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Having cut its teeth at blogger Occasionally Architectural has a new home at http://trevortaw.wordpress.com/ please come along and visit me there. All content has been moved across and new posts are in the pipeline.

Dry Stone Walling - Somerset

On a clear and mild day towards the end of last year I started a dry stone walling course in the Mendip hills in Somerset. From the shadow of Wells’ famous cathedral a steep road climbs the edge of a wooded combe to a small pastoral farm. It’s here that a group of volunteers are guided through the process of re-building a wall. I was late. A brief introduction and I was put to work.

The existing wall, how old no-one there can be sure, sags down on its broad base, visualising years of service. Throughout its existence this wall has been maintained by simply adding to the top. The wall has to be completely removed; deconstructed and laid out in a size-orientated fashion ready for immediate reassembly. Allsorts of treasures are uncovered including numerous perfectly preserved rabbit skulls. By the time the foundations are uncovered it has become clear to me what a backbreaking labour-intensive task this is and, not for the last time, I’m glad to be doing it as a modern day casual volunteer. In the 19^th century I could expect to be making a shilling a yard if I was a decent enough waller, I suspect at my pace I would be unemployable.

I chat with fellow volunteers; quite a cross section; farmers, a landscape gardener, retirees, members, me. Unexpectedly varying levels of enthusiasm too, one fellow appears to have been signed up by “the wife”. We reach ground zero and several A-frames are set up along the course of the wall with parallel lines running between as a guide to height and width. We work the whole section of the wall to this the line before it is moved up. I expect proficient wallers probably do this by eye.

The Foundations go down, interlocking at the centre, two stones covering the width of the base. Naturally at this widest, lowest point the biggest stones are used and the aim is to create a base for the next layer, so the stones have to be surely planted, no rocking and a nice sharp outside edge, if anything sloping towards the centre of the wall. Some of thee foundation stones are huge and if you dismantled correctly they should be nearest the wall, at this weight one doesn’t want to be playing around with them too much. Much of this Limestone will have been quarried from the rich supply to be found locally but in many cases the stones have been dragged from the field to make it more suitable for ploughing.

Any air pockets are pre-emptively filled with hearting. All the little stones and fragments up to about fist size are used as ‘hearting’ to ensure the wall is a tightly packed, solid structure. As we build higher, the volume made up of hearting becomes more substantial. This part of the process, previously unbeknownst to me, is absolutely crucial to the integrity of the finished wall. Despite this importance it seems to be perceived as the least glamorous job of the operation (every process has one). People are keen to get on with the main puzzle, the recognisable face of a dry stone wall and the hearting is often left for the more conscientious among us to fill in.

Resolves are tested from the off on the second day as, we make our way across a wet field, the mist only revealing the looming, incomplete task at the last minute. Unlike me, rain arrives early and sets in for the day. As we gain height and reduce our cache of building materials the mental challenge becomes more prevalent. The ongoing puzzle continues, essentially; finding a stone that will bridge the gap to the previous layer (ala typical running-bond brick wall), nestle right into position without any rocking and create as flat a surface to build from as possible. But more than that, at this stage frustration is never far away, with fewer and fewer stones available I continually find myself trying the same stone in the same position. At this point it seems to have become impossible to judge whether or not a stone will be appropriate without actually trying it in every conceivable orientation.

Lunchtime and the rain continues unabated. There are only a few yards of wall left incomplete and the group is given the opportunity to abandon ship. Over half of our contingent leaves, some reluctantly, others not so. I decide to press on. Somehow I feel as though the weather sweeping over this particular Mendip hill adds to the authenticity of the experience.

It is unsurprising that to see the completed wall is rather satisfying, however, when the last stone was laid and we stood back I was quite taken back by the sense of pride and achievement. No doubt this was partly due to the physical and mental input but I think it was also partly attributable to the iconic, if understated, nature of the subject in our British consciousness. Having been part of the building crew it’s hard to believe just how solid this structure is and not a single hammer or chisel left the back of the land rover throughout the course of the weekend. This particular method of walling is one for the purist, the stones are used unaltered and no pinning on the outside faces is permitted. Rising out of the earth, the wall modestly stops at the top, task complete. No flourish of vertical coping stones here.

My contribution to the walls of Somerset is complete, I’m keen to do more but want to experience other regions. With some seventy thousand miles* of wall still available and only nine percent* of that reportedly stock-proof, there’s still plenty of work to be done.

