompanied by a jovial live radio broadcast and torrential rain. What stands in it’s place is a car park.

Tricorn 3D walkthrough

The Tricorn: Life and Death of a Sixties Icon by Celia Clark and Robert Cook


A delicate sense of terror

So, I’m still on a Brutalist, Modernist, social housing tip these days. I’m currently reading Lynsey Hanley’s excellent Estates: An Intimate History, which recounts the authors time and experience on a council estate outside Birmingham. As well as a deeply personal reflection on the effects of living on a council estate it is a great potted history of social housing in Britain. It was from this book that I found the quote on the image above. It comes from the architect James Dunnet who, when talking about Ernő Goldfinger‘s much maligned Balfron Tower in East London described the building as inspiring ‘a delicate sense of terror’. As Hanley notes…’is living in a council flat supposed to be delicately terrifying?’.

The image above is a kind of homage to bad photo + vintage filter + helvetica except it’s not a bad photo, it’s not filtered but I have used Helvetica. Because sometimes you just have to.

Many thanks for the amazing image of Trellick Tower (Balfrons big brother) taken by Ted Sandling.

Some great images and commentary on Balfron Tower and many other London housing projects on this great blog: Love London Council Housing.

I went to Murcia in Spain recently and found myself wandering around taking photos of typography and book covers. It’s dawned on me that since embarking on my Graphic Design degree I have, happily, turned into a type geek.

Shop sign

TipografiaShop sign

Neon signage

Car parkAlso, spent a lot of time in a great bookshop called antano that seemed to have the best book covers in Spain in one beautiful space. Love the illustration on this book cover below. Buy it here.

El Pajaro de Fuego

And I bought the lovely (and kind of pointless) book, Laberintos (Labyrinths or mazes) below. Buy that here.Laberintos


Robin Hood Gardens, Alison and Peter Smithson,...

Image via Wikipedia

After World War II, Britain required massive and rapid reconstruction. Modernist architects were enlisted to rebuild its schools and housing as cheaply and as quickly as possible. This sense of urgency meant the humanist ideals of the Modernists were ignored with long lasting and ocassionaly tragic consequences.

Post-war reconstruction

Even before the devastating bombings of World War II, affordable housing in Britain was in a terrible condition. Industrialisation had brought new markets, a consumer boom and prosperity for the propertied classes and towns and cities had expanded with little planning. The living conditions for the people that turned the wheels of Industrialisation – the working classes – were dirty and cramped.

Victory in the War had caused a swell of optimism. There was a feeling that the need to rebuild Britain was also an opportunity to build a new nation both socially and structurally; a chance to rectify the mistakes of the past. This meant that concepts previously ignored could be considered. British authorities began to look to Modernist architecture to solve its housing crisis. Politically, two Parliamentary Acts provided the Modernists with an opportunity to rebuild Britain in its image. The Butler Education Act of 1944 and The New Towns Act of 1946 ensured that by the mid 50s an incredible 2,500 schools would be built and ten entirely new towns were either under construction or on the drawing board. This required a fast, efficient solution.

‘Béton brut’ and the new brutalists

Charles-Édouard Jeanneret or Le Corbusier’s ideas for urban planning and construction were shaped by an admiration of 20th century engineering principles: mass production, logical design and function over style. He believed these processes could be applied to the design of rationally planned cities to provide a healthy, humane alternative to the chaos of the Victorian slum. Writing in 1921 in the magazine L’Esprit Nouveau, Le Corbusier stated that a house should be ‘un machine a habiter’: a machine for living in.

Le Corbusier

Auguste Perret (who Corbusier had worked with at the beginnining of his career) first championed the use of reinforced concrete for construction and Corbusier would later use this material in his designs in the most efficient way. The concrete would remain uncovered, still bearing the marks of the wooden shutters used to form it. This came to be known as ‘béton brut’ or ‘raw concrete’. The process would go on to be used widely in the urban regeneration of Britain because of the speed of construction and its affordability.

Although Corbusier was prolific, many of his urban plans never left the drawing board but his ambitious ideas sparked debate and shaped the future of Modernist architecture. In particular, his successful Unité d’habitation in Marseliies became a prototype for many poor imitations of his social housing vision in Britain during the 60s and 70s.

