SMH Article: What Sydney can learn from London's approach to brutalist architecture

"The late 20th century was a unique period in architectural history in which buildings where designed to serve a social purpose. Brutalist buildings used the most basic material to keep costs down, and were most commonly built to house low-income residents or institutions.

Unlike 18th-century houses, their importance is about historic interest, rather than an aesthetic interest. Sirius, just like Trellick, Balfron and the Barbican in London, illustrates important aspects of the nation's social and cultural history."

Last week I had an opinion piece published in the Sydney Morning Herald on brutalist architecture in Sydney and London. You can read the full article here. 

Photo by Jessica Hromas via SMH

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Photographing for #WeLiveHere2017

Over the last few weeks, I've been shooting a documentary photography series for the #WeLiveHere2017 campaign. Each day I've been visiting the neighbourhood of Waterloo in central Sydney to take portraits of local residents, as well as asking them a few questions about their connection with the neighbourhood. 

The project aims to put a human face to public housing to encourage compassion, action and resistance to the rapid change that is taking place in this part of the city. Over the next year the state government intends to demolish and redevelop the public housing estate, displacing 4,500 of the existing residents. Unfortunately, these are some of Sydney's most vulnerable, including the elderly, disabled and those on low-incomes. 

40 years ago this neighbourhood was built as a 'utopia', opened by Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip. By 2018, the existing buildings and community will have disappeared - replaced primarily by those on high incomes. The socially diverse, dynamic, inner city community - with an important cultural heritage - will be changed forever.

If you want to check out my photographs head to @WeLiveHere2017 on Facebook or Instagram. You can also learn more about the community light installation and upcoming documentary through the official website.

Getting ready to take some shots for the day. Thanks Georgia MacNevin for the photos. 

Examples of portraits and stories below.

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Feature image courtesy Georgia MacNevin.

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Reminding Sydney of Seidler

For years, my brother, sister and I would take my grandfather to the beach each Sunday. Arriving early to collect him from his eastern-Sydney flat, he would be perched on his balcony with a tea in his hand, admiring the greenery below.

Built in '66, my grandpa’s building was one of the earliest apartment blocks designed by world-renowned Austrian-Australian architect, Harry Seidler.

Like all of Seidler's buildings, my grandfather's definitely has its imperfections: dead spaces, dark corridors and steep stairwells to name a few. But I can't imagine my Paps would have been happier in any other place.

Horizon Apartments in Darlinghurst, Sydney (1990-1998).

The large open-plan living spaces, split levels and north-east facing balconies were bold innovations at the time of its design, and each aided his psychological and physical health right until his final days.

What was important about this building – and any of Seidler's for that matter – was the desire to push engineering boundaries, question planning authorities and pursue modernist design principles in the hope of improving people’s lives. 

Harry followed strict architectural principles under the premise that they were egalitarian, optimised function, or would simply create a beautiful building. And while some of his schemes are, today, viewed as design failures (see Blue Point Tower), each was designed upon a set of values which tried - at least - to make Sydney a better place to live... Even if that meant frustrating his clients and local planning officers in the process. 

Probably the most iconic Harry Seidler building, Australia Square Tower (1961-1967). Photograph by the legendary Max Dupain. 

Harry Seidler in his home office. Photograph by David Moore. 

Since returning to the city from London a couple of months ago, I’ve noticed dozens – or possibly hundreds – of new high-rise developments, which resemble something akin to Ikea furniture, rather than architecture. These cookie-cut designs aren’t only badly built, but very little thought has been given to their design. The core principles which were deeply rooted in Harry Seidler's architecture (as well as other great modernists of the 20th Century) have seemingly been ignored.

Aside from the use of bland materials and repetitive form, which is far from inspiring, the structures are often poorly integrated with the existing urban fabric, don't maximise nature or natural light, and contrary to their promised community benefit, their so-called ‘public spaces’ look and feel like private gardens - dissected from surrounding neighbourhoods.

