Modernist Architecture and High-Rise Living

 Much of the Modernist principles manifest themselves in the high-rise buildings and tower blocks which became prominent features in urban landscapes.  These aimed to maximise housing density and address the shortage of available land. The modular construction that is synonymous with Modernist architecture, allowed for standardised components and efficient building processes. This approach contributed to cost-effective and scalable designs; however, later faced criticism, some high-rise developments became associated with social problems, such as social isolation, crime, and maintenance challenges. 

This essay specifically discusses the regeneration schemes and social housing development in London and compares it with Sheffields’ Park Hill estate, but this is a fundamentally universal issue. As part of the investigation into the impact of design, it is important to acknowledge and review a wide range of examples in the form of case studies.

In this essay, I critique the teachings and impact of revolutionary architect Le Corbusier who alongside peers formed the minimalist movement within architecture and the idea of the  ‘Radiant City’. Le Corbusier is highly criticised by Thomas Heatherwick, Jane Jacobs and others as the cause for the ‘blandemic’ and demolition regeneration. Although I agree with Heatherwick and Jacobs’ criticism of modernisms’ influence on current planning preference for cheap poorly made prefab estates, however there is an element of leniency I have towards Corbusier’s utopian vision as the principles that were underpinning this architectural movement were credible and an example of the revolutionary design thinking we should strive for. 

Social housing is a relatively new concept within British history, finding real momentum after the first world war, as a response to mass destruction and dismantling of the social order that had gone before. At this time, creatives in Europe like Le Corbusier and Mies van De Rohe stepped forward to re-imagine the rubble-filled cities they once knew. People needed to survive first and foremost and I feel minimalism within city planning and architecture was a way to create a functional order and a version of utopia that gave hope to the city dwellers who were at the front line of the post-war devastation. 

“The Modernist movement evolved, adapting to the specific contexts and challenges of the 20th century and was a collective effort involving multiple architects, artists, and thinkers across different regions and disciplines. Modernism represented a break from historicism and a commitment to exploring new forms and approaches in architecture” (Attlee, 2007)

Although Le Corbusier is attributed as the father of modern architecture by many within the industry, Walter Gropius, and Frank Lloyd Wright where also pioneers of the movement.

Some of the most influential modernist architects at this time where:

The Roots of Modernism Outside the UK

The end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th were punctuated by ‘profound social and technological changes’ as discussed in ‘Modernist Architecture: Roots’ (Gallagher, 2019). Cities at the time were expanding and urbanising calling for new technologies that offered ‘cheaper, more efficient means of satisfying a larger population and growing number of industrial clients’ (Gallagher, 2019). Railway and road advancements changed the face of modern populations. People, materials and goods could now be transported across the world. The advancements in phones, manufacturing and planes opened up people’s imagination of machine and materials possibilities. The newfound transportation allowed for reinforced concrete (a new building material pioneered by Auguste Perret) and the larger sizes of  ‘plate Glass’ to reach architects who were waiting to explore these new technologies through their designs. 

This crack in the door for innovation allowed modernism within architecture to grow. The view of a house as a ‘machine for living’ as Le Corbusier stated was tantalising for the modern man or woman seeking this futuristic idealism. 

Louis Sullivan was one of the most respected members of the Chicago School of Architects, who had already embraced tall metal-framed structures. ‘These skyscrapers were modern but not modernist’ and the Europeans’ response to America’s advancements ‘would lead to the development of modernism.’ (Gallagher, 2019) 

Many of the developments of Modernism in Europe were born out of a desire to be liberated from the constraints of what had come before. Movements such as ‘the short-lived De Stijl movement (1917-1931)’ in the Netherlands or the Russian constructivists sought to move away from tradition and emphasise ‘honesty of materials and functional simplicity in their (mostly public) buildings’  (Gallagher, 2019). This desire to move away from the past is an understandable response to the impacts of war felt in Europe during this period. This desire to remove ourselves from our past and start anew was and still is prevalent in the UK. Within the scope of this essay the impact of this thinking can be seen as over 100 of the UK’s ‘kitchen sink estates’ (modernist) have been demolished (Boffey, 2016, p. 2).  

