Circular precedents

Since one of the defining features of Coventry Market is its circular form, it makes sense to consider other curved buildings, how their designers approach marrying it with a difficult floor plate and why that particular form was selected.

Denmark Pavilion, BIG, 2010 Shanghai Expo

The Denmark Pavilion snakes around its contents, holding references to its reference country: the Little Mermaid statue and a continuous, winding bicycle path. The changing height of the path both encloses and provides a wide viewing platform allowing for flexible, constantly evolving perspectives.

Beijing National Stadium, Herzog and de Meuron, 2008, Beijing

The “Bird’s Nest” stadium built for the 2008 Beijing Olympics is comprised of two separate structures: one, an almost standard stadium; the other, an encircling tangle of steel partially infilled with lightweight ETFE. The latter gives the external form independent freedom from the requirements of the building use.

Endless Theatre, ECÒL, MDU Architetti, Cosimo Balestra, Lorenzo Perri, Emanuele Barili, 2014, Novosibirsk

A sweeping concept public space designed to define a circular theatre area allows for varying elevations. The dynamic method of observance echos aspects of the intended cultural performance, offering a novel dimension to the traditional and rigidly formal process of watching a production and creating a connection between spectator and entertainer.

The Floating Market

Since I decided on Coventry city centre market being my site for D1a I’ve signed up to a few blogs and social media pages which give information on local events. The entire area is abuzz with goings-on as the city celebrates being European City of Sport 2019 and UK City of Culture 2021. One of the blogs that I’ve been following is the Coventry Society that recently promoted a floating market: a set of barge boats within the canal basin all set up to invite buyers to purchase a range of creations.

It was useful to make notes on the sort of items on sale and which boats were most popular. All of them emphasised the fact that their produce was not available on the High Street and instead of focusing on cheaper prices, used individuality and personality as their unique selling point.

The difference in method of production was also brought home: hand made items, especially ones which required high levels of skill to produce or utilised traditional techniques were widespread although each had their own distinctiveness.

One of the greatest differences noticed between shopping at somewhere like the floating market and simply popping to Morrisons was the friendliness exhibited. The sellers were glad to see you and actively tried to engage in conversation, not just to build rapport in order to achieve a sale. This was a place of community not simply transaction.

D1a: the new city of Coventry

My chosen site for my year one design project is Coventry market and the adjoining vacant plot of land. It was chosen due to its obvious neglected state which stands out in a city that is undergoing a large shift in cultural identity resulting in city-wide masterplanning.

The site is located on a main road just off of Coventry’s infamous ring road, directly adjacent to key shopping destinations such as IKEA, the Lower Precinct and City Arcade, flanked by numerous rooftop and conventional multi-storey car parks and local meeting places: Sheldon Square, the Bullyard and Coventry Centre Fountain. As you enter the city from the ring road you’re greeted by the Skydome and Planet Ice: a leisure complex constructed in 1999, another city-specific destination drawing in visitors while providing a large amount of car parking. Additionally, the site serves as a brilliant visual cue for anybody entering the city from the west – benefitting some of the more affluent areas of the city and the Meriden Gap (the area named for the village between Coventry and Birmingham where commuters can reach either city within 20 minutes).

There have been multiple masterplans completed for this area, invariably incorporating the market, aiming to bring it out from its isolated and hard to access island. Each one has so far failed, due in part to financial reasons and a surprise Grade II Listing on the market building in 2009.

An initial study of the city regarding its recent history was carried out, unveiling the almost unrivalled collection of British industrial power before the decimation of the city in the late 1940 Blitz strike, the subsequent rebuilding utilising modern masterplanning principles which heavily emphasised the necessity of vehicular access of which the city was perhaps foremost again in the country for the design and production (the “Detroit of Great Britain”), to the rapid decline in the 70s and 80s due to global issues pivoting around an oil crisis and migrating factory production causing high levels of unemployment.

