East London's Fredd Wigg and John Walsh Towers

Often a city's ugliest buildings are its most controversial.

The Fred Wigg and John Walsh Towers in London’s were loaded up with missile launchers during the London olympics - making the tenants inside a potential target. Now, at the forefront of the gentrifying east end, it’s likely that the towers will soon be demolished and redeveloped. The tenants, however, still don't know how long until they will be 'decanted'.

The speed at which this city changes constantly amazes me - but unfortunately - affordable housing tenants are too often left in limbo during the development process. I'd love to see these buildings recreated into something beautiful. I'd also love to see space made for existing tenants who have spent decades building a life within the community.

Either way, it looks like these buildings will soon be cleared from London's landscape, or - at least - remade into something new. I made the images below to document their place within amongst the skyline before they're no more.

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Demolition has begun: photos from Robin Hood Gardens

Despite years of campaigning from heritage groups and architects, the bulldozers have moved in. The demolition of Robin Hood Gardens is now well underway. The western block is in partial ruins. The eastern block is still occupied and is set to be razed in the new year. 

Completed in 1972 Robin Hood Gardens features rows of elevated walkways, famously known as 'streets in the sky'. The only housing estate designed by husband-and-wife duo Peter Smithson (1923-2003) and Alison Smithson (1928-1993), it's protection was supported by some of the world's most prominent architects including Richard Rogers, the late Zaha Hadid and Toyo Ito. Many, however, including the head of heritage listings and Historic England, considered it 'bleak'.

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Kensington and Chelsea: a microcosm of divided London

Camera in hand, I recently explored London's Kensington and Chelsea - home of Grenfell Tower. A distinct socio-economic divide between the north and south, the Borough epitomises the inequality that exists across wider London.

On the 14th of June 2017, West London watched as a 24-storey public housing block was engulfed in flames. Fear and panic gripped the streets below as hundreds screamed for help from inside. 

At least 71 people have been confirmed dead. A a 2015 study showed that the neighbourhood surrounding Grenfell was among the top 10% most deprived areas in England - those who perished were some of the London’s poorest and most vulnerable.

Just two kilometres south-east of Grenfell sits Victoria Road - Britain’s most expensive street - where house prices average at £8 million ($14,000,000). As I walked past the rows of immaculate terrace houses, security lights clicked on, a tell tale sign that the owners live abroad. Nearby shopping districts epitomise glitzy consumerism - Mercedes Benz cars, shopping bags and botox. With so much money pouring into the local council, it’s no wonder it holds a reserve in excess of £274 million ($466 million).

Kensington and Chelsea is a microcosm of divided London, and unfortunately, the local authority has been a representative of only its most elite residents. Although those in Grenfell had complained about fire safety issues for years, their voices had fallen on deaf ears. It’s recently been argued that had fire extinguishers been installed, 99% of those in the building would have survived. 

Kensington and Chelsea's North

Kensington and Chelsea's South

The tragic events of the 14th of June have shocked this beautiful city to its core, yet early indications suggest that it hasn’t been in vain: the council leader soon resigned and an investigation has begun to determine if corporate manslaughter has been committed; we’ve seen conversations regarding deprivation and inequality rise to the forefront of political discussion, Jeremy Corbyn has called the disaster a product of the ‘brutal’ system of inequality; and the city’s Mayor, Sadie Khan, has proposed that the Prime Minister appoint a social housing Tsar.

In the wake of Grenfell commentators have pointed to the resonance of contemporary London with the one Dickens describes in ‘A Tale of Two Cities’. The echoes are hard to ignore, and the city’s wealthy are being warned of a social uprising from classes below. It seems London’s eyes have turned their focused on the government’s response to Grenfell. If systemic housing policy changes are not initiated, social discontent will surely intensify.

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What would Ernő Goldfinger think of Balfron Tower today?

Designed by Hungarian-born architect Erno Goldfinger in 1963, Balfron Tower has become a global icon of brutalist architecture.  

