For centuries and centuries we’ve built – and the diversity in our global built environment is a testament to that. The many different cultures around the globe have had different ways of building throughout history, adapting locally found materials to construct their structures. Today, in our globalized present, building materials are transported across the globe far from their origins, a situation that means two buildings on completely opposites sides of the world can be more or less identical.
As the architecture profession become more formalized, and the categorization of architecture “movements” became more mainstream, a wider understanding of architectural elements has also emerged amongst the wider public. There is general consensus, for example, on which building typology will mostly host offices, or in some countries, what visual elements differentiate high-end housing from social housing.
But what is even more interesting is how certain materials are celebrated or demonized – and how this is heavily dependent on climate consciousness and differing interpretations of building materials across various contexts.
Arguably the most obvious example of a building material that invites this form of conversation is concrete. The industrial revolution brought about the invention of reinforced concrete, and the late 19th century saw an increase in reinforced concrete structures as the technology was perfected. The world’s first reinforced concrete skyscraper was built in 1903 in the American state of Ohio, however, at least in the American context, there was public resistance to concrete as a building material, due to its “perceived dullness”.This perception took a turn as an earthquake ripped through San Francisco in 1906 and El Campanii – a reinforced concrete building constructed two years prior – survived. Concrete was thus reborn as a sturdy, strong, and dependable material, and building codes in San Francisco were tweaked to encourage its use.
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The middle of the 20th century saw the almost constant evolution of Modernist architecture. Architects experimented, and concrete continued to grow in popularity. Sculptural, radical forms became popular, structures such as the Phillips Pavilion at Expo ’58 highlighting concrete’s potential for architectural expression. This was the onset of the Brutalist period, where concrete’s reputation would soar.
Post-World War II, the UK was in urgent need of urban development. Housing was in short supply, and projects were drawn up by planners and architects to remedy this. What followed were projects that to this day, still divide opinion, and their material of choice might have something to do with it. The bulk of Britain’s post-war housing was Brutalist, with tower blocks and housing estates of high density seen as the solution to house the UK’s population.
But some projects were intensely disliked. The Brunswick Centre in London’s Bloomsbury, before its redevelopment in the 1990s, was criticized as a “concrete monstrosity”. Ernő Goldfinger’s Trellick Tower became a magnet for vandalism and crime, a situation that meant that concrete was looked at even more unfavorably as a building material.
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This association of concrete as a building material for low-income social housing in the UK brings to the front an interesting distinction between how materials are viewed differently depending on their context. Formal detached dwellings made out of sand-cement blocks or concrete in Tanzania, for instance, are status symbols in this context, the strong, sturdy, material a mark of permanence when compared to other materials associated with more temporary dwellings.
How building materials are perceived across countries becomes even more complicated when a material’s perception differs from how it is viewed within a region, to how it is viewed from outside the region. In the Tanzanian and East African context, for instance, thatched roofs are rarely used for residential dwellings, and many who have the means to do so opt for a sand-cement block dwelling. However, thatched roofs are simultaneously an immensely popular design choice amongst luxury lodges situated near national parks – many of which look to attract western tourists. It makes for an interesting dynamic, one where a building material can be looked down upon as a mark of low social status, but at the same time can be praised as architecture sensitive to the vernacular when it makes up an expensive hotel.
As the construction industry reckons with how to “build greener”, it’s important for building materials to be appraised in terms of their context. 2022 Pritzker Winner Francis Kéré, for instance, has shied away from simply being known as the “mud architect”, saying instead that he simply “responds to the client’s brief”. As with how the formerly disliked Trellick Tower has now been refurbished and has now become a luxury symbol – it’s an indictment of how certain building materials are vilified, only because of who the principal users are. It's a complex phenomenon on how building materials, in some instances, become stand-ins for values.
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