Coventry is currently attempting another reinvention of itself, relying on its rich and varied history to propose a new cultural explosion based on past industry and engineering, its status as a city of peace and reconciliation (it is the most twinned city in the world, especially focusing on those cities which were largely destroyed in WWII) and its contributions to poetry, writing and music. It has already begun this transformation with the launch of the Phoenix Initiative in 2000, the repurposing of a large section of industrial buildings to create the Fargo Village cultural quarter, the continued expansion of free events such as Coventry MotoFest, the Godiva Festival (the UK’s largest free music festival) and the Coventry Skyride and these efforts have been recognised with the city winning the UK City of Culture 2021 bid.

Coventry Cathedrals, old and new, the buildings in the city embody the ideals of peace and reconciliation

With this in mind, there is mixed opinion on how this new set of changes should shape the architectural language of the new. Should it be a completely clean break due to the extensively held failings of the modern movement, matching the always forward-facing Coventrian reputation? Or should it attempt to relive and celebrate even the darker of the city’s periods?

The influences of Walter Gropius

Friday 10th May saw the initial hand-in for the Cultural Context Elective Essay. I chose the topic centering on Walter Gropius; his concepts and subsequent architectonic implementations. This is an excerpt with images and quotations:

Gropius first had formal construction training at the Technische Hochschule (Technical University) in Munich during 1903 and then transferred to Charlottenburg in 1905 (Lupfer, G. and Sigel, P. 2004 pg 7). Staying for another two years, he left prematurely without a degree. While Gropius’s brief foray into further education seems to align with his almost-predetermined path in the métier of design, his withdrawal so close to the finishing line demonstrates a disregard for the style of teaching of the day. The departure was in order to pursue an offer of employment from Peter Behrens, a prosperous and distinguished architect who was already making a name for himself as an architectonic pioneer. Behrens and Gropius jointly realised the essence of the shifting architectural tide in the AEG turbine factory, Berlin – breaking new ground that took reference from the Crystal Palace, London 1851 as well as the Kaufhaus Tietz store, Berlin, 1901 (Flickr 2013).

It was Behrens who first introduced me to logical and systematic coordination in the handling of architectural problems. In the course of my active association with the important schemes on which he was then engaged… my own ideas began to crystallise as to what the essential nature of the building ought to be

Walter Gropius in The New Architecture and the Bauhaus (British publication) 1935: pg47

While working under Behrens, Gropius encountered other architectural names that were to become synonymous with the transformation in the architectural weltanschauung including Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Le Corbusier. Another notable designer that Gropius met was Adolf Meyer. Despite being less of a household name than the aforementioned German and French designers, Meyer would become the salient collaborator in this period of Gropius’s career as they together designed and executed their first major commission, the Fagus factory, built in 1911 and substantially expanded in 1913. Although inheriting the plan layout from the previously employed architect (the eminent factory designer Eduard Werner who, according to the client Carl Benscheidt, “always built according to the same model” (Jaeggi, A. 2000 pg 17)), Gropius and Meyer were tasked with designing a façade to serve as an “effective platform for advertising” (Jaeggi, A 2000 pg 19) due to its prominent position beside the train line.

(above) Figures: 1-6. The Fagus factory, Alfeld on the Leine, Lower Saxony, Germany. Constructed for Carl Benscheidt and designed by Eduard Werner (space plan) with Walter Gropius and Adolf Meyer (elevations). Original building completed in 1911 and extended in 1913: design work continued until 1925 (Archdaily 2018). The design was ground-breaking in its application of steelwork and glazing. The large panels seemingly float, disconnected from any supporting structure, especially at their corners, the detail of which was dubbed “the difficult corner” by the client, Carl Benscheidt (Jaeggi, A. 2000)

The three designers worked in continued collaboration until the outbreak of World War I in July 1914. Gropius was drafted and served initially as a Sergeant Major in the Vosges Mountains, Alsace with the 9th Wandsbeck Hussars. Soon being promoted to Lieutenant, thereafter injured by an exploding mortar grenade, Gropius fought for four years under the German Empire, and was awarded the Iron Cross twice – the first time it was given in his regiment (MacCarthy F. 2019). The blossoming technological advancements of the Grunderzeit were harrowingly employed to slaughter millions which Gropius would have seen first-hand, evident in his letters from the Front. In addition to the comprehension of this new machine power now capable by the nations of the world, Gropius was shocked by the ephemeral nature of human life (including his own).

