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Dan Dubowitz, photographic project published by Dewi Lewis Publishing
Citation preview
waste lands
2
I visited these places between 2000 and 2005,
usually alone, with a camera and notebook.
Dan Dubowitz
Altar, St Peter’s Seminary, Cardross, Scotland.
Gorbals, Scotland 6
Beelitz, Germany 18
Vockerode, Germany 26
Cardross, Scotland 34
Gorton, England 44
Albergo Dei Poveri, Italy 54
San Gimignano, Italy 62
Ancoats, England 72
Orford Ness, England 92
Ellis Island, USA 106
Eastern State Penitentiary, USA 130
Habana Vieja, Cuba 138
Santa Teresa, Cuba 152
Calzada del Cerro, Cuba 164
w a s t e l a n d s
dan dubowitz
dewi lewis publishing
6
The Gorbals, sitting on the opposite side of the River Clyde to Glasgow city
centre, has for centuries served as the arrival point for immigrants to the
city; notably refugees from the Highland clearances, the Irish famines and
the Jewish pogroms and more recently from Asia and Yemen. Overcrowded
and notoriously violent, after the war the area was razed to the ground to
make way for the brave new modernist vision of the Glasgow Corporation
with Basil Spence’s iconic high-rise blocks and the Queen Elizabeth Square
shopping arcade. After only a few years, structural and social problems
emerged and by 2000 the housing had been cleared. All the shops had long
since closed but landlord James Clancey kept his pub open until the very
end. He called last orders then handed the keys to the city’s surveyor. In the
dying light of the day I had time to take these few pictures. The next day the
pub, post office and bookies were all rubble.
Go
rba l
s
8
Last Orders at The Queen’s, The Queen’s pub, Gorbals.
10
Dar tboard, The Queen’s pub, Gorbals.
12
The Ladies’, The Queen’s pub, Gorbals.
14
Post Off ice, Gorbals.
16
Bet Here, bookies, Queen Elizabeth Square, Gorbals.
18
In the late 19th century when tuberculosis ravaged Europe, Berlin built a
modern new town, an entire settlement for its victims of TB. Developments
in medicine meant people were surviving for years with the disease though
few were cured.
Beelitz was far enough outside the city for comfort but still accessible by
train. It was divided into quarters large enough to accommodate an entire
community of TB sufferers. Wards, long and high, were connected by grand,
communal street-like corridors which were built in parallel blocks to funnel
the winds between them. Patients were wheeled daily into these glazed
pavilions-cum-wind tunnels. The aim was to literally drive air through the
patients’ ailing bodies. One section of the town, the largest, was devoted
to children: operating rooms were tiled blue for boys and pink for girls.
In East Germany after the Second World War, Beelitz became a military
camp and hospital for the Russian army. The anguish that these buildings
accommodated and had witnessed was palpable.
Be
eli
tz
20
Two baths, Beelitz.
22
X-ray theatre, Beelitz.
24
Operating theatre for boys, Beelitz.
26
In the East German industrial heartlands brown coal (peat) was open-
mined to power Vockerode, a vast pre-war power station near Dessau.
The landscape was eaten away by giant 20-storey high machines that
slowly crawled and cut into the land at a place called Ferropolis. If a coal
face started to collapse, all the engines could be thrown into reverse and
directed to the caterpillar wheels affording an escape speed of 18 metres
an hour. Each scoop of these monster land rigs was the size of a car and the
peat was transported in a perpetual convoy directly to the 1930s Vockerode
power station. When German reunification came the East German
industrial economy all but collapsed. In the former power station there were
clocks everywhere. Today every clock reads two minutes to three, recording
the precise moment at which the switch was flicked, back in 1994. The open
mine is slowly filling to become a lake and Vockerode is slowly corroding.
Vo
cke
rod
e
28
Valves, Vockerode.
30
Control post, Vockerode.
32
Peat burner, Vockerode.
34
The story goes that one afternoon in the mid 1960s the Roman Catholic
archbishop of Glasgow, over a round of golf, asked an architect if he would
like to build a new seminary outside Glasgow on the ancient 28 acre
country estate of Kilmahew House in Cardross. The architect gave the job
to two ‘young turks’, Andy MacMillan and Isi Metzstein, and they produced
St Peter’s Seminary – now widely recognized as Scotland’s best modernist
building. Following the Vatican II decree that priests should no longer be
trained in the countryside, St Peter’s seminary was abandoned in 1981.