Last week I took off down to Balfron to take some photos. Although slightly smaller than its younger sister, Trellick, standing 26 storeys above East London, Balfron's harsh concrete was visible for miles. 

Walking towards the base of the building, the facade overshadowed me like the sheer of a cliff face. But as the building caught glimmers of the morning sunlight through the patchy clouds above, I became very aware of the elegant sophistication of Goldfinger’s design.

Stood taking photos of the towering monolith above, a man yelled, “what’s the intrigue!?” Sensing he was a pissed off resident, I gave him a simple answer, hoping he would move on. Staunchly walking towards me, he asked again, “what is the intrigue?”

Realising that this guy wasn’t about to just walk away I decided to open up explain to him exactly why I was there. I told him of my interest in Erno Goldfinger’s architecture and why I wanted to take photos of this building in particular.

It didn’t take long before the man’s tone of voice lifted, and his demeanor calmed. Suddenly all he wanted to do was tell me of his love for Balfron. As it turns out, he’d lived in the building for 25 years and was now the last social tenant before its sale to the private sector. 

He told me about the ensuing court case for his eviction, which was bound to come to close in the following weeks. The volume of his words increase as he explained his frustration at the powers and processes above him, this clearly wasn't the first time he'd told someone his story. 

For over 50 years Balfron had housed hundreds of families across 146 affordable housing flats. Now, 145 homes sat empty, and he was the last man standing.

“You wanna come check it out from the inside?” he asked.

Minutes later we were sneaking behind security and shuffling into the building’s stainless steel elevator. Creaking up to level 26, and stepping out onto the grey, concrete flooring, I was immediately overwhelmed by smells of booze and urine. Fortunately for us the breeze from the awning-hinged windows helped to disperse the smell through the corridors.

Peering through the horizontal pattern of windows, the view from the top was incredible: Poplar sat quietly below, the city skyline loomed in distance.

As I walked down the long corridors I imagined Erno’s ambition for ‘streets in the sky’, where working class neighbours would socialise and kids would play games. It was too bad, bottles of half drunken bottles of beer and empty NOS canisters now lined the passageways. 

After sometime upstairs, it was a relief to break back into the autumn sunlight. I wondered if I could ever live in a dark, concrete tower like this one. For while I could understand Erno’s ambitions, I could also appreciate where his design concepts had failed. 

In fact, when I first arrived in the UK, I thought brutalist buildings were disgusting. Having grown up in sunny Australia where there's an abundance of low-rise bungalow-style architecture and spacious streetscapes, I often wondered why London’s huge concrete 'ghettos' hadn’t been ripped down and replaced with something more attractive. But over the years, and after some reading, I began to appreciate the ethos behind their design.

Mainly a reaction to the housing crisis following World War II, this form of architecture attempted to help London’s homelessness by creating large, affordable buildings within accessible inner city areas.  While in reality these concepts didn't always work, the ethos - at least - was admirable. 

Balfron's last remaining social tenant is likely to be removed by force in the coming weeks. With few places to go, he told me he will likely be pushed outside of London altogether.

In cities across the world, a lack of affordable housing is forcing young people and those on low incomes to look for housing alternatives. Many are moving out of the cities that they love, whilst others are feeling the impacts of living in a 'rental trap'. 

As the last social tenant is forced-out of one of the world's most famous brutalist buildings, I wonder what Erno Goldfinger thinks of his building, and architecture, today? Would he be ashamed that we now completely ignore the socialist principles of the brutalist era?

I would never suggest that contemporary designers should copy Balfron Tower, or even brutalism, as a concept. But the ambition of its developers, and their architectural boldness, would be something to emulate. 

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Photographs by Dan Young & Tom Oliver Payne.

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Dawson’s Heights: architecture with social conscience

Architecture today is generally about making other people big bucks. But Dawson's Heights  reminds us of a time when architecture strived to create a better society through design. 

Land development today basically works like this: an investor will buy a plot of land, they then hire a developer with a track record of maximising value who will in turn hire architect who knows how to maximise floorspace. For the sake of profit, all parties will hope construction is over and done with as quick as possible, and each bit of land will sell for maximum value. Job done. 