Unité d'habitation

Alison and Peter Smithson formed a formidable British architectural partnership in the mid 20th century, pushing forward the cause of Modernism. The Smithsons were uncompromising in their determination to define a new approach to Modernist architecture, which, like Corbusier, they believed could exploit the low cost and simplicity of mass-produced materials and pre-fabricated components. In his text The New Brutalism: Ethic or Aesthetic, the Smithson’s friend, design theorist Reyner Banham hailed them as the pioneers of “the new brutalism”, a play on ‘Béton brut’. Although a kind of architectural establishment in-joke, the term stuck.

Alison and Peter Smithson.

Although resolutely Modernist, the Smithsons attacked the urbanist dogma of architects like Le Corbusier who stated that cities should be zoned into specific areas for living, working, leisure and transport and that urban housing should consist of tall, widely spaced towers – the machines for living in. They worried that this vision would lead to sterile cities, devoid of community which would lead the residents to feel individually isolated. In 1953 the Smithsons wrote:

‘Belonging’ is a basic human need – its associations are of the highest order. From ‘belonging’ – identity – comes the enriching sense of neighbourliness. The short narrow street of the slum succeeds where the spacious redevelopment frequently fails.

This statement proves that despite the failure of some of their work, they, like Corbusier were concerned with combining modern architecture and technology as ‘a means of expression that would serve the common good’. (Khan H-U, 2009 p152)

In the late 60s, the pair were given the opportunity to indulge their urban vision on a site in Poplar, East London. Robin Hood Gardens is an example of their ‘streets in the sky’ concept. The wide balconies – the ‘street’ – which connected the flats, allow for its residents to walk, play or even cycle along them. Like many projects built around this time the building was plagued by structural flaws, overcrowding and a high crime rate, leaving it unloved by many of its residents. Then and since it has been derided as an example of architectural folly rather than the model for progressive social housing the Smithsons had hoped for.

Robin Hood Gardens

The Brutalist blueprint

In 1961, the ‘streets in the sky’ concept inspired the design of Sheffield’s Park Hill Estate. Park Hill was intended to provide local authority housing for thousands of people. At the time, Sheffield was a largely working class industrial city whose best days were behind it. Sheffield Council hoped that the estate would signal the rejuvenation of the city and to provide quality homes in a deprived area.

Park Hill’s problems quickly became apparent. It was intended to be a version of Le Corbusier’s Unité d’habitation but the estate allowed some of the worst aspects of urban life to remain. The structure was full of shadowy spots and escape routes and although it included shops, a school and a pub, it did not allow for any of the vibrancy or diversity that had evolved organically in the area over decades or even centuries.

Park Hill Estate

This style of council housing became the blueprint during the 60s and 70s and almost all of the developments suffered the same problems. Bare concrete was an easy target for vandalism and the poorly planned voids and alleyways within the buildings created an atmosphere of claustrophobia and fear. The unforgiving climate of Britain attacked bare concrete, leaving the steel reinforcements exposed. The structures soon looked shabby and uninviting and in a climate of economic strife and mass unemployment the Brutalist aesthetic could not have been more unwelcome.

Foundations built on sand

The beginning of the end for Brutalist, ‘system-built’ social housing was the disaster at Ronan Point, East London in 1968. The high rise collapsed after a gas explosion leaving four residents dead. System-built flats had become a popular construction method with 470,000 new flats and houses built this way the previous year. This led to quality control being largely absent. An examination of the joints of Ronan Point found them to be filled with newspaper not concrete. Walls did not rest on beds of mortar but on levelling bolts, enabling rainwater to seep into the joints. The whole weight of the building was resting on these bolts and consequently the gas explosion led the block to collapse. To the general public the disaster meant that not only were these already unpopular buildings ugly, they were unsafe too.

Ronan Point

The eagerness for this and other system-builds of the time was politically motivated. Municipal leaders saw high density housing as a solution to population drain, giving them more leverage in Whitehall. A subsidy was even given to local councils for every floor built over five storeys, creating a clear financial incentive to build higher and quicker. Ronan Point could be seen as a symbol of post-war political rhetoric. When the public saw the high rises shooting up they could be sure that the government was fulfilling its promises to rebuild. The collapse of the high rise left this rhetoric sounding increasingly hollow.

Other Brutalist projects followed, some even becoming successful and icons of pop culture like Erno Goldfingers Trellick Tower and in recent years there has been a reconsideration of the Brutalist aesthetic – Park Hill for example has recently been rethought and regenerated, however the disaster at Ronan Point spelt the end for widespread use of the New Brutalist blueprint.