* These figures are taken from England in Particular - Sue Clifford and Angela King (2006)

Reading Ruskin

I’m currently reading John Ruskin’s ‘The Stones of Venice’. Naturally, I skipped straight to the famous essay, ‘The Nature of Gothic’. I’m sure I will write a more conclusive post on the essay but until then something worth considering: Ruskin observes that Architecture is not received by the public with the same excitement of, say, a new piece of literature or a new painting from a renowned artist. There are two points that can be immediately drawn from this view. Firstly, the image of architecture received and enjoyed with the same intensity of these other arts. I think this is a very pertinent objective for architects, after all, architecture is arguably a larger part of our lives than any other art form, at least it plays a more constant role. The second point, which I see as crucial, is that the measure here is the response of the general public. That huge majority which is all too often over looked in architectural design. It’s the old problem of architecture occupying a position equivalent to an in-joke, a private exhibition unlocked only to those who have had the education to appreciate it. I’m not suggesting some kind of x-factor for architecture, simply that the views of the ‘layman’, as it were, are valid. Pleasing the public should be part of the goal, and where possible why not include them in the design process.

Interesting that these two contemporary issues should raise their heads in a mid-nineteenth century essay, possibly a reflection of the antiquated status of parts of our approach.

Parlez-vous Français

Mid-April and I find myself grounded in a remote area of the beautiful French countryside. As much as I am enjoying my disconnected status (it’s amazing how quickly one can cultivate technophobia under the right conditions), I felt I ought to make at least one entry while I’m away.

So, a brief, topical (to me) observation of the French language; I’ve always found that the lingo one encounters in France is very recognisable as the one most of us studied to some degree at school, which cannot be said for many languages read from a text book (or listened to on those strange cassette recordings of somebody supposedly going about their day) in an English classroom. French could be described as a very ‘pure’ language. The French are very proud and indeed protective of their language, as with much of their heritage. To many this attitude may seem to have resulted in a rather ‘small’ language. Initial observations of this are that it is easy to pick-up, usable, familiar. Further inquiries reveal the subtleties, with a language consisting of fewer words the emphasis on expression is far greater, and the latter is probably a key attribute to French’s reputation of beauty. This use of expression (for want of a better word) over vocabulary is demonstrated in many corners of the world. The famous single word utterance of many Native American languages, for which James Fenimore Cooper uses the literation ‘Hugh’, is used in varying applications, all differences being conveyed in the tone. In English we have such a rich language, built up over the centuries by integrating many others. Gaelic, Latin, Germanic and of course French, must be the big four. But I wonder if such a broad vocabulary could have led us to being slightly bland in our expression.

The Art of Den

Building Dens is one of my fondest and most integral childhood memories. The vision that most prominently springs to mind is one of a roof constructed from harvested sweetcorn stalks beneath the late summer cover of a Crab Apple tree. The fruit of which is a fantastic source of ammunition to repel any way-fairing little sisters. I was never one for free standing dens in exposed locations, I always favoured building off of something more permanent, a shed or a fence. The previously mentioned den was in my favourite spot, against the back of a shed on the edge of the garden with the opposing side open to the wheat field, a source of both cover and an escape route. This location aided in one of the key requirements of even the most basic den, to act as a wind-break. There is nothing like moving into protection from a chilly wind, except possibly the feeling created by separating oneself from the rain by the smallest margin. Dens do this to varying degrees, a sheet of tin or plastic may provide complete resistance with minimum thickness whilst capturing that wonderful sound of rain abruptly reaching its destination. A more organic solution, no matter how well built up, will almost always drip, which in its way also adds to the joy in that tiny degree of separation between shelter and the elements.

Dens are fantastic indicators of location and season. They are constructed out of what ever is at hand, and kids don’t have any pre-programmed preferences towards materials, a scrap of plastic bag, the current height of unsightlyness for the eco-driven fashion conscious, is happily incorporated into the waterproofing. Whether in a wood, field, scrap yard or urban wasteland, all materials are considered. In the winter the rural den becomes much more exposed and materials can be scarce. I often found the big lumps of earth churned up by the ploughs excellent in the construction of a dry stone wall style bunker.

A peculiar phenomenon among the tenants of dens (or ‘dennents’) is the quality to be found in objects that are left in the den, they go through a change, take on new traits. Like ancient explorers they forever step aside from the society they once belonged to. Often they never return, if they do they are weathered and aged, never the same again.

