Hoarding the boredom

Imagine this scenario, you are finishing catching up on the mornings posts on Dezeen and enjoying a cup of green tea when your boss puts a virgin sketch pad on your desk and says it is now company policy for every employee to have one on their desk. Ok you think, but then your boss explains that you can't use the sketch pad. No reason is given as to why you cannot use the sketch pad but it has to stay on your desk and consume precious space, but more importantly look and be painfully dull. Its pages empty, its potential lost.

This is exactly what is happening to Croydon right now if you exchange the sketch pad for some site hoarding and the boss figure for the local council and / or landowners. An unsightly urban plague, these temporary hoardings turned long-term residents isolate spaces all over the expanse of the town from burnt out London Road buildings to the many unoccupied sites around the tired East Croydon redevelopment areas. The fact that these hoardings remain a completely unexploited artistic and graphic outlet is beyond belief, and you do not have to be the next Francis Bacon to understand the opportunities that exist from these otherwise useless additions to the street facades.

Ahead of Croydon's youthful and experienced artistic communities alike exists a definite and logical opportunity to seize a flexible variety of large scale blank canvases from what is currently a collection of over-scaled oppresive timber boundaries. As well as these boring hoardings that hoard further boredom there exists a bounty of other elements in our urban landscape that all have the real potential to become fantastic graphic surfaces by simply adding some imagination and medium, and there are without question a unique collection of people out there who would fulfill this dream for free. A plentiful amount of these characterless boundaries, alleyways and train bridges already exist around Croydon ready for these artists, but are presently all guilty of offering nothing towards the current direction in establishing the thought provoking aesthetic that Croydon is desperately trying to brew. 

This depressed element of the urban environment can be forced to re-evaluate itself, and just like in the 1970's when Jamie Reid and Malcom McLaren helped imagine the revelation that was the punk aesthetic, now is the time to use these canvases to express a fresh regionalist graphic for our small pocket of South London.

TW

...and so, we apologise for nothing (part 2)

There was a time when I was younger and many unique and genuine at heart places existed within Croydon, you could browse the catacombs of beano's record shop, enjoy a cold Belgium cherry beer at the Beer Circus or be inspired by a dictionary of colours and textures at Turtles haberdashery. Despite what would appear to be a collection of amazing spaces destined to be a part of the local scene for generations to come they no longer exist today and neither does a part of my childhood. The same can also be said for the late Astoria venue on Tottenham Court Road where I attended my first ever punk gig at the naive age of 14, where we had to in turn convince some boozy students in front of us to pose as our brothers to get us in. Drunken cooperative meant I got to see Millencolin that night and they still remain a big musical influence to myslef.

It could be argued that all this change whether found in central London or the southern reaches of Croydon is just part of the unstoppable parade that is 'development' and that this gradual loss and gain is simply the blood behind the modern western world that we find ourselves surrounded by, but there exists a more probing question. The broader idea of development encourages us as human beings to try and understand why we place value on the creation and loss of spaces, such as the ones previously described, but is all this change simply inevitable and really there is nothing to question.

Despite expectation Croydon has actually lost far less of its original urban gown than say central London or west London, the latter of which especially enjoys retaining its regal appearance and then polishing over the spaces in between to hide the dirt and shame, something not often seen in a South London setting. New architectural directions in Croydon are generally dealt a rough hand, but this is not without reason. Just like the people, businesses and social spaces Croydon's architecture is tested and toughened over time until it is thoroughly rooted into the local urban harvest. You may not get the overly warm welcome or the polished mirror finish of a central London crowd, but once a presence settles into Croydon whether as a person or a structure its becomes part of an existing camaraderie of sorts. 

