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

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)

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

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

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

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

Five-a-day

Recently whilst strolling down to the bus stop at the bottom of Church St functioning solely on a caffeine and photoshop diet on the journey home from yet another gruelling studio interim crit at university, I noticed this small green box structure near the Warehouse Theatre that I shamefully must confess I missed on the previous visit. Slap in the face. It was the fruit and veg stall that I had in fact observed a select few times on the way to East Croydon station but had always assumed it was a temporary structure smuggled into this location in the early morning hours to supply the working populace with their five-a-day on the daily pilgrimage to work. As it turns out the Croydon Fruit and Vegetables box is in fact a permanent architectural feature of Dingwall Rd and has been for some time.

I guess the best way to describe this rather juxtaposed green box is like an earring lost within the bedlam of a bedroom, patiently resting in the same lonesome spot amongst the chaos until one day it is found again, like a diamond in the rough. Especially if one considers the future development of the area, which as it stands mainly consists of new glass facade addicted office blocks and housing, Croydon Fruit and Vegetables little addition of playful yet dignified architecture will surely perish. Maybe it could stay? Maybe it could become a glass cube too?

I whole heartily recommend a visit to Croydon Fruit and Vegetables not only for your health but for the opportunity to pause, interact and experience a space that is if anything usually treated as a pedestrian highway with coffee shop service stations. Croydon could really benefit from this type of urban approach by allowing more of these boxes to exist throughout the town, by applying the same structure and perhaps changing the colour of each you can create a theme that eventually becomes opaque in existence and trusted by the community. Would it not be fantastic and exciting to have the pace of life and interaction that exists on Surrey St Market throughout more of Croydon?

The opportunity to promote a healthier lifestyle whilst generating fresh and vibrant urban activity at street level is at hand, and clearly this direction of urban solution is far more important than new office blocks, shopping malls and car parks. Until then this little green box will remain an earring, surrounded by Croydon.


tW

Macbeth (The Warehouse Theatre)

Like a needle in a haystack, occasionally in the world of architecture amid modern societies relentless development one has to look almost beyond the realm of human capability to find a piece of construction worthy of examining and appreciating properly. Similar to that of a train enthusiast Croydon plays with this dilemma with amazing efficiency. Beginning from the towns oppressive East Croydon business district with the Wellesley Road tar covered no-mans-land between it and the town centre, many examples of intriguing and strangely interesting architecture exist within this area of high-rise office blocks and cheap hotels. The friendly warmth of The Warehouse Theatre happens to be just one of these examples.

Chances are you have passed this building many times either on your way to the train station or maybe just getting a coffee at the nearby Cafe Nero or Pret a Manger or Starbucks (the discussion on coffee shop invasions is for another day!), yet its physical existence has simply dissolved into the blurry void of your peripheral vision to become nothing more than another set of bricks in Croydon. This situation should not however be blamed solely on the architecture, its unfortunate location between empty development land and what can only be described as a ripe example of a peculiar 1950's office building does not make for a comfortable situation. However, venture inside The Warehouse Theatre on a cold afternoon when all those coffee shops are like sardine tins and you will be pleasantly surprised to find a cafe inside, which just so happens to be greatly more affordable and one cosy little mother.

Beyond the warmth of the cafe the future for the theatre appears extremely positive on paper with the new East Croydon development incorporating a fresh new space for the theatre to replace the neglected existing building, but I can only see a loss of history. The beauty of The Warehouse Theatre is that the architecture matters none and that it is about the theatrical productions and eccentric characters that are created and portrayed within the space created by the architecture that is of the most importance, perhaps the only importance. Nevertheless it cannot be ignored that the buildings structural and material integrity is obviously as reliable as a investment bankers promise and requires a great deal of attention, but this could easily be achieved with the help of local skills and labour and with some time and coordination a fully revived and Macbeth like architecture would have been created, no, saved.

From previous observation it can safely be assumed that the theatre will nonetheless full into the bloodied hands of the East Croydon development and all we can do is hope that the theatre receives its deserved share of attention and respect. The fear is small but greatly appreciated existing architectures like that of The Warehouse Theatre are often swallowed up and regurgitated somewhere in the forgotten darkness of modern developments, or built last when the money has run dry and never rebuilt at all. If this were to happen to The Warehouse Theatre a daylight urban tragedy would have occurred before our very eyes, and Croydon will at best be left with a bronze plaque stating 'Here lies The Warehouse Theatre'.

tW

The Long Walk Home

About two years ago the Walkabout club in Croydon shut its doors and pumps to the public for the last time in what had been a long and confident history. I remember just turning eighteen and going there with friends to experience the legal drinking scene for the first time and falling straight away for the vodka a redbull deals, which inevitably left you waking up at half past five in the morning with a heart like that of a car battery and a headache to match. Needless to say as youth of the early twenty-first century we punished our health and continued this routine for another three years.

But enough with a the drink, what can actually be done about a piece of architecture like Walkabout that had such a specific layout and had spent years spatially evolving like a ninety year old war veteran set in his ways and routine? Furthermore, how can one confidently say they have the answer to the next stage in this architectures life without a second thought for the urban communities need rather than what can simply fit inside the existing space?

As it happens it has been decided that Walkabout has finally matured and the time has come for the space left behind to become victim, like so many of its Croydon brethren, to the blitzkrieg of Poundland architecture. What the bloody hell is going on? The space left behind by Walkabout was one full of character and variation (an aspect generally rarely seen in a Walkabout), with a set of stairs here, a lowered platform and a raised platform there and a room full or railings and columns at the back, a remarkably complete antithesis of Poundland. With its reliance on ninety-degree angles, white-wash walls and the endless aisles of Chinese child-labour filth Poundland will no doubt have the appearance of a silk purse made of a pigs ear. Until Croydon's urban community begins to observe and then deal with this issue of architecture for architectures sake we are going to continue witnessing our urban environment evolving with no soul.

More than what architecture can replace, it is how architecture replaces it.

tW

Photograph / David Cook