Modernism – although defined as ‘international style’ by modernist architect Philip Johnson in 1932 (Modernism, no date) – essentially came out of mainland Europe and moved to england with creative war refugees. It is interesting to note, however, that the main protagonists of modernism working in the UK were predominantly not of British heritage. As this essay unfolds and the failings of modernism within the British system become apparent it is interesting to consider that three of the key players had communist or socialist upbringings. Did this influence their idealistic vision of mass social housing? Although Communism and socialism are not always successful they pose a revolutionary view for social structures, they also implement principles of eliminating socio-economic class struggles. However the British system is not trying to eliminate socio-economic class struggles, it responds to them with the class divide being rigid within our culture both in the past and present day. 

Modernists Architects working in the UK

Brutalist Architects in the UK 

Position 

As my design practice has evolved there has been a running theme of being inspired by modernist and brutalist architecture. Although I do look to modernism within graphics, there is something that translates to me creatively about the implementation of modernist style in a structure. The Mies Van de Rohe pavilion in Barcelona, for example, seamlessly melts organic forms with hard-edged elements in a variety of marbled textures that dance on the surface of the green stone. The low wide bodies of water that reflect the sky, create a mirage of patterns as the sun shines through the trees and interacts with the building creating an immersive experience between nature and the built environment. The work of Zaha Hadid, although a deconstructivist not modernist, also demonstrates a confluence of fluidity and organic currency that embraces futuristic materials. I mention these structures as they do not ignore the progression of design by simply replicating what has worked before, but instead entangle themselves in a new way of creating that looks forward to the future, while not ignoring the beauty and success of what has always been.

Le Corbusier has been a feature of influence in many of my projects too, I have used the form of his furniture to create a typeface, and I have used the layout of the rooms in the Villa Savoy as formats for page layouts. I constantly take inspiration from his colour palettes in the Unite D’habitation which uses bold tones alongside natural pigments. It feels synonymous with the way I interpret the world and I feel at home in modernist or brutalist spaces. 

I feel most drawn however to modernism’s drive for new systems. It wasn’t simply an artistic movement but a range of ideologies. These designers saw the world crumbling and jumped at the opportunity to create a new one. Although I think it is integral to explore, reuse and promote what already exists, modernism remained hungry to improve and design the future.

I am aesthetically drawn to the modernist estates in London, assuming them to be examples of good design, but since 2016 over 100 of the UK’s ‘kitchen sink estates’ have been demolished (Boffey, 2016, p. 2). When I questioned this, I found that this was an attempt to tackle ‘drug abuse and gang culture’ that was rife in these neglected developments. This questioned my preconceived certainty of the aesthetic success of modernism, assuming the problems to be grounded in the communities, a damaging assumption fanned by mainstream media. 

The idolisation of modernism within design has potentially overshadowed flaws in these tangible manifestations of modernist ideologies. I want to evaluate the design fallings and successes of modernism in social housing and determine what are the causes of the structural and subsequent social decay leading to demolition. Are there examples that work and how can we create a similar push for progression that modernists called for but with a more human-based understanding of community systems?

Case study of Broadwater Farm Estate: 

The modernist Broadwater Farm Estate, located in Tottenham, North London is a housing estate that has experienced both successes and challenges in its design and implementation. Broadwater Farm Estate was built between 1967 and 1972, designed by C.E. Jacob and A. Weitzel from the Haringey Department of Architecture with modernist principles, incorporating high-rise and low-rise structures.

The estate was designed with ample green spaces and landscaping, aiming to create a pleasant and visually appealing environment for residents.  Incorporating community Facilities such as a community centre, schools, and recreational spaces, were all designed to foster a sense of community and provide essential services within the estate.

Broadwater Farm included a mix of housing types including high-rise and low-rise buildings, providing a diverse range of accommodation options for residents.

Some residents raised concerns about the estates’ design, including issues related to security and the layout of certain buildings. Design elements that did not adequately address safety and security had contributed to a challenging living environment.

In 1967 construction started on the marshlands of the River Moselle. Haringey council contracted Taylor Woodrow Anglian to construct a nineteen-story tower and eight smaller tower blocks (Davidson</a>, 2018). Taylor Woodrow had recently built a 21-story tower block in Canning town that had collapsed only two months after construction, killing four people and seriously injuring seventeen. Promises were made to improve materials for the Broadwater build, however, it seems no such improvements were made. This clearly illustrates the structural implications of building large panelled high-rise blocks. This design and structural fault can be seen further through the issues of leaking and dampness that were rife in both Broadwater and Thamesmead (another of London’s 1960s estates). Thamesmead used a prefab F panel system called ‘Balency’ which was astoundingly cheap in comparison to brick and mortar but resulted in cracking and leaking that started less than five years after construction. 

