Modular

The idea of modular design in both architecture and furniture has been around for a great deal of time, influencing the way we interact with space and the efficiency to which we use it. As a child there is an early opportunity of being introduced to modular design in the form of toys such as Lego or Jenga. These tactile toys provide modification and repetition that helps establish in a child's development that the constants of a smaller modular element can be augmented together to form a larger and perhaps more complicated form of related proportions. Then as time passes the toy blocks we played with as a child scale up alongside us to be the very bricks that build the houses we find ourselves living in as adults.

Architecture has arguably held a fascination with modular design since the first primitive shelter was ever erected, when the thought naturally accord as to how to make the process more efficient. Less leaves, more sticks, a rigid frame. Centuries on and the effects that global warming is evidently creating has in recent years generated a surge of efficient, and more importantly economic, modular design for disaster relief situations around the world, providing a new international revival in the search for the ideal modular structure.

However, although disaster relief is clearly where modular design could be most usefully implemented the idea is notoriously being fostered and bastardised in such places as China and India, where the need to build humongous and with haste is everywhere to be witnessed through social media or otherwise. So it was with excitement that I finally took the time to analysis a modular clad building that I have passed for many years, that is found living in the shadow of its close neighbour, no.1 Croydon.

To gaze at this building briefly from one of the windows of the many trams, busses or cars that pass around the East Croydon area, you would not be alone in arriving at the quick decision that 22 Addiscombe Road is just another poor architectural example from possibly the 1970's. The ASBO concrete jacket and rigid form could easily excuse 22 Addiscombe Road for camouflaging beautifully into the many other examples of such offices that exist within Croydon. However, to stand underneath the mass of this building and perhaps even feel the reptile like cladding is to gain an enlightened understanding of the aesthetic trying to be encouraged here.

The modular cladding component takes on the form of what is essentially a giant arrow, stacked together like a fraternity, pointing this way and that in a subconscious attempt to direct nearby vehicular movement. The facade is not limited to a singular plane though, and the modular cladding carries with it both a tactile and physical plane. The arrows grind in and out of the building facade, playing with shadow and the transfer of the buildings silhouette onto the horizon. The tough finish of the concrete offering the building a sculptural solidarity that is scarcely seen in most modern architecture.

Many new developments in Croydon such as the recent Saffron Square, have fantastic aspirations for social spaces and urban massing, but still lack a certain presence regardless of their heaviness. This idea of presence could be learnt from reticent existing examples such as 22 Addiscombe Road, where the cladding quite literally reaches out to you and provokes the surrounding space. Hopefully in the future modern developments will be seen that create external skins that connect with their local context, almost as if offering an architectural handshake.

tW

There once was an ugly duckling

Walking down Borough Road towards London Bridge station on my now weekly journey back home from university, I noticed yet again the heaving behemoth that is the 'Walkie Talkie' building otherwise known as 20 Fenchurch Street. A new resident to the London horizon and a bullish one at that, the building certainly forces it's presence towards its context but is it for the right reasons?

Assessing my opinion that the Walkie Talkie building is now obviously the most disappointing building in the city, it got me wondering what the equal example of a building might be in Croydon. There are the obvious first choices such as sad looking pubs and forgotten bingo halls, but these are far too obvious and although they may appear ugly by modern standards they are in reality rich in local history and the birth place of many friendships and conversations.

Equally, some of Croydon's contemporary building stock could easily be called ugly and oppressive against the historic mix of existing buildings, but the truth is that these are simply poorly considered and a victim of rushed design and construction. Instead I found the answer to my question within Exchange Square, coming from a building that is less of a building and more of a monster. Sitting uncomfortably beside the historic Pump House, a wonderfully considered Victorian brick building designed to celebrate the internal machinery, is what can only be described as a GRP (glass reinforced plastic) clad tumor. 

The story behind the birth of this monster goes that the machinery once housed in the original Pump House become oversized and outdated and that the same job could be done by smaller and more reliable equipment. Being that the original Pump House was an historic building, the decision was then taken to construct a smaller housing outside the building for the new equipment, leading to the green menace that we are confronted with today.