In some walks of life of course dens are a more serious business. Roaming shepherds are notable dennents. From the simple A-frame with roofing shingles of a French shepherd to more solid structures and everything in between, an eclectic mix of shelters can be found in rural areas all over the world charting the passage of shepherds seeking refuge. Some are left in place for the next time, some are taken along and re-erected tent-fashion while others are purely constructed for the current situation and abandoned.

A fine barrier between life and death, the fruits of a child’s imagination or a place of belonging in a faceless urban backdrop, the den is international and highly local, basic and sophisticated. Oh to be a child again and den once more.

Shepherd's A-frame shelter, France

Shepherd's Shelter, Rwanda

Shepherd's Shelter, Peru

Djenné – Behind the Facade

Another talk on Djenne, this time by Charlotte Joy, an anthropologist at Cambridge, offering something quite different to the architectural perspective I have occupied so far. The many talks I have been to invariably open with an introduction on Mali, where it is etc, as one tends to to avoid any presumption of knowledge. Immediately the alternative intentions of this talk are established as I’m presented with the fact, among others, that Mali stands as the 175th poorest country in the world. Out of 193*. It’s the first time I have come across this basic fact and suddenly I feel blinkered. That’s not to say that the talk was one of doom and gloom just that this time the emphasis was on the people and how they benefit from restoration etc. You may well think, ‘of course it was, it was an anthropology talk!’. The reason that it was notable to me is that, these are the things that I think architecture can and should address. Perhaps we need to see more cross- disciplinary activity.

It’s a delicate situation when western architects/organisations decide to ’help’ less prosperous countries. We approach the scene with aspirations & priorities based on our own values.

UNESCO bestowed the whole of Djenne town with listed heritage status, protecting the wonderful architectural culture from potentially destructive development. Naturally the negative impact of this is the limiting factor. Locals are restricted in what they can do to their own homes because of our perceptions of beauty and established conceptions of importance. For instance, many inhabitants have taken to tiling the exteriors of their houses to protect the mud from the elements, tiles being much cheaper than repairs to the earth works (the work of masons is becoming, relatively, increasingly expensive due to their employment on the restoration projects and international interest in West African architecture), in some cases the tourist board have manage to prevent the use of tiles for obvious aesthetic reasons, but at what cost? It’s a bit of a dilemma. From an ethics point of view, should we even be involved at all? The idea of ‘world heritage’ is an interesting one, a building or site that procures status as a world heritage site becomes a kind of world property. Whilst I appreciate the ‘one-peopleness’ of this creation, and I do of course want to see the rich culture maintained, does this mean that the local people are in someway losing the site? Maybe not in a direct sense but we have to be careful that they are not losing some freedom in regards to development. Any kind of imposed inertia would be detrimental to the health and future of the town.

I am truly glad to see the conservation and restoration of such architectural wonders and the associated traditional techniques and knowledge. But at the same time I think it is crucial to be mindful of our approach and try to work from the inside out, from the perspective of local people, giving priority to their most pressing needs and making these projects work for them.

*These figures appear to be based on the value of produce and services of a given year compared to population. Several organisations compile these data sets the these particular figures (175/193) seem to be taken from the CIA World Factbook. Other lists, such as the World Bank and International Monetary Fund, portray a similar account.

Earth Architecture Dot Org

This website is a great resource for information on 'earth architecture' in both traditional and contemporary applications:

http://www.eartharchitecture.org/

Real England

A couple of years ago now, pre-blog, there came a book by Paul Kingsnorth called ‘Real England’. I will restrain myself and stop just short, perhaps over cautiously, of saying ‘this book changed my life’. However, I do think it has that potential and I found it tremendously inspiring. A look, at once hopeful and regretful, at the England we live in today, Kingsnorth presents a picture with tattered edges and faded colour but not without beauty. Far from a nostalgic look at England past, it is concerned with where we are now and where we go from here.

