Lloyd’s sublime picturesque

This case study was presented as part of the History of British Architecture module at the Bartlett School of Architecture.

The work takes the form of a fold out pamphlet. You can download the full PDF here.

[...] London’s Lloyd’s Building has been described as a ‘mechanical cathedral’, a ‘heroic’ monument to modernism built during one of ‘modernism most vulnerable periods.’ The audacity of the project indeed contrasts post-modernist buildings of the same period and the tendency for symbolic historical collage. Yet the Lloyd’s Building, despite it’s alignment with the high-tech movement and functionalism, is described by Richard Rogers as ‘history conscious’. Alhough not evident at first sight, the building does draw on its historical and immediate urban context. The project’s distinctive ‘inside-out’ scheme, despite of all criticism, has contributed to its consecration as a modern icon. It is rightfully considered one of the most significant buildings in London, and without much exaggeration one of the most important work of architecture of the 20th century [...]

Nigel the octopus

Since giant squids have somewhat nicely and mysteriously found their way into my everyday life over the last month (should it be ’sucker-cupped their way’?), I thought I’d finally pay tribute to Nigel, the Portuguese octopus who so valiantly gave its gelatinous self to my guests and I not so long ago. I love the amazing volutes of his tentacles, curling upon themselves under the effect of the steaming sacrificial bath.

Oh, the everyday references (merci E.):

“Lost and Found”, a short animation film based on the book by Oliver Jeffers, in which the two protagonists are saved by a giant squid.

And “After the Disaster”, a short story by Ben Ehrenreich, in which the two protagonists are saved by a giant squid.

Nigel, although he deserved to, did not save us.

The little shop of afterlives

Dead silent and by appointment only.

From wild beasts to household pets, “Get Stuffed” (not kidding), the taxidermist at Essex and Cross, can fulfil all your heart’s desires for fake hunting trophies and silent furry companionship. Even poor Mittens can be given a second chance as an interior decoration (bottom centre). Well, as long as you weren’t too traumatised by Stephen King’s “Pet Cemetery”.

Pour ceux et celles qui aiment les petits “angles morts” de la langue, en français, le procédé de taxidermie, ou l’opération “par laquelle on donne à un animal mort l’apparence de la vie en assurant sa conservation”, s’appelle aussi “naturalisation”. C’est un peu facheux qu’on utilise le même terme pour désigner l’acte “par lequel un étranger devient citoyen d’un État dont il n’était pas jusqu’alors le ressortissant”… On ferait peut-être mieux de garder le terme archaïque “d’empaillage”.

A little search on taxidermy yielded the following picture. Notice the rolling eye, the gasping mouth, the textbook squirrel lunge. I wonder if the dramatic time freeze of the scene hasn’t been inspired by the 16th century Italian painter Caravaggio. Negative marks for the shoddy corrugated cardboard base and the long trickle of blood running down the lesser fortunate squirrel’s chest. A trickle in an instant? That’s just unnatural flash for spectacle. Oh… right, my mistake.

I'm sure there is a paradoxical strange loop here... But what does it mean?

“Reading” the National Gallery

Image credit: W.Albrecht

Originally posted by a friend on the Bartlett Think-Tank:

We are very excited to bring you great news: the blog “Reading” The National Gallery was finally launched on the web. This blog was founded by a research student as a project-based research from the Bartlett School of Architecture, University College of London. The intention is to connect the theories developed in art history in viewing art works and the discourse of the museum promoted with audio guides, labels, among other things. It will offer in time various projects, in which the first one is the audio guide “The Masterpieces” This interdisciplinary practice wants thus in the future to develop new methods to experience artworks within the institutional framework of the museum.

This blog has to be considered as an open communication platform, and not as a final project, so that theory and practice will eventually become mutual relays.

Find further details on the blog, http://thenationalgallery.wordpress.com

The audio guide is simply fantastic on its own, and a wonderful way to break away from the standard gallery and art work “reading”.

Thesis head cheese

Can you find it?

The gelatinous section through work in progress?

Et la culpabilité du temps perdu?

Borough Market Polyphony

“Borough Market Polyphony” is a work in progress done as part of “The Creative Thesis” workshop at UCL run by the Bartlett School of Architecture and the Slade School of Fine Arts. The goal of the exercise is to create an object that addresses the relationship between practice and theory within a PhD research project.

My project for the workshop uses assemblage as a an argumentative structure to embody both a research/work methodology and a mode of representation. The work takes Borough Market of London’s Bankside (SE1) as a case study and draws on its spatial qualities to inform the final assemblage -a commentary on heterogeneous and multi-voiced publics.

***

My first reaction to Borough Market touches on a personal and passionate interest in a certain type of fragmented architectural form. The architectural space of the Market is recognised as an embodiment of the ecstatic in Piranesi’s prison etchings (as discussed by Eisenstein) as well as a reminder of the spatial heterogeneity of the Mezquita at Córdoba.

