Elitism is today considered to be vulgar. So, too, is the purposeful exclusion of any section of the population from all but the most private of locations
Elsie Owusu looks at the relationship between British architecture and society
In our contemporary culture, the words 'ugly' and 'modern' are sometimes considered to be synonymous. When referring to new design in general and architecture in particular, they are seen as a satisfactory pairing, much like 'love' and 'marriage' once were. Belief in the benefits of progress seems to be cyclical, emerging periodically into national consciousness. At other times, only the patina of age brings trust and satisfaction.
There have been times in Britain when modernity and modernism were emblematic of the prospect of happiness and fulfilment. Such an occasion of optimistic longing for the future seemed to arise after the Second World War, when young (mostly male and, of course, white and upper middle-class) architects, designing the Festival of Britain, pointed the way to their elders and betters. This was a celebration of a new society: urbane, generous and civilised, with architecture and the arts, industrial design, science and 'white heat' technology to the fore.
At the opening of the Festival, in 1951, London crowds lined the pavements to cheer King George VI as he went to St Paul’s Cathedral to thank God and celebrate Britain's deliverance from war. The population anticipated the modernism which was to propel the nation away from monochrome mock Tudor and the film world of Mrs Miniver. Here was an exciting example of the beautiful spirit of modernity in action - a herald for a new age - coming into being as the young Princess Elizabeth was crowned queen in the following year. Over eight million people are said to have crowded the South Bank to view exhibits, such as the Skylon by the young Hidalgo Powell and Phillip Moya which, it is rumoured, Churchill later had demolished, as it reminded him of the 1945 Labour victory.
Architecture, like most artistic endeavours, can be full of pleasure and delight. It can be mediocre and, sometimes, downright bad. There is little to indicate that, by objective criteria, our modern design is uglier or more beautiful than that produced in previous ages. Our architectural forebears thought nothing of piling steps on to front elevations and the innards of inaccessible public buildings. Decoration applied to buildings, by way of flowers, cornucopias of fruit and Corinthian columns, did not necessarily make for beauty. On the contrary, many sighed with relief when Adolf Loos condemned such ornamentation as a 'crime'. Those were the days before disabled people and the 'monstrous regiment of women' had developed their campaigns for self-advocacy and the power to influence the design of the public and private realms, to the benefit of us all. And woe betide the Edwardian lady or nursemaid who had the temerity to consider visiting a friend or relative by taking the perambulator on the underground or omnibus.
Elitism is, by today’s consensus, considered to be vulgar. So, too, is the purposeful exclusion of any section of the population from all but the most private of rooms, functions or locations. There is now a culture of social awareness to which most architects subscribe. In creating private and public spaces, we try to accommodate everybody, regardless of their station in life. This is often symbolised by the use of glass: bringing light and transparency, this dominant, ubiquitous modern material is used - some say - to the detriment of building design.
In considering public spaces, all self-respecting local authorities demand that artists and local people are involved - and seen to be so. The results can be seen in the patchwork of often excellent, but sometimes appallingly bad, 'art in public spaces', which dots our urban landscapes and can offend the over-sensitive aesthete. These embryonic attempts to foster a new spirit of inclusion in contemporary architecture are sometimes inept, usually well-meant, but - again - do not necessarily make for beauty.
There is no doubt that some, perhaps many, modern buildings can be charmless and sometimes unlovely. Many are irredeemable except by means of the ministrations of an efficient bulldozer. However, architecture - whether good, or perhaps even more importantly, bad - can bring us together. Whether designers or laypeople, we are all experts when it comes to the areas we live in. Good or bad, architecture can heighten our awareness of our environment, pointing out what we like, what works and what doesn't, and why.
Ralph Tubbs’s Dome of Discovery for the Festival of Britain, also demolished, later found its echo in another resurgence of optimism in the Cool Britannia of Richard Roger’s Millennium Dome. This was, by turns, cheered then vilified. It is now finding its place in the popular imagination as the venue for American ice hockey, the artist-once-again-known-as-Prince and another prince, Tutankhamen. The London Eye, now a well-loved part of the London skyline, was once disparaged, as was Chris Wilkinson’s swinging bridge, now considered indispensable to Tyneside.
This year, the Royal Festival Hall, newly refurbished by a team led by architects Allies and Morrison, was re-opened. Reminiscent of the Great Exhibition of 1851, this monument to modernism by Sir Robert Matthew, Leslie Martin and Sir Hubert Bennett was also commissioned for the Festival of Britain. A building which was once dismissed as 'ugly and modern' was welcomed as an old friend, a national treasure. It is (almost) universally admired as 'beautiful and modern', meeting our contemporary need to welcome everyone, disabled and able-bodied alike, into an exciting public realm, populated with art and music.
The tendency to applaud, grumble and then love new things, by turn, is an endearing British trait, which applies to more than our reaction to the built environment. From the nostalgic comfort of our centrally-heated homes, we hark back to the 'good' old days, imagining lives of stolid hard work and simple virtue. We forget the cold grey of post-war austerity; itchy, woolly school vests; boiled beef and carrots; and frost shining on the inside of winter windows in freezing bedrooms.
Elsie Owusu OBE is principal of Elsie Owusu Architects and a partner of Feilden + Mawson LLP