Construction materials being poor is one thing, but other developments at the time such as the Barbican don’t seem to have decayed in the same way. Although the Barbican is built of the same concrete prefab systems, but built by different contractors, and never intended exclusively as social housing, and always maintained to a good standard. Crucially The Barbican had all of the amenities built in and up and running prior to residents moving in, unlike Thames Mead and Broadwater, where residents were re-homed into these estates up to six months before construction was completed, including essential amenities (Chadwick and Weaver, 2019).

The Barbican was originally rented by the London City Council, but it was always intended ‘for a different audience’ as the architects explained, they wanted ‘young professionals’ to populate the space. It draws similarities with Broadwater in the fact it was built as a slum regeneration project but by 1980 almost all apartments were privately owned due to the 1980 Right to Buy Act (Everything You Wanted to Know About Barbican Architecture, 2020). The difference between private ownership over neglectful borough council ownership through 80’s Thatcherism, is the money (or lack of) invested in maintenance. Broadwater and Thamesmead had such a severe lack of maintenance that the ‘streets in the sky’ were often flooded by stagnant water from leaks. Rubbish chutes rarely worked properly and there was a mass lack of transport links and amenities. 

The detriment of these missing factors of maintenance, transport and amenities are key in the degradation of these estates in comparison to a success story such as the Barbican.

Broadwater Farm Estates’ original design embraced a modernist approach to communal housing’ (Karakusevic , 2019, p. 3,4). The large linear blocks connected with elevated walkways are present in many of the estates of this time – such as Thamesmead, Tredlick Tower and Robin Hood Gardens. Elevated walkways are a Corbusian design strategy introduced in his Unite d’Habitation Marseilles (1952). In principle, and in Marseilles, this proved to be positive, with attention given to access to light in these areas, and creating spaces for the community to meet in and around indoor shopping streets. The Marseilles development also provided residents with a running track, swimming pool and nursery.  This success for ‘streets in the sky’ is, however, almost completely exclusive to the Marseilles development. In Broadwater and other London iterations of this style, the elevated walkways became a hothouse of crime away from the eyes on the streets. 

This common design failure is explained by Jane Jacobs in her book ‘The Death and Life of Great American Cities’ (Jacobs, 2016). She explains that for a neighbourhood to thrive there must be a clear distinction of public and private space. The streets in the sky do the exact opposite, they create a halfway house between the privacy of an indoor apartment, away from the traffic of the street and a public walkway accessible by residents and strangers. This merging of the two encourages crime as the ‘eyes upon the streets’ act as the ‘natural proprietors’ of these spaces and an anonymous policing body. Those who look down onto the streets in a people-watching manner or occupy this space at any time, bear witness to a crime or lack of conduct with the anonymity to report without consequence.

Having public spaces remain public also allows for ‘practicable limits’ to areas needing ‘surveillance’ (Jacobs, 2016, p. 46). The lack of this distinction in Broadwater Farm was undoubtedly ‘unsuccessful’ (Karakusevic , 2019, p. 3,4). The importance of residents feeling safe contributes to a sense of homeliness that is integral to the success of any housing development, discussed later in this essay. 

To rethink ‘streets in the sky’ Jane Jacobs implores we focus on connecting newly developed areas to the existing streets. If this is not possible she suggests creating new streets that interlink with old populated ones. This contradicts the designs we see at Broadwater, Thamesmead and even Park Hill in Sheffield, as they all create isolated street networks away from the traffic and public domain of a street. This added shelter created by the ‘streets in the sky’ is unintentionally an engine for crime. 

There are a range of films that portray various narratives around life living on estates. High Rise, which I mention later in this essay, Fish Tank, Clockwork Orange (set at Thamesmead) and many more. These representations of estates are interesting as they show that the estates we are discussing define a cultural moment in British history. They have become an aesthetic backdrop when portraying a dystopian view of Britain.  

