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“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Get it out with Optrex”

Spike Milligan

In December 2005, to coincide with the tenth ​anniversary of the prestigious RIBA Stirling Prize for ​Building of the Year, Channel 4 and the Royal ​Institute of British Architects teamed up to identify ​what they termed the ‘Dirty Dozen’ worst buildings in ​Britain. Not satisfied with simply naming and ​shaming, a Channel 4 TV programme called ​‘Demolition’, hosted by Kevin McCloud, then gave TV ​viewers the opportunity to vote for which of these 12 ​buildings should be ‘reduced to richly deserved ​rubble’ according to its quality of construction, scale ​and aesthetics to be replaced ‘with something ​better’. Perhaps predictably, eight of them were of ​the Brutalist architectural style developed in the ​United Kingdom in the 1950s, in response to social ​housing and transport needs following World War II. ​With an emphasis on bold geometric forms, and the ​use of raw, exposed materials, particularly concrete, ​the aesthetic evolved as reconstruction efforts began ​within the limited resources of the post-war era.

"Brutalism is not concerned with the material as such but rather the quality of material" and "the seeing ​of materials for what they were: the woodness of the wood; the sandiness of sand." Peter Smithson

Growing out of the Bauhaus Movement and the functionalism and ​bold sculptural expressionism favoured by Le Corbusier, the term ​‘Brutalism’ derives from the French ‘béton brut’ meaning raw ​concrete and was first used by the architects, Hans Asplund in 1949 ​to describe Villa Göth in Sweden and Alison and Peter Smithson to ​describe Hunstanton School in Norfolk, England. The term spread ​into more common usage after the architectural critic, Reyner ​Banham’s defining essay, ‘The New Brutalism’ was published in ​1955. Thereafter, Brutalism soon became associated with an entire ​movement underpinned by forward-looking, socially progressive ​intentions that looked to reject the pervading nostalgia for earlier ​architectural styles with their unnecessary embellishment in order ​to build a more equal modernity. In Alison Smithson’s words, “if ​Academicism can be defined as yesterday’s answers to today’s ​problems, then obviously the objectives and aesthetic techniques ​of a real architecture (or a real art) must be in constant change.”

“If modernism is about architecture being honest, Brutalist design ​is about architecture being brutally honest” Geddes Ulinskas

So why did Kevin McCloud and his ‘Demolition’ team find the British public to be so disparaging of ​this architectural style, in particular? Clearly, timing was everything. Brutalism had begun to fall out ​of favour from the late 1970s, with many people finding it too austere and imposing and associating it ​with urban decay and totalitarianism; the latter related to post-war socialist and communist nations ​linking traditional styles with bourgeoisie and embracing concrete as emphasising equality. There is ​also no doubt, though, that concrete façades do not age well in the damp, cloudy climates of north-​western Europe (or New England, USA where the style also gained popularity through the ‘60s) as the ​concrete becomes streaked with water stains and sometimes with moss and lichen, and rust stains ​develop from the steel reinforcing bars. These large concrete buildings, with their deliberate ​rejection of decorative elements, suddenly no longer appeared as uplifting icons of post-war ​development and were now viewed as cold and overpowering; a view certainly not helped by King ​Charles III’s description of Lasdun’s Brutalist-styled, Royal National Theatre, London as “a clever way ​of building a nuclear power station in the middle of London without anyone objecting.” In addition, ​their function as social housing often meant that they were associated with the ills of society, as if ​the buildings themselves were somehow responsible for the skyrocketing inflation and ​unemployment, the wide range of strikes, power cuts, and states of emergency all too prevalent ​through the later ‘70s and into the ‘80s.

Although the Brutalist, Preston bus station was ​not one of the buildings named by Channel ​Four’s ‘Demolition’ team it was not without its ​own detractors who wished for it to be ​flattened. Designed by local architects, Keith ​Ingham and Charles Wilson for Building Design ​Partnership, and built by Ove Arup and Partners ​between 1968 and 1969, the building remains ​astonishing in its scale and purpose. ​Underpinned by a mid-60s determination by ​Government to expand motorway networks and ​develop major public transport hubs, the ​designers and builders of Preston bus station ​had thought big from the moment they put ​pencil to paper. The completed bus station ​provided cover for 80 double-decker buses, ​which could be parked comfortably in rows, ​forty vehicles wide, on either of the long, ​eastern and western sides of the building, as ​well as an 1100 place car-park above. In 1969, it ​was the largest bus station in Western Europe. ​Its internal space has been described as ​‘cathedral-like’ with the architectural historian, ​Tom Dyckhoff, saying of it: “I think architecture ​is at its most meaningful and heroic when it ​celebrates, like this, the seemingly ordinary and ​everyday bits of time that connect us all.”

However, the very thing that heralded the creation of Preston Bus Station also contributed to its ​potential downfall as the use of public transport, particularly buses, gave way to private transport and ​owning a car moved quickly from luxury to everyday necessity. The once essential building now was at-​risk and after years of neglect, Preston City Council felt that cost of necessary renovation of this ​‘monstrosity’ was beyond its financial capabilities and proposed demolition and replacement with a ​smaller, more modern bus station on another site as part of its £700 million Tithebarn regeneration ​initiative project. The potential for a shopping mall on the bus station site had not gone unnoticed by ​developers. The City Council had, however, not appreciated the depth of feeling that many of the ​residents of Preston had for ‘their’ iconic bus station and a grassroots campaign soon gathered pace to ​preserve the building, leading to the first application for Listed Building status in 2000 that failed on the ​basis that "buses arriving and leaving the bus station have very low bus occupancy rates indicating that ​passengers alight and board elsewhere in the town centre. The bus station car park similarly suffers ​from the poor pedestrian linkages." A further application was similarly turned down in 2010 as was a call ​in 2012 from the ‘Save Preston Bus Station’ campaign for a public referendum on fate of the station and ​the building was placed on the World Monument Fund’s list of sites at risk that same year.