The question here is, how can these aspects of England successfully evolve and maintain value in contemporary society. Take independent pubs and breweries for example, continuously being eaten up by brewery giants and PubCo’s, here is something that can be owned and run by the community, such as the Old Crown in Caldbeck Fells that Paul visits in the course of his travels. A solution that may well work for other endangered features such as orchards. These kinds of solutions are of course onerous for the general public, us, the power is, after all, with the people. Many of the issues addressed here are consumer led and as such the book is also a kind of call to arms. The second chapter 'Drown Your Empty Selves' has made me far more considerate of where and what I drink. I even registered my support of CAMRA and I don't drink beer of any sort, can't stand the stuff. From watercourse to China Town, from village green to Broadway Market, I found the journey to be quite emotional and I suppose that can only be a good thing, as one should be stirred when discussing one’s home.

Real England surpasses playground, lefty-righty politics and I urge anyone who considers themselves ‘English’ to read it. I worry that the title may scare away much of a certain, self-loathing group of English society, but it really shouldn’t. Forget your built perceptions of political correctness and what it means to be patriotic and don’t be frightened, this book is for everybody living in England today and is indeed about Real England.

Spring Rocks

This weekend brought the first outdoor climb of the year for me. It was damp, gloomy and fantastic. It was so good to be climbing outdoors again, emerging from hibernation. We were up early, on the train, out of London and cycling along country roads before the day’s motorised traffic had established its hold on the tarmac of Great Britain.

A Sandstone outcrop in Kent, Harrison’s Rocks protrude from a wooded valley side predominantly covered with Birch. Although covered in buds waiting for their big moment the trees were still leafless, yielding views across the valley and uncovering the railway line running along its base. This, coupled with a lack of many other climbers provided a sense of promise for the year to come, it was barely spring and we were out.

A few hours later, wet and covered in mud as we were, it started raining properly and we were forced to retreat from the rocks. A handful of climbs completed at reasonable grades, nothing too major on the first outing. Not enough to get physically pumped but enough to engage with the rock again.

My strange relationship with Sandstone continues, we both know I’d rather be climbing almost any other sort of rock. Its big, rounded holds don’t suit me at all, pulling up and onto a smooth surface simply isn’t my forté, and the loose sand….. No trip is without the frustration of over-complicating some routes that are, on paper, very basic. Yet, it encourages me, allows me to progress and complete some higher graded climbs, unveils some tucked away climbs with beautiful moves. Sometimes it makes me feel like an ungrateful teenager. Still, it remains my most geographically convenient variety of rock and we shall see where this year takes us.

'Right Unclimbed'

A rather damp 'Reverse Traverse'

Twelfth Entry

As I effortlessly ramble past the three thousand word mark, I wonder, what is this blog? Three thousand may not be many words, especially over three months, but it struck me as a milestone as it matches the longest essay I have written to date.

I see Occasionally Architectural finding it’s identity as a record of casual research, sprinkled with thoughts on various other habits of mine. This is good. It has a kind of kinetic energy to it. The more I write, the more it motivates me to write.

As far as the future is concerned, I aim to keep posts concise and in plain English, whilst still keeping it free and easy. Some posts remain stand-alone pieces while some topics expand, in varying degrees, to more conclusive research projects.

Dry Stone Walling

Dry stone walls are a familiar sight to almost all of us, whether we live among them or associate them with perceptions of place or time, we are certainly aware of their existence. Although most of the walls we see today date back to the 18^th or 19^thcentury and the establishment of enclosure acts and the consequent dividing of common land across the country, dry stone walling has far more ancient foundations. Who knows when the first aspiring builder stacked some loose rocks up to create a wall in this fashion? Or whether the wall was even the first form constructed in dry stone? Scientists tell us they were in use in the bronze and iron ages. However old they are, the fact that they belong to the landscapes in which they stand is instantly discernible. Such iconic structures, although low key in appearance and colour, the walls express a great deal. They speak of the geology of the land, not just in the type of stone, but the size, shape and texture all tell part of the story, maybe the stone was gathered from the adjacent field, as is often the case, maybe it was chipped away from the mountainside. The solid stance visualises the hard work involved in working a wall, a tonne of stone involved every few feet or so. A wall is synonymous with a boundary and the height provides an insight into the variety of livestock it may have intended to hem in. In some cases it was to deter humans, in the middle ages they were even know to line the peaks of the Pennines as a symbol of territory.

In the study of vernacular building in Britain I think dry stone construction is highly relevant, it provides a great perspective for historical study, few things can be suspected to link back to the anthropologic origins of our island like these structures. Again there is also the tie to the land and rural life, of which the language provides a unique insight, with groups of synonyms such as, Sheep Creep, Hogg Hole, Sheep Smoose, Lunkie and Thirl, all describing the hole bridged over by a wall to allow the passing of livestock from one field to the next.

