by Bill Crampin
Only a myopic introvert could fail to note the deep-seated dissatisfaction felt by many people towards modern architecture. Buildings and architecture have quite rightly become subjects of popular debate, and who can argue that this is a turn of events not to be welcomed.
Many informed observers will fear, in my view with great justification, that the likely outcome of this public intervention, catalysed perhaps by Prince Charles and his Vision of Britain, will be a form of architectural “dark age” which will produce vernacular or classical facsimilies devoid of soul, wit or merit. This will arise not out of what was perhaps intended but out of how it will be interpreted.
Some, mainly architects, will wriggle and squirm, denying the good of these initiatives, which they see as a threat to their professional virility.
It is essential to the cause of architecture that the debate on its future direction now centres on some firm common ground and that it is not allowed to develop into a slanging match between the dissatisfied and the creative. The problem is that of defining this common ground and setting the parameters of design so that both creative designers and those who are justifiably dissatisfied can be in agreement over what are their objectives. Debate can then be ordered and constructive.
It seems to me that history itself provides an answer if one is receptive to its lessons. Let us look back to the point where people began to show real concern over their built environment.
I believe that the seeds of widespread dissatisfaction were sown with the advent of what we know as “the modern movement”. For thousands of years architecture had been a largely evolutionary process. Each generation learnt recognised ways of doing things and then refined, modified and developed them to suit their own purposes. This produced styles of architecture with which people were generally happy. True, there were minor revolutions along the way and there was heated argument and debate, but nothing like what was to follow.
The modern movement gathered momentum in the early 1930s. It was the new architecture of simplicity, of form relating directly to pure function, the built expression of the machine ethic. It proposed changes so fundamental that considerations of evolution, proportion, refinement, sociology and even sound building practice were swamped beneath the wave of enthusiasm for the technological revolution where, suddenly, almost anything appeared to be possible.
It was not the founding projects of the modern movement which were the worst culprits, and it should be recognised that some very imaginative buildings of great subtlety were produced by skilled designers such as Behrens, Gropius and Corbusier. Its downfall lay in what society as a whole was able to do with it, and in this respect the architect was not entirely to blame. Simplicity and purity became an excuse to spend less money, to create a mean architecture of omission; it was an easy style for less able designers to copy — with disastrous results; technological building processes lent themselves to factory production methods that proved unsatisfactory because they were ill-considered and oversimplified complex problems.
Against this background, the second world war produced a vast requirement for new buildings, for which this new architecture proved irresistibly attractive. It therefore spread at an unprecedented rate with results that are known well enough.
We are, in the context of history, in an architectural wilderness, striving for a new direction following the failures of the past, but lacking certainty or conviction. The vast majority of modern buildings therefore show little improvement; certainly no sense of scale and sensitivity to urban context seems to be emerging.
If we accept the thesis that it was the modern movement which heralded a major divergence of empathy between those designing new buildings and those using them, then it is to this point that we should return to look for the signposts to the future. Where had architecture got to in the early part of this century? There are many buildings, particularly in our capital city, that demonstrate the levels of elegance, consistency, quality and contextual awareness that had been achieved.
The wonderful thing about this era was that the average quality of buildings was so high, although it may be argued that there were few star performers. The fact that architecture was still then an evolutionary process meant that buildings possessed a cohesive quality, which had a profound effect on their group value and hence on our townscape. They also had a sense of scale — another early casualty of the modern movement.
Let us now consider what might have been, had the evolutionary process continued. Clearly we would have moved on a long way; there would still be buildings which in our terms looked “modern”, but would they be more satisfying and convincing because they arrived via a different cultural route? I believe the answer is “yes”.
The central argument is not that we should in any way return to an emulative style based on cosy imagery but that we should endeavour to project where the evolutionary process would by now have been were it not for the revolutionary influence of the modern movement.
To this end, we must look again at the major elements of buildings of the past 100 years, analyse construction, detail, proportion and decoration, of the door, the window, the wall, the column and the beam, until we have an understanding of the special characteristics of these ingredients which create “style”.
It is clear, for example, that much of the evolution of architecture is to do with the expression of the column. From simple beginnings its treatment has developed in an almost infinite variety of ways, each stage saying something about its own time and always expressing the combined and inseparable functions of structure and decoration. The column so expressed creates a vertical proportion that suggests elegance and dignity and breaks down the run of a building to a human scale.
Many modern buildings, with the aid of reinforced concrete and steel, express sweeping horizontals devoid of relief–an appearance that does little to make the structure visually comprehensible — decoration that is stuck on as an afterthought, a scale that does not relate to people, and a presence which suggests that townscape has yet to be invented.
I believe that the benefits which attach to a return to the evolutionary process could be enormous.
To apply this principle to the 1990s would certainly be a difficult process at first but, as with all styles, one where a natural order would evolve as some solutions appear more appropriate than others when measured against a common objective.
I must again stress that this is a progressive philosophy. I am not advocating a return to the past, but rather proposing that buildings can be modern yet principled, evolutionary and refined, not arbitrary, directionless or fashion-led. Certainly there would be no diminution of creative input. One has only to look at the levels of refinement that have been achieved historically in buildings to see the potential that the evolutionary process has to offer in terms of imagination and sophistication.
A loose unity between buildings could once again evolve, so that they would have a collective value so important to townscape and so desperately lacking in so many modern buildings. More respect for the past would lead to greater humility, less arrogance, more sensitivity and would create an environment with which civilised society could once again feel at ease.
Although one cannot disagree with the majority of the points crystallised in the writing of the Prince of Wales, they form an emotional argument that could lead to a timid, imitative architecture which will devastate our future heritage. The solution lies in another direction.
