I'm really into architecture, I'm a member of the Brutalist

Host: The rain tapped softly against the window, a steady rhythm that mirrored the thoughts swirling inside the small, dimly lit café. Jack sat by the window, a cup of black coffee in front of him, eyes lost in the reflection of the city beyond. The streets outside, wet and slick, seemed to pulse with life, but inside the café, a stillness held them both. Jeeny leaned forward across the table, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup as if she were trying to unlock a secret hidden in the porcelain. The conversation was just beginning to take shape.

Jack: “You know, I never really got the whole fascination with architecture. Buildings are just… well, buildings. They’re functional, right? They serve a purpose. Why do people get so obsessed with them?”

Jeeny: “It’s about more than just function, Jack. It’s about what those buildings mean, what they represent. It’s like that quote from Roisin Murphy. She said she’s a member of the Brutalist Appreciation Society and the Postmodern Society. She writes letters to save buildings. There’s something beautiful about that, don’t you think?”

Jack: “Save buildings? Save them from what? You mean, from being torn down? I get it, but isn’t it just a bunch of stone and steel? It’s all just stuff, right?”

Jeeny: “No, it’s not just stuff, Jack. It’s the soul of the city. Those buildings are part of our history, our identity. Architecture isn’t just about practicality; it’s about expression. Brutalism, Postmodernism—these movements were all about pushing the boundaries, creating something new. They have a story.”

Jack: “So, you think buildings are more than just places to work or live? That they actually have some sort of emotional value?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. Think about it. The spaces we inhabit, they shape us. They reflect who we are, what we value. You walk into a building—whether it’s sleek and modern or harsh and angular—and it tells you something about the world. It’s like a canvas. A city is a collection of these canvases, these stories, all layered on top of each other.”

Jack: “But don’t some of those buildings just look… well, ugly? Brutalism, for example. It’s all concrete and sharp edges. It doesn’t seem like something you’d want to save, does it? It’s cold. It’s aggressive.”

Jeeny: “I get that, but there’s a beauty in the rawness of Brutalism. It’s unashamed of what it is. It’s about honesty. It doesn’t try to hide behind decorations or fancy facades. It stands firm, almost like a proclamation. It challenges us, makes us think about the space differently.”

Jack: “I still don’t know… It feels more like a statement than something functional. Doesn’t architecture need to serve a practical purpose too? If it doesn’t, what’s the point?”

Jeeny: “It’s a balance. Architecture serves a purpose, sure. But it also shapes how we interact with the world. It’s about creating spaces that reflect who we are and where we’re going. Just because something isn’t pretty in the traditional sense doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a deeper meaning. Take the Trellick Tower in London—people hate it, but it’s an icon. It’s bold, it has a presence, and for many, it’s a part of their story.”

Jack: “But isn’t that just nostalgia? People attaching meaning to buildings just because they’re old or part of a time they remember? I mean, can’t we just move on? Build something new?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes, it’s not about the past, Jack. It’s about the future. Saving these buildings is like protecting the ideas that built them. Roisin Murphy gets that. It’s not about holding on to the past; it’s about preserving the legacy of the ideas that shaped the world. Brutalism isn’t about the aesthetic; it’s about challenging the status quo. It’s about how we think about space, about urban life.”

Jack: “So, by saving these buildings, you’re saving the ideas behind them. It’s not just about the structure, it’s about the philosophy.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Every building tells a story. And if we tear them down without understanding their significance, we’re erasing part of who we are. That’s why people like Roisin Murphy fight for these buildings. They’re fighting to preserve the conversation between the past and the present, between what’s been and what’s to come.”

Jack: “It’s funny, I’ve never thought of it like that. I’ve always just seen them as places to go in and out of. But you’re right. A building is more than that. It’s like a silent witness to everything that’s happened around it. It’s part of the history.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And when we save a building, we’re saving more than just the concrete and the steel. We’re saving the message it carries, the ideas it represents. The city is a story—one we all get to write, and the buildings are our words.”

Host: Jack sat back, his thoughts turning over like the wet leaves that gathered outside in the rain. He had always walked through the city, passing buildings without noticing them, seeing only their use. But now, as he looked at them, something had changed. They weren’t just structures. They were stories—stories he’d never thought to hear before.

The rain continued to fall outside, but inside the café, a new understanding had begun to take root.