…we could finally leave this terrible forest… But what losses. I got out of it alive after two dreadful days and nights without sleep, steadily buzzed by bullets, and cries of the wounded and dying in my ears

Walter Gropius in a letter from the Front to Alma Mahler reproduced in Walter Gropius: Visionary Founder of the Bauhaus 2019: pg78

The full consciousness of my own responsibility in advancing ideas based on my own reflections only came home to me as a result of the war, in which these theoretical premises first took definitive shape

Walter Gropius in The New Architecture and the Bauhaus (British publication) 1935: pg48

By the year of 1918 the Great War had come to a dour defeat for the former German Empire and Walter Gropius resumed his architectural career. The sense of optimism that pervaded every level of public thinking before the war was replaced with a painstaking effort to defend the future against such an atrocity. Gropius had already been a member of the Deutscher Werkbund since 1910, a body of artists established in 1907 by his previous employer Peter Behrens, to promote the ideals of craftsmanship and its relationship with mass production. Over the year following the conclusion of the war to end all wars, Gropius would join correspondence with an array of diverse designers in addition to those already part of the Werkbund. Coming from a range of backgrounds and disciplines, a customary theme linking both the individuals and the associations was the rekindled utopian ambition. The yearning for complete protection from the threat of another war on such a gross scale was freshly imprinted on the returning men and women and led to the formation of numerous unions, correspondence groups and artistic bodies.

Gropius became a founding member of the Arbeitsrat fur Kunst (Work Council for Art) in 1918, a union composed to utilise art as a political means to achieve a new society. It was set up and led by Bruno Taut (a pacifist during the war who spent the period developing theoretical Elysian master-planned architecture), a position entrusted to Gropius in February 1919 who altered the ethos slightly away from the endeavour of utopia and towards “the unification of the arts under the wings of great architecture” (Lupfer, G. and Sigel, P. 2004 pg 9). Gropius continued his deep-rooted objective of collaboration in his contribution towards the Novembergruppe (November Group) in 1918 and the Glaserne Kette (Crystal Chain) in 1919, an association and correspondence with expressionist, socialist, utopian thrusts, all seeking a superior future.

That state of affairs is over at last. A new conception of buildings, based on realities, has emerged…

Walter Gropius in The New Architecture and the Bauhaus (British publication) 1935: pg24

Later in 1919, Gropius commenced the paragon effort that he would be come to be known by: the founding of the Bauhaus. While the establishment of the institution is more a result of previous influences, it is imperative to mention some of the masters that would have undoubtedly shaped Gropius’s thinking.

Gropius selected nine artistic masters to be appointed to teaching positions while the Bauhaus was situated in Weimar, one sculptor and eight painters of which Johannes Itten, Georg Muche, Paul Klee and Wassily Kandinsky were just a few remarkable names (Droste, M. 2006 pg 25). These academics were employed in addition to a group of technical staff who would operate the workshops, splitting the staff into two inexact groups, the “esoterics” and the “technicals”.

Certain members of the esoterics (Itten and Muche) were followers of the Mazdaznan religion and implemented a syllabus with nuances of spiritualism (so much so that they composed a chant “Itten, Muche, Mazdaznan” that was said to echo down the corridors of the former art school (MacCarthy, F. 2019 pg 137)). The characteristics of the divine influence can also be seen in the growing Lebensreform (again, mainly promoted by Itten and Muche) – the “life reform” – a liberal campaign promoting vegetarianism, nudism, sexual freedom and neuropathic medicine and highly critical of the growth of metropolitan areas and industry (Jefferies, M. 2003). In many ways, this attempt to give the Bauhaus a new direction had the opposite effect: Itten left under pressure in the spring of 1923 and Muche did the same in 1927, joining Itten who had set up the Modern Art School of Berlin while Gropius further assured that a secular, industry-driven handicraft education would be the primary focus at the Bauhaus. It was obvious that the inclusion of these academics were set to cause friction even before they were employed yet despite this, Gropius had a distinct appreciation of opinions that differed, even opposed, his own. The extremity of Mazdaznan was nonetheless, too great a fundamental change.

