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Shardenfreude: London's copycat craze is crystal clear Shardenfreude: London's copycat craze is crystal clear
(3 months later)
When When Renzo Piano casually described his design for London Bridge Tower in a press conference as “a shard … a shard of crystal,” he must have had little idea what his poetic aside would unleash. Thrusting above the city as a crystalline spear, the Shard has spawned a host of mini-Shards and Shardettes, as architects and developers have rushed to emulate its sharp-edged glamour. London is now peppered with fractured cliffs of mirrored glass, twisting and folding in all directions. It is as if the splintered top of the Shard was the result of some momentous collision – its peak blasted into smithereens and showered down in faceted fragments across the capital.
Renzo Piano casually described his design for London Bridge Tower in With echoes of what Bauhaus maestro Walter Gropius called the “crystal symbol of a new faith,” which he predicted would emerge as a sign of the new epoch back in 1919, Piano's building has become a beacon for designers bereft of inspiration. It has drawn many to flock to worship at the altar of the acute angle, renouncing the orthogonal world of rectilinear boxes in favour of the chiselled glass chunk.
a press conference as “a shard … a shard of crystal,” he must have had little idea what his poetic aside would unleash. The resulting lumps, which stand like a scatter of meteorites rained down from planet Krypton, are also the product of a generation of architects weened on the heady visions of Daniel Libeskind. 3D-modelling software now allows his dynamic worlds of intersecting planes to be wrought in the clunky folds of cheap curtain-walling systems, triangulated elevations proving an easy way to deal with tricky urban contexts and please icon-hungry planners. But is this Shardenfreude frenzy something to be welcomed?
Thrusting above the city as a crystalline spear, the Shard has spawned a host of mini-Shards and Shardettes, as architects and 62 Buckingham Gate
developers have rushed to emulate its sharp-edged glamour. London is Architect: Pelli Clarke PelliClient: Land Securities
now peppered with fractured cliffs of mirrored glass, twisting and “The angled glass facades act as a striking statement about the future of Victoria as a modern business hub,” trumpets Land Securities, the developer of 62 Buckingham Gate, “with its mirror-like effect showcasing nearby architectural gems like the historic Albert pub and Westminster Cathedral.” A mirror-like effect, that is, like a klaxon blaring broken reflections back in its neighbours' faces.
folding in all directions. It is as if the splintered top of the It is the work of 87-year-old César Pelli, who brought us One Canada Square in Canary Wharf. Its tumbling planes of mirror glass make it “an urban jewel,” according to the architects, radiating “spectacular and dynamic kaleidoscopic reflections” that have a “bold but sympathetic impact on the streetscape.” But the result is a bit like watching your dad at the disco, attempting moves he can't quite pull off.
Shard was the result of some momentous collision – its peak blasted Marooned at a crossroads, an iceberg cast adrift, it might come as a surprise that it was commissioned by the same developer as some more sensible blocks emerging down the street, as part of the £2bn transformation of Victoria. You would think that the rare opportunity of having a single landowner for such a substantial swathe of the city might result in some architectural coherence, but the result is proving disappointing, the few decent buildings drowned out by a style parade of facets and swoops.
into smithereens and showered down in faceted fragments across the 240 Blackfriars Road
capital. Architect: Allford Hall Monaghan MorrisClient: Great Portland Estates
With Just a few streets away from the Shard stands its stunted mini-me, a 19-storey tower that desperately wants to be taller, leaning up in the direction of its mother-ship with an aspirational tilted peak.
echoes of what Bauhaus maestro Walter Gropius called the “crystal The work of AHMM, “the most successful practice of its generation,” according to the Architects' Journal, its faceted form is apparently the result of “responding to context”. In the designers' fertile imagination, the context may well be a glacial formation on a distant ice planet, but the reality is a dense knot of Victorian railway viaducts and roads in Southwark, which they have done their best to ignore.
symbol of a new faith,” which he predicted would emerge as a sign Here the chiselled volume provides a catch-all solution to a number of issues: it is cut diagonally to the north “to orientate the building towards the river and city,” sliced at street level to “add generosity to the public realm,” and chamfered across the roof to “create a reflective triple-height sky-room” – a feature that will no doubt be relished by its tenant, United Business Media, the publishing company that is mysteriously committing kamikaze acts with its own architectural publications while spending lavishly on new premises.
