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