I recently watched a recent release within this genre called ‘The Kitchen’ which presents us with a chillingly recognisable dystopia of social housing set in 2044. It is a science fiction film set ‘in a dystopian future London where all social housing has been eliminated’ (Stacey, 2024). The city authorities have decided they are going to demolish The Kitchen estate to build heartless NLV-style flats. The narrative follows a man Izi and a boy Benji. The film is incredible and well worth a watch, but I have brought it into this discussion for its depiction of what has already happened in many estates across London. 

In the film, Police call random raids and attacks, breaking into homes on the estate, making arrests and violently detaining people. The community facilities are shown to be dysfunctional with water cut off and fragile structures, but the community itself is shown to be tight. At one point Izi is explaining to Benji what is happening with the forced demolitions, and he says ‘They did it in Aylesbury, they did it in Broadwater’. When I watched this film I was already deep into this essay and the similarities in the film to my findings of what happened on Broadwater estate were chilling. 

Broadwater Farm is not mentioned in this film as an accident. It is mentioned because ‘The Kitchen’ (2023)  is telling a very true story of what has happened at Broadwater in the guise of science-fiction. 

Another key factor that is synonymous with the previously mentioned flaws is the portrayal of these estates in the media and therefore the attitude of the police. Broadwater quickly became known as ‘this housing destination only for poor, black and immigrant people’ with ‘every improvement to the estate housing and every provision for the community since the start being demanded and fought for by the residents.’ (Davidson</a>, 2018). Analysing this information is incredibly important in discussing the way design can create a way forward, as it shows design elements that are integral on both functional and social levels. Easy-to-maintain properties and funding for maintenance are at the heart of the discussion, as is clear from the comparison to the Barbican. Building something revolutionary or forward-thinking in this sector can be a great success or failure depending on the way it is cared for.

Encouraged by Thatcher’s conservative government turning on the working class, the perception of Broadwater began to rain heavily on the residence in the form of police torment.The brutality at Broadwater feels almost identical to the scenes of ‘The Kitchen’. The Tottenham police force became hostile with constant surveillance and monitoring commonplace, along with incessant stop and search missions targeting the black young men of the community.  

In October 1985 Cynthia Jarrett, a loved member of the Broadwater community, died after a brutal police incursion of her home. The same month ‘Youth fury against racist police’ led to an uprising on the estate (Black Flag newspaper, 1985). The death of Cynthia Jarret ‘unleashed years of hatred directed exclusively against police thuggery’. During this backlash, 800 people began to stone police lines resulting in an officer, PC Blakelock, being killed on the estate (Black Flag newspaper, 1985). This entire community was punished for the uprising. Over 300 residents including children were arrested, doors were smashed in, property destroyed and three innocent men were wrongly convicted of murder. After decades of neglect, in 2011 Mark Duggan – a Broadwater resident –  was shot by police during a hard stop. Following this, riots broke out in London and spread across the country. 

These social issues may seem like they are embedded in the socio-economic and political factors, not the design of the estate, but one cannot exist without the other. Jane Jacobs proposes that we view cities as ‘ecosystems’ that are as ‘vulnerable and fragile’ as a natural one. ‘In both types of ecosystem, many small and obscure components…can be vital to the whole, far out of proportion to their own tininess of scale or aggregate quantities’ (Jacobs, 2016, p. XVI). 

The lack of amenities, lack of transport links leading to alienation, lack of maintenance, streets in the sky, and poor construction subsequently lead to Broadwater being a living iteration of ‘The Kitchen’. Police brutality and subsequent unrest were a result of construction and council failures to manage the properties. Along with a lack of attempts to consolidate the existing communities without replicating the issues in the slums, that the estate replaced; there were too many ‘obscure components’ falling short. 

As the superficial design elements have been discussed it is easy to see common failings in these areas. But as I outlined earlier in this essay, design within social housing should not be seen as simply the vernacular. Successful design, in this instance, encompasses the design practice of an architect when planning a social housing development along with the following design of social integration, maintenance, community encouragement and the way in which a community is situated within the structures. It is about designing environments for each specific ecosystem to integrate with. 

The complexities of social housing design and management are manifest in Broadwater Farm Estate. The initial aspirations for creating a well-designed and inclusive community were thwarted by various challenges, including social and economic issues, maintenance problems, and negative perceptions, all of which have impacted its overall success. Efforts to address these challenges have involved regeneration initiatives and community engagement to improve living conditions and opportunities for residents. This regeneration has been dangled in front of residence since 2018 but is yet to come to fruition.