By camaraderie I do not mean some poorly edited 'The only way is Essex' spectacle, people playing tennis with worthless compliments, but a curiosity and respect for the space and activity around your being that is hardly ever required to be spoken of. This relationship is not just limited between people though, but between structures themselves and our relation to them. As with Croydon's people the buildings tend to give off an honestly that is rarely recognised, take for example the old Croydon Advertiser building along Surrey Street with its faded painted sign and weathered brickwork which tells of a past life and function. A building that was once the home of a proud local newspaper with its own printing press now stands empty alongside a still vibrant street market, some people would like to call this kind of thing unsightly but I personally see it as a cultural scar of sorts. The shame really is that a greater number of these cultural scars do not still exist to generate a subtle alternative map of the town, indicating the years of urban redevelopment and reconfiguration that have bequeathed our age.

This idea of being able to read a place by means of a  'map of scars' hidden within the urban cracks and shadows is one that should apply to London quite successfully. The opposite is actually the reality. London, a city that has expanded and adapted to meet fresh ideas has developed so many layers that it has actually become harder than one would imagine to decipher the cities past colours. Probably a result of the ruthlessness of said rapid development it has meant that the old is replaced by the young so frequently that an appreciation of loss and gain on an urban scale is almost impossible. Presently however Croydon still has the time to absorb and learn from the loss it suffers and the empty spaces that chill its streets, and unlike our London father who is willing to place little long-term worth on its grassroots structures, Croydon can use this given time to manifest a sound and exciting streetscape and social climate that could last for a generation.

tW

La Tour

There is function and then there is form, with beauty and aesthetics lying somewhere comfortably between the two, this is something drilled into you within the first few page turns of the reading list at the beginning of architecture school. Yet, as a society it is more commonly the mysterious or ornate forms that catch our eye the majority of the time. Everyone romances at the organic form of an unergonomic contemporary garlic crusher but no one appreciates the functional balance of a trusty bread knife.

As with the example of the bread knife the same predicament between function and form viewed from an architectural perspective can be seen at Croydon fire station on the A236. Amusingly, as kids we all tend to be amazed by the fire trucks with their red armour and adult sized water pistols but neglect the fire station itself, the home of the much loved fire truck. Nevertheless, it is not the actual fire station or garage for those shiny fire trucks that is of special interest here but the proud radio tower within the yard.

To tower above is in itself to make a statement, like basketball players, fireworks or your father as a child, to peer upwards makes you become aware of this physical presence over yourself. Strange it is then that this situation is not the case with the radio tower at Croydon Fire Station. The lesson to be learnt here is that it is the honesty of its form that makes this tower blend into the busy suburban sea below. The radio tower, with its white sprayed concrete skin and hollow ant-hill skeleton is a monument of pure function to be set climbed and attached to and as adults this would arguably be a dream piece of jungle-gym equipment, yet we rarely question it's gentle presence.

Sadly though the reality is when this presence is discovered we have a tendency to try and dress up these monuments of function like that of a beauty in a vogue magazine. Standing open mouthed in awe as the image of function is erased slowly from our memories and all we see is mass. The materials that make the structure what it is, which mould the form it has, which creates the function it offers should all be honestly adopted or we risk only witnessing an urban crop of puzzling Stonehenge forms with no real use, and a handful urban fables to accompany. Architecturally as a society we should leave these monuments such as the radio tower alone, appreciated, but alone.

tW

(Photograph to follow)

Skate Hate

 We all remember the 1991 movie Point Break. Swayze, Nixon masks and surfing was the central meat of the story, but deeper down the idea of a group of people with adrenaline on the edge of their breath and a board underneath their feet to do something about it with has for a long time been a dream for many people.

I myself spent a fair amount of time trying to skateboard when I was a teenager and became all too familiar with the rough planes and harsh edges of a South London landscape and many a bruise and graze, scars lovingly given to me from these surfaces, became the majority of my achievements during this period. It was during the short cruises and ollie attempts that I got to know my local suburban environment comprehensively, something I neither appreciated or realised at the time. What would perhaps before have been a characterless surface, suddenly awoke beneath you as the textures ran through the board and into your body as you read and dominated the industrial braille and surfaces, what was once a forgotten element of a bigger architecture suddenly became a platform for your own expression.

Surprising it would seem then that this ideal is widely discouraged, as architects, planners and developers frequently design and detail architecture and urban landscapes to fortify them against the simple act of skating.