Polyphony, a concept introduced by Mikhail Bakhtin in reading the multiplicity of voices within Dostoevsky’s narrative structure, is introduced as the theoretical reading intertwined with the “reading” of the site. Polyphony not only refers to the different voices making up a dialogue between individuals, but also to the internal dialogue (agreement and contradiction) that is present within every individual. For Bakhtin, the fundamental aspect of humanity is its profound dialogic nature.

The ecstatic flight of Piranesi’s etchings and the heterogeneous space of the Mezquita are, to my mind, both relatives of polyphony. These phenomena are perceived not as evolutionary processes, but as an immediate juxtaposition of distinct but interdependent elements present within a whole.

The multiple voices at Borough Market are taken first as fragments of the entire dialogue involving the site, and second as the analogous “voices” of the architectural fragments. The dialogue of the site is read and extracted from the local and national press, web sites, official planning documents, public inquiries documents, etc. (Performing live interviews with officials, residents, vendors, “stakeholders”, at the market should eventually be brought into the project.)

The collected fragments are analyzed to see what emerging patterns are present within the whole. The fragments are then rearranged according to the thematic sets. For example, a few recurring themes from the Market dialogue are gentrification, commerce, events, neighbourhood, heritage, planning and inquiry. This last theme refers to the long and ongoing debate on the construction of the Thameslink railway viaduct over the Market. The project was first made public in the late 1980s. In order to focus the research within a specific (recent) time period, the starting point of the discussion is November 25, 1992, when a train collision occurred on the rail tracks above the Market.

Once the larger Market dialogue has been set up it is punctuated with a similar collection of fragments that have been extracted from the theoretical texts. Also organized according to certain themes, these fragments are brought in without a predetermined correlation to the first dialogue. The aim is to allow for the whole argument to emerge from the unforeseen (and yes, some foreseen) relations that are created by the juxtaposition. This moment is, to paraphrase Eisenstein, the explosion of the argument into ecstatic flight.

But there is neither a claim of complete indeterminacy nor randomness in the work. The assemblage is fine-tuned according to relations that were evident from the start and new relations that were created at the moment of juxtaposition. So far, the voice of the author has been present only in establishing a thematic framework for the fragments. This position is concordant with Bakhtin’s perception of the author’s position in the polyphonic novel; the author is not omniscient in relation to his heroes and allows them to dialogically interact (with each other as well as with the equal voice of the author) with relative freedom from his authority.

Visual material is collected in two forms, first, pictures that accompany the published fragments of dialogue, and second, authored photographs of the Market that are as removed as possible from dialectical images. These “field” photographs (Andrea Gursky’s work is a good example) are meant as the space within which the dialogue of the assemblage occurs. There is yet no provision for the first type of picture in the assemblage.

***

The project is ongoing but here is a rough sample of the work. (updated 10 May 2009) Photographs of Borough Market including the ones used in the project were posted separately.

Borough Market

This series of photographs was taken at Borough Market on the south bank of the Thames. Read a short history of what is arguably London’s oldest market here -from the market’s own viewpoint. These photographs can also be viewed on my Picasa page.

Yes, there is indeed not a soul on these photos… They were taken on a Sunday afternoon as part of my Borough Market Polyphony project.

La volière anglaise

Voici comment Londres sonne aux petites heures du matin. C’est fascinant. Les bruits de la ville font place à ces centaines d’oiseaux invisibles dont les chants semblent être amplifiés par le plafond bas de la grisaille anglaise. À 4h du matin, lorsque les autos et les bus se sont retirés des quartiers plus tranquilles et que l’on peut marcher en plein milieu des rues, l’effet est assez fantastique. Ça donne l’impression de se promener dans une gigantesque volière, un biodôme artificiel construit sur une ville fantôme. Et comme bande sonore de retour à la maison après une longue nuit, c’est pas mal mieux que les cris des futures gueules de bois…

Coucher de soleil sur Highbury Estate

Ça me fait penser à ce petit extrait du poème “Piedra de sol” d’Octavio Paz :

“…verde soberanía sin ocaso
como el deslumbramiento de las alas
cuando se abren en mitad del cielo,

un caminar entre las espesuras
de los días futuros  y el aciago
fulgor de la desdicha como un ave
petrificando el bosque con su canto

y las felicidades inminentes
entre las ramas que se desvanecen,
horas de luz que pican ya los pájaros…”

Selon mon espagnol médiocre on lirait: “tel un oiseau pétrifiant la forêt de par son chant”. L’immobilité de la ville est amplifiée à un point tel par la “furie” des chants venant tromper la logique du silence que l’environement complet en reste pétrifié; même le temps semble s’arrêter, surpris, les deux pieds dans le ciment.

How Theseus got his clothes back from customs

minotaur

Theseus reaches the end of his rope...

As we know from the most social form of government, that is, bureaucracy, the rule by nobody is not necessarily no-rule; it may indeed, under certain circumstances, even turn out to be one of its most tyrannical versions.” (Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition, p.40)

With the intention of helping future immigrant-students to London, I recently vowed to post something on my epic battle with HM Revenue & Customs. So if you are planning  a move to England or know someone who is, read on and TAKE HEED! You may be entering a labyrinth of despair.

