Are we being dense?

Few meetings in my office go by, it seems, without me hearing remarks like ‘it’s nearly 1,500 habitable rooms per hectare’ or, in a more accusatory tone, ‘two hectares and only 70 units?’.

Judging by what’s on the shelves in the Royal Institute of British Architects bookshop, it seems that measurement is indeed the most important consideration for the construction industry today. Dutch PhD students have created an advanced theoretical world of measurement and documentation, which happily has coincided with the explosion of creativity and provision of domestic architecture in the Netherlands. And now it is commonplace here.

I’ve campaigned all my professional life for a greater awareness and understanding of our built environment. After all, this is how we progress and develop. But, as with all purely scientific approaches, I’m left feeling short-changed. It is the same with sustainability: I still have yet to find an engineer who can use his or her equations to place a numeric value on the quality of a properly designed public realm and its positive effect on sense of place, community and occupant well-being. As ever, it is the indefinable flow of variety and creativity in life - ‘variables’, the analysts would label them - that engages us on an emotional and spiritual level and elevates the discussion beyond the mathematical.

This takes us back to the issue of housing density. What interests me is our perception of density and how society associates quality of life with assumed concentration of dwellings.

Public consultation is a special gift to the architect. Not only does it burst the bubble of idealism nurtured in our universities, but it reconnects us directly with our client. I am working in Westminster - which I consider to be my backyard - and have spoken with residents, council workers and politicians about their needs and thoughts on housing. My recent focus is a tranche of land trapped by the Grand Union and Regents canals and the ‘Westway’ M40. I find it alarming that the estates to the north of the Marylebone and Euston roads are home to 200,000 of the most deprived people in Europe. The Church Street ward, for example, is within the top 1 per cent of the most deprived areas in the country based on crime, health and income. Their neighbourhoods are characterised by large monocultural estates that are isolated from their surroundings. But there is also a feature that caused some surprise: the estates are remarkably low-density in comparison to their private tenure neighbours, yet their residents considered them to be the opposite.

Living in the sky

This can only be explained by the distorted stigma suffered by 1950s and 1960s architecture. Le Corbusier and his contemporaries championed the doctrine of living in the sky - building high, thereby freeing up the surrounding landscape for community use and allowing for increased exposure to sunlight and natural ventilation. Consequently, the estates that were bequeathed this legacy display expansiveness and a defiantly low concentration of homes.

So why don’t the residents share this view? The answer is complex but can begin to be explained by considering the efficiency of land use on these estates. The modernists cared little for the definition of the street edge, often focusing on orientation. A cursory wander through the estates reveals countless examples of SLOAP (spaces left over after planning). Perception is also affected by style and materials. The often repetitive modular facades, large expanses of scale-less concrete or cladding materials, reinforce the anonymity and insignificance of the resident. I’ve always thought the resident’s personality should be imposed on the dwelling, rather than vice versa.

By contrast, consider the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, which has the highest density of dwellings in the UK but also London’s finest and most used green spaces. It enjoys the highest property values in the country and the longest life expectancy, while housing nearly three times the number of people per hectare than the average for Greater London. The streetscape is not dominated with tall buildings (the majority being low-rise) and there is a general adherence to traditional planning techniques with streets and squares. The contradiction is that high density is far from detrimental; it has created a highly desirable environment in which to live.

In our country, the quest for space and perceived low-density is best illustrated in outer London and the growth of the suburbs, which was fuelled by the expansion of the rail network in the late 19th century. We have some difficult and challenging issues to confront as the population of the metropolis expands and greater exertion is placed on our infrastructure and the gastric band of development, the green belt.

We need a shift in perceptions of density if we are to live efficiently with the resources available to us. The ever-sprawling nature of our conurbations needs to be checked so that we limit our dependency on the motor car. The North American model of malls and out-of-town development, with their car-dominated public realm and critical levels of obesity, should provide all the motivation we need.

Housing densities are rightly on the architectural agenda. Now let’s take this beyond the confines of the industry and start a wider public debate.

Sir Terry Farrell is an architect and urban designer