Context development – primary and secondary research 

A lack of maintenance of estates and negative systematic views of estate residents erodes positive community design principles that are implemented. This can be illustrated by two research elements, a newspaper issue that shows the social feeling at the time and an interview I conducted with Roz Burch, a community activist (and Curates’ wife) at the Sheffield Park Hill estate during the late 70’s to mid-80s. The newspaper outlines the general social and political neglect in London. Roz’s personal experiences, although not London-specific, saw this social neglect seep into structural neglect on the estates which was a UK-wide trend.

The ‘Black Flag’ newspaper is quoted in the Broadwater case study above. It was a London based newspaper founded in 1971 that focused on class struggles. This newspaper (specifically the October 21st 1985 issue) is a valuable research source as it showed first-hand accounts and opinions from those living on estates in London and those being hit by brutal Thatcherism. 

The 1985 October 21st issue – which relays the events of the Broadwater riots – is filled with articles about Swan hunter shipyard strikes due to poor working conditions, privatisation and ‘police-paid agent provocateurs’  that evoke outbreak of riots, and YTS slavery. The paper outlines that the government ‘cut benefits’ and forced ‘YTS schemes onto young people’. The tone felt throughout the newspaper highlights dissatisfaction with the governing body among the working classes with quotes such as ‘you treat people like animals they will resist and fight back’ and a description of community ‘hatred’ that ‘runs far deeper and is more profound than any amount of CS gas or plastic bullets will contain’(Black Flag newspaper, 1985). 

The newspaper itself claims to be for anarchism and this therefore must be understood when synthesising from this source. The role of anarchists is to call for a reformation and rejection of the government, so of course the tone against the police is going to be hardcore. As much as the position of this newspaper will impact the messaging it carries, the outbreaks of riots and mass strikes through the 80s show that the voices portrayed in these articles are indicative of reality. 

Thatcher’s 1984 dismantling of infrastructure of the UK, such as the manufacturing of steel, and coal mining plus the selling off of state-owned utilities like the railways, water and BP to investors decimated the workforce and pushed unemployment up to 11.9% of the population (Statista, 2023). This hit the estate communities the hardest with the proportion living below the poverty line between 1979 and 1997 rising from 13% to 43% and child poverty more than doubled (Dean, 2012). Police racism and brutality was another factor attacking these communities through this period as we see in the Broadwater case study. 

‘living in a high-rise block does not force all its inhabitants to become criminals, but creating anonymity, lack of surveillance and escape routes, it puts temptation in their way and makes it probable that some of the weaker brethren will succumb.’

– Alice Coleman, geographer at King’s college, in her book Utopia on Trial 1985. (Coleman, 1985)

This study was built upon Jane Jacobs odes to the ‘ballet of the sidewalk’ (Jacobs, 2016, chapter 2) and concluded that the free market and small homes with little gardens were the best and only way to approach housing. This bubbling negative attitude overrode the 60’s utopian optimism to a point where Thatcher’s government could shope the construction of social housing almost completely and push for council homes to be bought by residents (enforced by the right to buy act). 

An impact of this is still visible with themodernhouse.com showcasing former council homes kitted out with Quooker taps and Eames furniture. The price tag on these once council homes is ever rising due to design fanatics, not unlike myself, loving the aesthetics of these beautiful structures. In Anjan Chatterjees neuroaesthetic research, discussed later in this essay, it was said that subjects from a design background tended to have different preferences from those not existing in the design realm (Coburn, Vartanian and Chatterjee, 2017). The straight lines and ‘functional modernist spaces’ appeal to a rational designer’s brain. Arthouse films such as Clockwork Orange becoming cult classics, along with appreciation for the forms and point in design these estates represent, have created an oyster phenomenon in many of these estates today. What was once for the struggling is now a luxury commodity. 

Now that these estates are mostly privately owned and are no longer engines for crime. This is backed up again by the success of the Barbican due to private ownership leading to investment from residence in maintenance and a sense of ownership that creates care and love for an environment. 

But Social/council/affordable housing must outlive politicians and changing governments. It must outlive trends and remain in the hands of those who need them. They must be built to work with the nature of austerity that plagues our country and work with the nature of the communities residing in them. To have social housing that only works with private revenue floating through the apartments shows that the form does not follow the function and the space is redundant for its purpose deeming it, in the eyes of the modernists, as bad design. 