It can be safely argued that there was no inspiration, no consideration and certainly no aesthetics when this hut was designed, one can tell this just by taking a quick walk around it. Even the very placement of this hut is disrespectful, orientated at a completely different angle to the two adjacent buildings the hut disects the space unsympathetically, creating an unwanted spectacle of itself, the Quasimodo of Exchange Square.

I understand that the presence and impact of such a small aspect of the urban environment could easily be ignored, no matter how insulting it is to the eyes, but then this attitude would only allow for a worsening of the situation. Whether designing the latest shopping development or a simple housing for industrial machinery it is important to consider the local influence and presence created by the building. The act of dumping a building, like that of the Pump House tumor, into reality like a child disregarding a toy is a dangerous game, and in the modern world we live in this can happen all too easily. It must be understood that the damage made in this situation is immediate and rectifying the situation is more than difficult.

tW

Textures as Maps

Having never been to the Parfitt Gallery at Croydon College before I walked through the front entrance just off of Wellesley Road and proceeded straight into a student hair salon, a harsh architectural reminder that no matter how grand and symmetrically centred a front entrance appears it cannot be trusted to be so. Luckily for myself I was quickly redirected in the right direction without any loss of hair through further stress or eager hairdresser. 

My newly acquired visitors badge trustingly stuck to my coat, I proceeded towards the Parfitt Gallery; a white coated, glass fronted single room with two columns set asymmetrically giving the space a certain unavoidable definition. Getting closer to the room one could make out the distorted prints hinting at Croydon’s historic and more recent skyline along with variously aged photographs of the town all set to a 1960’s concrete grey background. Therefore as one of the more recent self-proclaimed urban explorers of Croydon’s curiously shadowed corners and desaturated surfaces I needed no invite to enter this luring yet empty room.

Curated by Croydon School of Art and London College of Communication Lecturer Rob Mowbray with contributions from Graphic designers / artists Craig Burston and Martin Saull, Ghost Town: The Hauntology of Croydon aspires to motivate a different approach towards our understanding of the majority of the built environment that dictates Croydon. Using the many high-rise offices that were built in the 1960’s as fuel and inspiration, the exhibition explores the effect the towering built forms and their often uniform concrete skins have on us through photographic, artistic and psychogeographic mediums.

The gallery door left open by myself I realised once again that I was within the stomach of an active college as the assault of noise arose from the end of a teaching period, paused conversations revived once more safely away from the ears of teachers, spies. Noise successfully buffered I turned around and proceeded towards what appeared to be delicate prints of maps uniformly hung on the back wall. However, as I drew close my eyes slowly deciphered these prints and they were in fact beautifully selected detail photographs of Croydon’s built environment of its varying concrete surfaces. How interesting it is that concrete, a material that for the most part is used to generate some of the largest forms known to man can have such mysteriousness and illusion at a micro scale, and hence why I found myself happily staring at these photographs for quite some time.

Despite having a healthy choice of artistically critical material to browse through and respond to there was one particular piece that seemed to effortlessly scream for my attention from the moment I lay eyes on it. A newspaper, a common item in this day and age seen on trains and in prisons alike hung on a wall, a deliberate tear through its middle like the layering of an onion's skin. The newspaper had been constructed by printing a number of Croydon's most recognisable high-rise towers within its pages and by tearing a rough but inspired hole through the middle to reveal the back page, a sky blue wash. In this moment we are being encouraged by Josh Mowbray the creator of this particular piece to come to terms with the reality that is the ensemble of empty spaces that exist within these sleepy concrete shells created from a commercial greed some decades previous. Although this newspaper may have an honest appearance, its grim reminder of the effects of development and progress is one ought to be taken seriously.