…that to make this possible (a new, ground-breaking school) would require a whole staff of collaborators and assistants: men who would work, not automatically as an orchestra obeys its conductor’s baton, but independently, although in close cooperation, to further a common cause

Walter Gropius in The New Architecture and the Bauhaus (British publication) 1935: pg51

…he mixed up his teaching with Mazdaznan and as I did not want to have that half-religious approach incorporated in our education I caused him to leave

Walter Gropius in an untitled letter sent in 1946 reproduced in Walter Gropius: Visionary Founder of the Bauhaus 2019: pg140

While educating at the Bauhaus in Weimar, Gropius was involved in numerous architectural competitions and commissions: the Memorial in Weimar for the Victims of the Kapp Putsch, the ultimately failed but radically innovative Chicago Tribune Tower submission and the Auerbach Residence in Jena being a select few. Eventually, Gropius was forced to flee his motherland in 1934; not due to a physical expulsion but because of the bureaucratic hostility limiting his artistic emancipation with the rise of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party (Droste, M. 2006).

He fled to England with the assistance of renowned architect Maxwell Fry (although the German authorities did consent and the sympathetic relationship between architect and home nation continued until Gropius’s death) who was one of the first British architects to adopt what would later develop into the International Style (Jackson, I. and Holland, J. 2014). The London partnership barely lasted three years. Gropius was offered and accepted the position of professor at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1937. It’s conceivable that he had wandering feelings akin to a refugee, he was certainly sure of the approaching conflict between Great Britain and the newly proclaimed Third Reich or perhaps the pursuit of exclusively practising did not yet quite solely suit his educator mindset, so prominently controlling and revered while at the Bauhaus.

Swiftly promoted from professor to director of architecture, Gropius had an immediate impact on a school which had previously relied on an “antiquated system” based on the Parisian Neoclassical Beaux-Arts method (Lupfer, G. and Sigel, P. 2004). He enlisted the help of Marcel Breuer, a fellow European who had graduated within the very first Weimar Bauhaus cohort and was later employed as the furniture workshop master while the institution was established in Dessau. Breuer was appointed associate professor as well as accepting the offer of partnering Gropius in his architectural practice in 1938, continuing the trend of cooperation. Breuer would highlight the importance of a close relationship between master and students: a fact that Gropius, restrained to a distant connection that perhaps characterises his idolised status, was criticised for.

The final influences working alongside Gropius came from his colleagues at The Architects Collaborative. Founded in 1945 with Gropius leading seven younger American architects, all recognising the influx of modernist philosophy exiled from wartime Europe, TAC would go on to become one of the most highly esteemed architectural firms in the world. The impetus of other designers can be seen in the astute shift from a purist functionalism which marked Gropius’s earlier works. The block of flats for the Internationale Bauausstellung Berlin 1957 (International Building Exhibition) and the Thomas Glassworks in Ambery demonstrate this; showing a greater plethora of coloured materiality within the facade palette of the former (Gropius seems to have previously saved all his multi-coloured expression for internal finishes. See Paul Klee’s house at Bauhaus Dessau (Lupfer, G. and Sigel, P 2004 pg 53)) and expanding the definition of form away from the purely rational – adding a flavour of theatrical – in the latter.

(above) Figures 7-10. The block of flats for the Interbau,Berlin, Germany. Constructed as part of the propagandistic large scale rebuilding of the Hansaviertel in the west of Berlin (when social tensions were rising within the split city leading up to the Berlin Crisis of 1961 and the erection of the Berlin Wall). Completed between 1955-1957 and thereafter subject to dissonant critique

(above) Figures 11-14. Completed in 1970, one year after the death of Gropius, the Glassworks in Amberg add a noted example of the work of TAC in contrast to that of just Gropius. Commonly nicknamed the ‘glass cathedral’, it simultaneously strikes an extreme exaggerated form while emphasising its austere materials (the latter perhaps relating back to Gropius’s functional outlook, the former, seemingly diverging)

Image references are available on request

The Ben Nevis Cafe

Yesterday was the first of many hand-ins as part of the RIBA Studio Certificate course. The brief was to design a cafe suspended 25 metres beyond the north cliff face of Ben Nevis. The technology module was focusing on aspects relating to the structural solution as well as ensuring the cafe was self sufficient, being unconnected to any mains grid.