Take for example the new Croydon council offices built next to the old establishment at Taberner House, the form is slanted and the appearance is transparent, a classic example of taking a step away from large columns and dominance architecture of old town halls and power houses and instead taking a leap into utilising glass and playing with light to encourage an honest relationship with the public they hope to inspire. An enjoyable piece of architecture, sure, and one would be quite safe in assuming that skaters would not hope for much accomadation out of such a building, but follow the external elevation around to Fell Road and you notice a glimmer of opportunity. Alas, disappointment. For what would otherwise be quite frankly a run of boring planting beds, but a fantastic "grinding" spot for skaters, have been detailed with a large ball bearing pinned at their edges to prevent such shenanigans, which really just begs the question, why go to such lengths to prevent this common recreation?

Rather than embrace the reality that this particular element of design was likely to be adopted and enhanced by skaters for its friendly flat planes, it has been forced to become yet another glorified rubbish bin for people walking to and from East Croydon and Fairfield Halls. There are bigger problems within architectural design than just skaters, like materiality and the modern human scale, yet the skaters seem to always come up against the toughest physical barriers. Good thing then that the skater philosophy has adapted to not care the slightest for architectural rules and regulations, in fact if anything at all the skate hate has grown into a challenge to be won.

tW

...and so, we apologise for nothing (part 1)

When viewed from the relaxing distance of a passing plane heading towards its end at Gatwick you could almost re-imagine Croydon's grey roof-scape as a version of Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam. A bold comparison it could be said, but when the blood between Croydon and London is compared both physically and socially, this bustling south London Town could easily be seen as a metaphorical outstretched arm of its London father, desperately trying to cling to a style of community that reminds it so much of its former self.

As I try to unravel the conversations and experiences I have had in south London, is seems that although most people regard Croydon as being part and the same as London there actually exists a real difference in social thinking and potential between them, an aspect I believe is reflected very clearly through recent urban change. The distance may be a single bus ride between Croydon town centre and somewhere like Elephant a Castle, but as a passenger if you look closely enough you can observe the layers of housing slowly changing to fields of shops, offices and restaurants with apartment blocks proudly rising through them, further segregating work and play. It is this appreciation in change between where people work and live, London coming to be regarded as a centre for work and a place to 'go to' and Croydon more a place where people are 'from' is what I believe is generating the interesting affect on the directions regarding aesthetic and functional values of our built environment.

Central London, where influential and colourful spaces such as Soho and Camden are to be found is a place where fresh adventurous ideas are allowed to be grown and harvested, and as a guest in the city you see it all around you when walking the streets from the boutique pet shops to the cafes and bars of Hoxton, each is an individual piece of the urban puzzle that generates the Metropolitan characteristic of London. Each dusty market and each modern glass coated, cheese grater shaped new kid on the block in this vast city centre appears to integrate so smoothly into its surrounding, and it is this effortlessness that comes from being within central London that is so intriguing on a social scale.

Metropolitan at heart, London is where people generally have less time to waste but more money to spend in clique art cafes and temporary venues for music and film, these spaces are usually well funded and draw a healthy attendance of a critical and alcohol fuelled audience, a sociable and profitable atmosphere for most communities. My theory is however, that a large influence leading to these ventures to be so successful in London is that its audience thoroughly expects them to be a success, rarely questioning the long-term benefits or negatives, subconsciously forcing these spaces to homogenise into the facades and interiors of the local environment. There is no natural progression or right of passage for many of these new additions, they simply function at full power from day one and when the next obsession comes along it is left to disappear into the further expanding brick canvas of London for the next one to try its arm.

