In Brutalist architecture, you'll find clean lines, large-scale confidence, and concrete. Lots of concrete. Budgets were tight and expectations were shifting. There was a desire to provide quality for all, from rich to poor, which meant function won out over expensive added-on aesthetic details.
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| Entrance at Trellick Tower, North Kensington, London |
At the time, Brutalism was, as the name suggests, unpalatable to many people. Big, ugly, and imposing. It didn't always work, especially when creating large and isolated estates. There were problems with narrow walkways and the concrete nooks and crannies facilitating crime. Many first residents came from streets of terraced houses that had been knocked down in the slum clearances. High-rise living left them longing for the community they had before, in their knocked-down terraces.
However, today, city living is one of compromise and, architecturally, some Brutalist buildings have won some hearts and minds, with many becoming listed by English Heritage. I get why some people might look at Trellick Tower and think, 'What the...?' but the desire to preserve Brutalist buildings shows there's more to architecture than what you see. It's not just what buildings look like, it's what they do, too. Brutalism's concrete structure and linear design encapsulate a sociological aim to do better: to strive, to provide, and to reimagine, and that's where their magic lies.
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| Photo of National Theatre, London |
Aesthetically, brutalism is an imposition on an area. But this very disconnect can be where community building starts. Community is a place where everyone's voice can be heard. It might not always be palatable to all, but community isn't about commonality of thought. It's about diversity of thought in pursuit of a shared aim. Architectural homeogenity in an area creates a sense of ownership: an ownership of your surroundings and a one-track mindset of decision making.
You know those American gated communities you hear about in the movies? The ones where you have to have your grass cut to a regulation length and other maniacal mandates. Brutalism keeps us from slipping into that conformity abyss. We don't all have to have the same things and we don't all have to like the same things. Brutalism reminds us that we can't own other's aesthetic decisions and we do have to tolerate things we don't like. (Caveat: I'm talking about aesthetics here. Obvs, you don't have to tolerate bigotry and discrimination. If your neighbour is a violent bigot, call the police on them or make a play from a 1950s joke book and set a bucket of water to open above their door. Your choice.)
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| Photo of Winchfield House's chimney, Alton Estate, Roehampton by @notreallyobsessive |
I'm a big believer in the power of aesthetic disagreement. I don't really relish the process but I like the outcomes. It can lead to interesting discussions: I'm always curious to know what people's motivators are. It can lead to nimbyism: old people really hate looking at windfarms on windy hills but they also complain about pollution. But it also creates a space for everyone's opinion to be heard. When mutual respect/tolerance/gritted-teeth and a variety of thought co-exist, there's room for brand new thoughts and different opinions. The ones that you haven't thought of yet.