I had a suitcase follow me via cargo when I moved here in December. It took over a week (I kid you not, around 35 man-hours) and some pretty high up and ANGELICAL connections (Ariane sait qui elle est, bénie soit elle)  to finally see my pepper grinder make its way to its new home by the Tesco curry powder. The first lesson, of course, is do not use cargo for personal items. The post system is the right way. There is no second lesson. Once you’ve entered the labyrinth you will find only conflicting information, shifting discourse, ‘disappearing’ departments, paths paved with good intentions, frustration, sadness, a downward spiral of bitter resentment.

In retrospect, the problem seemed to be founded on the fact that Revenue & Customs assumed anybody’s ‘goods’ were subject to top import regulations. Regardless of whether these were personal effects or not. So my used clothes and half empty packs of cold medicine were slotted under the same general import category along with crates of bananas and the latest cheap plastic gadget to be sold at Pound Paradise. By the time I was saved by luck and opportunism (both striking at the same time), I was well on my way to filling out forms C3, C33 and C88 (which required me to go to my local library and get acquainted with Tariff Volume 3, the bible of import/export regulations). And all this just to avoid a broker.

Because this was the kicker: You couldn’t do it by yourself. Everybody I spoke with insisted that I go through a broker (charging on average 90£ to get the paper work done for you) because they ‘knew the Tariff’. This is definitely good fodder for conspiracy theorists. The ‘disappearance’ of the department of personal effects seemed to have been lobbied by a group of brokers who were making good drinking money out of immigrants faced with a choice between their fares and rising storage charges. Oh, that is the second kicker, cargo will keep your suitcase until you fill out all the paper work and it’s cleared by the National Clearance Hub (somewhere in Manchester), filling the paper work could take weeks, and cargo starts charging storage fees after 7 days… plus their 30 or so £ charge for giving your rightful possessions back to you -regardless that you have paid through the teeth already with their branch back home. A downward spiral I tell you.

BUT when disappointment becomes despair, things can only get better. You finally learn that there is indeed somebody in charge of personal effects imports and that they are happy to help but that NOBODY knows they exist within their own department, not to say the whole of Revenue & Customs. Even the cargo company did not know about this… And in the end, you learn you really only need to fill out the easiest form of all (C3), fax it the person and wait an insignificant two hours before your suitcase is finally cleared. I present to you the most precious phone number of all, the National Clearance Hub personal effects fax: 01612615425

But by now, if what I experienced is any indication of how the system works, that fax number is probably the fax number of a dental clinic while the personal effects department has covertly relocated to the Shetland Islands.

Also see “Les 12 travaux d’Astérix” and Kafka’s “The Castle”

London Culinary: Jellied Eels

jellied-eels

On-the-go cold jellied eels and whelks. "Why would you ever want to put yourself through this?" asks a British friend.

In an attempt to give meaning to a Sunday hangover, a brilliant idea emerged: to try jellied eels. I don’t know if it’s the ceaseless search for cheap London thrills, a passion for new food, a nostalgia for extreme sports, a punishment for an alcohol-induced sense of guilt, or just shear (stupidity) bravado, but the idea didn’t seem half bad. In retrospect, that idea was definitely less than half good -but what pride! what precious well-I’ve-done-this feeling!

A little background information. Jellied eels originated in 18th century England and became primarily associated with East London. And yes, although we joked about it, these eels were fresh water eels that were caught straight from the Thames -a practice that has just recently been re-evaluated and judged acceptable. Oh dear. According to this writer, jellied eels are apparently not as popular these days as they were when 100+ eel pie and mash houses dotted the city. True enough, we bought ours from a travelling seafood cart at the North end of Brick Lane Market.

So what are they and how can I make them at home? Take the eel, chop it, boil it in spiced stock, let the whole thing cool until it sets. Eat cold. Or if you want to be fancy, skin the thing Maïté style (merci LR pour le lien). Interestingly enough, the jelly is created by the natural gelatinous-ness of the eel. Boiling the fish releases its natural gelatine which then sets the stock as it cools. Beautiful and economic.

How can I describe what jellied eels taste like? Anyone who has eaten an aspic with floating fish in it will surely know. I love sea creatures, I think they are by far some of the tastiest forms of edible life. But words fail me to describe how traumatising jellied eels are. The best I can offer is that the three courageous souls who sunk their teeth into the cold gelatinous flesh could not stop giggling for hours after. Giggling from that unique type of euphoria that comes from culinary dares gone wrong. Look at the close-up photo and you’ll feel it. I’m sure. I think back to the seafood cart and its side table of available condiments -relish, vinegar, ketchup, was that mustard?- and can’t help imagining whether any of these could have made it, eh, ‘better’. So yes, jellied eels are out-of-this-world disgusting and everybody with a flair for tempting death by taste should try them. They are, after all, traditional English cuisine. And then, after you’ve washed the taste down with beer, whiskey and hot chili sauce, what pride! what I’m-insignificantly-brave feeling!

jellied-eels-close-up

Nothing quite like it. Fortunately.