Anneli Xie
Prof. Alice Friedman
ARTH 321: Gender, Sexuality, and the Design of Houses
2019/04/07
Prof. Alice Friedman
ARTH 321: Gender, Sexuality, and the Design of Houses
2019/04/07
Reading response:
David Adjaye and the Urban Wall
In praise of the ordinary, David Adjaye’s “Dirty House,” is a response to the
divisive binaries of cleanness/dirt, private/public, and darkness/light in
architecture, while also being a remarkable example of the “aesthetic of
recycling,” as discussed by Ben Campkin in “Ornament from Grime.” Situated in a
historically gritty and industrial part of London, the Dirty House is a private
home and studio for artists Sue Webster and Tim Noble finished 2002 in Shoreditch. Converted
from an old factory building, suggested by Campkin as “echo[ing] pre-existing
forms and material qualities,” the space has been re-invented to fit not only
the necessities of the clients, but also the vernacular forms of the urban
environment surrounding it.
Because of how it is designed, the Dirty House can also be discussed as being a retreat from the city, despite being situated right within the city. The three-story building, a corner block covered by a matte black anti-graffiti textured coating, seems almost impenetrably dark when viewed from the outside. The door, similarly, is painted in the same color as the walls, looking more like the entrance of an industrial building than the entrance into a private home. Because of the factory building’s original program, being an open system, the windows on the first floor are highly vulnerable to the outside gaze, as people walking on the sidewalk can peer right into the house. Therefore, the windows – although kept from the original building – have been equipped with mirrored glass, providing no visual access to what lies within, and perhaps instead become a direct response to the historically gritty nature of Shoreditch by collecting reflections from the street. The “dirt” of the street is thus not shamed or dismissed, but rather embraced as part of the natural surroundings. As Campkin suggests, the exterior becomes “associated with the functional background noise of the urban fabric.” Campkin also writes that the graffiti in close proximity to the house is not washed off, but rather often included in photographs and presentations of the home. Campkin also briefly mentions that “Adjaye commented on the fact that local prostitutes graffitied the mirrored ground floor windows with lipstick.” giving us a hint of the urban fabric’s response to the build; one might imagine that these windows were also used as mirrors to apply lipstick in the first place. In this way, the Dirty House is very much a poker-face house, as it blends completely into its surroundings and explicitly references its old use.
Despite the dark and monumental exterior of the Dirty House, the inside is airy and filled with lightness – another way in which Adjaye is manipulating the binaries of architecture. Whereas the light is beautifully framed by the square windows on the studio floor, the top (residential) floor is grazed by a glass pavilion and a cantilever roof, hovering in appearance. Whereas the windows on the ground floor are reflective for privacy reasons, the need for privacy in the living area is (ironically) reduced because of the vertical separation from the street. The living area, bright and open, uses a centralized arrangement, with the most interesting feature being that the bedroom can be completely hidden from public view, as the door is painted in the same white as the walls (similar to how the entrance doors are painted black.) That Adjaye managed to create such a bright and airy place in the middle of London is highly remarkable, too. In Allison’s description of the Dirty House, he compares it to Pierre Koenig’s Case Study House no. 22, situated in Los Angeles that has a similar glass pavilion. In contrast to sunny California, however, the light in London is completely different. As someone who grew up in Northern Europe (in a similar climate to the UK,) I came to think about that the light here is often non-direct and hard to perceive. Northern Europe is stereotypically rainy, and the light during bright days is often very much diffused by clouds. Perhaps the dark exterior also comes into play in Adjaye’s capturing of this diffuse and non-direct light; darkness allows a sensation of light. In the evening, this comes into the picture again, as the cantilever roof lets light escape, rather than capturing it (as it does during the day.) This framing of light, both through the square windows, the sky lights, and the roof, becomes almost theatrical, as the light becomes so cut-off from the surrounding city that it seems almost private.
By keeping the original factory building but repurposing it to be a private home and studio, the windows, doors, and divisive components (studio/home) become effective tools in neutralizing any attempt of surveillance or penetration from the public into the private. Instead, the Dirty House stands as a monument of the mundane and the ordinary; one in direct conversation with the urban fabric which surrounds it.