We have seen that there are commendable elements of the modernist approach to housing, with the communal spaces, improved and fair unit sizes, attempts to have mixed tenants and overall intent to improve living conditions without losing the community aspects of the previous slum streets. However the self supporting concrete systems that were cheap to construct, were victim of ‘contractors…fudging their work in ludicrously dangerous ways’ (Orazi, 2021, p. 9) leading to the1968 Canning Town Tower collapse, mentioned in the Broadwater case study, along with ‘rain running down the insides of walls, vermin infesting entire blocks and ,black mould appearing everywhere’ and ‘concrete falling off the walkways’ (Orazi, 2021, p. 9). 

Buildings not being loved, communities not being cared for, police marginalising and targeting estates are all things we can learn from. Perhaps if social housing cannot rely on a governing body to upkeep and support them, there should be a system that could provide jobs and housing, creating a self contained economy where residents can be employed by housing associations and councils to maintain the buildings as well as staff the facilities and promote community groups, etc. This would rely on a diverse range of tenants so there could be disposable income along with council employment for those who are closer to or below the poverty line. 

I am simply a design student, I have no ground to be suggesting theory, yet, I still will, as I think to start with ideas born out of a lack of limits and hope then rationalise them, to fit within the bureaucracy it must reside in, leads us to push those boundaries rather than ideating in a train of thought already restrained by limitations that have not pushed innovation.

Case study, Park Hill Sheffield (1976-1978)

Park Hill, Sheffield, 1961

Architects Jack Lynn and Ivor Smith

Pre-war Park Hill had a ‘notorious reputation for its high level of crime’ and the slum clearance started in the 1930’s. The site was close to the inner city and became the ‘biggest and most ambitious inner city redevelopment of its time’ (Orazi, 2021). The scheme aimed to ‘retain existing communities and rehouse entire streets.’ 

Lynn and Smith were heavily inspired by Le Corbusiers’ Cite Radieuse in Marseille and Park hill was the first estate to introduce the ‘streets in the sky’ to Britain. The structures were defined by ‘snake-like interconnected Brutalist buildings ranging from four to thirteen-storeys’ It housed 3,000 people in 994 flats. Unlike its concrete Marseille muse, Park Hill were made of ‘concrete frames infilled with brick in a progression of warm colours’ 

Schools, shops, pubs, a pool and areas for children to play were integrated within the estate. Residents were housed with the same neighbours in an attempt to maintain community. This factor, however as Roz later explains, was the first component to slip. 

From 1961 when the estate was opened to the early 70’s there was plenty of support provided for residents from ‘community officers helping residents settle’ to ‘12 caretakers on 24 hour call’. Park Hill became a triumph in British social housing. 

Under the sharp knife of Thatchers’ policies the local steel industry collapsed and unemployment rates soared. Although the whole country felt this blow, the north houses our industrial infrastructure so became a barren landscape for jobs. Cuts to councils turned the previously well managed maintenance on its head. The whole estate quickly ‘descended into dilapidation’ and it soon became a ‘no-go area overrun by crime’ The concrete didn’t fare well in the harsh northern climate. Park hill came to ‘represent all that was wrong in post-war concrete… social housing’ (Orazi, 2021)

The estate has, in recent years had a complete 360 degree turnaround, becoming an grade II* listed building in 1998 and when property developer Urban Splash took over, they commissioned Urban designers Studio Egret West to bring it back to life. The “coloured brick infills were replaced with new… new aluminium panels” everything but the concrete frame was removed and redesigned. This regeneration however, had not been a marvellous feat in regenerative social housing exactly. “The council stipulated that one third of the 900 new flats will be affordable” but only 200 are available for social rent. This is undoubtedly the oyster theory at play.

Defining What is Deemed as Good Design –  A Scientific Approach  

To begin to determine what can be deemed as good design when discussing social housing I am first going to explore what the world of neuroaesthetics can uncover about patterns in humans. Thomas Heatherwick starts his podcast ‘Building Soul’ with the statement “Boring buildings have a hugely detrimental impact on our health …. On our communities …. Even the planet” (Heatherwick, 2023). But surely boring and beauty are subjective concepts?

