MOSSY MASTABAS, PAISLEY RUINS
Rowland Pierce, Metropolis of Britain, 1942
A recent rekindling of my interest in JG Ballard inevitably led to a subsequent fascination with Modernist (particularly Brutalist) architecture. This, of course, makes perfect sense – Ballard’s Crash is an epic of British modernity, taking place along the roadways of Staines and the surrounding area. While much can be said about roads and cars as spaces themselves, much of the novel’s texture would be lost were it not for the dystopian post-war architecture that defines so many of London’s suburbs – a sea of seemingly immutable concrete that is windowless, and yet somehow always watching.
Of course, the other side of the appeal of Modernism is that despite its often intimidating appearance, it carries with it a utopian promise of good design and architecture for all – the materials are relatively inexpensive when compared with other architectures of power from previous generations, such as the Baroque, and even Art Deco and Art Nouveau. The end result is that there is a great deal of fabulous Modernist work to be found all over the world. Perhaps most interesting to me is what I like to call Tropical Modernism – an adaptation to suit the tastes, colour palettes and so on of the regions between the tropics. What makes Tropical Modernism particularly fascinating to me is its ‘earthiness.’
National Art Centre, Laguna, Phillipines, 1976
Tropical environs do not lend themselves well to any artificial construction really, between the heat, humidity and unbridled growth of vegetation afforded by both of these. It is not uncommon to see a concrete structure swallowed up by vines and moss, despite the best efforts of property managers and maintenance crews. Even buildings that are kept in relatively pristine condition seem somehow alien, like hypermodern Mayan ruins surrounded by ever encroaching jungle.
Liberty AW02
The concept of the ruin here is important. Hitler’s architect, Albert Speer, wrote extensively on the importance of ruin value – the importance of planning a building such that its aesthetic appeal would remain or even be enhanced by its abandonment and destruction. Tropical Modernist buildings seemingly function as a proof of concept for such architectural considerations, in that they seemingly exist as contemporary living ruins. This is really conceptually interesting – the term ‘ruin’ is by definition inscribed with death. However, the tropical ruin is overwhelmed by a chaotic, limitless fecundity, teeming with new growth and life. Endless growth and reproduction curiously serve as a reminder of our own mortality and death, the fleeting character of human life in the face of the limitless growth and adaptability of nature. Equally interesting in these cases is that the angular shapes used in Brutalist architecture often resemble those used in traditional funerary forms such as the pyramid and the mastaba.
Ryohei Kawanishi, CSM BA collection, by John William
Bearing these considerations in mind, I have begun to revise how I approach floral prints, especially Liberty fabrics. They are certainly whimsical, fun, and any number of other adjectives that other fashion writers love to bandy around. But perhaps they are better considered as sartorial still lifes – lush signifiers of wealth and abundance, coupled with a sharp barb of memento mori. Indeed, from a more avant-garde perspective, one sees the growth of this aesthetic of ruination in the accumulations of recycled materials seen in this year’s CSM show.
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