Later it was ‘A’ listed and became Scotland’s first ‘modernist ruin’.
In 2001, in conjunction with the publication of these photographs, the
Cardross Preservation Trust was formed to explore new uses and begin the
search for a new owner. Only a year later a developer tried to get planning
permission to all but demolish the building, and to fill the site with houses.
The building is still there, just. The demolition was blocked, the Diocese of
Glasgow still owns the site and the building, and a new use has yet to be
found for it.
Car
dro
ss
36
Car, Cardross.
38
Refectory, Cardross.
40
Lecture Hall, Cardross.
42
Cell, Cardross.
44
In the 1800s Gorton, then a village outside Manchester, saw a massive influx
of immigrants, mostly from Ireland, to man the rapidly growing train-building
and cotton industries. A group of exiled Franciscan monks came from Douai
to Gorton to re-establish a Catholic community. They appointed a 24 year
old gothic revivalist architect, Edward Pugin son of the better known A W
Pugin, to build them a monastery and church. Ambitious and determined to
catch the eye of the Vatican and win a commission in Rome, Pugin designed
the largest parish church of its time in the UK. Then, as now, it is visible
on the horizon from miles around towering over the surrounding terraced
houses. In 1989 the Franciscan monks held their last mass and sold the
estate to property developers who then went bust, stripped the church of
its sculptures and left the door open.
A community-based group has bought the building and raised the seven
million pounds needed to bring it back into use. The saints from the nave
were discovered at an auction and resided for some years in a container,
awaiting reconciliation with their plinths high up in the nave. A testament
to regeneration by will-power, after eight years of dogged persistence, the
painstaking reconstruction is complete and the building is again open, this
time for secular use and the occasional wedding.
Go
rto
n
46
Vestry, Gor ton.
48
The Fall, Gor ton.
50
Angel, Gor ton.
52
Altar, Gor ton.
54
The ‘Real Albergo dei Poveri’ (Royal Hotel for the Poor) was built by Carlos
III, the Bourbon King of Naples and Sicily, to lock up 8,000 destitute citizens
and clear the streets of Naples. Carlos’s alms house complex was never
completed; the extraordinary panopticon church at its centre – with its five
naves to deliver Mass simultaneously to five segregated populations – was
never finished. Then, as now, the Albergo was out of sync with, and set
apart from, the city. Even today when stepping out from a silent Albergo
room onto a balcony above Naples, the noise, the fumes and the frenetic
activity that surrounds this World Heritage Site comes as a shock.
Built some years before Jeremy Bentham conceived of a panopticon prison,
the church was the only place where Carlos’s inmates could come together.
While this panopticon church allowed the celebrants to see all, it also
reinforced the regime’s and the church’s view of a God that is all seeing and
knowing, and set out to control the inmates’ psyches as well as their bodies.
The five segregated sectors were for boys, girls, men and women – with
a fifth for the public and administrators. Families were split up on arrival at
the alms house. Many would spend their lives in the ‘hotel’ from youth
or even birth. When three of the five wings were complete the Albergo
boasted a 300 metre long façade and 750,000 cubic metres of space making
it, apparently, the second largest public building in Europe to this day. In 1980
an earthquake killed some elderly residents and revealed that, in the rush to
build, many of the arches were not connected to the walls. The painstaking
reconstruction of these arches using tufa stone and traditional techniques
is now underway. Five hundred million euros have been spent on this
restoration, without resolving circulation, services or parking, or first securing
a new use or client.
Alb
erg
o d
ei
Pove
ri
56
Panopticon church, Naples.
58
Archive, Naples.
60
Corridor, Naples.
62
San Gimignano is a Tuscan hilltown, famous for its merchant families who
built unfeasibly tall towers to try to outdo their rival neighbours. The
forefathers of New York skyscrapers, these towers date from medieval
times and draw thousands of tourists every day who far outweigh the
number of actual inhabitants of the town. Hidden away unseen by the
tourists, occupying a fifth of the walled city and still under strict lock and key,
the former convent and then prison is now falling into ruins.
Curiously this prison serves as a strong and essential form of respite and
escape in a town with intensive land-use and a vigorous tourist trade.