I guess it was Elizabeth Farrelly who put it best, “we used to think '60s apartments were austere and badly built. Now, they appear as paragons of generosity, grace and certitude”

As large-scale residential architecture appears to have creatively stagnated (perhaps as a result of Sydney's muddled planning system), Harry Seidler’s work remains a reminder that this city's tall buildings can be creative, brave and innovative. 

More importantly, his architecture is a reminder that buildings are not just a commodity, but should seek – at the very least - to improve a city, and the wellness of the people within it.

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Photographing Sydney's innerwest

Last week the awesome guys at WeAreShuffle asked me if I would take over their Instagram account for a few days. With their office way up in the the UK within the cold depths of winter, I'm sure a few photos of sunshine and was to be a warm welcome on their feed. I decided to take a series of photos over three days in area of Sydney I grew up in - an inner city collection of neighbourhoods known as the 'innerwest'. 

The aim was to represent the diversity of this district. On the one hand, the inner west enjoys some of the best Sydney Harbour views. Multi-million dollar properties line wide streets parked with Mercedes of the city's most 'elite'.

Just one or two kilometres away is the neighbourhood of Tempe, sitting directly under a major international flight path, where the descent of Boeings shakes the core of homes lying below. Perhaps the inner west's most interesting neighbourhood - Marrickville - was once a major industrial hub. Today, it's experiencing a phase of gentrification, much like that of London's Hackney Wick, or New York's Greenpoint. A wave of young people has quickly transformed the existing demographic. 

No matter where I end up in this world, the innerwest is always my home... I guess there will always be something soothing about the sound of an A380 screeching above me. 

Here are a bunch of the photos from the take-over. 

Be sure to check out WeAreShuffle's feed, or my own for more. 

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'Rom': Europe's first heritage listed skatepark

'Rom' is iconic in British skate and Bmx culture. It represents a time when skating was a little more raw – much like its roughness of its own surface.

When I first started sessioning skateparks in the late 90s, it was common to see wooden indoor and pre-fabricated outdoor skateparks in videos and magazines. But every so often an image would pop up of this huge outdoor concrete skatepark in London made up of mogul bowls, pools and downhill snake runs. 

Far from the smoothed surface skateparks being built in the 1990s and 2000s, Rom from back in the '70s was bumpy, rough and raw. I couldn’t wait to one day check it out.

Built in 1977, Romford skatepark has for decades attracted Bmx and skate talent from across the world. 

Fast-forward 15 years, and I’d still never visited... 

That was, until a text came through last week, “who's up for a Romford session?” A couple of days later a group of us were jammed into the back of a van, heading east towards 4,000 square metres of pure concrete.

It seems the excitement of Bmx and skating hasn't worn off in our older age. Exploding out of the van, we spent hours carving seemingly endless lines over humps, bumps and massive transitions. 

Everything about this place characterised - to me - the early years of skate and Bmx culture. 

Originating from the surf lifestyle of Southern California in the 50s and 60s, early skaters explored swimming pools and concrete drains to surf. Over time, they began creating purpose built parks, which still gave the sensation of carving a wave. Rom – England’s oldest surviving skatepark – is the perfect example of this.

The bowls and snakeruns weren’t created for the modern, tech kid. But they represented the old-school style of skaters who preferred high speed carving lines.

70s snakeruns were designed to feel like a never-ending wave. 

Merlin carves while Mike records the sound of his tyres.  

Local shredders at The Rom can skate bowls like few others can. 

Mike Mansfield carving through the over-vert half. 

It was no surprise to me when I heard last year that Historic England would give Rom a Grade II heritage listing. The park has become an icon of the British skate and Bmx culture. Although both sports have blown-up into the mainstream in recent years, the park represents a time when skating felt more alternative and raw .

As we hopped back into the van and drove back towards London, I was so psyched to have finally check out this piece of history. With the threat of destruction of loads of amazing parks in recent years, it's awesome to know that at least place is immune. I can't wait for some solid afternoons here in summer 2017. 

For a complete rundown on other incredible places to visit in England, be sure to check out the Your RV Lifestyle's comprehensive list.

