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Housing – Same Again? No thanks

Same again? No thanks.

I’ve been thinking a great deal about housing recently, and Simon Jenkins’ article in the Guardian hit the nail on the head. I have no problem with Planning Minister Nick Boles’ call for 100,000 new houses every year – I just take issue with how and where he wants to build them. Boles wants to build more dim-witted low density car dependent housing estates, and his solution to finding land for them is not to add density and a finer grain to existing towns and villages or build on brown field sites (of which there are more than any point in history), but instead he proposes to free up Green Belt land for building.

It’s staggering that it hasn’t occurred to him that there might be a different way, or a better way. Staggering that he hasn’t realised how these banal land hungry estates delivered by lazy and risk averse developers are destroying much of the landscape of the UK. It’s curious that new ministers feel that they need to peddle a big and sound-bitey idea without having the foggiest idea what they’re talking about. We need to be far cleverer about where we build, and the mix, layout, density and zoning of new developments – yet far less protectionist about the actual buildings, where we should be encouraging huge diversity and individual freedom of expression.

Worryingly, local council members are often to blame for the poor quality of so many housing developments. We’ve had instances where they will not support higher density, lower cost housing schemes at planning – as they are under pressure from voters locally who perceive that this type of housing will devalue their own houses. Just one of the many reasons, I guess, that I’m not terribly in favour of the vacuous localism bill – as it will be one of the many things that ensures that housing doesn’t get better.

It really isn’t rocket science (above). We used to do it so well. The straightforward fabric of many British towns and cities – up to the point that developers decided they knew better.

 

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AJ Sustainability

Piers Taylor’s article on sustainability in the Architects’s Journal 28 Feb 2013 – Article as published in the AJ HERE, or full text below:

I’m not anti technology – it’s just that engineered solutions are often unnecessary to reduce the environmental impact of buildings.  I am an advocate of appropriate technology, but I don’t think we can engineer ourselves out of the pickle we’re in.  And it pains me that bolt-on baubles such as solar thermal and photovoltaics are often the starting point for discussions about the environmental performance of buildings – as if adding a few high energy trinkets will automatically solve the problem.

This does not mean that sustainable buildings must suffer from worrying wooliness, with a boringly predictable syntax of friendly materials. Yet frequently they do, particularly in this country.  With our Room 13, an art space for a Bristol primary school in a gritty inner city context, we tried to debunk this theory. Using reclaimed concrete blocks and bright blue EPDM, Room 13 (which won an RIBA sustainability award in 2007) is a robust building made of durable self-finishing materials which was cheap to construct and is cheap and simple to operate.

Debates about building performance often centre on heating, power and cooling strategies to the neglect of gains which can be achieved by creating durable, flexible buildings made from materials that have low embodied energy. The loose fit model– where buildings are not overtailored to function and are flexible enough to be reconfigured in the future as needs change – presents a more sustainable model than one that continuously sweeps away and rebuilds.

AHMM’s Tea Building demonstrates how future-proofing can be achieved by designing in flexibility. No PVs are bolted onto the project because far bigger and more cost-effective gains have been made in less overt ways. Their recently completed University of Amsterdam (AJ 24.01.12), where a series of 1960s buildings were stripped back to the frame and the potential for future re-adaption  was designed in, is a compelling argument for buildings that are less specific in their response to programmatic function.

As a nation, it constantly surprises me how little we make use of timber – let alone home grown. Typically, where we use timber, we import and process it.  The Code for Sustainable Homes does not even take into account local sourcing of timber in its ratings.  Using timber and other materials sourced as close as possible to site make enormous reductions in C02 compared to distribution from remote processing plants.

Our Caretaker’s House, completed last year at the Architectural Association’s Hooke Park estate in Dorset, was an exercise in making a low impact building without any engineered environmental solutions.  Constructed entirely from untreated timber grown on the site, the house contains no concrete, not much that isn’t timber (including the insulation), and very little that has travelled any significant distance.  Waste wood from the site fuels both heating and cooking.

As to what using timber means in terms of empirical data, FeildenCleggBradleyStudios calculated that by changing the roof structure of The Hive, their Worcester library (2012), from steel to cross -laminated timber, the equivalent of 20 years of operational C02 emissions were saved. Waugh Thistleton showed us similar at Murray Grove, a residential tower constructed from cross-laminated timber, saving 21 years operation C02 emissions when with concrete construction. According to the BRE, in a typical London commercial building, 60 per cent of the embodied energy is in the substructure, the superstructure and the floors. Reduce this, and the carbon savings are enormous.

Interestingly though, some of the greatest gains are to be made in the most (literally) superficial areas – floor finishes. The Green Guide to Specification points out that 40 per cent of the environmental impact of typical urban office building when measured over its lifespan is in floor finishes – which are replaced every five years.  The lesson here is that enormous opportunities for reducing environmental impact can be achieved through material specification, not just through mechanical kit.

