Apres moi, who cares? ARTS
STEPHEN GARDINER
When I pass the Shell Centre or that squalid row of office blocks across the river from the Tate or some similar monstrosity, I invariably think, perhaps for the fiftieth time, that it didn't have to happen, and what an intolerable waste of an opportunity, of a site and money; this building, or that one, could have been lovely, slim and sparkling, had a flawless glass facade, or there could have been trees, grass . . . And then one may go on to make a remark which resembles a fantasy New Year Resolution for England—this has got to stop.
But one knows that it won't, that it will get worse, that the commercial machine will destroy most things in the end, and that building simply isn't taken seriously enough over here, if at all. Yet the fantasy persists: then someone should see that it is taken seriously. Architec- ture, after all, which affects us all, normally gets little more recognition in the press than some polite tea-tabled generalisations that largely pass unnoticed. But architecture must be noticed: criticisms must be made, how- ever painful—more is involved than personal business deals or feelings, much more: we are all involved, everyone of us. Architecture is the house we live in. the office where we work, the streets we use: it belongs to all of us because it is the background of our lives.
These facts were still accepted until the middle of the nineteenth century, possibly later. But they are not accepted today, although, if the headlong rush into complete chaos is to be checked, they will have to be. In the meantime —and leaving aside for the moment the ques- tion of education—it is true to say that there is no good architecture because there is no good architecture. The important thing to do, then, is to find imaginative and intelligent archi- tects and then hire them, at once. And there is, in fact, a very simple method of accom- plishing what may seem a wild dream. Not much money is required—no research, no tours round the world looking at foreign work, cer- tainly no whispered passwords and names over drinks or expensive lunches. The real, practical solution lies in a return to national competi- tions which have been proved to be the best and fairest method of selecting architects. If we are to achieve much higher standards in design and, at the same time, have a healthier architectural society, this system should be adopted right away.
The first principle of a competition is that the architects who submit designs are com- pletely anonymous. There are usually about three assessors, one of whom is the client, or his representative. Because buildings are large and complex affairs, and in order to save time and money, a competition now often operates in two stages. In the first the competitors are asked, in the form of drawings, for an idea only, and in not much detail. This stage need take no longer than a month or two to complete. Then ten, say, of the best ideas are picked and the authors, who still remain anonymous, asked to develop their schemes over the next three or four months, after which time the winning design is selected. A choice has therefore been made and, from the client's point of view,
without the laborious business of arguing the early stages with the architect which usually takes such a tremendously long time; while, from another point of view, it is possible that an entirely unknown architect will have been discovered, launched, and a really good build- ing produced.
It sounds too simple, too sensible, too demo- cratic to be true. But it is all these things and one can't think why the system has almost completely dropped out of circulation. Others use it—the us, Canada. And in a number of European countries it' has become such stan- dard practice that architects are, for the most part, either working on new competitions or developing their winning deSigris for old ones. In Denmark, for instance, with a population of around four and a half million, there is an average of perhaps twenty competitions a year; in Sweden, there is much the same number. In Italy, there are usually more; and in Germany, in 1964, there were 400. In England, however, there have been, over the last five years, about four. It's no wonder that architecture abroad is far better.
Such a policy is disastrous. New ideas are stifled and the possibility of injecting some real imagination and good sense into the English scene is largely ruled out. But who is to blame? Some say, including (I think) the Royal Insti- tute of British Architects, that the public are apathetic and dislike the more impersonal aspects of the competitive system, and that' people are slow to see that the obvious advan- tages outweigh a few disadvantages. But I don't see how you can blame the layman, since he doesn't know much about architecture, and anyway has probably forgotten that competi- tions can be arranged at all, so minimal is the publicity given to them by the RIBA.
In fact, one is forced to the conclusion that much of the opposition must come, if only because of lack of enthusiasm (but more probably from motives of self-interest), from the RIBA itself. Admittedly, it continues to appoint committees to report on the position (which in turn repeatedly promise more com- petitions), but nothing ever gets done all the same. Someone, somewhere—one imagines— always throws a spanner in the works and, I think it would not be unreasonable to assume, for a very simple reason: the establishment is afraid of competitions and the wide publicity winning designs bring to the architects. I am sure, there is a real fear of any change in the status quo and a situation where much work is in the grip of a monopoly, where the Right Jobs go to the Right People, and where one architect may have as many as seven or eight new universities to himself while another half- dozen or so get the majority of the hospitals, schools and housing.
But the charge is not against these architects who are, if on the whole dull, at least respect able; it is against a managing body which, financially supported by the architectural pro- fession, allows such an uninspired and disgrace- ful state of affairs to continue. A breakthrough has got to be made, and could easily enough. take the form of a government directive stating that one project out of the annual. pro- gramme of every borough or county—whother housing, schools, civic centres or whatever— must be banded out to competition. This may sound naive, but it is none the less a simple Way of finding at least sixty competitions a, year: And, by saving-English architects, it might also be the saving of English architecture and a start on this has got- to be made very quickly indeed. Already it may be too late.
A generation from now, for instance, one could predict that London may be a no-man's- land, jammed with faceless flats, empty office blocks, a tangle of wild flyovers and under- passes, Ford and Volvo cars, with, overhead, supersonic bangs as little men with dispatch cases are carried backwards and forwards across the Atlantic to Cultural Conferences and Efficiency Checks. What a future it could be.
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