Art Deco and the Adelphi

click photo to enlarge
Between the years of 1768 and 1772 the architect brothers, Robert and James Adam, built a group of Thames-side streets and grand terraces called the Adelphi. The name is very appropriate, coming from the Greek, "adelphoi", meaning brothers. The project was on a grand scale. It involved embanking the river, demolishing and removing the remains of Durham House, then building their new scheme using large amounts of their own money. The undertaking nearly bankrupted them and a lottery was needed to get them out of their financial predicament. The most striking part of the Adelphi was the riverside terrace. It stood on arched vaults and was composed in what was by then a common style - with emphasised centre and "pavilion" ends - making the whole appear rather like one majestic building or a transplanted country house. However, unlike most examples the centre and terrace ends barely projected, very shallow pilasters doing the job instead. It was rather like the Adam brothers had transplanted their interior decoration to the main elevation.

The Adelphi was demolished in the 1930s to make way for the enormous Art Deco buildings that now stand on the site of the brothers' imaginative scheme. Today's photograph shows the main pair - the Adelphi Building and Shell Mex House. Despite the great numbers of Art Deco (formerly more commonly known as Moderne) buildings that were constructed the history of twentieth century architecture sees the style as something of a disappointing dead-end. It doesn't fit neatly into the line that stretches from Gropius, through Mies and Le Corbusier, to Philip Johnson, S.O.M., Foster, Stirling, Rogers and the rest. Rather than the break with the past that these architects represent, Art Deco is seen as a continuation of classicism, an updating of it certainly, but tradition dressed in modified clothing nonetheless.

There is some truth in that point of view, but it shouldn't blind us to the decorative style and exuberance that Art Deco often displays, or to the monumentality that sometimes sits quite well alongside older buildings in a city. When I stood on the South Bank to take this photograph across the Thames I reflected that the simple, gigantic clock on Shell Mex House could belong to no other time than the 1930s, and the uplighting of both buildings seemed to work so well with their windows and their stepped back floors.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28.2mm (76mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5
Shutter Speed: 1/80 sec
ISO:800
Exposure Compensation: -1.0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Midland Hotel, Morecambe

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The Midland Hotel in Morecambe, Lancashire was built in 1932-3 for the London, Midland and Sottish Railway Company by the architect, Oliver Hill (1888 - 1967). It replaced a Victorian design by Edward Paley, with Hill being required to construct "a building of international quality in the modern style." Hill was an architect who moved from the Arts and Crafts tradition to modernism, or at least what passed for modernism in 1930s Britain: more Art Deco or "moderne" than the full-blown European model.

His curving design at Morecambe is a fine piece of work that still looks good today. It has a main entrance elevation that faces the town and a liner-like facade overlooking the sea. When I first saw it as a child in the 1950s it impressed with its size, and its whiteness. As I grew and became more interested in architecture I liked the banded windows, the prominent, bowed and glazed central stairwell (though I could have done without the sea horses), the Mendelsohn-like curved projection at one end and the spiral entrance pillars. Over the years as the sea-side resort declined so too did the Midland Hotel. It became grubby, something of a faded beauty whose charms could only just be glimpsed beneath the weeds and peeling paintwork. However, in recent years the building has been redeveloped by Urban Splash. I say redeveloped rather than restored because some sensitive changes have been made with the result that The Midland Hotel is once more the most noticeable and architecturally most outstanding building in Morecambe.

I was pleased to be able to photograph the Midland on a day with enough sun, blue sky and clouds to capture a holiday mood that suits it. It looked stunning, though I'm not so sure about the comfort-factor of those angular cafe chairs.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Main Photo
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 32mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/800
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Flying the flag

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An observant visitor to the UK is likely to notice the relatively small number of Union flags that are flown. Compared with, say, France or the United States, our flag is all but invisible. Every now and then UK writers comment on this, and periodically politicians and nationalists try to stimulate the flying of more flags. But without much success.

Why is this? It's probably something to do with the United Kingdom being a collective of four separate countries, each with its own distinctive history, language and culture. In Scotland the cross of St Andrew seems to be flown more than formerly, perhaps reflecting its growing nationalism, whilst in Wales that country's flag flies fairly widely. Northern Ireland goes its own way, and tends to display three flags - the Union flag, the flag of Northern Ireland, and the tricolour of the Irish Repubic - depending on political persuasion! And England is simple confused. It's forgivable that people from other countries confuse the Union flag with the flag of England, but it's unfortunate when native English people do the same. Many do fly the cross of St George, but it's done with markedly less fervour than the people of the other constituent countries of the UK fly theirs.

So, when a Union flag is flown it tends to be noticed. This flag on the 1930s Casino building on Blackpool's promenade grabbed my attention immediately, and I decided to make it the focal point of an image. I have photographed the architect Joseph Emberton's Modernist masterpiece before, but this time I decided to be selective and show some of its white reinforced concrete curves against the deep blue of the January sky, enlivened by the red of the decrative wheel and that high flying flag. A zoom lens at 48mm (35mm equivalent) was used, with the camera set to Aperture Priority (f8 at 1/400 second), with the ISO at 100 and -0.7EV.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen