Architectural drift and the state of the planet

My recent visit to houses in which I lived as a teenager left me with a sense of disquiet. Having noted in a previous post that a number of basic architectural elements were shared across thousands of houses built by William Leech through the 60s, 70s and 80s, I was uncomfortable with the ways in which they had been adapted over the years. A quick comparison between the sales literature and the current facades reveal changes to window styles and shape, a little extension here and there, a paved front garden... Of course it would be ridiculous to expect everything to be the same - just as it was the day the builders left the site. I remember we even led the way with replacing the standard two panel glass front door, with a hardwood variety with lots of 'bullion' panes. But somehow I feel that my precious memories have been tainted. So I was intrigued to read an article recently about an exhibition focussing on a vast Local Authority development in Essex, which is about to celebrate 100 years. The area it seems has become a byword for creative embellishment of the houses or architectural vandalism, depending on you viewpoint! Here is a review of the exhibition:

‘Some people think it’s a real mess’ – the wild, fantastical genius of Becontree | Architecture | The Guardian

Throughout much of the history of domestic architecture in Britain, this sort of personalisation was the preserve of the wealthy. But the explosion of private home ownership through the twentieth century, especially from 1960 onwards, and accelerated by 'right to buy' in the 80s, meant that ordinary people could emulate the rich in putting their personal stamp on their homes. Some of the stories told in the exhibition revealed that  neighbours did not always approve of the taste but also a real pride in being able express individuality.

As I think about my own reaction to seeing the 'purity' of particular house designs being 'tainted' by stone cladding, glass porches and unsympathetic extensions, I know that I will need to deal with this time after time as I visit places which for me have only existed through the drawings of architects and planners. The vision these represented was only seen for a few short years, before human creativity and individuality began slowly to change things. The exhibition used the phrase 'architectural drift' to describe the gradual changes. What began with a particular style, drew on influences from other sources, to demonstrating in brick and stone the influences which have moulded the inhabitants; place of origin, education, travel etc.

I wonder what I will learn about the things which have consciously and unconsciously changed me over the years?

The desire to express personality through the place we live should not come as a surprise. If we consider the Judeo-Christian story of creation. Genesis ch. 1: 'And it was so. God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good'. A description which implies completeness, everything just right. Hardly the way we would describe the planet today. At the simplest level, human beings have put their stamp on the earth, perhaps sometimes for good, but far too often with catastrophic consequences. In making our mark, seeking personal comfort or even in misguided attempts to improve on the original, we have wreaked havoc.

Is that true of the streets in which we live as much as it is of the planet which sustains us?