Looking abroad, work by Australians Glenn Murcutt and Peter Stutchbury,  as well as Francis Kere work in Burkino Faso, exudes intelligent passive design. I’ve been fascinated by Murcutt’s work since my undergraduate days in Sydney more than 20 years ago.  Recently I’ve made pilgrimages to Australia to meet Murcutt and visit his buildings. Each project is a case study in an extraordinarily accurate environmental response, achieved in the most delicate ways.

In the Northern Territory, where hurricanes are common, the conventional response is to build a concrete bunker to withstand the extreme wind. Murcutt’s solution at the Marika-Alderton house was to make a seemingly fragile lightweight pavilion that opens up in its entirety to let the wind pass through, negating the need for large amounts of energy hungry concrete.

Currently on site with estimated completion in 2014, Murcutt’s Australian Opal Centre, a museum of opal mining and opalised dinosaur fossils located some 500 miles northwest of Sydney, shows that even in the extreme climate of the outback, it is possible to design out air conditioning. Instead, gradients of air temperature and pressure will drive passive ventilation across stack towers that catch the wind and pass it through the museum, which is built deep into the ground to benefit from  thermal mass.

In the UK, we often hear that traffic noise prevents us from naturally ventilating  building in cities. In the centre of Bath, we had exactly this challenge with our Dojo Space, a martial arts workshop. The brief called for a space where up to 30 people could take part in noisy martial arts activities in a dense residential environment, and conversely, carry out activities that require near silence at peak rush hour.  With a series of low tech baffled louvres which draw air across the space and stop noise coming in or leaking out, we were able to passively condition the space.

In addition to reducing the environmental impact in the way we construct our buildings, we also need to radically change the we operate them. Data from Jones Lang Lasalle’s Tale of Two Buildings (2012) report shows an inverse relationship between buildings with the best EPC ratings (which focus on design intent) and the worst measured building in use figures (DECs). In short, the best designed buildings often perform the worst, showing that there are many factors  that impact the actual energy use of a building which are beyond the control of designers. Often this is because of high (and lazy) use of heating and lighting, but the biggest issue is the vast and exponential increase in the use of IT.

This shows how important individual and corporate responsibility is when it comes to lifestyles that affect our buildings. Designing a sustainable exemplar is of little use if we feel absolved from the responsibility to ensure that it operates correctly. It’s like buying a Toyota Prius and driving everywhere with your pedal to the metaland thinking that you’ve done your bit.

Murcutt continuously reminds us that buildings are like yachts – they need active engagement to get the best out of them. Behavioral change, as Jones Lang Lasalle have shown, is key. We’re never going to solve the environmental crisis if we continue to see it as someone else’s problem.

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AJ Planning Column

The AJ asked me to write a piece for the 6th Dec issue around UK Planning – This is the full article as printed:

At present, the British planning system is predicated against any development that doesn’t conform to a ubiquitous homogeneity and sit in a banal middle ground. It is a system that is fundamentally flawed and wastes vast amounts of time, money and resources writing misconceived and half baked design guides that discriminate against anything that doesn’t fit in to an unbelievably narrow pigeonhole – a pigeonhole with ‘been done before and didn’t upset anyone’ as it’s title. How on earth do we go from here to a system that should allow architects to do what they are trained to do – imagine the future?

Architects are locked in a seemingly never-ending battle with local authorities over design – an area, it should be remembered, where planners have no training. It is easy to imagine a system where planners do what they’re trained to do – plan – and leave the rest up for grabs for architects and individuals to act as they see fit.

In housing, undoubtedly the only thing that really matters is the big picture – the infrastructure, the streets, the relationships of buildings to one another, the open spaces, the mix, density and use, and local demand. I’ve no doubt this should be highly controlled – but everything else should be determined by architects, developers and self builders.

A new kind of local character could evolve from this – a diverse, dynamic local character that genuinely reflects place and context in an immediate way. Local character as defined by local authority typically means ‘as it was historically’ rather than ‘as it could be now’. Local character only ever truly evolved through an architecture of circumstance – an architecture where individuals used materials, skills, techniques as appropriate for them  – and it is this, a new architecture of circumstance that I am arguing for – an architecture where true local character and individual expression has a place.

For this to happen, planning guidance needs to change and planners need to stop meddling and micromanaging the areas outside their expertise. Almrere is an extraordinary example of this – an example of how planners can get it right. Almere, of course, is a planned city in Holland – a dense city with inherent flexibility at its core, and importantly, a city with a straight forward planning process for the easy bit – the buildings. Each plot comes with a ‘passport’, which is effectively a permit to build, and outlines the key (and important) restrictions – the gaps between houses, the relationship to the street, overall maximum height etc – and everything else is unrestricted. Home builders and architects are free to decide for themselves what the building can look like.