Successive mayors have seen the convent as an asset to be capitalised on
and a space that should be freed up for development. The site is a protected
historical structure that is difficult to separate from its past as a prison or
to convert profitably. In this vacuum of no-change is a derelict building in
full use. Each wing has its own director, and in the principal exercise yard,
an appointed ‘il Presidente’, with a rescued bird on his shoulder, ponders his
next move in a game of dominoes between these wing directors that may
have been running for years. I passed an unlocked fridge with a glass door,
full of wine, beer, soft drinks with a converted collection box next to it.
One wing serves the music school for practice rooms – one musician per
cell; another is used by local archaeologists – one dig archived per cell.
The palio rehearse their horse-back jousting in the courtyards. Political
associations also have cells. One cell had a tile outside declaring it to be the
Communist Party headquarters. It was locked, but through the grill could
be seen red leatherette chairs crammed into a room presided over by a
portrait of Che Guevara.
To the local government the convent/prison is a wasteland, as it is not in
profitable use. To the community of San Gimignano it is the one place they
can still be a vibrant community and hang out, get stuff done, walled in
and far enough away from their streets full of strangers rushing through
their town.
San
Gim
ign
ano
64
Corridor, San Gimignano.
66
Cell with Madonna, San Gimignano.
68
Cell door with Che, San Gimignano.
70
Towers from cell, San Gimignano.
72
In the 1700s the eastern border of the city of Manchester was marked
by a river and fields. At the dawn of the Industrial Revolution some eager
industrialists sat down and planned a grid of streets and canals on that land
to accommodate the production of cotton and cloth on a scale that was
hitherto unimaginable. By the end of the 18th century the area, known as
Ancoats, had become the world’s first planned industrial suburb, and it
was in full steam. The mills grew so rapidly that they swallowed up roads.
Walkways and tunnels were built to allow five consecutive blocks of mills to
function as one complex.
By the 1960s the cotton industry had quit Ancoats for more profitable
shores and the area’s deep dark canyons provided a painful testimony to a
lost era. By spring 2003 the process known locally as ‘ditching’ had begun.
A window was knocked out on each floor, a giant skip and crusher worked
away below as a team of workmen flung centuries of accumulated objects
out of the window.
These pictures portray the presence of absence in the space’s last moment
as a mill. They follow the journey of the ditchers and the industrial
archaeologists over the summer of 2003 as walled up rooms, tunnels and
walkways were reopened momentarily. Archaeologists uncovered a coin
from 1799 as well as a child’s shoe walled up in the fabric of the building, a
reminder of ancient traditions of constructing a place known as immuration.
Today Ancoats is rising again as a new suburb and this time it is not to
accommodate dark, noisy, crowded and perilous industry, but contemporary
inner city living. These photographs and the experience of living and working
in Ancoats formed the basis for ‘The Peeps’, a series of 20 or so permanent
peep holes that have subsequently been built into the walls around Ancoats.
An
coat
s
74
Jactin House, Ancoats.
76
Jactin House, Ancoats.
78
Steam press, Royal Mills , Ancoats.
80
Sewing room, with Sophia Loren, Murrays Mills , Ancoats.
82
Time clock , Royal Mills , Ancoats.
84
Cutting and pattern room, Royal Mills , Ancoats.
86
Pattern room, Royal Mills , Ancoats.
88
Cutting room and roof garden with rabbits, Royal Mills , Ancoats.
90
Pattern store, Royal Mills , Ancoats.
92
During the 1950s the British Ministry of Defence built a nuclear research
facility at Orford Ness, a 45 hectare natural pebble spit off the east coast of
England. Laboratories with 15 feet thick concrete walls were constructed to
vibration test, drop test, cook, spin and assemble nuclear weapons. Cobra
Mist, a top secret Cold War eavesdropping programme was established
on ‘the island’ using ‘over the horizon’ backscatter radar to listen in on the
Soviets. Other laboratories were devoted to centrifuge. The original testing
machine was later moved to AWE Aldermaston, where it is still in use. The
structures most shrouded in secrecy were the ‘pagodas’ used for mechanical
and vibration testing. Their massive roofs, piled high with pebbles for extra
mass, are supported on impossibly slender columns. In a nuclear blast it was
planned they would give way and cap the bunker to contain an explosion.
As the Cold War ended the need for Orford Ness diminished. The M.O.D.
decommissioned the site and gave it to the National Trust, but not before
they tested some of their samples and the labs to destruction. The enormous
steel armoured doors were blown off Lab 3, known as ‘the oven’. The control
room is now filled with a strange ash, in which wild hares have built a warren.
