Modernism in London: Lawn Road Flats, Hampstead
One of the advantages of not having a full-time job* is the fact that you have plenty of time to meander about the city, taking pictures of places you can’t afford to live in. For some reason I’ve always loved modernism – this may come from growing up near Skelmersdale and Kirkby – and I can’t think of a better example of this architectural philosophy than the Lawn Road Flats in the leafy London village of Hampstead.
Built between 1932 and 1934 by the Canadian architectural practice Isokon for ’20s yuppies and their Bakelite telephones, the flats were described by one resident, the novelist Agatha Christie, as looking “like an ocean liner”. I don’t know about that – I certainly couldn’t find any retired hairdressers spending their pensions – but it does have a classic elegance undimmed by time. The building’s principal architect Wells Coates explained it thus:
Over the years, the flats started to deteriorate, but in 2001 the block underwent a restoration, and it looks fantastic. However, much as I love the modernism the Lawn Road development represents, so many crimes were done in this movement’s name during the 1950s and ’60s that it will always be associated with asbestos-filled tower blocks, Soviet-style town halls and the destruction of some of our greatest city centres (see Birmingham). The problem is that on a rainy island like ours, the steel that reinforces the concrete in even the best buildings soon starts to rust, the once-pristine cladding goes grey and smackheads become magically attracted to the convenience of communal living/stealing. Maybe that’s why Le Corbusier’s vision of “a machine for living” works better in the Mediterranean. Unless, sadly, it’s Naples.
*Disadvantages include the constant dread of not being able to pay your mortgage/rent, waving goodbye to meals out, talking to yourself and listening to too much Radio 4. And despair – though this only happens when you find yourself planning your day around the making of a cup of tea
One of the advantages of not having a full-time job* is the fact that you have plenty of time to meander about the city, taking pictures of places you can’t afford to live in. For some reason I’ve always loved modernism – this may come from growing up near Skelmersdale and Kirkby – and I can’t think of a better example of this architectural philosophy than the Lawn Road Flats in the leafy London village of Hampstead.
Built between 1932 and 1934 by the Canadian architectural practice Isokon for ’20s yuppies and their Bakelite telephones, the flats were described by one resident, the novelist Agatha Christie, as looking “like an ocean liner”. I don’t know about that – I certainly couldn’t find any retired hairdressers spending their pensions – but it does have a classic elegance undimmed by time. The building’s principal architect Wells Coates explained it thus:
“My scheme provides a place which every actor in this drama can call his own place, and further than that my idea of property does not go. This is the room where I sleep, this is where I work, and this is where I eat. This is the roof garden where everyone can turn out...This is the garden where everyone goes. It’s like a park.”
Over the years, the flats started to deteriorate, but in 2001 the block underwent a restoration, and it looks fantastic. However, much as I love the modernism the Lawn Road development represents, so many crimes were done in this movement’s name during the 1950s and ’60s that it will always be associated with asbestos-filled tower blocks, Soviet-style town halls and the destruction of some of our greatest city centres (see Birmingham). The problem is that on a rainy island like ours, the steel that reinforces the concrete in even the best buildings soon starts to rust, the once-pristine cladding goes grey and smackheads become magically attracted to the convenience of communal living/stealing. Maybe that’s why Le Corbusier’s vision of “a machine for living” works better in the Mediterranean. Unless, sadly, it’s Naples.
*Disadvantages include the constant dread of not being able to pay your mortgage/rent, waving goodbye to meals out, talking to yourself and listening to too much Radio 4. And despair – though this only happens when you find yourself planning your day around the making of a cup of tea
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