The first component was a comprehensive site analysis taking into account environmental, cultural and geological features of the wider Glen Nevis. The closest notable settlement is Fort William which relies heavily on the tourism that Ben Nevis brings and any development impacting visitor numbers would have to take this into account.

Precedent was sought from other similar projects or ones which had a feel and atmosphere that I could appreciate and attempt to recreate. I split this section into four: Construction, Technology, Feel, and Form. The first two were gathering information on practical aspects: how best to construct, to build, to operate whereas the last two were researching how a visitor could discern emotion on observing the spaces internally and the architectural body externally.

An entire 120 page A5 sketchbook was filled with my thinkings and thoughts: whenever I had an idea I would try to illustrate graphically rather than with text, simultaneously practising my lacklustre ability to draw. I tried to incorporate my favourite medium of pastels but they largely did not suit the more technical requirements of the module: probably better suiting the design project later on in the year.

The image above is a result of many months of thinking and developing an idea which can’t simply be taken at aesthetic face value. Often I would have conflicting ideas of practicality and architectural merit and would be forcibly reminded that this is a technology module through the brief requirements. The classic Apollonian and Dionysian dichotomy seems to be an everyday occurrence in the mind of a technologically conscious designer.

The internal spaces are intended to frame a singular view northwards and have been an inherent core of my concept since an extremely early stage (see one of the sketches above which illustrates this). The semi-circular observation walkway is almost meant to be independent of the cafe – indeed, you do not need to enter the cafe to enjoy the walkway view.

The two spaces are polarised: one is extreme, exposed and horizontal, the other is enclosed, secure and vertical. The space between the two extremes is a buffer lobby zone, allowing a closer connection to the untamed landscape while still having a thin membrane of glass offering a slim protection and a chance to prepare for the step out into the wild again.

The structural design led the architectural: the cantilever restricting the style of the cafe as well as its buildability. A highly modularised construction process was selected for ease on site. The type of these modular units became clear as more research into Fort William was completed: the town has an industrial seafaring history, being the western-most point of the legendary Caledonian Canal, a two-thirds natural, one-third manmade canal that slices the Scottish Highlands in two from east to west. Although perhaps considered a cliché in architectural circles, shipping containers seemed a natural choice both from a culturally appropriate standpoint and also in regard to their airtightness, water-tightness, local availability and inherent strength.

The internal spaces are divided according to the shipping container grid and focus around the central cafe seating area. Two spaces are given over to a ‘prep room’ and a ‘drop room’: a unique experience that aids the cafe in its operation. The idea is a section of the natural cliff face directly beneath the cafe cantilever to be prepared as a rock climbing wall with a lower platform. The visitors would be briefed and equipped in the ‘prep room’ and then enter the ‘drop room’ to begin their descent.

The climbing wall would diversify the visitor target audience, increase the value (and therefore local community remuneration) in the development, add encouragement to climbers to enjoy the cafe and vice versa and crucially helps the credit system used to deliver materials and remove waste from the site.

A tremendous amount of thought was given to the method of transport that has the least effect on the natural surroundings. Unsurprisingly, it was found that it was the practice most popularly used today – by foot. The café will organically sustain itself, feeding its thirst for water and fuel for heat. The credit scheme was devised to accomplish this: every expendable item will be sourced by the people visiting the cafe.

The method uses a smart system where a storage centre in the nearby Glen Nevis camping park will have a small storage facility accessible by primary ‘A road’. Prospective walkers will be able to store items which are used as a deposit against food/fuel/water which they are to take to the summit. The food/fuel/water will be in secure re-usable packaging. A maximum load will be determined based on sex/age, starting at 1kg for children and 10kg for experienced adults. Upon arrival at the summit café, they will drop off their load and receive credits according to the weight transported and the need for a particular item. These credits can be spent at the café on food or used for the climbing wall. The same system can be adopted for waste management delivery off site and returned to the depot for traditional disposal.

The system will have a fall-back, relying on employing local walkers and other employees of the café to deliver if the credit system does not fulfil requirements. Employees will always carry things up the mountain as part of their commute.

The cafe relies on a combination of rainwater and delivered potable water in order to operate. Similarly, a blend of site-sourced solar energy is used in parallel with a supplemented biomass generator with delivered fuel.