On closer inspection the perspective of other occupants of the land can be gained. What fantastic habitats these walls make for a large range of wildlife. Home for insects and small mammals, the walls also offer valuable shelter from the elements to larger animals such as foxes or sheep. They even provide the inhabitants with a source of thermal mass, no eco-bling required.

I’m interested in the use of dry stone construction in contemporary design but as this post swells I think I’ll leave that particular can of worms for another time. I will also resist venturing into discussion of construction as I think this is best done via regional research, given the varying local nature of the walls.

So it is with dreams of Sheep Creeps, Cripple holes and Water Smoots that I look forward to further inquiries into this ancient past time.

A Sheep Creep

Djenné and Sustainability

When analysing mud building, the fact that the construction footprint (including transport of materials) is little bigger than the footprint of the site itself is surely the pinnacle of sustainable construction. In Djenné the buildings are predominantly flat roofed, wooden beams spanning the mud walls, covered with mud. With the source of wood being the slow growing palm trees indigenous to the area, this system brings the sustainability aspect into question. In the case of the mosque, which is currently undergoing restoration, I think 100 years of use more than matches up to the growing rate of the palms. But as far as the town as a whole is concerned there is the issue of erosion in the desert due to the removal of trees that will need to be addressed, especially given the town’s delicate relationship with the Niger. It will be interesting to see how the traditional building techniques of the town’s people evolve to answer this problem. I’ve heard various suggested solutions including the Nubian vault, as coined and revived by Hassan Fathy, constructed without the need of timber framework and utilising the adobe bricks already in use, which are of course plentiful. But what are the consequences of introducing an outside technique? Does this in some way dilute the vernacular purity? Whatever happens a tree-planting project is due, I wonder if the Aga Khan Trust have plans to implement such a precaution. If so I think maintaining it could be the greater challenge.

An ancient technique, the Nubian Vault is constructed in layers of mud bricks without the need of wooden framework (conventional arches and vaults are normally supported by a timber frame until the keystone is set in place at the apex). Building horizontally off a vertical wall each layer of brick is angled and so supported by the previous layer.

Nubian Vaults under construction.

Djenné

Djenné (jen-nay) is a settlement in the West African country of Mali. Situated on the river Niger, which provides both life and constraints. Every year the river floods, something that is an integral part of the town’s yearly eco-cycle. Djenné is positioned in such a way that when the river does flood it becomes almost an island. This prevents any further growth outside of the current footprint so any development must happen within the current town walls.

Djenné is most famous for the Great Mosque, built entirely of mud (with the exception of the wooden roof beams). The original mosque dates back to around 1250 but the mosque that stands today is a reconstructed version, erected in about 1907 by the French. The former didn’t simply collapse but had its drainage system sabotaged, allowing water to build up during the heavy rain season and overpower the building. The mosque is now listed by UNESCO as a world heritage site and the Aga Khan Trust for Culture is working on restoration.

The Great Mosque, Djenné

One of the wonderful things about mud architecture, whether of the compressed earth or adobe brick variety, is that the buildings essentially emerge from the ground on which they stand. As a general rule for Mali towns, materials are collected from within 1.5 miles of the site. Towns not so far away from Djenné lie in a more rocky part of the desert and so rocks are gathered and incorporated into the building. In Djenné itself one of the techniques that has developed over hundreds of years is the tradition of using small, hand pressed cylindrical bricks. I think this is testament to the lack of outside influences, despite being historically significant as a commercial hub. Not being the most structurally sound solution, they remain a popular choice. The nature of mud architecture dictates that supporting columns are very regular and open floor space is limited, plans read almost like a chess board, but this is simply accepted and worked with.

Masons are central and respected figures in Mali society but in general most people possess building skills. Building extensions/alterations etc, fairly regular practice, are done by the occupying family themselves. Lumps of palm wood project from the larger facades, including those of the mosque, serving as reinforcement, decoration and built-in scaffolding.