of the new epoch back in 1919, Piano's building has become a beacon Siemens Crystal
for designers bereft of inspiration. It has drawn many to flock to Architect: Wilkinson EyreClient: Siemens
worship at the altar of the acute angle, renouncing the orthogonal Glowering at the end of the Royal Docks like some Bond baddie lair, the Siemens Crystal is a strangely aggressive hulk for what purports to be an “Urban Sustainability Centre”. Planned to be the heart of London's “Green Enterprise District” (not much of which has materialised) it is half office, half interactive showroom, wrapped in a mangled mirror-glass shell.
world of rectilinear boxes in favour of the chiselled Looking a bit like an aeroplane that missed the nearby City Airport runway, it stands as a crumpled heap in front of a small lawn, carved-up with angular landforms. The faceted casing “responds to its special location and contrasts with the curve of the O2 Arena beyond,” say its architects, Wilkinson Eyre, while its “palette of reflective and transparent materials catches the light in different ways to create a dynamic composition on the waterfront.”
glass chunk. It is a dynamic composition that Siemens hopes will reflect “a vision of a multi-faceted world,” the shape representing “the many facets of sustainability and the complexity of urban life”. Wrenched back and forth to oblivion, thrusting its sharp angles out in all directions, it is perhaps an apt metaphor for the environmental armageddon our planet may soon be facing.
The 52 Lime Street
resulting lumps, which stand like a scatter of meteorites rained down Architect: Kohn Pederson FoxClient: W R Berkley Corporation
from planet Krypton, are also the product of a generation of Not to be confused with 240 Blackfriars Road, its dumpy cousin across the river, 52 Lime Street was dramatically christened “The Scalpel” when designs were unveiled in 2007. Imagined as a sharp blade to slice open the forthcoming Can of Ham and chop up the Gherkin, it will complete this surreal dinner party in the sky, joining fellow utensil the Cheesegrater – all soon to be mopped up with the rolled-up napkin of the Pinnacle, by the same architects, KPF.
architects weened on the heady visions of Daniel Libeskind. Its steeply slanting form has been justified as a visual ramp between its lower neighbours and the tallest peak of the City's growing thicket of towers, conceived as an angular foothill in the financial mountain range. “Its sloping profile is a direct response to the existing and emerging composition of the cluster,” noted the Greater London Authority's planners. “It will reinforce and help to balance the profile of the cluster.”
3D-modelling software now allows his dynamic worlds of intersecting It is a geological rhetoric that has strange echoes of a vision conceived almost a century ago. In 1919, the same year that Gropius summoned forth his “crystal symbol”, his chum Bruno Taut unveiled a dreamy plan for futuristic cities conceived as mountains, “hewn away and smoothed into many-faceted crystalline forms,” dotted with “an architecture of glass arches [and] pyramids of crystal shafts.” A hundred years later as their shard-strewn landscape is being realised – the cathedrals of their socialist utopia translated by lesser hands into hefty commercial office slabs – it's hard not to wish it had all remained on the drawing board.
planes to be wrought in the clunky folds of cheap curtain-walling
systems, triangulated elevations proving an easy way to deal with
tricky urban contexts and please icon-hungry planners. But is
this Shardenfreude frenzy something to be welcomed?
62
Buckingham Gate
Architect:
Pelli
Clarke PelliClient:
Land Securities
“The
angled glass facades act as a striking statement about the future of
Victoria as a modern business hub,” trumpets Land Securities, the
developer of 62 Buckingham Gate, “with its mirror-like effect
showcasing nearby architectural gems like the historic Albert pub and
Westminster Cathedral.” A mirror-like effect, that is, like a
klaxon blaring broken reflections back in its neighbours' faces.
It
is the work of 87-year-old César Pelli, who brought us One Canada Square in Canary Wharf. Its tumbling
planes of mirror glass make it “an urban jewel,” according to the
architects, radiating “spectacular and dynamic kaleidoscopic
reflections” that have a “bold but sympathetic impact
on the streetscape.” But the result is a bit like
watching your dad at the disco, attempting moves he can't quite pull off.