While Modernism had arrived on a wave of great optimism in Britain, this was soon replaced by harsh reality. Britain’s industrial cities were bound by generations who had worked in its mines and factories and although life was hard, the working class had a clear sense of identity and a feeling that they belonged. Economic depression, the end of industry and mass unemployment during the 70s and 80s left the working classes almost as shellshocked as the generation that had emerged from the War. The familiar landscape they had been bought up in had been replaced with poorly built constructions that left them feeling isolated and dehumanised. This was not the urban utopia that the Modernists had wanted to build; it was their governments discount version of it.

Despite their failures, Modernist and even Brutalist buildings have proved that when built soundly and cared for they can be successful. Sadly, social housings failures during this period led many to lay the blame at the feet of the Modernists, but blaming visionaries like the Smithsons and Le Corbusier as the architects of the failure ignores the deep and genuine concern for human health and comfort that underpinned their work. It is a tragedy that the utopian dream of Modernist architecture could not be realised; this was a missed opportunity to rebuild a better Britain, structurally and socially, one that may never occur again.


Lowe N (2009) Mastering Modern British History. NY, Palgrave Macmillan.

Bedaria F (1991) A Social History of England 1851-1990. London, Routledge.

Khan H-U (2009) International Style. GmbH, Taschen.


Figure 1: Le Corbusier. Nina Leen/Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images Jan 01, 1946

Figure 2: Unité d’habitation. Photographer and date unknown.

Figure 3 Alison and Peter Smithson. Photographer and date unknown.

Figure 4: Robin Hood Gardens. Sandra Lousada. Date unknown.

Figure 5: Park Hill, Sheffield. Photographer and date unknown.

Figure 6: Ronan Point. The Daily Telegraph, 1968.

Soooo, the next brief for my Graphic Design degree. Play 2 Create: “create a visually dynamic web site that imaginatively interprets the narrative structure, spatial and temporal (time-based) experience and contextual meaning in a cinematic film.” Nice.

This is to be done using Flash and ActionScript. Never done anything with either of those in the past so technically this project may be a ball-ache but conceptually and visually very interesting.

After a little umming and aahing the movie I’ve chosen is going to be the stylish and controversial (at the time) A Clockwork Orange. In the movie of Anthony Burgess‘s novella of the same name Stanley Kubrick visualised a dystopian, near future England  where ultraviolent gangs roamed the streets high on Beethoven and milk, looking for their next victim. A little research reveals a dearth of info on Kubrick and the movie but here’s what I like about it:

A Clockwork Orange

The ‘Kubrick stare’. As performed by Malcolm McDowell here, Jack Nicholson in The Shining below and Vincent D’Onofrio in Full Metal Jacket below that. Face centre of the screen, head slightly tilted down, eyes looking up and they’re looking at YOU.

The Shining

Full Metal Jacket

Which brings me neatly to the centring of many scenes in Kubrick’s movies. The attention to detail and dramatic effect is amazing. As seen above and these lovely set ups in A Clockwork Orange:

A Clockwork Orange

A Clockwork Orange

A Clockwork Orange

Finally, the architecture in A Clockwork Orange really does it for me. In an era when modernist, brutalist projects and social housing developments were yet to fall from grace, these concrete beauties/monstrosities are a perfect backdrop. First is the Brunel University in Uxbridge AKA the Ludoviko Medical Centre followed by Southmere Lake on the Thamesmead Estate (between Greenwich and Bexley). Finally, Southmere as it is now.

Brunel University



There’s a great video here where Simon Baumann visits the locations in the movie while the narrator reads from Kubrick’s script notes. Interesting stuff.

More on all this later…

South Bank

South Bank

National Theatre, South Bank

I love the area around the South Bank. In a swift hours walk you can get to see some major cultural and architectural landmarks as well as some dodgy street entertainers, it’s got the lot. A bit of Brutalism? Check. Man dressed as a kind of polar bear/wolf hybrid? Check.

La Manga

La Manga

La Manga

Taken on a visit to La Manga in Murcia, Spain recently. One very swish apartment and one shell of an hotel block. An identical one next to it was completed in the 80s before it was discovered that the correct planning procedures hadn’t been carried out. And so this one was abandoned, half-built.