Tom

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Toronto from above: views from the CN Tower

I’ve been wanting to visit Toronto, Ontario for years. Not only do I have some awesome friends living there, but with one of the most striking cityscapes in the world, I've been super keen to take a wander through its downtown streets. 

Two weeks ago I boarded a Westjet flight from Gatwick and a few hours later as I was touching down at the Toronto Pearson. As I peered out the train window on my way into the city, I was struck by the size of its building's. With over 2,300 high rise towers, it's now the tallest city in North American behind New York.  

But it was the CN Tower which stood out in particular. Not only is the building monstrous, but it stretches out of the city cluster with a super cool 1970s, retro swag. 

After an initial building boom in the late 19th century, the '60s and '70s saw Toronto undergo its second major urban transformation. As the city refocused itself from manufacturing industries to the services economy, it began tower upwards, rather than just outwards. 

Completed in 1976, the CN Tower became a symbol for the rise of Toronto as an innovative, global city and marked a new era in high rise development of the downtown. 

Standing at over 550 m, the CN Tower held the record of the world’s tallest freestanding structure until the completion of the Canton Tower in 2009 and Burj Khalifa in 2010. For over 34 years it set the bar for tall buildings across the world. 

As my friend Jesse Darling (who also happens to be a Toronto expert) and I ate and drank our way through the city's neighbourhoods, it wasn’t long before I asked if she’d be up for doing something "really, really touristy". 

In just a matter of hours, we were on our way to the CN Tower observation deck to check out the city from above.

Looking down at Toronto below I could see the intricacy of the city's neighbourhoods, and the beauty of the natural landscape beyond. As towers flood the horizon and 100 more stand under construction, its clear to see the importance planning tall buildings carefully.

Not only can high-rise towers drastically change the look of a neighbourhood, but they can very quickly change the feel of one too. Characterful neighbourhoods which have evolved over many decades can suddenly take on a whole new vibe - often at stake of its old one. 

At the same time however, when located carefully and designed well, tall buildings can add to the beauty and vibrancy of a a city, as well as provide people with needed homes and workspaces. As controversial as it may have been at the time, the CN Tower has - in my opinion -  stood the test of time. And if anything else, gives locals a visual landmark and enables millions of visitors like me to admire the beauty of the city beyond. 

Make sure you check out the YouTube video and photos below. Of course, if you love or hate the CN Tower, let me know in the comments section... Yew!

Photos, video and text all copyright Tom Oliver Payne. Music courtesy The Postal Service. 

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What would Ernő Goldfinger think of Balfron Tower today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Photographs by Dan Young & Tom Oliver Payne.

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Dawson’s Heights: architecture with social conscience

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearly, it has. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The best of Oslo's new architecture

One of my favourite bars in London is called 'Oslo'. It has a super clean design and generally nice aesthetic and it's always filled with really good looking people... I guess the main reason I travelled to the real Oslo last week is because I figured it would be a bigger version of that bar.

While both of these expectations were surpassed, the city's sense of design in particular, far exceeded my predictions. When I stepped out at Oslo Central Station, I found myself surrounded by incredible new buildings encompassing a mix of interesting shapes and sizes. But of course, all details finished with a subtle air of elegance. In true Nordic fashion. 

After two decades of financial growth and a thriving arts and cultural scene, the city is drawing in buyers and investors from around the world. And fortunately (unlike many cities), they're working with some of the best designers to show off their ideas. 

With half the waterfront still under construction, it quickly became clear to me that Oslo is experiencing an architectural explosion. 

Here are my three favourite contemporary architecture projects in the city.

The Barcode Project

The Barcode Project is a huge area of redevelopment along the edge of Oslo's waterfront. Full of mixed-use high rise buildings, it's home to incredible designs by some of Scandinavia's best architects. 

From west to east, its main buildings include PriceWaterhouseCoopers Building by A-lab Architects, the Kommunal Landspensjonskasse Building by Solheim & Jacobsen, the Deloitte Buidling Building by Snøhetta, Visma designed by Dark Arkitekter and DnB NOR from MVRDV Architects. In addition to these, Barcode includes loads of buildings and hundreds of apartments with designs that architects in many cities around the world are rarely given the creative freedom to explore.