But before you call me a pessimist, let me iterate that I don't necessarily think this process is all a bad thing. This process is simply a reaction to our economic market and continual development profits ensures a pipeline of construction and as a result, people - from construction workers to web designers - have jobs. 

Unfortunately however, development is too often, too greedy. Due to the speed and aggression of investors and developers, new buildings and spaces often lack quality design or a social conscience. What we are commonly left with is architecture with few zero-to-no societal benefits, doing nothing more than providing the mega-wealthy some real estate to dump their cash. Property has become more concerned with international asset management rather than the provision of housing or the creation of communities. 

Clearly, we've seen a recent swing towards capitalist-dominated architecture. But it hasn’t always been this way. 

Dawson's Heights' northern block seen from its central public space.

Back in the 60s, architecture in London operated in a very different context. Emerging from the Nazi bombings of World War II, the city was battered and bruised, and thousands were homeless or living in slums. The government took it upon itself to deliver tens of thousands of homes every year through mass redevelopment projects.

While often criticised for their top-down approach to design, no one can argue that they were’t at least ambitious, and at most, incredibly bold.

The Barbican Centre, Trellick Tower and Balfron are some of London’s most famous examples. These brutalist monuments are remnants of a past when - although they didn’t always get it right - architects could at least attempt to solve social problems through creative design. 

Not all of the examples from this time were dominating brutalist buildings. Some were smaller incisions in the existing urban fabric such as Golden Lane Estate, and others were modernist creations which boldly - but appropriately - inserted themselves into the remains of pre-war London.

Last week London opened its doors for Open House 2016 and I had the opportunity to check out one of the most impressive examples. 

A view worth millions: looking from the northern block of Dawson's Heights.

In 1964, at just 28 years old, architect Kate Macintosh was given the job of designing Dawson's Heights in south London. 

Working for the Southwark local authority, Kate was given a job which today is almost unthinkable - the freedom to design new London housing on a large plot of vacant land. With strongly socialist parents and a clear drive to help generate social justice through architecture, Kate was given the opportunity to deliver a scheme which would stand the test of time.

Clearly, it has. 

Decades later Dawson's heights is now considered 'one of the most remarkable housing developments of the country'. 

As I walked through Dawson's Heights' many street-like corridors, and entered into its beautiful modernist flats, it was clear to me that this building was designed with a different agenda compared to developments today.   

It was built with a genuine ambition to create a community, and a more just society. Every decision that Kate made had logic to it: blocks were oriented to increase sunlight to  flats, room arrangements were such that every flat had a balcony, levels were split to improve acoustics, and the building's form and massing ensured an abundance of green space and views across the city from its public corridors.

Whether through a change in political-will or a shift in the behaviour of our markets, architecture may re-emerge as a discipline which seeks to fix societal problems. 

Until then, at least we have reminders from a time when it did. 

If you're interested in exploring London's most incredible buildings, be sure to check out Open House 2017. 

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Meet Mikey from Shoreditch

Sometimes when I'm walking home from work I decide to take the long route so that I can walk through a rad little tunnel in Shoreditch. There are usually interesting people cruising around and some good graffiti to look at. One night last week, the light was looking particularly good so I decided to grab a few photographs.

As I lay splayed out on the ground I noticed a busker at the other end of the tunnel absolutely smashing it on his acoustic. He may not have had all the technical ability, but he had some serious passion. As I looked through the viewfinder I noticed the dude get up out of his spot and begin walking towards me. As he got closer, I popped my head up over the camera and said hello. I was greeted with a massive smile and "Hey, I'm Mikey! Can I see your shots?"

Over the next hour or two Mikey and I sat playing guitar and watching the people power-walking home from work - much the way I would've looked just a couple of hours before. An interesting little demographic contrast... there sat Mikey: high vis jacket, a can of beer, the world's loudest laugh and a song. In front of us were clean suits, Iphones, tight faces, and busy agendas. This was a good reminder to take a step back every so often to get some perspective. When you realise the simplicity of life, you suddenly realise that the stupid worries are all just... well, worries.