Despite that, and reminding us that it’s always about the ​money, on 7 December 2012, Preston City Council announced ​that the bus station would be demolished, stating that it would ​cost £23m to refurbish it and (a sum disputed by many at the ​time) more than £5m just to keep it standing; although they ​also conceded that demolition would cost an estimated £1.8m. ​In 2013, however, perseverance paid off when Listed Building ​status was applied for again by campaign charity, The ​Twentieth Century Society, and this time it was granted Grade ​II status making it "of special interest, warranting every effort ​to preserve it". Preston City Council recognised that it was ​beyond its financial capabilities to carry out the necessary ​renovation and a new plan was required to bring the bus ​station back to the standard it deserved. A transaction ​subsequently took place between Preston City Council and ​Lancashire County Council allowing a re-imagining of the ​space, whilst retaining its original use as a bus station; with ​space at the eastern (rear) side retained for 40 bus bays and a ​redesigned public square on the western side facing the town ​centre. Work was completed in 2019.

But why did Brutalist architecture, in particular, and ​Brutalism, more generally, become such pejorative ​terms? I wonder if it might be to do with the name itself? ​The French word ‘brut’ can mean ‘raw’ as described ​earlier, can also mean ‘brutal’ or ‘rude’. And to be ‘brutal’ ​is to be cruel and inhuman and there is no doubt that the ​word conjures up destructive emotions that could lead to ​preconceptions. Contrary then to Shakespeare’s view ​stating ‘That which we call a rose, by any other name ​would smell as sweet’, might our views have been ​tempered (even slightly) should those 1950s architects ​and critics have coined some other phrase, rather than ​‘Brutalism’ to describe the minimalist buildings being ​constructed at that time?

Perhaps not. But whilst what you call something might not alter its material being, a name does matter. So, ​whilst it may be true that “… Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, retain that dear perfection which he ​owes without that title”, I’m afraid he’d still be a Montague, Juliet, with all the connotations and barriers ​contained within that name that would prevent you from marrying him with your father’s consent.

But, if not ‘Brutalist’, what then? A trio of ​Boston architects and designers, Mark Pasnik, ​Michael Kubo and Chris Grimley, taking their ​lead from Alison and Peter Smithson’s views on ​the aspirations of early modernism, suggest we ​use the term ‘Heroic’ instead, as they contend ​that ‘Brutal’ is fundamentally negative and not a ​good brand. Pasnik states, “I think “Heroic’” is a ​better title for what their actual aspirations ​were. The architects had a real sense of ​optimism. They were developing architecture ​for the civic realm. They believed in democracy ​and high aspirations.” But, ultimately, of course ​Shakespeare was right in so far as whether we ​call them ‘ Brutalist’ or ‘Heroic’ won’t change ​what the buildings actually look like and ​consequently whether we like them or not.

So, what makes these buildings so divisive? Perhaps, as in the subjectivist view of Hume and Kant, beauty ​is indeed in the eye of the beholder and is thus a quality attributed to our own personal experience of it ​rather than the objectivist, Aristotelian view that ‘beauty’ somehow resides inherently within the ​characteristics of the thing being observed. In the former, anything (or anyone) can be beautiful to ​someone; in the latter it/they cannot. But who makes the objectivist judgement? The American ​philosopher, Denis Dutton argues that actually we all do, in that our objective, instinctive, opinions of ​beauty are formed by genetic inheritance through generations of evolution. So, what we believe to be ​subjective may actually be objective. Philosophers, eh?

Our powerful reaction to images, to the expression of emotion in art, to the beauty of music, to ​the night sky, will be with us and our descendants for as long as the human race exists.”

Denis Dutton

Germine et al, (2015, Current Biology) decided to test this by asking 547 pairs of identical twins and 214 ​pairs of same-gender fraternal twins to view 200 faces and rate them on a scale of one to seven. Their ​responses were then compared to those of 660 non-twins completing the same survey. The authors ​argued that if genes were involved in facial preference, then identical twins should have similar ratings ​whilst, if familial environment was the greater influence then fraternal twins should score similarly.

Their results showed that most twins' scores were, in fact, quite different from one another and ​concluded that variation in facial attractiveness scores was best explained by the influence of unshared ​or individual environment, with only a relatively small contribution from genetic variation and little to ​no contribution from shared environment. So, as we all probably felt was the most likely, it seems that ​it is our individual life experiences that guide our opinions of attractiveness – at least with respect to ​faces. But with respect to raw concrete? The experiment(s) have yet to be done, but until then you ​should visit Preston and form your own opinion about the beautiful piece of functional art that is their ​bus station but remember -and to quote Miss Piggy here - “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it ​may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye!”

Prem Kumar

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‘tis but thy name that is my enemy.

In this collection of photoessays, I aim to capture certain ​aspects of modern culture as seen through a lens shaped ​either by Apple, Fujifilm and/or my own perspective.

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