Archive for Bank of England

The Built Environment

Posted in Art, History, Tourism with tags , , , , , , on September 16, 2010 by traxus4420

Claude Lorrain, “Landscape with Aeneas at Delos” (1672)

Blueprint for the English garden: meandering routes plotted in ‘nature,’ interspersed with freestanding ‘ruins,’ occasions for a little voyage de la mémoire. Here, a scene extracted from classical epic is made familiar and livable through incorporation into the genre of landscape. So effectively that decades later, gentlemen of means did want to inhabit it, and to the best of their capacity, did. A new kind of professional was born: the landscape architect.

William Wylde, “View of Manchester from Kersal Moor” (1852)

Behold “Cottonopolis” as Manchester became popularly known, after its principle export. Seen today, landscape’s encounter with a realism of disruption and trauma bears more than a subtle resemblance to stock images from science fiction. Whereas the landscape garden opened up to refined sensation figures from refined history, Wylde’s painting locates the viewer on a preserved historical site (the moor, a city park, was heavily associated with Rome) at once surrounded by and comfortably distanced from its present and future. Among the first examples of a place’s complete redefinition according to its function within an integrated national production regime, it also came to be understood as the site where that regime’s excesses were the most visible, striking, ‘sublime.’ Contrast with London, locus of another kind of economic ‘function,’ another brand of ‘excess.’

Joseph Michael Gandy, “A Birds-Eye View of the Bank of England,” aka “The Bank of England in Ruins” (1830)
John Soane’s response to early criticism of his eccentric design for the Bank of England was to display it in cutaway as a ruin. Of course his work was destroyed, but only to have it ‘modernized’ by the late imperial architect Herbert Baker. Pugin used Soane as one of his key polemical examples of the urgent need for a Gothic renaissance which would last well into the 20th century. Soane had taken the contradictory dictates of Enlightenment aesthetics too seriously: the individual freedom (and even the responsibility) to master classical form, unearthing its ‘natural’ core and adapting its timeless laws to modern interests. So seriously that he knew that his work had to persist in time, and thus had to be imbued with a sense of itself as an eventual antique. And this made him a Romantic.