Sometimes what seems to be a fulfilling life, is not that that fulfilling at all. On the other hand, someone who seemingly has nothing, couldn't ask for anything more. It's important to know what makes you happy, and focus your attention on that. Anything else will just disappoint.

Sitting just around the corner from Gary and Prince, Mikey plays under Shoreditch Overground most week nights. Listen to his music, drop him a coin and say hello.

I went to London's new Vans Skatepark tonight

The Old Vic Tunnels underneath Waterloo Railway Station was - just a few years ago - nothing more than a few damp and derelict railway arches. In 2009 the space opened its doors as an arts and performance space and hosted dozens of amazing musicians, including the amazing Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros and saw the UK premiere of Banksy's Exit Through the Gift Shop.

After more than a year in disuse once again, the space reopened just a few weeks ago as House of Vans. Luckily enough, I was able to check out the new venue a few days after it opened. It's pretty amazing.

Nestled away in the Leake Street corner of the Station, the space comes complete with a street course, bowl section, a couple of bars, art space and music venue.

Once again, London has proved that innovative and creative thought to architecture and design can over come even the tightest physical limitations. When compared to the Vans parks spread across the United States, the London setup looks a little small. But through incredible layout technique, the creators of this venue have somehow managed to create what is a probably a far more interesting and active space than any large warehouse could offer. The coolest part is that it sits just a few metres underneath a a major railway line in the midst of one of the most amazing city centres in the world.

Perfect for an afternoon skate, Friday night party...or both. Check it out.

Feature image courtesy Domus. Images above by Tom Oliver Payne.

Policy mobilities, planning cultures and Cycle Superhighways

I recently had the opportunity to complete a dissertation on a topic of my choice. As expected, I decided to research bikes in the city...

Beginning the dissertation I envisioned undertaking a fairly straightforward analysis of how London has attempted to copy Copenhagen’s Cycle Superhighways (CSH). As with most research, it wasn’t long before I realised that the delivery of each of these policies wasn’t as straightforward as it first seemed.

While London and Copenhagen’s motivations for implementing CSH remained generally the same, their designs could hardly be more distinct. London’s blue splats of paint are hardly the safe and coherent, segregated cycle paths that stretch into and out of Copenhagen’s centre.

In reality, London has made no effort to actually ‘copy’ Copenhagen’s CSH network: it has merely copied the name.

While cycling around Copenhagen in the glorious summer months conducting an urban design analysis and interviews with planning professionals, I was faced with the complex question: how can London improve its cycling culture to become more like that of Copenhagen?

Copenhagen.

London. 

The answer is essentially quite simple: build it and they will come. But why has this been so difficult in London? Why does every cycle scheme ignore the need to build infrastructure that separates bikes and cars?

It wasn’t long before I was exploring the histories of both cities, making links between past events and contemporary transport planning culture.

On the one hand, Copenhagen has decades of experience in implementing segregated bike lanes (although it wasn’t always this way). On the other hand, London has a long history of implementing lousy, ad-hoc cycling schemes, which in a sense, continually try to please everybody, without actually pleasing anybody. This continues because of the status-quo mentality that runs deep within bodies like Transport for London.

How can London get out of this rut? With such a democratic approach to planning, how can it begin to finally close the ‘cycling credibility gap’ (relationship between acceptance of cycling culture and the level of infrastructure) - as I've termed it – without already having critical mass?

As a final recommendation, I’ve argued that London (ie. Boris) must finally begin to deliver sections of high quality cycling infrastructure. By communicating the benefits of fully segregated cycle paths, he can finally gain the momentum to persuade the lobby groups, institutions and various road users that this is exactly the long-term infrastructure London needs to become the cycling city it envisions itself to become.

Check out the full dissertation here: Policy mobilities, planning cultures and Cycle Superhighways (note: names of interviewees have been removed for privacy).