With the tallest heights in the city and over 20,000 of development, the Project has changed the face of Oslo. Suddenly the city does not just sit flat along the water's edge, but this impressive cluster of beautiful towers is now attracting residents, visitors and businesses from around the world. 

THE OSLO OPERA HOUSE (OPERAHUSET)

Designed by Snøhetta and opening in 2008, the Oslo Opera House is the home of Norway's National Opera and Ballet. Located just across from the Barcode Project, the building has helped to completely transform this part of the city. 

Made up of 1,100 rooms and with a main stage which can seat 1,364 people, the Opera House is the largest cultural building in Norway since 1300 - finally taking out Trondheim's Nidaros Cathedra as the top-dog. 

But what I found even cooler than the size or extravagance of the design, is how the building has created an entirely new public urban space for people to check our views of the city. With two sloping ramps on either side of the building, pedestrians are invited to walk onto the rooftop to make the most of this reclaimed section of the harbour.

In addition, its beautiful white materials and clean shapes make it an awesome place for film and photography. While I didn't check out any shows on my visit, I can only imagine the internal auditorium is pretty cool too. 

Tjuvholmen

Once only 5 hectares in size, Tjuvhomen was increased to 33 hectares in the early 1900's to be used as a docking area for ships. After years of disuse the area was bought by private landowners, and since 2005 has been the centre of a huge urban renewal project.

With Renzo Piano's Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art and Skulpurpark being the 2 most incredible architectural pieces on the peninsula, credit should also be given to architectural practices including Kristin Jarmund and Scmidt Hammer Lassen, who've created amazing buildings and public spaces within the neighbourhood.

Similar to Copenhagen's Islands Brygge, as part of the development, the Tjuvholmen water's edge now also includes an amazing swimming area, making a great summer chill-spot...

If only every city did the same.

Get yourself to Oslo and take a wander.

- Tom 

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This is Scandinavia's Tallest Tower: The Turning Torso

Jumping out of my train from Copenhagen, I quickly paced across the station’s dark concourse, making my way towards the bright blue sky seeping through the doors ahead of me. I pushed down on the latch and swung the door open - once again confronted by a new city. This time – Malmo, Sweden.

Knowing my trip would last just 24 hours, I had 2 boxes to tick: meet new people and check out the Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava’s ‘Turning Torso’.

In typical Nordic fashion, the Turning Torso hasn’t been built with right angles and rigid lines, but instead embraces a much softer and more beautiful design. Spiralling towards the blue sky above me, no imagination was needed to figure out where it got its name.

While most of the city is made up of old city streets and wide urban plazas, the district of Vastra Hamnen (Swedish for ‘Western Harbour’) –within which the tower sits - has undergone a recent rejuvenation and comprises kilometres of contemporary offices, and apartment buildings, all stretched along the beautiful Öresund waterfront.

Back in the late 1990s the City of Malmo developed a design competition to create a new tall building in the district. Zurich-based architect Santiago Calatrava submitted a sculpture that he’d created depicting a human body contorting around its spine in an upward movement. Impressed with Santiago’s piece, Calatrava was soon underway designing what would soon become Malmo’s most impressive landmark.

At 54 storeys, the building manoeuvres 90 degrees from top to bottom, and is considered to be the world’s first twisting skyscraper (the Cayan Tower in UAE has since been built with a similar twisting concept).

But in addition to its interesting design, the Torso is powered by 100% renewable energy and has been constructed with eco-friendly materials including recyclable aluminium. It also features a high degree of energy and water efficiency, helping residents to live much more sustainable lifestyles.

As I walked from Vasta Hamnen back into Malmo’s old town, I constantly looked back over my shoulder at this huge, twisting, tower behind me. It was a pretty courageous experiment from Santiago, but I guess just another testament to the fact that fortune favours the bold.

Make sure you check it out if you’re ever in Malmo. 

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