Ghost Town: The Hauntology of Croydon though a small exhibition, faced with the opportunity to over populate the room with images of menacing high-rise blocks and ominous memorandums choose a very concise and effective way of portraying its message regarding our built environment. The only minor shame was the lack of tactile interaction with the exhibition. Concrete being the main material point of focus creates throughout the exhibition a desire to touch and experience this grey matter both at a human and micro scale. The many prints and photographs of rough and polished concrete left me wanting to remind myself of this material experience once more, but perhaps this feeling was a result of the exhibitions success in being able to leave a lasting impression. This effect, deliberate or not, sets a new precedent for Croydon to begin an era of self reflection and evaluation towards its expansion, to set in place yet again heavy looking and independently acting towers or to begin encouraging an urban field of community and integration, either way this exhibition has begun to ask those questions.

tW

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

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

My Very Own Italian Summer

Having recently begun working for an architectural practise within the colourful expanse of the South Croydon cafe and restaurant district, it was only natural that I found myself spending cycle rides to and from work being distracted by the animated streetscape and lunch times being occupied with wondering the local area with colleagues in search of places to eat and drink. Needless to say, it has not taken me long to decipher that what I am enjoying most about the local area is the predominantly independent community that exists here, both the people and businesses. The constant flow of vans unloading their goods and buses unloading their people makes for an energetic local urban environment helping the street front and internal elements blend together into a welcoming urban theatre.

As well as a local convenience shop that sells Old Jamaica Ginger Beer, owned by a shop keeper willing to discuss at length with me the flaws in the England batting line up, I have more importantly discovered an amazingly authentic Italian delicatessen. Nestled on the corner of the roundabout that joins Croham Road and Selsdon Road this small deli houses all the character and charm of Italy one can expect to find in the suburban plains of South Croydon, and on a daily basis one can expect to peer in through the windows of this cosy place and see the few tables that are available filled with smiling faces and empty plates.

Upon entering the Deli one is immediately welcomed by the immense wooden detailing of the interior from the floor and furniture, to the trimming finishes that detail the endless shelving filled with all kinds of tempting Italian style treats, such as the panettones that are intriguingly hung from high flying wires. Yet with a floor space of what can only be around 4m by 4m one could easily be forgiven for passing by this place in order to find somewhere more spacious or convenient. The reality is that the atmosphere created from this small internal space is wonderfully familiar, you can comfortably take a seat and enjoy a cup of strong coffee whilst being watched over by the library like shelving and imagine you are back home sitting in your favourite arm chair. The smells of roasting coffee and dressed olives are strong is the deli and I am reminded of the rarity of effective small spaces like this one.

My experience with the architecture of this South Croydon Deli has left me wondering what other small spaces lie primarily undiscovered in our town, and I certainly know I will looking out a lot more closely for these types of spaces in the future. I guess it shows you should never judge a panettone by its box.

tW

Matthews Yard, The Last Craftsman

I walk into Matthew’s Yard from the biting October cold with my cycling hat still firmly in place, a habit I have enforced upon myself since my girlfriend made it perfectly clear that it made me look like an idiot, but I love it so the hat stays. Tea bought and a seat found, I finally remove the hat and nervously open my sketchbook. As well as the architecture blog, this is another fragment of my life that I have neglected over the last six months and, as a result, have forced myself recently to correct that failing.

It also turns out that I have not been back to Matthew’s Yard since the bustling grand opening back in April, and although the general layout remains roughly the same as when I last saw it, all the animated and distinctive character that I got a glimpse of on that night has now thoroughly embedded itself within the internal space. Sitting comfortably in the large cafe space one can observe straight away that by making both resourceful and aesthetic use of materials at their simplest form the tactile experience of Matthew’s Yard has been made to feel very homely. By resisting the urge to completely clad every wall, and paint every soffit, the building’s age and beauty is allowed to intertwine with the fresh furniture and industrial fittings that have been employed throughout the space.

The bar is undoubtedly the golden lamp in the room, a vast ten metre pleasantly crafted wooden mass that stands as a foundation for the many pieces of equipment that steam, bang and hiss as they produce their many cups of coffee and other delights. To further add to the character of the bar is the fact that it was cut and erected on site, by hand, by one man. This kind of dedication to a single element of a new build is a rare thing to witness, especially with so many interior design products being available so easily and quickly that with just a few clicks of a mouse or pages turned of a catalogue you can fit out almost any space. However, inside Matthew's Yard you discover the opposite, finding yourself constantly entertained by the delights of such honest things as industrial light fittings, chalkboards and stripped timber flooring, all reminders of the many hands and minds who helped craft this space into what it is, a community hub.