Every year there is an event in Djenné that encapsulates the relationship between the inhabitants and the architecture and more specifically, the mosque: The re-plastering of the Great Mosque. Early in the rain season this huge but brief event takes place. It’s become a kind of communal, spiritual, joyous celebration. Everyone wants to take part, so much so that they now allocate areas of the building to areas of the town to ensure everybody is able to get involved. People swarm all over the building, enabled by the palm tree poles cantilevering from the façade, acting as permanent scaffolding. Top to bottom, the whole building is complete in about half a day. When I first heard about this I was keen to participate, or even simply observe, but the date is not marked in any calendar or planned too far in advance specifically to avoid the likes of me turning up, which I think is a very good thing. Nevertheless Mali remains my top research destination.

Re-Plastering of The Great Mosque.

The Uniform

Saturday night. I’m in a pub with friends. The figure opposite me is adorned with The Uniform. Checked shirt, beard (optional), Buddy Holly/’Art house’ glasses. My companion writes plays for a living and I know that he is intelligent and rational, yet he appears obliviously comfortable in his ironic uniform.

Before I go any further I should acknowledge that I am of course a hypocrit. There are few acts worse than judging people by their appearance and usually I pride myself on doing this less than most. The thing that bothers me is this; why are so many ‘creative’ people so keen to follow trends and demonstrate a complete lack of independent thought? I just don’t understand it. I understand what I call ‘football shirt syndrome’, the comfort and perhaps identity to be found in the unity that shared attire affords but generally I don’t think that is the case here. I suppose it’s all about image, image presented and image perceived. Only, I don’t even see an image, merely a cloned example.

Gargoyles & Shadows

The current exhibition celebrating Gothic architecture and early photography at the V&A is tucked away in the usual spot for ‘architecture’ exhibitions, just off the main architecture/model room. The space gives the impression of a casual side thought but the work stands up for itself and I thought it to be a little gem of a collection, it seems a shame that it probably spends most of it’s life locked away in a vault somewhere while a model of blue water shopping centre gets pride of place….

Anyway, what a fantastic pairing this is, each playing on the romantic elements of the other. The spires, intricacies, chasms and shadows of the Gothic revel under the spotlight of the Victorian photographer’s lens. The photographs themselves, with their super-long exposures, remove the sky, leaving something even more infinite and mystical. Figures, even those standing still, are ghostly blurred, a familiar echo of somebody we don’t know but can be sure is no longer among the living.

Some of the work falls into a period when artists were primarily interested in abstracting light, shape and colours from the subject and so detracting from the emotional content associated with it. Whether this was the case for these photographers I don’t know but there is no denying the character of this architecture is ever-present.

One building presented here is Fonthill Abby (below), featuring an enormous octagonal tower at its centre that collapsed and was re-built several times over before defeat was admitted. This is a vision that appeals to me, something that could never happen today for we are, in a way, constrained by our sensibilities and knowledge. We still push boundaries of course but in a virtual environment. Here, in typical Gothic style, with no such thing as safety margins, they were pushing to achieve something right on the edge of physics, driven by visions of beauty, magnificence and a sense of the divine.

Fonthill Abby

The Exhibition is free and is on until 16th May:

http://www.vam.ac.uk/exhibitions/index.html

Down to Earth

Last night I attended a talk by Paul Oliver at the RIBA that is part of the most exciting talk series I have seen there for a long time; The Art of Mud Building.

The talk, ‘Down to Earth’, was quite general, a kind of overview, mainly based around West African countries and the information for the most part can be found in his books. The talk was nevertheless inspiring, helped along by fantastic images of various dwellings and towns and I must say that I got a lot from it. The man clearly has a wealth of knowledge that should be tapped. To end the lecture he surmised that, ‘culture is integral to architectural study’ and advised that we must study the people, not just the architecture, of a place. In investigating and working with the vernacular, we should aim to discover what it is the inhabitants need to reach their own architectural and living goals.

It was preceded by a more specific talk by Pierre Maas on Djenne, Mali and it’s mosque. It was fascinating to learn of the destruction and re-birth of the mosque together with the life and constraints of the settlement. It’s easy to see how the architect’s academic career is dedicated to this one place.

The talk as a whole, left me reassured that any time and energy that I invest in this direction is well spent.

This event series has only just begun. For anyone who is interested more information can be found here:

http://www.architecture.com/WhatsOn/Talks/Events/2010/MudBuilding.aspx

Mapungubwe Interpretation Centre

My faith has been renewed. Peter Rich’s Interpretation Centre in Mapungubwe is ray of light amidst a gloomy haze of substance lacking, globally styled Architecture.

