The view, that is; not the thing itself. We shall see the Shard for ever, day or night, until we have a return of the 1950s smog, or, as the politicians like to threaten us from time to time, the lights go out, or until the fall of the king of kings.
In a strange way, it has come to seem as if the view is the only thing that matters, as if we have so exhausted ourselves debating the unanswerable question whether the building is a remarkable thing in the wrong place or a remarkable thing in the right place that all there is left to do is to contemplate not the view of the Shard but the view from the Shard. Something of a relief if we can ignore the building itself, like M. Piano as he takes his monthly lunch in the shadow of his true flame, the Pompidou Centre.
The whole history of this building is rife with strange distinctions. Originally it was thought the developer had but a slim chance of doing what he wanted with his site, but middle eastern money came to his aid, as did the architectural kudos of Renzo Piano who, by making the building slimmer than ever, substantially beefed up its chances of seeing the light of day, and night.
Yet, rather like the Cheshire Cat's smile, all we seem to be left with is that view. There's no gainsaying the view. And, just as the cat may look at the king, anyone may look at the view, and the suggestion is half made that the view is the public benefaction: this is development with the new, magic ingredient, 'public space' (only necessary since commercial development became so large, so intrusive upon the public view and recently came increasingly to gobble up what once was public space - the new urban enclosures). You don't need to go to the expensive restaurant to enjoy this 'public space', still less inhabit one of the doubtless suitably astronomically expensive apartments. ('But the biggest factor [underlying the trend for taller development] in many cities is said to be a sharp increase in prices for luxury apartments.' Architects' Journal reporting the Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitat.)
There is the slightly inconvenient fact (regretted by the architect, but he tells us he was instructed to keep his nose out of it) that it will cost Joe public £24.95 (on-line advance booking - in the spirit of the latest cultural block-buster at the Royal Academy) to get to see the view, and 'also be treated to a visit to the Shard’s exclusive loos on the 68th
floor, which offer dynamic [sic] views of the city' - I am reliably informed that reports that the waste products are ecologically processed at 300 metres and vapourised into the upper atmosphere are premature. Nevertheless, tickets for the first two days are already sold out, and there is always the cost of the London Eye (from £17.28) to be called in aid - conveniently ignoring the fact that the London Eye exists only to whisk people up in a scenic orbit and is not a piece of commercial real estate expecting to make vast profits from the public grant of development permission.That indefatigable populist, supporter of the new financial capital (in both senses of capital), that mayor over the water, Ken Livingstone, has the answer and has proposed that every London schoolchild (Harrow and Eton excluded) should be given one free admission to the floor with a view, rather in the spirit I suppose in which, when I was a schoolchild, we were each given a coronation mug stuffed with sweeties in the expectation that it would make us royalists for life. 'People will feel [the Shard] belongs to them,' Ken predicted a year ago.
It's the view, stupid. Originally the planning logic was that a small number of new skyscrapers should be allowed at major London rail termini, so that presumably the drones could be trundled in on their cramped commuter trains and taken straight up to their work stations aloft without cluttering the pavements. So much for the convivial city, and maybe that's why, if you are just ambling around savouring the bustling built fabric of things and, coming upon the Shard, you decide on an impulse to go up for the view, it will cost you not £25 but £100. (Someone pointed out that if you were in a group of three or four you could hire a helicopter flight for no more expense.)
A view is a view is a view, one might say, but, ironically, on most, less than clear days, the view is a view of ourselves, or rather of the humbler built detritus below. Perhaps the developers of tall buildings will start buying that up to replace it with more picturesque scenery for the benefit of their denizens as, in Lord Foster's words, they 'ascend up into the light'. Yet for the meanwhile the view remains a less spiritual experience than it might be, and perhaps the 'exclusive loo' (that's presumably the cubicle you can lock from the inside) remains the most appropriate seat from which to contemplate it.
Then there was a requirement that these few new skyscrapers should be of exceptional architectural distinction: there is of course an inexorable logic that the extent to which planning policy relies upon 'architectural merit' is in inverse proportion to any agreement as to what constitutes such merit (whereas we can all agree on what makes a good view - chiefly height).
Of course, despite it all, even if the powers that be cannot tell an architectural gem from a carbuncle or a pile of money, they do have a directory of starchitects in their bottom drawers. And somehow, with their noble aid (and a bit more of that oh-so-sovereign wealth), the skyscrapers have escaped from their terminal pens and are striding across London, ready for Hong Kong or King Kong - whichever gets here first.
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| Kong perches |
For myself, I just wonder why they built it upside down.