For Matthew’s Yard, however, this kind of dedication and cooperation is not only built firmly into the architecture, but is all part and parcel of the overall operation. At almost any time of the day one can observe people from all walks of life who spend their time organising or socialising within the spaces that Matthew’s Yard has to offer, whether it is someone emailing their friends in far off places or a book club meeting. Being what could be the friendliest 'big' space in Croydon, people appear to treat this establishment as their second home. The precedent Matthew's Yard has set for rejuvenating disused spaces within Croydon is unparalleled, and clearly the straightforward idea of combining a relaxing social environment with a flexible working space has been wonderfully achieved. So surely more projects similar to this can and should begin to appear throughout Croydon, are not the urban and social benefits distinctly evident?

I am sure the lone worker who constructed the wooden bar had no idea about the important social and physical example he was laying down that day, but the fruits of his labour are clear to see and I can only hope it continues to influence the internal space and the new, inspired community that seems to be growing around it everyday.


tW

Beneath the Concrete Beast

Venturing around and between the heights and subways of Croydon you can find many vibrant social spaces where you can do almost anything from enjoying the simple pleasure of a warm cup of coffee to playing a game of chess, yet there are some spaces that are so dramatic in scale they seem to blur into the surrounding urban landscape. Quite often these spaces do not appear to play a leading role in our everyday lives simply because their functions are not as pronounced as their counterparts, but performing what is without question a humble role these spaces are both important and beautiful.

Surprisingly, car parks are frequently good examples of such spaces and the Wandle Road Car park located underneath the Croydon Flyover is Croydon's very own. Drive to this space, park your car in this space and make your way into Croydon like most people and chances are you will not notice the enormous environment that is actually surrounding you. However, go during the middle of the day when the cars sit static like a multi-coloured metallic carpet and you can really appreciate the full majesty of the space that exists here. Simultaneously carrying vehicles above and sheltering them below, to perform the former function that is essentially suspending an entire section of road off the ground takes a considerable amount of engineering and material, and what you end up with is a huge raw concrete roof elevated by equally huge concrete columns at visually satisfying regular intervals. Yet to be in this space is to be swallowed up by the mass and shadows that the form presents and in a strange way this in itself creates a comforting feeling like the security of an older brother.

Whilst I happened to be in the belly of the car park I made sure to do the usual architecture student stuff such as kicking surfaces and shouting for echoes to both test the merit of the structure and reinforce the usefulness of my education, the ticket warden stared intently probably through fear more than curiosity but I ignored him and continued my sensual assault on the structure. This soon lead me to conclude that although functioning rather successfully as a car park there is surely a better use for such a large and dramatic space, and if the the town is to rid its parenting of the term 'Croydonisation' then redefining spaces such as the Wandle road Car park as urban social and/or cultural spaces may very well be a positive starting point.

An outdoor cinema/theatre, brewery, open-air restaurant or even a space for car-boot sales, this space would become so much more excitable and useful if it held one of these functions instead of just being car storage, a place of abandonment. Although thinking about it a park would be a fantastic addition in this dense urban area, providing a link between urban Croydon and the greenery of Duppas Hill, with the height of the flyover allowing more than enough light to pass underneath this relatively quiet area located away from the hustle and bustle of the High Street could really benefit from such a refashioning. There is no reason why a rigid concrete car park cannot become a fresh green space or exciting temporary cinema in the summer months, all that is required is the belief and the understanding that these changes may just improve our experience of the town we live in. So when the time is right I applaud you to go stand in the strange comfort of this car park beneath the concrete beast, and join me in quietly imagining an alternative future.

tW

YOURCODENAMEIS:IYLO

If you happen to glance over the platforms at West Croydon station you will notice a piece of fairly contemporary architecture, discarded by modern economics and politics, a relic of its own time, the IYLO building.