The masterly conceived cultural centre is built on a site of great local, cultural and historical significance, knowledge that is both respected and celebrated by the scheme.

For me, this is a building of the future. It’s a project that has involved the vernacular and the traditional methods of the locale and integrated them into the design process as genuine influences, not simply bolted them on. Not to mention that I see these aspects as integrally linked to true sustainable design. The design is fresh and the Architects have clearly implemented contemporary knowledge and techniques, which are also essential for moving forward.

The involvement of light around the site demonstrates a successful collaboration of these knowledge sets. Tree stalks break up the sun, providing valuable shade and conjuring images of traditional meeting places in nearby villages of both present day and centuries past. In a cave like vault the sun enters via a fissure in the ceiling, moving throughout the space over the course of the day. Involving the geology and nature of the site the centre is at once grounded and animated.

This contribution from Peter Rich Architects is just that, a contribution, one that I think it is intelligent, sensitive and designed to last.

Images taken from Architectural Review 1354 & 1356

Specialisation

It seems to me that as a generation we harbour a huge portion of people that are working in ‘unskilled’ or unspecialised jobs. A great deal of this number are intelligent, sometimes highly educated, people.

It leads me to think about Buckminster Fuller and his thoughts on specialization and how, as others have mentioned before, as humans our core quality when compared to other animals is that we don’t specialize. Most, if not all, animals are equipped with ‘built-in’ specialist tools to aid them in their own particular habitat where as we create tools for ourselves allowing us to adapt to different environments and situations.

Could it be that we are becoming less inclined to specialize in a certain trade? What are the implications of this? We still depend on specialists to help us with certain aspects of our lives. Is it just a matter of excess population and a low percentage of specialists required? Maybe it is a sign of impatience or an unwillingness to commit to a single walk of life... Food for thought anyway.

Content Downloading?

For me, the trouble with Spotify/downloading music/We7 etc is the flicking. Everybody 'knows' loads of new bands and can stand in the pub and say 'have you heard of such and such' but you don't really get to KNOW the music this way. I’m sure most people can still remember teenage days, when you bought an album not knowing when you'd buy another, you listened to that album, the good tracks and the bad, really got under the skin. If something is free I suppose it’s only natural that it become more throwaway. So what are the connotations for music? Even now when I listen to a lot of bands that are recommended to me it all too often falls into what I like to refer to as easy listening, a kind of ‘laboratory indie’ to coin a phrase. It’s pleasant enough but there’s nothing life changing there, not for me at least. Ok, so life changing records can’t be expected to come along all the time otherwise they would probably cease to exist but I just find it so, what’s the word, ‘meh’?

The Presence of Giants

We are all aware of the ever-increasing dominance of chain stores on our high streets, the ominously encroaching blandness. I recently went back to a town that for a long time I called home and there experienced the disappointment of seeing the rather harrowing sight of a familiar little independent shop having been replaced by another all too familiar chain store. There were several cases in this particular market town that have arisen since last I was there (the most prominent victim for me being a reasonably sized book shop) and I must admit that I was surprised by the strength of the feeling of loss.

You might expect the mixed-period architecture to be unaffected but I could swear it is unhappy. I get the distinct impression of something that has had its guts blown out and a mask pinned across its face presenting a big smile. If you listen carefully you can almost hear the muffled mumblings of objection.

The shops that do survive are often the less useful ones, particularly in a town like this. The antiquey type places, the variety that tourists love. Tourists that will come and poke around, maybe buy the odd nik-nak, then go and have coffee at Pret. The danger is, quite frankly, Glastonbury: A beautiful town in one of the most beautiful parts of the country, not to mention an essay in itself. If you want to buy a crystal you need only walk a couple of yards in any direction but if you want to buy food or a hammer and nails you must go and bow before the big supermarkets and DIY stores on the edge of town. Whilst tourists are a useful, in some cases essential, source of income for the local economy it seems a bit of a waste if they feed the giants. Perhaps local shop-keepers should use that in their windows; “Please do not feed the giants”.

First Entry

Over the past six months I have travelled what I am sure is a much trodden metaphorical path, from ‘I will never blog’ via, ‘blogging could be useful’, ‘to blog or not to blog’, ‘I could have blogged by now’, to here; blogging.

I am a part one year out architecture student and I intend to use this space as motivation to exercise my theoretical tongue and express my views and philosophies. As such I expect it could contain my thoughts and ramblings on pretty much anything.