The buildings are almost unique, the only known similar construction
anywhere in the world is at the nuclear testing facility in Nevada, USA.
What was actually tested in them will remain a secret for decades to come.
Military architecture has an aesthetic all of its own, it is highly utilitarian yet
there is always something more than mere ‘form following function’.
The bombs these military scientists played with were given names such as
the Blue Danube or Polaris. There is a strong element of fantasy and the
fantastic in the poetics and form of these spaces, not least some expression
of Cold War anxiety about the end of the world. The vibration-testing
chamber has a quasi-religious aesthetic.
The National Trust are experts in the restoration of stately homes and
making them accessible to the public, however they must be at a loss with
Orford. So for now the military complex is left in its raw state and is out
of bounds as a bird sanctuary takes over. Orford Ness could be around for
millennia, an archaeology of the immediate past, that still embodies our fears
of the present. At some point society will feel the need to interpret these
abandoned structures and Orford Ness will come out of hiding and enter
the national psyche.
Orf
ord
Ne
ss
94
Labs 4 and 5, Or ford Ness.
96
Lab 5, vibration testing, Or ford Ness.
98
Lab 3, The Oven, Or ford Ness.
100
Drop testing lab, Or ford Ness.
102
Lab 3, The Oven, with hare warren, Or ford Ness.
104
Pagoda of Lab 3 viewed from Lab 4, Or ford Ness.
106
Ellis Island is a small island beside the Statue of Liberty in Upper New
York Bay. In the late 1900s America needed immigrants for its farms and
production lines. Poverty and hunger in Italy and Ireland and the pogroms
in Russia saw wave after wave of immigrants arrive in the ‘promised land’
through New York. With up to ten thousand new arrivals each day, ships
were forced to queue for days in the bay. So Ellis Island was developed as a
terminal for rich passengers and an immigration processing point and hospital
for poor immigrants. It was extended from a scrap of rock to several acres
by extensive land fill from the excavation of the New York subway.
The building programme was developed following laws paradoxically brutal
and benevolent. If you had 50 dollars or travelled in a cabin your immigration
was processed on the boat and you went straight to the train. Everyone else
was subjected to an interview and a medical. Names were often anglicised
or changed altogether. Immigrants were processed by a doctor in 90
seconds, during which time 30 assessments were made – a white chalk mark
meant a longer examination was needed. Over 300 babies were born in the
hospital, psychiatric patients were treated and autopsies carried out there
led to scientific discoveries. The more ill a patient was the further down the
long corridors of wards he or she was posted. Those with terminal or long
term illnesses like TB were treated with a view of the Statue of Liberty. The
staircase at the end of the processing hall split three ways: the hospital, the
dormitories, or the terminal building to New York.
The buildings fell into disuse, but were revived during the Second World
War for a prisoner of war camp. At the end of the war a wing of these cells
was locked off, and when I visited it still was – few had been there since.
On the walls and door frames ‘Heil Hitler’, ‘Viva Mussolini’, ‘Palermo’ have
been scrawled on now flaking paint. As the hospital had done for its terminal
patients, the POW camp offered its prisoners a unique view of the southern
tip of Manhattan, known as the ‘billion dollar view’. Today the stabilisation of
the hospital wing is under way, and the main hall is an immigration museum,
a drop off point on the boat trip to the Statue of Liberty.
Ell
is I
slan
d
108
Dispensary, hospital wing, Ellis Island.
110
Mor tuary, hospital wing, Ellis Island.
112
Autopsy theatre, hospital wing, Ellis Island.
114
Patient records, SAT-SIMO and SPI-TUR, hospital wing, Ellis Island.
116
Corridor, dormitory wing, Ellis Island.
118
Family bathroom, dormitory wing, Ellis Island.
120
Communal washroom, dormitory wing, Ellis Island.
122
Prisoner of war cell, dormitory wing, Ellis Island.
124
Prisoner of war cell, dormitory wing, Ellis Island.
126
Corridor, hospital wing, Ellis Island.
128
Liber ty view, hospital wing, Ellis Island.
130
The Quakers in Pennsylvania, progressive in their thinking about the reform
and rehabilitation of prison inmates, wanted to establish a new penal code
for North America and in 1787 established the Philadelphia Society for
Alleviating the Miseries of Public Prisons. In 1829 they built an extraordinary
walled city on the outskirts of Philadelphia, within which lies Eastern State
Penitentiary. It is laid out in a panopticon plan, each vast interminably long
corridor setting off from the single guard post, the eye in the middle.