It’s mind boggling to imagine how much time and money we’d save in the UK if we adopted this type of system, not just for new towns, but also for infill sites in any city irrespective of its conservation area or world heritage status.  For example, each vacant site should be submitted for an outline consent specifying mix, density and use and the entire next step (that of detailed planning) omitted, and architects trusted to design buildings with no petty micromanaging from mealy mouthed planners. A new – and true – vernacular would begin to emerge over time, an exciting and diverse one where individual expression was valued and unregulated.

The irony, of course, is that most of the most interesting urban areas of the United Kingdom developed in this way up until the introduction of the planning system 70 years ago – and yet, under the current system, it is impossible to imagine that any comparable new build development could exist.

Piers Taylor 2012

Image of Almere, Holland above.

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On Youth

(For Jim Stephenson and Threshold Architecture Hub Brighton for the Love Architecture Festival)

There’s a strange myth that’s perpetuated by older architects that serves only to reassure themselves that they’re still relevant in a changing world – the myth that architecture is a skilful mastery of form and light and something that you get better at as you get older. It’s a little like Yehudi Menuhin telling Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious that they’d never get anywhere because they couldn’t play – missing the point that each new generation invents their own rules and plays the game its own way.

Architecture as a discipline discriminates against the young – it’s too often taught by middle aged practitioners with too much time on their hands who surround themselves with the tutors and critics architects they were taught by, hoodwinking students into the notion that architecture is a learned art, handed down by generation to generation. Who can forget that tragic image of Frank Lloyd Wright, master, pencil in hand, ‘correcting’ students work with them gazing adoringly up at them? For someone purporting to be interested in Modernism, he wasn’t remotely interested in sweeping out the old.

There’s nothing sadder than working within established traditions, this unquestioning assumption that there are a priori codes, rules and conventions, as typically purported by this older generations, crushing the life of the next generation with their miserable desire to maintain the status quo. For all it’s faults, what’s great about the AA is that it’s generally only possible to teach there for a short amount of time: there’s no permanent jobs, no tenure – only short term contracts where teachers are encouraged to move on after a few years, which encourages renewal. I know my time is limited there – as it should be. The relentless sweeping out of the old – good and bad together – is an essential part of making way for the new.

Modernism at its best is about a process of reinvention akin to punk – a process where each generation of new architects establishes new ways of working that purposely fly in the face of the previous. The incredible Cineroleum was an amazing example of this – a ramshackle self-organising group with no authorship, hierarchy or formal entity – challenging the notion that extraordinary architecture needs quality materials, formal control, discipline, order or craft.

The Cineroleum’s inventive use of (found, scavenged) materials reminded me when another practice – AOC – said ‘Truth to materials? That’s bollocks.” In an age when so few architects have reinvented ways of talking about architecture, ways of practicing architecture – here was a group that you knew even from their name (Agents of Change) they were incapable of doing anything boring.

I saw AOC talk once – they blew me away. They were all so young, so provocative, so fresh. Instead of a practice made up of a monoculture of architects all from the same mould of truth, materials and buildings – here was a practice as rock n roll band who know there was no such thing as truth, no such thing as material integrity and that there was no need to talk about architecture using the same tired old clichés.

They were a band who even had a cultural interpreter – Daisy Froud – as part of their team, How great was that? Instead of just buildings, they also designed games, scenarios and ideas. It seemed that instead of an office, they just had a kind of pop up space with sofas and Russian books lying around.

This youthful idealism is so often cruelly dismissed by ageing practitioners – who still feel there is a ‘correct’ way to lay a brick. An older architect told me how shocked they were that the 20-something Feilden Fowles had never served apprenticeships with established practices for any period of time, and how, disapprovingly, the height of their ambition coincided with a period of their (youthful) constructional naivety. Surely this is how it should be: huge ambition with limited knowledge of how it ‘should’ be done. It was, of course, the same ambition that motivated Feilden’s father to establish his own practice at a similar age as equivalently un ‘qualified’ non-architects in a run down old premises on the London Road calling itself the Community Architecture Shop, and trying to find new ways of working and structuring a practice.

I failed in my attempt to get the word ‘responsible’ removed from one University’s architectural teaching manifesto. Careful, cautious, sensible, polite, level headed: these are all things that architects are taught to aspire to be, and all too willing sign up to be by joining the ‘professional bodies’ that try to define what architecture could be, a place of large and imposing institutions, a world of respect, tradition and torpor. What place in the established profession for the provocative, the hot headed, the idealistic, the impetuous… and the new? As Steve Jobs said about youth: “Stay hungry. Stay Foolish”

I was shocked recently after seeing the banality of a once-great architect’s recent work – and asked the project architect ‘what happened?’ She replied – which explained everything: “He got, well… old’.  Trying it out, trying to make it work, squeezing new ideas into unexpected places, inventing the future: these things are only possible by the young. Older architects – without exception – run out of that most important – the only important – motivation in architecture: the desire to change the world, the desire to make things different than they are now.

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