Giving significant research to the supply of each, it was found that safe drinking water could not be reliably filtered from rainwater without significant plant, meaning specialist maintenance, large electrical requirements not to mention issues with storing and accessing the equipment. The average solar electricity production in Scotland (not notorious for being a tropical, cloudless nation) is quite poor despite the altitude aiding the amount of solar irradiation collected. Realistically an M&E engineer would be employed to make sure that the usage of electrical apparatus for the running of the cafe matched the amount of electricty produced.

If you have any comments, critical or encouraging then please leave them below. I’d be keen to see what others think of some of my work so far!

Notre-Dame: The True Meaning of Architecture

On 15th April, 2019 a fire ravaged the roof and oak spire of the Notre-Dame cathedral in central Paris. The blaze raised a lump in the throat of a nation that is notoriously proud of its decorated architectural history. As the pieces have been picked up and the rest of the world waits to see what will become of the quintessentially French landmark, a few facts have become clear, inciting an architectural backlash that has wider social reachings on how the public view the value of historical architecture.


Notre Dame fire:Image source

French President, Emmanuel Macron has already vowed to restore the wrecked roof within the arguably optimistic time frame of five years. While the notion that an icon as revered as the Notre-Dame could have such a work conscientiously designed, built and opened in that period of time may seem naive to the point of unreasonable, his words have been backed up by the wide and steady flow of donations that have streamed in since the catastrophe. Among the donors are French billionaire Bernard Arnault and the celebrity Pinault family as well as the famous gaming publisher and developer Ubisoft (famous for their Assassin’s Creed line of titles which pay particular attention to detail in regard to recreating historic architecture in virtual worlds). At the time of writing, nearly a billion dollars has been raised to help fund the restoration.

This has started a host of sensitive conversations about the worth that the Notre-Dame held. Comparisons have been brought forward between another recent and significant fire in Western Europe: the Grenfell Tragedy of June 2017. There are obvious distinctions: the Notre-Dame was an architectural masterpiece, Grenfell was a 1970 concrete tower block; the former was a centre for one of the most powerful religious institutions in the world, the latter a home for those who were dependent upon the Local Authority for shelter; Notre-Dame is widely seen as a tourism hotspot due to its cultural heritage while the area of North Kensington has little that places itself on the world stage.

With the former points under scrutiny, it might seem obvious why the funding process for the Notre-Dame has raised almost forty times as much money in donations in three days than Grenfell did in almost two years (the current donation figure for Grenfell is around the £26 million mark). The big difference? Grenfell claimed 72 lives whereas the Notre-Dame claimed none.

Grenfell fire: Image source

As already mentioned, there is more than a single difference between the two disasters and they should be seen as exactly that: disasters. It is however, interesting to explore the potential outcomes if the victim building was altered. What would have been the public outcry if the seventy two victims of Grenfell were all Catholic priests? What would the French public have thought if the building in question was a tower block rather than a cathedral? What could have been if Grenfell instead claimed no victims? Would we even be having this conversation if that had been the case (and so much better if it had been)?

Tragedies inspire change; or, at least, they should do. At a minimum, both of these terrible events have started a conversation about the value of architecture. It might be saddening to see the two as a comparison of architecture for people and architecture for art’s sake. It’s even more disheartening to realise that, monetarily, the latter seems to evoke more of a response than the former.

Not taking anything away from the need for beauty, the respect for historic tradition and the conservation of heritage: people are more than the things that they create and I believe that we’ve lost sight of that. I hope I’m wrong.

If you disagree (there’s certainly an argument for people being finite and works being infinite) then let me know why below.

Cover image source

Getting to know Walter…

The flow of blog posts has been stemmed recently due to my further involvement in my Cultural Context essay on Walter Gropius: a few thousand written words aren’t as interesting as pretty pictures. This being the case, I’ve managed to put some very basic information into diagrammatic form in order to demonstrate Gropius’s family ties as well as an extraction of related topics to the given question.

I believe a crucial part in assessing the ideas of Gropius lie in the analysis of their origins. Psychology points to a human’s primary formative years being those during childhood and it is interesting to speculate on the influence that Gropius’s family would have had on his eventual career and life as a whole.

