Beyond the Lens

Each year in September - for two days only - London celebrates its architectural heritage, its neighbourhoods and spaces. The 700 buildings, spaces, regeneration projects, etc, involved in the Open House London range from the iconic to the lesser known.

This year, Open House London includes a building I use regularly, and one I had the opportunity to photograph the interior. Westminster Meeting House is a quiet oasis in the centre of London. 

While Westminster Meeting House is open to the public during the week when Meetings are held, it is almost hidden along St Martin’s Lane, not far from Trafalgar Square, amongst the café’s, a gym, bookshops and other retailers. Some stumble upon the building while wandering down the street. 

Quaker Meetings are also part of the British architectural history. As a non-conformist religious movement in the UK, with its roots dating back about 350 years, Quaker architecture embodies it's simplicity and equality ethos.

Open House London is a way to showcase the Meeting House and the peaceful space it offers within the centre of a bustling cosmopolitan city. It is remarkably quiet and peaceful considering its location.

The main meeting room (shown above) is where the weekly Meetings take place, and the library (shown below) houses the books that can be borrowed as well as a meeting space to have coffee / tea after meetings. 

I feel rather fortunate that I had the opportunity to photograph the building. It isn't always easy photographing buildings as there is increasingly tight security in London around many buildings. 

This year, Open House London takes place over the weekend of 17 and 18 September. Access to buildings and spaces involved in the Open house is free. Westminster Meeting House is open both days from 1-5pm; address: 52 St Martin's Lane, London, WC2N.

For more information:

Open House London - www.londonopenhouse.org
Westminster Quakers - www.westminsterquakers.org.uk
Quakers in the UK - www.quaker.org.uk

The building for the UK TV station, Channel 4, is one of my favourite buildings in London. Located on Horseferry Road, near Victoria, I used to walk by it often when I lived in the area a number of years ago.

I decided to visit the area recently – in order to re-visit some of my favourite buildings in the area – and found that there was an interesting art installation outside the main entrance. There were a few spray cans with skeletons inside them and rubble around the cans. 

One of my – rather ongoing – projects is about graffiti, and this public art display caught my eye. I did wonder what the meaning of it was, particularly when there was a note on the floor with #stoppoliccuts …

I am not sure who the artist is or artists are, but it did challenge my initial thoughts that it was faintly supporting street art. Perhaps it was a statement about urban decay and declined, with the bones inside the spray cans …

The spray cans were possibly symbolising a certain disrespect rather than artistic expression. Graffiti is nothing new, but opinion about it is somewhat polarised between the art and wanton defacing. There is a fine line between the two.

I did feel, however, that the note with #stoppolicecuts was somewhat poignant in light of the riots in England; although, I am not sure when this installation was set up so am not sure whether it was in response to this. What was a legitimate, and peaceful, protest in regards to policing in one of the most deprived areas in London, if not England, turned into wanton disrespect to other people’s property and livelihoods.

I did have a quick look on Twitter to see if anyone had tweeted #stoppolicecuts, and no one really had. I did wonder how effective the statement was.

What I took away from the installation was the fine line between what is perceived to be acceptable and unacceptable – whether it’s expression, art or social norms - is very fine, if not very ambiguous. 

One of my favourite places in London is the Crystal Palace Park, with its fleeting memories of The Crystal Palace.

Originally erected in Hyde Park, London, in 1851, The Crystal Palace housed the Great Exhibition of 1851. Designed by Joseph Paxton, the exhibition space to display examples of the latest technology developed in the Industrial Revolution.

The building was moved to a new park in Penge Common after the Exhibition, and stood in the area from 1854 to 1936 - when it was destroyed by fire. Walking along the promenades, you get the sense of its grandeur. It must have been amazing to visit in its day, and did attract huge crowds.

Not much is left of The Crystal Palace in the park, but what is left is a ghostly, and crumbling, reminder of what was there. What catches my eye is the promenades, with the stairs leading up to both, and the last remaining statues and sphinxes.

The remaining statues have a life and stories of their own. They seem to be surveying the park, keeping watch over the hustle and bustle in the modern day park. I often wonder what they would say if they could talk. 

It’s a shame that many of them are no longer around, or have been damaged. 

But they do give a sense of a bygone age. 

The stairs up to the promenades, and the crumbling stone work around them, give a sense of the decadence of the place, but also of its fragility. One does get a sense that nothing lasts forever, no matter how spectacular it is.

Recounting my steps back down the stairs, I found it interesting how, even in the modern day, people continue to use, and enjoy, the space where The Crystal Palace once stood.

I would have enjoyed to see The Crystal Palace in all its glory when it was build. However, I do enjoy the hints of it in its decaying decline. It will be a place where I will return again and again with my camera to capture its fleeting memories.

The looting and violence in London, and elsewhere in England, in the last week or so shocked many and raised fundamental questions about British society and the reasons why people did it.

I found it surreal to be out during the day in areas of London which were fairly unaffected, but to be watching the devastating effects of the violence and looting on the news at night. Even my local shops in south east London were closing early and locking down in order to protect themselves. A handful of shops were even targeted in my local area, and the violence in Croydon hit very close to home.

While much of the violence hurts the very fabric of local communities, the boarded up and burnt buildings – both residential and commercial - are a physical reminder of the trauma that happened in the riots.

In the aftermath, I did wander around my local area as well as Clapham to see the damage for myself. The initial clean-up had obviously taken place, and the police were more visible on the street.

However, I found it interested to see how the boarded up windows had become a vehicle for the communities to communicate – whether to say that businesses were still open for business ... 

Or messages of support...

While many have lost much, or even everything, there seems a bit of community defiance at the damage that has happened. Simply writing on a wall with a pen to share ones feelings. And in Clapham, people stopped and read what was being written. 

Recently, I was on a rambling walk along the Kent and Sussex border. This is a beautiful, and at times rugged, part of the country. Being a city-based photographer, I enjoy getting out of the city and seeing different parts of the country, and different styles of buildings and architecture. 

One of the famous types of buildings in the area, particularly in Kent, is the oast house or hop kiln, which is a building designed for kilning (drying) hops as part of the brewing process. Many redundant oasts have been converted into houses - which was the case of the oast house we passed early on in our walk.

The earliest surviving oasts date back to the 1750s. Early oast houses were simply adapted barns. By the early 19th century, the distinctive circular buildings with conical roofs had been developed in response to the increased demand for beer. In early in the 20th century, square oast houses appeared as they were found to be easier to build. In the 1930s, the cowls were replaced by louvred openings as electric fans and diesel oil ovens were employed. 

This is the first time I was able to photograph an oast, even if it was converted in home. Although hops are today dried industrially, I am glad that the unique architecture of the oast houses is not entirely lost. Brewing beer has become part of the cultural fabric of the UK, and its influence on the local architecture in Kent and parts of Sussex is distinctive. 

Architecture says a lot about local industry, way of life and the communities in a particular area. While these change over time, adapting some of the former buildings for modern can keep history alive, and the distinctive feel of an area.