Image Credit: Josie Barry

Starter for ten – anyone know the definition of  brutalism? No…? Me neither. Although I considered myself slightly informed after watching last year’s tortured, Oscar-winning performance by Adrien Brody in The Brutalist – as a Holocaust survivor and architect of aforementioned structures.

The likelihood is that you have passed some concrete monstrosity and commented on its ugliness, only to be corrected – ‘darling… it’s a true authentic example of Brutalism in its purest form.’ To which – you can only reply: ‘Of course it is… silly me… isn’t it beautiful… so… honest… raw… uncompromising…’

I’m not saying it’s all Emperor’s New Clothes. York University’s West Campus does afford it a unique identity compared to its Hogwarts peers. London’s South Bank arts quarter does reflect the zeitgeist of the swinging sixties and holds its own in a 2000 year old city where millennium glass monoliths butt up against Roman walls. Liverpool’s Catholic Cathedral – AKA Paddy’s Wigwam – irreverently sticks two fingers up to its modest Anglican brother at the other end of Hope Street. But I must say – it’s The Barbican estate, smack in the middle of London’s Financial District and flanked by historical buildings and churches (including the indestructible St Paul’s), that stirs my curiosity. 

Is it a housing estate? Is it an arts centre? Does it offer music, cinema and theatre? Can I eat there? Well… yes… yes… yes and err… yes… Does it have a conservatory? Funny enough… yes… So on a steamy afternoon in London, I entered a steamier environment in the Barbican Conservatory. There’s no getting away from the only word befitting of the cascading, tropical greenery against the concrete fortress and that’s yes – juxtaposition. There… I’ve said it, so now we can talk about how it makes you feel – slightly discombobulated if I’m honest. There was something dystopian about all this lushness growing in and around the epitome of man’s structural arrogance i.e. concrete. The confidence of towering balconies, home to bountiful fauna in contrast to the neat British window boxes dotted on the homes on the estate. At times, feeling very 28 days, (sans Messrs Murphy or Taylor-Johnson) until you realise that if nature did reclaim the London streets it wouldn’t be with palm trees and coffee bushes but dandelions, Japanese knotweed and maybe vape bushes. 

The planting and rainforest climate, transports you to palm houses such as at Kew Gardens, also echoed in the glass and steel windows and rooftops. The canopy of trees and hanging foliage does create an enveloping cocoon, suspending your sense of place as you meander around the walkways. The conservatory offers up nooks and crannies for moments of reflection either sitting on a bench or beside a pond of Koi Karp, gazing at the terrapins or pausing on a Monet bridge. And if you’ve time for real reflection – there’s even a bar. In the absence of any threats from tropical mammals, there are plenty of warnings to keep you on your toes: “Caution Bees”… “Toxic Plant” (skull and cross bone in case of doubt) as well as sinister metal doors to industrial hidie-holes, slapped with warning symbols. The most violent thing I did see was a green spikey-leaf plant with a blood red centre, luring an unassuming bluebottle into its sticky heart. It was called Sexy Pink – all is forgiven.

I would also recommend that you stroll outside to the larger pond, surrounded by restaurants and the living accommodation. My interest cemented after watching Michael Fassbender in last year’s spy thriller – The Agency as his home-life revolved around an apartment here. Again, despite the aesthetic, the buzz around these buildings did feel like a sense of community, although on a different planet.

Tickets for The Barbican Conservatory are free but it’s best to sign up to their website for notification of their release.

Barbican Centre
Silk Street, London
EC2Y 8DS