His father, Walther was likely a civil servant, one that (as a young man) aspired to be an architect but just couldn’t quite make it. Arguably his most significant family tie, prior to his two marriages, was that of his great uncle, Martin Carl Philipp Gropius who was a renowned architect who had already made the Gropius name great whilst designing neoclassical architecture across Germany.

The first of his two wives was an extremely interesting individual: Alma Mahler was a socialite with an insatiable tendency to perhaps extend beyond her reach when it came to professing love for those who (arguably) should not have been available. Gropius’s marriage to her was borne out of an extramarital affair (some sources claiming that the despair of her husband on finding out about the dalliance drove him to his insanity and eventual early death).

This is as far as I’ve read in Gropius’s biography so far so I’m not aware of how his relationship with Mahler ended or, indeed, how he came about to meet and marry his second wife. One thing was certainly clear though: Gropius had few scruples when it came to love.

The second section in my essay as planned so far is focusing on the wider and less individual context (historical and political) that Gropius was subject to. He was born in Berlin in 1883 which, at the time, was going through unprecedented change – on both technological and humanitarian levels. It was this cauldron-pot of change that bred forward thinkers in the realm of architecture, the eventual Nazi exodus at the beginning of the 1940s cross-pollinating ideas with those of other cultures across oceans.

So far, my essay has briefly touched on the formation of the German Empire in 1871 and the Grunderzeit (the time of radical change in Germany due to an increase in automated industry, an access to new materials and an optimistic new view of the world in search of a utopia) which were so prevalent at the time of the birth of Gropius right up until the tragedy of the Great War in 1914 (the calamitous sudden death of optimism in which Gropius had the misfortune to fight). I feel like it will be even more interesting to touch upon the political side of inter-war Germany, especially detailing how modernism and the arts as a whole were to be affected.

Cultural references

My chosen topic for the C1: Cultural Context essay is “Situate and discuss the ideas of Walter Gropius with the popular culture of his time”. This fitted in with the third point in my Statement of Academic Intent for year 2 wherein I set out an ambition to research “Architectural history since the early 20th century because I realise I lack knowledge in articulating my own individual style in an informed manner”.

I’ve borrowed and bought several books to provide an educated backdrop to my key points and would find it fruitful to reflect on their usefulness, as well as open up dialogue with others who have also chosen the same topic to discuss further options. I’ve linked where you can find these books to purchase (I don’t make any money from the links).

The first two belong to the same collection and publisher and are components in a series of architectural volumes that, in addition to the focus on Gropius and the Bauhaus also emphasise the importance of Le Corbusier, Frank Lloyd Wright, Antoni Gaudi and many others.

Gropius by Gilbert Lupfer and Paul Sigel can be purchased here. It is a brilliant whistle-stop tour of the life of the architect, focusing mainly on his commissions while practising. The nine page introduction serves as a brief description of his journey which centres on some of his core tenets: collaboration, education, rationalism etc. Beautifully illustrated descriptions of some of Gropius’ defining moments consist the bulk which usefully, don’t only focus on the buildings but also where their influences have originated and the context of their design and construction in regard to the goings-on in Walter’s life.

Bauhaus by Magdalena Droste can be found here (I’ve borrowed the earlier edition from my local library so don’t be put off by the change in cover art). Quite evident from the title, this publication is a more detailed look at the Arts and Crafts school set up by Gropius in 1919. Some of the content is not fully applicable to the essay topic as it goes in depth into the organisation and daily life of the students both while Gropius was director and also under the leadership of Hannes Meyer during 1928-1930 and finally Mies Van der Rohe 1930-1933.

Despite this, the lifeblood of the institution still had the Gropius ethos running through its veins from inception to eventual closure by the German National Socialists and it will always be seen as his brainchild despite the fame of the two succeeding directors. How the Bauhaus was set up and the challenges that Gropius faced (especially political) while in charge gives a deeper understanding of the type of man he was and the belief system he clung to.

The New Architecture and the Bauhaus can be bought here. With an insightful foreword by British urban planner Frank Pick, this can be seen as Gropius’ manifesto, aimed at clarifying what he stood for in the adversity of confusion surrounding the ‘International Style’ – a term which Walter eventually grew to dislike.