It could be said that this process of development is ruthless, but the fruit is so temptingly sweet. Is this just the way of a modern metropolitan position with no realistic alternative, or just maybe there is a priceless architectural and social lesson hidden in the beautifully subtle way a Croydon Urbanity handles the same process?

tW

Dreams as fast as AK-47s (A Distopian Croydon Story)

Stepping out into the furious sweat filled air of the top deck I scanned the terraced pitched roof horizon and felt my lungs slowly calm under the strain of dust built up from months of urban reconfiguration drawn upon by the frustration of what appeared to be an endless post-recession South London. I had lost track of how much time had past since I first arrived at Tower 1, or The Croydon Walled City as the government had grown fond of calling it, the collection of colourful beer bottle tops I had used to indicate the passing of days, weeks and months that I placed carefully on the one shelf in my plywood and corrugated aluminium shelter had all been lost or destroyed during the last unsuccessful relocation raid by the police. 

As a younger man I had known Tower 1 simply as one of seven multi-storey car parks located within Croydon town centre that stood like giants alongside the likes of the decorative Allders building, and shortly after arriving we kept the name as a means of preserving the material innocence of the car park's function. Looking back, there was evidently a part of us that was too afraid of becoming emotionally attached to something whose dimensions were designed for a machine, besides, we were a generation conditioned to Disney visuals, we knew how to see through the smoke. The name Croydon Walled City was an attempt by the government to convince the favourable architects and psychologists of the day, who were busy analysing and recording our micro society, that it was us that had divorced ourselves from the world and not the other way round. Within the Tower though we understood this childish naming game that the politicians loved to play, but we chose to ignore it, even when they changed the local road signs.

I have grown fond of the sounds that bounce off the harsh walls of the Tower produced by the illegal fermenters and 3D gun printing factories, but there was I time when I often lay awake at night recalling the early days when I first arrived with the other architectural students. The idea began its life in a homely London pub corner like so many other ideas, rooted in a frenzied discussion between the social-urban ideals of participatory architecture and the new Judge Dredd film. Our architectural education had filled the pallets of our minds with creativity but sapped it of reality and the transparency and absence of the most modern architecture had left us questioning whether humans were meant to feel anything for this sort of aesthetic at all. Upon seeing this unapologetic urban grain that surrounded us it was clear that the only form of progression was by way of rescuing one its orphaned children, something the London 2011 Riots flickered a subdued lust for, an architecture by occupancy.

We settled on a car park, tackled the brief but memorable climb to the top deck and pitched our tents and trangias in a circle in one of the sheltered corners, the nomadic home for all our meals and conversation for the next few months. In the early days we passed the time playing football between the stacked levels of the Tower, resting on the cool surface on the concrete when our thighs could no longer negotiate the verticality of its mass. Book readings and philosophical discussion would fill the late night air as a halo of light pollution climbed above us, whilst the days were spent scavenging for any food or building material we could recover. Making use of this abandoned space, we were busy, we were happy.

After a couple of months a varied pack had joined our cause including engineers, artists and carpenters, all of whose skills were vital in adapting this concrete Noah's Ark. Permanent shelters, rain water harvesters and home-made solar panels began to coat the Towers top deck like a second-hand pointillist painting, and with the introduction of more feet came the fading of the yellow lines that marked out the endless car parking bays like the tattoo removal of a reformed prisoner. The frequency of visits by the local council had dramatically fallen, their presence dripping with a hidden agenda as they hovered around like mosquitoes, but the main change was that cars had now stopped coming to the Tower and a human scale was truly beginning to transform the frame of this magnificent structure.

However, it has been a long time since our arrival and now with my back on the pitched roof horizon facing into the cool breeze that so elegantly drifts above and through the graceful grey lines of the Tower it amazes me still how our community has evolved since those early days. Yet the authorities come for us now with an animal like dedication to their precious car parking spaces, eager to re-establish its uniform structuralism. A camouflaged appearance even shadowing the thick concrete decks, the Tower now resembles a space more like that seen in Mumbai with its some three thousand occupiers, surrounded by an urban canvas of London roofs having been coated with dust, graffiti and litter, our very own Warhol.

I can hear the shouting and stamping of heavy booted feet from the bottom deck and the television helicopters, like vultures, are beginning to appear on the horizon for their finest meal. I will miss this place dearly, its mass becoming an extention of ourselves, funny though that it was never really us they wanted to remove, it was the ideal we have created.

tW