A Jarring Monstrosity: An Architectural Review of the Scottish Parliament Building
As I write I have just returned from the wonderful Scottish capital city of Edinburgh, though I maintain that the Athens of the north is my favourite city of those I have visited, the Scottish Parliament building at Holyrood is almost as vile as the people it contains.
In short, and to save you reading this bitter polemic in its entirety (should you wish to yield now), the Scottish Parliament building is a jarring monstrosity that offends me to my very core.
This vast concrete colossus can best be described as a brutalist, knock-off Guggenheim meets the Rainforest Café and elects to insert itself into a previously pleasant environment. Perhaps the dull concrete, steel and glass combination reminiscent of the Soviet-era Russian embassy in Cuba would upset the eye enough had it not also been adorned with bizarre sticks and irregular, octagonal panels that act as a shout-out to the post-modernists, a reminder that nothing needs to make sense anymore. As I stood before the building’s entrance I was struck by how its lower level resembles the modernist visitors’ centre at the Normandy American War Memorial in Colleville-sur-Mer, or perhaps the façade of a modern art gallery. What the architects of this beast were thinking I will never know, had it been an art gallery I would assume that perhaps they hoped to be subversive, challenging architectural and artistic norms to make a statement regarding the art contained inside. For a government building one may assume that the concrete and steel combination built in right angles, hanging above the lower-set buildings in the surrounding area, may be used to assume a position of command and exude an air of absolute authority, just as brutalism has done in history. This explanation would seem fitting given the SNP’s new direction for Scotland, however the combination of obnoxious asymmetry and anti-aesthetic panelling gives the building a circus-like quality, as though it is the mental faeces of a chronically depressed Soviet clown suffering from colour-blindness.
The environment in which the building is situated makes the entire appearance even worse. The Beautiful Georgian buildings at the royal end of the Royal Mile sit to its North, the stunning Salisbury ridge in Holyrood Park to the South and the 17th century Palace of Holyroodhouse across the road to the East. In such a beautiful, historic and cultural area (reflective of the city of Edinburgh as a whole) the building is frankly offensive. When viewed from above, the Parliament’s seemingly bladed structure resembles a parasitic organism growing exponentially and consuming all that is good around it. In this way it is much like the government it contains. When viewed in isolation (as it must have been designed) the building is cruel, tasteless and aesthetically violent, however when placed in such an environment as it lives it becomes invasive and increasingly aggressive with every glance. If the Scottish National Party truly want to hark back to the Declaration of Arbroath, honour the brave Jacobites of Culloden and defend Scotland’s history, culture and identity from English incursions then surely their platform would put a Holyrood Reichstag fire front and centre. Alack, they are no true nationalists, no true Scotsmen.
One can also tell a lot about a building’s architectural aura (if you will excuse the bogus hocus-pocus) by the types of people and behaviours it attracts, the same applies to an area of similarly designed buildings. One would be hard-pressed to picture a row of concrete high-rise buildings without a splattering of graffiti and urine whilst the image of a palace without a sense of class and nobility is unsettling. The multi-layered concrete base of the Scottish Parliament has attracted the exact types of people you would expect. First you begin with the shallow, static water-features to the South-East of the building which have been adopted as large paddling pools for the shirtless and occasionally naked toddlers who choose to visit; closer to the building the tiered structure, modernist benches and sporadic bollards have found themselves to be popular amongst long-haired parkour practitioners blasting out their music and jumping around; lastly there is another subculture that chooses to dwell in the shadow of this disgusting behemoth, the perpetually caffeinated yet excruciatingly ‘chill’ scourge of society, skaters. Had this not been built as a government building and given special attention in maintenance, there is no doubt that the gutters would be filled with urine, the walls lined with unspecified filth and graffiti, not unlike some of the displeasing tower-blocks on the edge of Holyrood Park to the West of the Parliament. In resembling an underground station the home of the esteemed Scottish Assembly has become nothing more than the Holyrood skatepark and nudist pool for children.
This is not the only architectural crime against my sanity that Edinburgh has to offer, the Mr Whippy shopping centre that scars the otherwise delightful view from Calton Hill comes to mind. I am certain that in the coming months I shall be given much more to rail against. For now however, I will finish with a Jacobite cry against the cultural genocide against the Edinburghers that is caused by mere existence of this Hispanic-Italian demon-fort that tortures the Holyrood skyline. Let us hope it burns.