Allison, Peter. “Casa per artisti/House of the artists.” In Domus. Dec 2002: 60-69.
Campkin, Ben. “Ornament from Grime: David Adjaye’s Dirty House, the Architectural ‘aesthetic of recycling’ and the Gritty Brits.” In Journal of Architecture 12, vol. 4. (2007): 367-392.
Because of how it is designed, the Dirty House can also be discussed as being a retreat from the city, despite being situated right within the city. The three-story building, a corner block covered by a matte black anti-graffiti textured coating, seems almost impenetrably dark when viewed from the outside. The door, similarly, is painted in the same color as the walls, looking more like the entrance of an industrial building than the entrance into a private home. Because of the factory building’s original program, being an open system, the windows on the first floor are highly vulnerable to the outside gaze, as people walking on the sidewalk can peer right into the house. Therefore, the windows – although kept from the original building – have been equipped with mirrored glass, providing no visual access to what lies within, and perhaps instead become a direct response to the historically gritty nature of Shoreditch by collecting reflections from the street. The “dirt” of the street is thus not shamed or dismissed, but rather embraced as part of the natural surroundings. As Campkin suggests, the exterior becomes “associated with the functional background noise of the urban fabric.” Campkin also writes that the graffiti in close proximity to the house is not washed off, but rather often included in photographs and presentations of the home. Campkin also briefly mentions that “Adjaye commented on the fact that local prostitutes graffitied the mirrored ground floor windows with lipstick.” giving us a hint of the urban fabric’s response to the build; one might imagine that these windows were also used as mirrors to apply lipstick in the first place. In this way, the Dirty House is very much a poker-face house, as it blends completely into its surroundings and explicitly references its old use.
Despite the dark and monumental exterior of the Dirty House, the inside is airy and filled with lightness – another way in which Adjaye is manipulating the binaries of architecture. Whereas the light is beautifully framed by the square windows on the studio floor, the top (residential) floor is grazed by a glass pavilion and a cantilever roof, hovering in appearance. Whereas the windows on the ground floor are reflective for privacy reasons, the need for privacy in the living area is (ironically) reduced because of the vertical separation from the street. The living area, bright and open, uses a centralized arrangement, with the most interesting feature being that the bedroom can be completely hidden from public view, as the door is painted in the same white as the walls (similar to how the entrance doors are painted black.) That Adjaye managed to create such a bright and airy place in the middle of London is highly remarkable, too. In Allison’s description of the Dirty House, he compares it to Pierre Koenig’s Case Study House no. 22, situated in Los Angeles that has a similar glass pavilion. In contrast to sunny California, however, the light in London is completely different. As someone who grew up in Northern Europe (in a similar climate to the UK,) I came to think about that the light here is often non-direct and hard to perceive. Northern Europe is stereotypically rainy, and the light during bright days is often very much diffused by clouds. Perhaps the dark exterior also comes into play in Adjaye’s capturing of this diffuse and non-direct light; darkness allows a sensation of light. In the evening, this comes into the picture again, as the cantilever roof lets light escape, rather than capturing it (as it does during the day.) This framing of light, both through the square windows, the sky lights, and the roof, becomes almost theatrical, as the light becomes so cut-off from the surrounding city that it seems almost private.
By keeping the original factory building but repurposing it to be a private home and studio, the windows, doors, and divisive components (studio/home) become effective tools in neutralizing any attempt of surveillance or penetration from the public into the private. Instead, the Dirty House stands as a monument of the mundane and the ordinary; one in direct conversation with the urban fabric which surrounds it.
References
Allison, Peter. “Casa per artisti/House of the artists.” In Domus. Dec 2002: 60-69.
Campkin, Ben. “Ornament from Grime: David Adjaye’s Dirty House, the Architectural ‘aesthetic of recycling’ and the Gritty Brits.” In Journal of Architecture 12, vol. 4. (2007): 367-392.