Subscribe
I think it's time to make it official: Brutalism is fashionable again. Okay, kind of. According to this WSJ article, the appreciation for this style of architecture remains nowhere near universal, but the renaissance is certainly continuing. Some Brutalist structures are and have been torn down; while others are being repurposed.
One recent example is the Balfron Tower in East London (pictured above). Designed by the Hungarian-born architect Ernő Goldfinger and completed in the 1960s as social housing, the tower is currently undergoing a £40 million renovation that will convert it to market-rate housing. Apartments start at £365,000 (USD 472,054) for a 450 square foot one bedroom.
One notable feature are the "streets in the sky" that separate the building's circulation (elevator core) from the actual suites. It's a peculiar way to build and most never consider it today, but it's very much a hallmark of the Brutalist movement. The idea was to express the building's various functions -- vertical circulation being one of them.
I guess we just don't build them like we used to.
Photo: Walter Homann via the WSJ
The Standard recently opened up its first international outpost in London. It's a 266-room hotel housed in a 1974 Brutalist office building overlooking King's Cross. London-based Orms (architect) was the lead consultant and they did an incredible job both preserving and modernizing the existing building.
All of the existing windows were replaced, but otherwise the Brutalist exterior remains more or less intact.
A tasteful 3 storey addition was placed on top of it, which required threading new steel columns through the existing waffle slabs. There's a 1st floor transfer slab with concrete columns below it in order to pickup these new loads.
A dedicated (and red) exterior shuttle elevator was also added to the north elevation of the building. This takes people up to the rooftop, which is a signature feature of all Standard Hotels.
Brutalist architecture is experiencing a bit of renaissance right now. We are seeing people lament the demise of our concrete blocks from the 60s and 70s. Perhaps it's because it's a style/movement that is finally old enough for people to appreciate it. That's often how these things work.
The Standard in London is a perfect example of how this history might be both respected and repositioned.
Images via Orms
Generally speaking, architects are the only people I know who like Brutalist architecture. In fact, architect, professor and author Witold Rybczynski once proposed the following litmus test to determine whether a building is indeed an example of Brutalism: "If people don’t hate it, it can’t be Brutalist."
But as I have argued before, sometimes architectural styles take a bit of time to settle in and become fully appreciated. Consider how improbable it would seem to demolish a beautiful old Victorian home today. And yet Toronto, and countless other cities, did this on many occasions. Regent Park, Toronto was once Cabbagetown South.
Brutalism also took on different sensibilities around the world.
I love this recent piece in T (NY Times Style Magazine) by Michael Snyder called, "The Unexpectedly Tropical History of Brutalism." In it he uses the term "Equatorial Brutalism" (a new one for me) and discusses the "surprising apotheosis" of Brutalism in equatorial countries (and in particular Brazil). It is a good follow-up to my recent post on Oscar Niemeyer's work.
So here's an excerpt from Michael's article. If you don't already like Brutalism, maybe it'll get you a little bit closer.
What these buildings shared, beyond an aesthetic — though they shared that, too, with their radical porousness, their blunt geometric forms and their extensive use of raw concrete — was a commitment to architecture as an instigator of progress. But in the tropics, Brutalism reached an unexpected apotheosis: Infiltrated by lush plants and softened by humidity, buildings that looked cold and imposing against London’s constant drizzle or Boston’s icy slush were transformed into fecund, vital spaces. Concrete surfaces bloomed green with moss. The panels of glass necessary for sealing rooms against the northern chill either disappeared or receded from view, encouraging cross-ventilation while also protecting interior spaces from direct sun. The openness and transparency that the Smithsons had pronounced became a practical reality in these humid environments, both theoretically and literally: Built from inexpensive, readily available materials, equatorial Brutalism was as accessible and functional as it was symbolically potent, resulting in buildings that would define new societies growing around them like vines. Here, Brutalism wasn’t only an architecture that shaped the future or confronted the past — it was an architecture of freedom.
Photo by Samuel Zeller on Unsplash
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
Share Dialog