Cemented in the company of the residential void between Croydon and Selhurst in the middle of what is essentially a roundabout this hollow concrete shell of a structure nestles quietly among the columns of terraced housing that permeate outwards in all directions. Having asked a few people about the building in general I was informed by a friend that the developers funding the IYLO project had begun construction, laying the foundations and erecting almost the entire core concrete structure only to find themselves bankrupt and unable to commit to finishing the project, leaving the architecture veiled by an incomplete glass curtain wall that gives an immense ghostly presence over the surrounding area.

In a move away from other high-rise residential developments in Croydon at the time IYLO was located away from the area around East Croydon, which consists of existing buildings with functions and aesthetics like that of the IYLO, choosing instead a plot of vacant land further north along Wellesley Rd amongst houses and schools. As with the majority of modern developments of this scale the ground floor was essentially outlined for retail purposes, coffee shops and delicatessens presumably to fuel the anticipated upper-middle class residents, with the floors vertically beyond that assigned to a high-rise style of living. The basic principals enforced to create this style of development are solid, discover land not being utilised, build upwards to make full use of the space and maintain community connection at ground level by use of public space and commercial property. But it just seems too simple, too text book even? This urban formula, if it can be called that, can be applied to any style of development anywhere in the UK and this is where the idea falls short. The local context and environment needs to be considered in far greater detail than is often the case, and the fact that more housing is required and precedent exists for the programme model does not simply mean this solution can, and should be applied ubiquitously.

Now the lifeless grey mass of a structure that slouches sadly against the Wellesley Rd today, and which has done so for long over a year now, acts a message to the local community and more importantly the community of Croydon that at the heart of many of these 'modern' developments is a method and scale of construction that is outdated and damaging. That said, I do hope that the IYLO project is eventually adopted and completed in the near future as its continued existence as a skeleton of a building will only damage the urban grain further. Lessons can and have to be learnt from the mistakes made at the IYLO project, especially mistakes that would have been forgotten had the project not been cut short like it was. Should we not at least consider the restoration and improvement of neglected existing housing stock, structurally sound and already integrated into the urban grain, rather than continually venturing into bold new plans?

tW

Baskets for Hanging

Last Friday, after receiving an email inviting me to public consultation of Croydon's Old Town I found myself in a little known area of town just off of Surrey St Market known as Matthews Yard. A few balloons, flags on string and a selection of large question and answer post-it-note boards indicated I was at the right location, but as is the primary draw back of this space the paths down to it are pinch points off of Surrey St Market too narrow and over-shadowed, an issue I will come back to later.

Nonetheless I was excited to see what urban formulas were anticipated for the future both by the local planning department and the local community, and I was not to be disappointed. As is required these days I grabbed myself a black coffee, choosing not to take a saucer, and got stuck right in to deciphering the comments and suggestions from the local residents about how to improve the reputation and aesthetic of Croydon's old Town. By now I had clearly observed that I was by far the youngest attendee at the event with the remainder mostly constructed of the older generation of market stall owners and retired local residents, however this was an issue I had expected and so I committed early on in the day to extracting the most out of this situation.

A quick glance over the suggestion boards, and I had a clear indication of what I was going to be battling against, the dreaded Hanging Basket. Much loved by the older generation of almost any British town the hanging basket is a classic solution to nothing, I fully understand the appeal by which it provides colour and nature to its surrounding but that is where the improvement ends, and of course councils latch on to the idea like a mad scientist going about hanging baskets off any over-hang they can lay their hands on. In my books, and I will be brutally honest, the hanging basket is simply a filler idea for the weak and lost and an idea that is passable only in conjunction with other changes. If real progress is to be achieved it is surely by way of bolder ideas of an original nature that are both encouraged and understood, one has only to look at the work of such young practices as VisionDivision (Stockholm) and ZED Factory (London) to see the beautiful potential in urban futures.