Prisoners spent their sentences in solitary confinement, without seeing
either guards, visitors or other inmates. The aim was to protect inmates’
identities to give them the opportunity of a new start when they left prison,
and to encourage self-reflection which, in theory, was to lead to lasting
repentance and reform. The inmates were not allowed reading material or
to speak, whistle, sing or communicate. Failure to comply was punished by
withdrawing food. Some inmates overcame this by wrapping notes around
small stones and throwing them into the neighbouring yard. Drawing
increasing criticism, the practice of absolute solitary confinement was
abandoned in the 1870s.
Each cell had a tiny private exercise yard which prisoners could use for
an hour each day, and where they could tend a small garden or keep a
pet, a practice which was continued until the prison finally closed in 1971.
The prison also included extensive workshops for trades and everything
it needed to be as self-contained as a city. It even had a theatre and a
synagogue. One governor had his inmates paint his office with classical
frescoes.
The building went 4,500% over budget and then needed extending as
the prison population grew. At times there were up to 5 people to a
one-man cell. Further wings were added, filling in between the spaces of
the panopticon ‘spokes’. A trust has taken over the building. Their work
endeavours to retain the spirit of the place and is largely self-funded by a
hugely popular Halloween trail.
Eas
tern
Sta
te
Pen
ite
nti
ary
132
End of panopticon corridor, Philadelphia.
134
Cell, Philadelphia.
136
Cell, Philadelphia.
138
In Cuba wastelands are so utterly different to anywhere else. Many buildings
are derelict and uninhabitable. They no longer keep the rain, sun or
vegetation out, they are unstable, unserviced and pretty much unusable.
And yet they are in animate and active use. Usually when photographing
derelict buildings there is no one around. In Havana someone would
invariably pull up a chair unsolicited and seat themselves in front of the
camera.
These buildings are falling apart but are not going to waste. Even a derelict
theatre with no roof provides a home on its balcony, an art deco cinema
serves as a car park and an ancient and historically important convent with
no water or electricity accommodates a vibrant community, up to a family
per cell, with more in the cloisters and on the roof.
For some years I had been exploring the ‘presence of absence’, but Cuba
contradicts this ‘absence’ so markedly with its ‘presence’ and offers an
entirely different set of ideas of what wastelands are about.
At the time of these photos Cuba was opening its economy to foreign
investors. Eusebio Leal, the Historiador de la Ciudad de La Habana and
Professor Orestes del Castillo, his city master planner, (among others)
have been piloting a scheme in Old Havana for a block by block approach
to development. It is a considered and patient approach looking to accrue
a transformation, experimenting with various approaches. If a site in a
block has an injection of foreign investment this acts as the catalyst for
rehabilitating the entire block. The priority is to find a way to accommodate
those who currently live there and want to stay. Such an approach is
seemingly outside the realms of an open market economy, and time will tell
if it can be rolled out on a larger scale and retain its attention to detail and
in particular the continuity of culture. If it does it will become one of those
rare templates for rehabilitating a wasteland which succeeds without ripping
out the soul of its subject.
Hab
ana
Vie
ja
140
Apar tment block, Cuba.
142
Santeria Apothecary, apar tment light well, Cuba.
144
Cinema, car park , Cuba.
146
Theatre, dwelling, Cuba.
148
Workshop, Cuba.
150
Entrance hall, Cuba.
152
Convento Santa Teresa de Jesus. This early colonial church and convent
forms the heart of this city block in old Havana. Once this closed walled
community housed one nun per cell, now it is a dense microcosm of a city
within the larger city. Sometimes there is an extended family to one cell.
The cloisters are cut to a slither as each cell extends out to make a low
kitchen and an extra room above. Fresh water is collected in buckets
from the roof – something which appears organised in a more orderly
fashion than the ad-hoc wires and pipes snaking through the compound.
The courtyard, roof and other rooms serve for yet more dwellings. The
variety, contrast and strength of spirit amongst this close-knit community
is extraordinary. The ancient gates in the enormous walls that once served
to lock the nuns in and the world out, seem to have found favour with a
community as a means for self containment.
There is considerable interest in ‘restoring’ this convent, which probably
means rebuilding it to look as it once did, so that it can serve as a hotel.
These people need a better place to live, sanitation wouldn’t go amiss, this
is their opportunity. I don’t envy the challenges faced in trying to relocate
them and build a place that could come close to sustaining the strength of
community that they have achieved here.
