An Educational Odyssey

1973:  REFLECTIONS ON AN EDUCATIONAL ODYSSEY
Ian Ellingham      Originally published in OAA Perspectives, Fall 2009

  The Architectural Association, Bedford Square, London

Perhaps a full understanding of architecture remains permanently unattainable and a quest that is a personal struggle. With that endless pursuit comes the possibility of many pilgrimages and odysseys. But odysseys do not just happen and the life of a hermit presumably offers relatively few odyssean possibilities. Most meaningful adventures are probably the result of putting yourself in the way of some process, and seeing what happens, the only certainty being that, generally, some odyssey is better than no odyssey.

Half-way through second year architecture school, I became restless. It was not that I was dissatisfied with the programme at Carleton, but somehow, I knew I had to go and see more, and it seemed that most architecture was not in Ottawa. Coming from a family background that would deem a traditional grand tour or student escape completely unacceptable, I decided to follow a high risk strategy and undertake studies at another school, thereby throwing myself in front of some oncoming, but unknowable process. After a little investigation, I headed off to the Architectural Association in London.

I immediately encountered a country in complete chaos. The economy was in disarray and inflation had wiped out much of the value of the currency. This was good news for me: the entire year, including airfare, cost little more than a year at Carleton. However people, buildings and infrastructure had suffered: a depression mentality prevailed and little had been maintained or upgraded for years. London was decrepit and filthy. The oil crisis hit that year meaning periodic disruptions in transportation. The IRA was setting off bombs in London. There were banks in crisis. Repeated strikes tormented the country, ultimately leading to a three-day work-week, and government requests that only one room in each house be heated (that didn't bother me, I only had one room, and there wasn't much heat anyway). All of this added a touch of the exotic to my pursuit of the elusive creature called architecture.

           
Exploring London

England in the 1970s was a wonderful place to experience and explore. For a Canadian it was cheap to travel, eat and find accommodation. I bought a bicycle, and made frequent train excursions. Partly as a result of the oil problems, but also due to the low level of car ownership, bicycling was carefree. My photographs show virtually empty streets in the middle of London. One could roll along the highways, rarely being passed by a car, and given the sorry state of many of the cars, actually passing a few. Architecturally, my photos include everything from pre-Roman ruins to landmarks of modern architecture. In a less security-oriented age, I toured Stonehenge at midnight by the light of an electronic flash, probably the shortest-ever viewing time, measured in terms of thousandths of a second.

The educational setting was difficult to fathom. Courses, such as they were, were loosely structured, if structured at all. No one worried whether you turned up or not. There were no examinations and one had to submit papers. But the lecturers were the people who had written the books, and the AA apparently captured every significant architect and planner who made his way through London. I recall sessions with such luminaries as Charles Jencks, Peter Cook, Cedric Price, Richard Rogers, and Peter Hall. I made my way to University College London for a course by architectural historian Reyner Banham. It was a feast for the intellect and the problem was only one of time and how was one to choose among the opportunities? I monitored the belaboured construction of a hideous block of council flats on East India Dock Road, diligently going to site meetings in what is still quite a nasty part of London. I could point with pride to the fact that I had actually worked for the leaders of the Archigram movement, painting their offices over a weekend.

In subsequent years, Carleton students who followed in my footsteps, apparently found the learning system confusing. They were used to a directed system, not an array of opportunities that could be selected from on a daily basis. They complained that they had not managed to get into the best studio sections. I too had found myself in an unpopular section, but quickly realized that I would not change it for any other. The coordinator was Brian Anson, formerly a senior planner with the Greater London Council, and the mastermind behind a scheme to redevelop the Covent Garden district. In keeping with the flavour of the times, it called for clearance of the crumbling buildings (at that time rapidly crumbling), and replacing them by the usual mix of urban motorways and high-rise modernist buildings. Anson had come to realize the limitations of this approach, something that was then only gradually filtering into the general consciousness and he undertook to raise the existing community in opposition. He had quickly found himself without gainful employment, hence his new career in teaching. Anson led us on a frantic whirl through the world of the architectural guerrilla. We encountered the last gasp of the traditional working class Londoner: men with flat caps who pushed dustcarts or barrows in the markets. In a valley in South Wales we encountered a confused and aimless community wondering where the coal mines had gone. I never did figure out where the pack of communist revolutionaries from some unfortunate part of Liverpool fit in. Brian was searching for a new world amidst the detritus of the industrial city. He was clearly aware that something was very, very wrong in the cities promised by the architectural heroes of the twentieth century, and that a better future had something to do with the people. Moreover, he saw that the designer or manager had to deal with them on a face-to-face basis and it was not just a matter of academic discussion, whereby the designer sat back and decided what was best for a wider population.

        
Images of the Afan Valley - 1973-74

As with so many odysseys, there was something throughout that drew me home. Perhaps it was the stress of living in an apocalyptic setting, where a good sense of humour was essential for daily survival. After a year I headed back to Ottawa, to muse on all that I had seen and done.

That year was a landmark in my very protracted architectural education. What did I learn?

One message was that education is a very complex process, and it did not feature sitting still, listening to whatever lectures came along, with some required course of memorizing from textbooks. One had to be involved, watch, and listen. Opportunities had to be identified and pursued, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. Personally, years later, when I headed off to do graduate work, I picked another baffling, complex and largely unstructured setting from which to set out and explore the minds of the wider populace. Now I frequently find myself the teacher, and I am careful to recognize the diversity and complexity of the learning experience. I prefer papers to examinations as they challenge the student to do more than just memorize whatever I have picked out for them and tend to force the student is forced to till new ground. I have noticed that some students are surprised to find themselves doing so well in my classes, but relative performance is very dependent upon the approach used. When the course differs from the standard, non-standard students may excel.

Dealing with the built environment is one clear example of a task requiring that you go out and get your hands dirty. Book learning just doesn't do it. One might consider how Glinda (the good witch of Oz) interpreted Dorothy's search for the way home. Dorothy would not have believed if she had just been told how. "She had to learn it for herself."

As for Brian Anson, it probably took a couple of decades to fully appreciate him. Who knows what he made of the Canadian who was so reluctant to embrace his revolutionary ideals, but kept turning up and listening? His anticipation of an architect-led world revolution did not happen, but his scepticism about embracing popular ideas about the built environment remains with me and the revolutionary spirit somehow stuck, albeit without his pugnacious attitude. Time has moved on, those flat-capped men are a thing of the past, and England has found prosperity in new directions, but I retain a scepticism about just accepting common practices and widespread beliefs. I need to see the evidence for myself.

For additional insights: Anson, Brian (1981): I'll Fight You For It: Behind the struggle for Covent Garden, London: Jonathan Cape.