For a cultural centre to succeed at Matthews Yard and Croydon on a wider context the local planning department and residents are going to have to accept ideas and suggestions from a younger generation who experience, fuel and understand spaces of Croydon that the older generation do not, but first they must honestly listen. Then a real connection and comprehension can be achieved, decisions can be made sensibly and contextually and ideas such as hanging baskets off of walls can be limited to a scale that is appropriate. The youth of Croydon should not be afraid to say what they believe and the older generation should not be fearful of hearing it.

tW

Sugar Coated

In the age we live in it is sadly becoming decreasingly surprising to turn a corner of an area we are deeply comfortable in and discover a new development of a monstrous scale that we have never before been aware of, and like two ruthless blows from a shotgun this is exactly what has happened to me over roughly the last month.

As if abstracted from a scene in the famous War of the Worlds film, two new pieces of architecture located on the Northern end of Wellesley Rd. and Fell Rd, which arguably border on being in themselves a development, have landed in Croydon ready to force attention and generate yet more fresh and unnecessary scars on the land. The absolute principal consideration for myself when observing these new urban additions to Croydon's urbanscape is not the function of/or design (although both should be heavily considered in order for architecture to progress!), but the long-term impact the materials, processes and scale of construction will have on the town both physically and socially.

The first example of these new UFO structures is the new Croydon council building on Fell Rd, the basic form is staggered in three stages by addressing the flyover at its highest point and then continuing to sympathetically step down to the height of Croydon Town Hall. First impressions undeniably incline towards the modern and beautiful with the sky seemingly invited to street level by the reflections off the facades and generous entrance spaces. Yet what is most striking about the buildings design is the exhausting use of glass, far in excess of what would actually be resourceful and/or appropriate there is the first external skin connected to the structure to make it weather tight and then a second skin hung off of the first to act as what can only be a massive glass anorak. So although I also believe that the new council building may turn out to be the saving grace of a few park spaces and streets around this area that were socially dead before, we as a community must decide whether it was the correct decision to tear down the existing concrete building that stood here before just to replace it with another concrete building?

The behemoth scale ground floor pillars that touch the earth like a giants hands are the foundations of a new architecture currently being constructed on Wellesley Rd, the second and last example. The basis of this construction is a mixed use development contained within an intriguing form with an addition of car park spaces, all constructed once more out of concrete. With the need for more apartment style housing that is both interesting and intriguing it is again not the function or form of this particular project that I have issue with, it is the connection with society and the existing context. Take a walk along Wellesley Rd and passed this development and you will soon feel within yourself the unmissable presence of those ground floor columns rising up around two to three stories, is this scale of design and construction really necessary, a case of form over function? Nevertheless, what can be learnt from this architectures design is the courage to address the harshness that is the Wellesley Rd, whilst so many buildings in East Croydon have turned their back on this piece of problematic infrastructure in the past, this young building attempts the unthinkable.

When large-scale architectures land in an already complicated urban cocktail of a town such as Croydon it can be only too easy for not only the architects and planners but also local inhabitants to begin to see the development though a restricted scope and drift away from what is ultimately their context and environment. The immense glass facades of these contemporary boxes with their sugar-coated taste of the marketing and visualisations is hard to resist and of course these things are designed to win over the hearts and minds of the local community, but we must always remember that the initial sweet and joyful taste of these architectural cupcakes will inevitably become waste at the days end.

tW

Fell rd.

Wellesley rd.

Corinthian Cantilever

The English Summer is approaching, and once again I increasingly begin to find myself either playing cricket and batting for my life or sitting outside on the patio drinking coffee and pondering what exactly to do next. The latter of which I am thankfully partaking in as I write this entry.

The Summer period and the sunshine that arrives with it almost never fails to create a new platform on which to view our surrounding architecture, as it does in a similar way towards woman when the dresses turn into an explosion of colour and lightness, and revealing more than usual I dare say. In an almost identical move the materiality and form of our surrounding architecture is also revealed in a new dimension with its play alongside the sun as it hangs higher in the sky allowing the light to slice and exaggerate corners and curves that were never before apparent, allowing them to enter into their full aesthetic and/or functional glory.