In the last 20 years, a new field of neurology has emerged called Neuroaesthetics, and more specifically, Neuroarchitecture (given its definition in 2002) it explores the “neural sub-states of human aesthetic experience” (Pearce et al., 2016)This field is fascinating as it attempts to take the quicksand of subjection and instead tries to give us objective building blocks that we can use to create long-lasting foundations within our understanding of design. 

We all know intuitively that the spaces we spend our time in shape and change our everyday experiences. I recently spent three weeks staying in a basement flat, this accentuated the impact of a lack of light on the way I thought, felt and behaved. This inherent assumption, that light is important for our quality of life, is backed up by an academic article. In this article, it is proven that our environment affects our ‘mood, mental state, and sense of well-being.” (Coburn, Vartanian and Chatterjee, 2017) The goal of this interdisciplinary enquiry was to find a new way to construct environments that would contribute to peoples ‘flourishing in behaviour,” 

Anjan Chatterjee (professor of neurology, psychology and architecture at the University of Pennsylvania) explains that “all human behaviour… has a neural counterpart” This suggests that when we see something we find visually appealing, something is happening in our brain that can be measured and quantified. This is massive for our understanding of people’s inherent wants and needs for our built environment, but it can not be explained by science alone. Chatterjee also discusses, in this book, the role of evolutionary psychology. For example, when looking for a partner, thousands of years ago features that showed signs of good health were important for the survival of your mate and potential offspring. These qualities are still today seen as beautiful. This idea also seeps into the following studies around the neuroaesthetics of the built environment. 

Anjan Chatterjee carried out an experiment which Heatherwick discusses with Chatterjee in the podcast. The study consisted of placing people in a functional MRI scanner and showing them a range of different buildings. The functional MRI machine mapped the brain activity as the stimuli range was presented. The researchers started out wanting to know if the same parts of the brain responsible for sex, food and reward are activated when looking at a structure which they found appealing. The short answer was “yes”. 

These results, paired with an understanding of evolutionary psychology, start to uncover some answers to how we can create buildings and spaces that are fundamentally good for humans. The study of evolutionary psychology shows that our brains developed during the Pleistocene era. We, as a species, were nomads with our brains developing long before towns and cities. This reinforces the well-known fact that people find nature therapeutic as it is the environment our brains are built to process. 

This idea of needing nature in, or as an intrinsic influence on our built spaces is understood on some level amongst the architectural community, with many contemporary buildings using planting and the ever-more popular living walls to bring the outside in. Biophilic design is a design which mimics the complexities found in nature, from small details that mirror leaves to large decisions on materials used or shapes of structures. The impact of having nature around us in the built environment is highlighted further with a study ‘Ulrich reported’ as Chatterjee discusses in a Q&A with cognitive neuroscience – CNS (lmunoz, 2017) showed that postoperative patients recovered more quickly when they could see trees from their hospital rooms compared with those looking onto brick walls. 

Lillington Gardens

Pimlico, London, 1964 -72

Architects Darbourne & Darke

In the city of Westminster this distinguished Pimlico estate was an early example of low-rise,
high-density social housing in London.  Lillington gardens was conceived before the demise of the tower block movement, with the high-density scheme setting a new standard.  Matching that of existing tower blocks Lillington gardens was able to provide a home for 218 residents per acre.  However, as opposed to Broadwater Farm, with between 18 and 6 storeys, Lillington Gardens was a mixture of between 3 and 8 storeys.

 Lillington Gardens has been described by Jack Young in his book The Council House as being ‘refreshingly organic’ with its varied structure and ‘the glowing hue of its bricks and its multiple private gardens at both roof and ground level’ all these features help to create an oasis in the middle of the city. Lillington Gardens embodies the key features that Alex Colburn lists as ‘essential for a positive response to the built environment’

 ‘Coherence’ the space has an orderliness to it whilst also having a visual ‘fascination’ as the higher parts of the building appear to cascade down towards the green spaces around the buildings. The facades are also facetted, creating a visual fascination that combines a visual rhythm, whilst also containing visual interest as sunlight creates light and shadow.

The warm hue of the brick creates the final ‘essential element’, that of homeliness. The Green open community spaces and the entrances of the estate being connected to the pre existing streets also align with Jacobs key theories about the success of the ‘sidewalk’. 

Although good design is still a subjective matter, under the findings of this research, Lillington Gardens ticks many boxes and is deemed as a successful example.