Modern British Architecture

Across the Thames, from the OXO Tower in the west to the Southwark Cathedral in the East, extending southward to St George’s circus, the borough of Southwark faces, throughout its history opposing—or reflecting–the city center of London. Throughout developments of centuries, Bankside, traditionally defined as the short riverfront path running east from Bankend to a western point somewhere just past the Tate Modern, has been the hotbed of culture and character of this borough.
Largely, contributions of Southwark to the city have been overlooked by historians who preferred to ignore certain elements of the city they’d rather not bring to light. Historically, it has been seen as “unruly, badly run, poor industrial, overcrowded, immoral, polluted, coarse, raucous, and unhealthy.� What is often obscured beneath its seedy reputation, however, is its “creative, independent, cosmopolitan, tolerant, vigorous, reforming, resilient, enterprising� character. All in all, it has served as a sanctuary: a home for prostitution, for criminals, for the poor, for immigrant communities, for the theater, and for “a culture-led regeneration that is the envy of London� (Reilly).

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As a current architect, Zaha Hadid seems to reach toward the future. Although critics tout her as the visionary of modern-day architecture, Hadid’s work, characterized by free-flowing forms, streamlined shapes, and even at times gesturing towards, as one puts it, “intergalactic space stations,� nevertheless incorporates fundamentals of the modernist movement which came before it.

Born in the architecturally global, modernist-infatuated Baghdad of the 1950s, Hadid grows up concurrently with the modern architectural movement. After receiving a degree in mathematics from the university of Beirut, she moves to Europe: first to Switzerland, and finally to London by the mid-seventies. While in London, she attends the Architectural Association and there latches on to a wave of 60s architecture which experiments with the utopian idealist forms of Soviet Constructivism. Her designs for a 14-story inhabited bridge over the Thames in her senior thesis are a poster child for this movement, taking their inspiration from an image of Malevich’s Tektonics—a fragmented city, floating through space.

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I noticed this detail first from the interior of the Hill House. Having just passed through the particularly dark, narrow, and angular corridor at the top of the lighter, more open staircase, I emerged into the day nursery. Immediately, the room was far more welcoming, far brighter than its surroundings. My eye was drawn to the source of the light across from me—a large bay window that opens upon the eastern sunrise, flooding the white room with light during the day. I felt more comfortable in this room, not only from the light brought in by the window–its functionality–but by its very shape as well.
From the exterior, the window protrudes from the wall in a curved manner, seemingly embracing the room it illuminates. It provides a sort of gentle cradle for the room, especially befitting of a nursery. Due to the nurturing soft curve of the source of light in the room, the room appears both larger and safer at the same time.

Mbabane, Swaziland
The most striking feature of this building is its sheer size. It easily dwarfs the other buildings in the Swazi capital city, most of which are small, utilitarian and undecorated, and in poor condition. The height of this building, together with its metallic materials and the thin steely “bookends” flanking its sides instill it with an striking power. Why is the United States Embassy the most imposing building in town? One might think the size and allure of the building should in some way reflect our involvement with the country. . . . . . .
…I’m disturbed by our need to display our own strength in a country coupled with our disinterest in improving its conditions…

(By the way, it’s illegal to photograph any public building in Swaziland, so keep this on the DL)