One such example of this theatrical summer expression is the cantilevered canopy associated with the office building on the Dingwall Rd known as Corinthian House. Extruded over the main entrance of the building is an unmissable gargantuan beast of a cantilever with the title 'Corinthian House' delicately grasping onto the very edge of this urban umbrella, in no way an exaggeration if one is to view the building from a satellite view you can clearly make out the cantilever escaping the building. Residing in East Croydon it is not too surprising that such a striking architectural detail exists, being surrounded by other corporate architecture and aesthetic preferences in this area of town makes for strong competition and an increasing feeling for the need to be considered and approved. Were as this situation usually creates over-sized aggressive architecture where the choice of form and material is often highly questionable, at Corinthian House the form and function of the cantilevered canopy both come across as well considered. The thin white profile of the canopy creates a wafer like appearance off of the bulk mass of the concrete building encouraging intrigue and question from visitors, whilst receiving appreciation for the function of protection from the elements all the way to the pavement and onward travel. The apparent structural defiance of the canopy is beautifully crafted and ultimately achieved, but it is such a shame that being so off of any main network full appreciation of its form fulls far short of what should be expected.  

tW

A Fresh Shape Up

Last night whilst I was in Croydon drinking a few beers and continuing to drag my hearing closer to an untimely death in the Black Sheep Bar, I noticed that the graffiti smiley-face ball that used to be on the zebra crossing outside was now within the confines of the sheep. A shame that this amusing chap cannot continue to brighten up mine and possibly a few other peoples week with its mixed embedded message of happiness and disorder, but I guess the dub-step coffin of the Black Sheep Bar is a far more suitable location for this small piece of Croydon culture than the local landfill.

tW

Last one out of Wellesley Road, burn it to the ground!

Two weeks ago I had the great pleasure of consuming a cup of coffee whilst discussing the present and future of Croydon with James Naylor, a local young gentlemen who has successfully imagined Croydon Tours a company where an insight into 'the most interesting town in Britain' is available. No longer will visitors simply be muscled out of East Croydon station and then left to their own devices, a genuine and insightful tour of Croydon is there for the taking.

So, like a bull to a matador I took the opportunity before I met James to visit the area of town opposite the Whitgift Centre across the Wellesley Road desert in an attempt to find more forgotten or never fully appreciated architecture. A great deal of time passed by with me walking in the company of the many corporate office buildings with their monstrous glass facades and columns in an attempt to be individual, yet I strongly began to feel the full effect of being in an area of town that is so centred on the business and financial operations of the world, that its architecture tries so desperately to escape the reality of its monotonous operations but ends up only looking less unique and more and more like each other. However,  like so much of Croydon that is now dedicated to commercial operations this slice of the urban landscape used to be a bustling residential are, so if you happen to turn down Walpole Rd you will encounter The Old House, a relic from times past.

Although the Old House is now used as office space, the story goes that an elderly woman lived at this address during the period when big business was moving in and setting up shop in this area of Croydon and having bought or bullied out all the other residents in the area the only person left was this elderly woman who successfully avoided relocating and lived in this house till her time was up. As can be seen today the new development of the area still went right ahead and the people at the top decided simply to construct their concrete children and tarmac carpets around this stubborn property, creating a remarkable contrast between the familiar human-scaled brick of the Old House and the oppressive and unimaginative human-cog architecture of the surrounding commercial development. It could be argued that right now the Old House stands predominantly as a monument to the anti-capitalist and the down-right necessity to stand up to power-hungry developers, an ideal that this humble piece of architecture achieves far more effectively than the 2011 Croydon riot ever did.

tW

Croydon and the Postmodern 3

Almost as if life-long brothers, one can argue that Iconography and Architecture have walked hand-in-hand for as long as the art of building a roof over ones head has existed, or ever since we left our hunter-gatherer characteristics and learnt to manage the growth of crops. It appears our human desire to indicate certain aspects of culture through the use of architecture is deeply and richly embedded within all corners of human history, effortlessly continuing into the twenty-first century.

London's everyday architectural icons such as the Gherkin (30 St. Mary Axe, Swiss RE Building) or the Shard (32 London Bridge) are well recognised not only in London but internationally, and due to this the design of such architecture can shy away somewhat from the pure function of the building and concentrate on the form and final presence that the architecture gives to the city as an icon. So considering Croydon's significance as the business and transport hub of South London it is unsurprising that like modern London Croydon too has its very own architectural icon, the Fifty-Pence-Piece Building ( No.1 Croydon / Threepenny Bit Building).