San
ta T
ere
sa
154
Cloisters and cour tyard, Karate lesson, Cuba.
156
Cour tyard, Cuba.
158
Cloisters, Cuba.
160
Cell, Cuba.
162
Cell, Cuba.
164
Out from the centre of Havana an axis runs to the coast lined with former
Creole palaces. It followed the route of an aquaduct. In 1861 a covered
walkway was built to join these buildings, to create a single colonnaded
street running seven miles. The palaces and fine houses are largely derelict.
The former grand porcelain-tiled entrances and reception halls have been
taken over by businesses, often doubling as living rooms. One formerly
grand reception room off the colonnade is lined with fish tanks; the family
does a lively trade in tiny minnows sold in plastic bags for under one US
cent each. At the back is the young family’s living room space, part of
which has no roof. The exquisite tiled floor has disintegrated into rubble.
The courtyard has the remnants of rooms off it, all stacked to the ceiling
with green glowing fish-breeding tanks. A few houses up is the home of a
Santeria priest. His family’s living room is also a clinic, the TV doubling up as
a shrine. On another site a palace has collapsed entirely leaving a vast deep
waste ground in front of which a billboard has been erected sporting a lurid
red Che Guevara proclaiming: ‘Revolution is: Sacrifice, Altruism, Solidarity,
Heroism.’
Cal
zad
a d
el
Ce
rro
166
Palacio, Cuba.
168
Santeria priest’s house, Cuba.
170
Santeria priest’s family living room and clinic, Cuba.
172
Aquarium shop and living room, Cuba.
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2010 by
Dewi Lewis Publishing
8 Broomfield Road, Heaton Moor
Stockport SK4 4ND, England
www.dewilewispublishing.com
ISBN: 978-1-904587-83-5
All rights reserved
© 2010
for the photographs and texts: Dan Dubowitz and
Civic Works Ltd
First published in a limited edition by Civic Works Ltd in 2008
Book Design: Simon Stern and Dan Dubowitz
Layout: Simon Stern
Colour: Pierluigi Zamboni at EBS
Print: EBS, Verona, Italy
Print manager: Alessandra Agostini
Editorial: Tim Abrahams, Jenny Dubowitz, Ben Hall, Penny Lewis,
Robert Slinger, Dan Wrightson.
www.civicworks.net
Collaborators:
Tim Abrahams , Ian Banks, Norma Barbacci, Harry Bolick, Leslie Booth, Leslie Boyd,
Audrey Bradshaw, Irina Brune, Stefan Brzozowski, Andy Burrell, Robert Camlin,
Kelvin Campbell, Mark Canning, Orestes del Castillo, Gabriella Caterina,
Sylvia Caveney, Jonathan Cohen Litant, Liz Davidson, John Deffenbaugh,
Jenny Dubowitz , Vic and Lil Dubowitz, Patrick Duerden, Pickle Ellison,
Ralf Feldmeier, Serafino Di Felice, Lyn Fenton, Andy Firman, Helen France,
Karen De Francis, Pauline Gallacher, Ray Gastil, Len Grant, Elaine Griffiths,
Murray Grigor, Richard Haley, Ben Hall, David Hogg, Tracey Hummer, Barbara Irwin,
Claire Karsenty, Per Kartvedt, Roger Lang, Maria Laurent, Jean Laurie, Eusebio Leal,
Penny Lewis, Alex Linklater, Bill Lounds, Tom Macartney, Stuart MacDonald,
Victor Marin, Eleanor McAllister, Judith R McAlpin, Davy McCready,
Stefania de Medici, Nicola Moorhouse, Diana Naden, Stephen O’Malley,
David Paton, Sherida Paulsen, Nick Putnam, David Ralston, Hunter Reid,
John Robinson, Maggie Rose, Bruce Rosen, Graeme Russell, Zoe Ryan,
Frank Emile Sanchis III, Ilma Scantlebury, Angela MH Schuster, Fred Schwartz,
Leni Schwendinger, Noel Sharkey, Paul Shirley Smith, Robert Slinger, Simon Stern,
Martin Stockley, Ros Stoddard, Fraser Stuart, Alan Ward, Mary Wardle, Richard
Weltman, Lebbeus Woods, Dan Wrightson.
A warm thank you to you all.
Jenny, Zach, Eva and Reuben... this book of “rubbish buildings” is dedicated to you.