Marooned
at a crossroads, an iceberg cast adrift, it might come as a
surprise that it was commissioned by the same developer as some more
sensible blocks emerging down the street, as part of the £2bn
transformation of Victoria. You would think that the rare opportunity
of having a single landowner for such a substantial swathe of the
city might result in some architectural coherence, but the result is
proving disappointing, the few decent buildings drowned out by a
style parade of facets and swoops.
240
Blackfriars Road
Architect:
Allford Hall Monaghan MorrisClient:
Great Portland Estates
Just
a few streets away from the Shard stands its stunted mini-me, a
19-storey tower that desperately wants to be taller, leaning up in
the direction of its mother-ship with an aspirational tilted peak.
The
work of AHMM, “the most successful
practice of its generation,” according to the Architects' Journal,
its faceted form is apparently the result of “responding to
context”. In the designers' fertile imagination, the context may
well be a glacial formation on a distant ice planet, but the reality
is a dense knot of Victorian railway viaducts and roads in Southwark,
which they have done their best to ignore.
Here
the chiselled volume provides a catch-all solution to a number of
issues: it is cut diagonally to the north “to orientate the
building towards the river and city,” sliced at street level to
“add generosity to the public realm,” and chamfered across the
roof to “create a reflective triple-height sky-room” – a
feature that will no doubt be relished by its tenant, United Business
Media, the publishing company that is mysteriously committing
kamikaze acts with its own architectural publications while spending
lavishly on new premises.
Siemens
Crystal
Architect:
Wilkinson EyreClient:
Siemens
Glowering
at the end of the Royal Docks like some Bond baddie lair, the Siemens
Crystal is a strangely aggressive hulk for what purports to be an
“Urban Sustainability Centre”. Planned to be the heart of
London's “Green Enterprise District” (not much of which has
materialised) it is half office, half interactive showroom,
wrapped in a mangled mirror-glass shell.
Looking
a bit like an aeroplane that missed the nearby City Airport runway,
it stands as a crumpled heap in front of a small lawn, carved-up
with angular landforms. The faceted casing “responds to its special location and contrasts with the curve of
the O2 Arena beyond,” say its architects, Wilkinson Eyre, while its
“palette of reflective and transparent materials catches the light
in different ways to create a dynamic composition on the waterfront.”
It
is a dynamic composition that Siemens hopes will reflect “a vision
of a multi-faceted world,” the shape representing “the many
facets of sustainability and the complexity of urban life”.
Wrenched back and forth to oblivion, thrusting its sharp angles out
in all directions, it is perhaps an apt metaphor for the
environmental armageddon our planet may soon be facing.
52
Lime Street
Architect:
Kohn Pederson FoxClient:
W R Berkley Corporation
Not
to be confused with 240 Blackfriars Road, its dumpy cousin across the
river, 52 Lime Street was dramatically christened “The Scalpel”
when designs were unveiled in 2007. Imagined as a sharp blade
to slice open the forthcoming Can of Ham and chop up the Gherkin, it
will complete this surreal dinner party in the sky, joining fellow
utensil the Cheesegrater – all soon to be mopped up with the
rolled-up napkin of the Pinnacle, by the same architects, KPF.
Its steeply slanting form has been justified as a visual ramp between its lower neighbours and the tallest peak of the City's growing thicket of towers,
conceived as an angular foothill in the financial mountain
range. “Its sloping profile is a direct response to the existing
and emerging composition of the cluster,” noted the Greater London
Authority's planners. “It will reinforce and help to balance the
profile of the cluster.”
It
is a geological rhetoric that has strange echoes of a vision
conceived almost a century ago. In 1919, the same year that Gropius
summoned forth his “crystal symbol”, his chum Bruno Taut unveiled
a dreamy plan for futuristic cities conceived as mountains, “hewn
away and smoothed into many-faceted crystalline forms,” dotted with
“an architecture of glass arches [and] pyramids of crystal shafts.”
A hundred years later as their shard-strewn landscape is being
realised – the cathedrals of their socialist utopia translated by
lesser hands into hefty commercial office slabs – it's hard not to
wish it had all remained on the drawing board.