The fractured pod-like architecture of the Fifty-Pence-Piece Building sits on its urban throne at the top of East Croydon, but with its moat of transport infrastructure for added defence it can seem rather unwelcoming and difficult to access at first but is well worth the additional adventure. Once underneath you can gaze up at the seemingly countless concrete cantilevers that seem to defy gravity, yet at the same time be absorbed by how ultimately light-weight the structure somehow appears to be, undoubtedly an amazing aesthetic achievement. Unbelievably the heavy concrete floor slabs are wonderfully defied by the apparent external gap between the corner columns, which in such a simple and imperceptible way allow the structure to appear increasingly lighter than it truly is. Without question a talent that most corporate architecture in Croydon could certainly learn from.

I fortunately had the great privilege around two years ago to visit the upper-most floor of No.1 Croydon during an Open House tour that I had attended, operating within the room at the time was the display and marketing for the master-plan of East Croydon depicting colourful and festive futures filled with farmers markets and apartment balconies hoping to generate a better Croydon. However, as I looked out of the window over the vast urban field, looking at the Warehouse theatre and pondering what might happen to this piece of history in the planned Utopian future, I could not help but feel I was already standing in the best space in Croydon.

tW

Croydon and the Postmodern 2

Nestled amongst the towering forest of office blocks and hotels along the leafy path that is the Wellesley Rd you can find some of the most venturesome architecture in Croydon, limbs of the urban environment that have taken on an appearance and aesthetic of their own accord. The monstrous authoritative twins that are Lunar House and Apollo House directly on the Wellesley Rd, which operate as the headquarters of the UK Border Agency, house such an example of Postmodern architectural experimentation.

For the most part architectural inspiration is not plucked out of the air at random but is found through local contextual influence whether it be materiality, traditions or history, however when the decision was made in the late nineteen-sixties to construct Lunar House and Apollo House the primary source of inspiration happened to be the Apollo 11 moon landing. An incredibly bold and unquestionably peculiar direction to take considering the whole 'Space Race' was a cold war playground game between the US and USSR that clearly had nothing to do with Croydon. Nevertheless during this rather ruthless sixties development period, Croydon quite literally was to have a mesmerising architectural experiment crash-land in the middle of town.

Hovering above the ground on what appears to be a concrete cake-stand is a three-story hexagonal extension to the main office building of Apollo House. In what could be seen as a deliberate juxtaposition to the towering right-angled verticality of the office tower this little piece of architecture delicately hovers above street level mimicking what can only be the presence of a UFO. Yet even with this architectures odd shape and position to its context it merges into its urban business landscape with majestic efficiency, hardly noticed as the public go about hopelessly attempting the pass over Wellesley Rd or weave their way through the confusing back streets of East Croydon. So another architecture and another fade to black, but with this example I can not help but feel this is the actual goal all along, not commonly observed, but a lovely piece of architecture to look at.



tW

Croydon and the Postmodern

A few days ago I found myself in that common situation we all find ourselves in at some point during our lives when the title of a song escapes the mind leaving one completely useless for a few moments whilst desperately trying to escape the subconscious cycle of attempted recollection. Which is exactly what unfolded whilst I was trying to remember where I had once seen what could only be described as a provocative postmodern car-park facade in Croydon, a fairly challenging task for one primary reason;

1. There are seven independent multi-story car-parks in central Croydon alone.

As luck and persistence would have it I did manage to stumble my way across this particular facade again, latched onto the side of the AMP Building near East Croydon station. Here the traditional almost endless horizontal elevation of the car-park has been gagged by an edgy and visually distorting moulded concrete element. The acute-angled 'v' shaped elements help generate an alternating opaque and then transparent appearance that is unique and playful, externally one can wonder of the activities and movements that the facade is hiding and internally a secure viewing platform over Croydon's everyday happenings is accessed. I thoroughly enjoy the postmodern interventions that exist throughout Croydon, they create a richness through architectural experimentation that is rarely seen in the awakening new architecture.


tW