The first two sections are entitled ‘Standardisation’ and ‘Rationalisation’ and are a challenging call to arms for designers and the industry to collaborate for the sake of the buildings they are constructing. The ‘style’ of architecture which Gropius, Van der Rohe, Le Corbusier and the rest of the modernism pioneers associated with did not necessarily bind itself to a set of physically defined precepts, Gropius argues: moreover, it was a by-product of a new way of thinking rather than forming.

Overall a brilliant read despite the very dry ending where the author (perhaps allowed to be excused for his excitement since it must have been the current fascination as he wrote), explains at a reasonable length, the “true embodiment of the needs of our age” (page 101) – the tower block, suddenly diving into detailed elevations and floor space calculations.

The final book, Walter Gropius: Visionary Founder of the Bauhaus by Fiona MacCarthy can be purchased here. The most recent of the books covered in this article, having been published for less than a month at the time of writing, this lengthy biography of the legendary designer is a much more personal affair than previous titles.

It is split into three sections, each one covering a ‘life’ lived by Gropius: situated in Germany, England and eventually, America.

I have yet to fully read the title although having a very brief skim, I’m extremely excited to start digging through the letters and diary writings of the man which will offer a completely contrasting viewpoint from which to analyse Gropius’ life story: pinpointing his relationships and scrutinising his personal thoughts rather than how they were borne out in finished design examples.

The Knife Angel

The Knife Angel – a sculpture created by artist Alfey Bradley standing over 8 metres tall and comprising over 100,000 knives collected from police stations around the country – has been installed outside of Coventry Cathedral opposite the main university buildings.

The artwork is commenting on the state of knife crime numbers in the UK and highlighting the issue to be explored in a public forum. It includes knives collected from all police forces around the country and was a collaborative effort used as a tool to contribute towards reducing the number of people affected by this form of violence.

The artist worked in collaboration with The British Ironwork centre as well as the Home Office and individual police forces to provide knife banks in order to encourage disarmament. A social media campaign was launched to coincide with the exhibition and aimed to further raise awareness – the details of which can be found in the source link at the bottom of this piece.

The feature is prominently placed next to the cathedral adding to the cultural impact the area already holds and benefits from a large pedestrian thoroughfare, especially from tourists and students.

More can be read about the Angel here including how it has been built and where the exhibit plans to travel:
https://www.britishironworkcentre.co.uk/show-areas/the-knife-angel-official

Cafe Valbiolo

This is the final collection of holiday images used as precedent for my Ben Nevis cafe scheme.

One of the key aspects that I consistently noticed throughout all of the cafes visited on the Alps was the thickness of the walls. The highlight materiality was invariably some form of stone or timber, playing to the local vernacular.

I couldn’t help thinking that some of the facing material must simply be facade. Stone comes with a multitude of issues including cost, transportation and installation difficulties although it is obviously hardwearing and thermally heavy. It was the first choice material for my cafe design but was eventually replaced, mainly as a result of the transportation/installation complications. Additionally (as can be seen in Passo Tonale), the stone must be in keeping with the landscape, normally meaning it must be as close to geologically identical as possible to the ground on which the structure is built.

The roofs also had small interesting grooves running perpendicular to the direction of the pitch. Counter to the age-old recommendation to get precipitation off of the roof as quickly as possible (to minimise risk of standing water leading to eventual leaks), these channels aim to hold the snow and allow it to melt exposed to the sun. I imagine that this is primarily a safety concern due to large banks of snow potentially falling on unwary cafe visitors below as they’re enjoying their hot chocolate!

An interesting material used was some sort of corrugated metal (Aluminium? Zinc?). This was primarily used on the north side of the building – hence the deep shadows – which was also hidden by a raised section of the ski slope. Although modern in appearance, I imagine that it would have been selected for economic purposes, perhaps as a prefabricated panel that would ease on-site construction which is a key tenet of the design philosophy adopted in the Ben Nevis scheme.

Of course, the views are emphasised with key external seating orientated towards the south. Interestingly, the cafes don’t seem to be consistently suited to their use in the snow season – throughout the places visited there is no dedicated storage for either skis/poles/boards or the multitude of bags, helmets, jackets, thermals etc so the placement and arrangement of such items are done organically which, in its own way, creates a hectic romanticism.