In this study, I employed the “double entry” narrative structure from Exercises in Style (Queneau, 1998) to reframe Georges Perec’s Rough draft of a letter from Species of Spaces and Other Pieces (Perec, 1997). Through this process, I examined how shifts in linguistic texture reshape the reader’s sense of rhythm, tone, and emotional immediacy within the text.

4. Or else:
Rough draft of a letter

Original

I think of you, often
sometimes I go back into a cafe, I sit near the door, I order a coffee
I arrange my packet of cigarettes, a box of matches, a writing pad,
my felt-pen on the fake marble table
I spend a long time stirring my cup of coffee with the teaspoon
(yet I don’t put any sugar in my coffee, I drink it allowing the
sugar to melt in my mouth, like the people of the North, like the
Russians and Poles when they drink tea)
I pretend to be preoccupied, to be reflecting, as if I had a decision
to make
At the top and to the right of the sheet of paper, I inscribe the
date, sometimes the place, sometimes the time, I pretend to be
writing a letter
I write slowly, very slowly, as slowly as I can, I trace, I draw each
letter, each accent, I check the punctuation marks
I stare attentively at a small notice, the price-list for ice-creams,
at a piece of ironwork, a blind, the hexagonal yellow ashtray (in
actual fact, it’s an equilateral triangle, in the cutoff corners of
which semi-circular dents have been made where cigarettes can
be rested)
Outside there’s a bit of sunlight
the café is nearly empty
two renovators’ men are having a rum at the bar, the owner is
dozing behind his till, the waitress is cleaning the coffee machine
I am thinking of you
you are walking in your street, it’s wintertime, you’ve turned up
your foxfur collar, you’re smiling, and remote…

Double Entry:

I often think and remind of you. 
I happened to be seated and to sit down in a café, close and adjacent to the entrance door and portal.
I ordered and requested a coffee beverage, and, having done so, I arranged and placed before me upon the marble-patterned tabletop a pack of cigarettes and tobacco, a box and container of matches, a notepad and writing pad, and a felt-tipped pen and instrument for writing and journaling.
For a long and extended time I stirred and revolved my teaspoon and utensil in the cup and the mug, despite no sugar and saccharine element had been placed or inserted therein.
I sipped and consumed my coffee in the manner and custom of northern peoples and inhabitants, permitting the sugar to melt and dissolve upon the tongue and in the mouth.
I appeared and pretended to be occupied and preoccupied, to reflect and to deliberate, as though there were a weighty and serious decision and resolution to be made and taken.
At the upper right-hand corner of my page and sheet, I wrote down and traced the date and time, sometimes also the place and location, as though and as if composing and writing a letter.
I wrote slowly, deliberately, and at a measured pace, forming and drawing each letter, sign, and accent, verifying and checking each punctuation mark.
I contemplated and observed attentively the menu and price-list for the desserts and ice-creams, a piece of ironwork and grille, a blind and shutter, and a yellow ashtray of equilateral triangular form, its corners truncated and cut away to make semicircular indentations for resting cigarettes.
Outside, some sunlight and brightness could be seen and perceived.
The café was and appeared nearly empty and devoid of customers and patrons.
Two workmen and renovators at the counter consumed and drank rum; the owner and master of the café nodded and slumbered behind the till and cash register; the waitress and servant cleaned and polished the coffee machine and apparatus.
All this while I was and found myself thinking and reflecting upon you.
You were walking in your street and along your block; it was wintertime, the Christmas season. You had turned up your foxfur collar, smiling, distant and remote…

The experiment revealed that style does not simply convey feeling but constructs it, turning Perec’s intimate letter into something self-conscious, performative, and faintly absurd.

Reference
• Perec, G. (1997) Species of Spaces and Other Pieces. London: Penguin Books Ltd.
• Queneau, R. (1998) Exercises in Style. London: John Calder.

Something I found interesting is that there’s a research showing sex does not sell within the younger generation, but when we look at the advertisement now many of them are still selling sex. if it’s not working anymore, why are they still doing it?

The question led me to explore the imagery used in lipstick marketing, where visual strategies often rely on sexualized symbolism. So i begin to ask myself…

Maybe by doing that, I can expose the mechanisms of desire that culture has built around it.

Experimenting with Different Methods of Translation

1. By paraphrasing and extrapolating, I translated an image into a database inventory sheet.  With informations like IDs/ Colour names/ Pigment Compositions.…etc.

2.By hybridising and mimicking, I translated one image into another. Using metaphor to invite viewers to see the face as a site of endless projection and editing, and the colours as their material origins rather than seductive names, testing whether desire and perception are already pre-coded.

3.By relaying and improvising, I translated a visual image into sound.

These experiments allowed me to reimagine what it might look like when there’s nothing left for us to perceive in a sexual way.

Functional Substitutes: The Cosmetic Display Reimagined

Moving forward, I wanted to push this idea further. I created a functional display system to reimagine what it would look like if these lipstick images were replaced by scientific or neutral substitutes in real store settings.

I’m not sure how people would feel encountering this in a beauty shop. Personally, I’d think, oh, that’s cool, very scientific and professional. But at the same time, I might feel even more objectified.

There’s less fun, less spontaneity, less room for creativity or imagination. I feel like a chemical compound waiting to be experimented on…

When Sex is Stripped Away

Returning to the initial question: what remains when the sexual element is stripped away? Does it still have value? Do people still desire to colour their lips if it wasn’t about being seen, or performing for someone else’s gaze?

Pro Agency. Not Anti-Sex.

I know not everyone wants to be desired, but it’s also okay to want to be desired.

So, what should we expect from the future of cosmetic marketing? Can advertisements strike that sweet balance — creating something empowering, while resisting objectification? I think these are the questions we need to keep in mind when we think about what it means to sell beauty today.

Maybe instead of creating “anti-sex” commercials, we first need to understand this:
Sex does sell, but it should sell when the idea of agency is at its core.

Introduction
I have chosen to analyse a part of the introduction of Living a Feminist Life by Sara Ahmed (2017), specifically the section titled “A Feminist Movement.” Ahmed writes: “We are moved to become feminists. I think of feminist action as like ripples in water, a small wave, possibly created by agitation from weather; here, there, each movement making another possible, another ripple, outward, reaching.” The opening line defines feminism not as a fixed belief system, but as a response of feeling: a state of being moved. In emphasising emotion as something triggered through different forms of action and inseparable from politics, Ahmed positions feeling as the very motor of the feminist movement.

Analysis
To explore how these emotions, triggered through various forms of action, develop and extend into other dimensions of feminist practice, I began to catalogue the text by creating a list that identifies and organises the different kinds of movement Ahmed describes. This process allowed me to see how emotion, within her writing, shifts fluidly between the personal, the collective, the intellectual, and the reflective.

Category	Original Content	Interpretation
Being moved	“We are moved to become feminists.”“Perhaps we are moved by something: a sense of injustice, that something is wrong.”“A feminist movement might happen the moment a woman snaps, that moment when she does not take it anymore.”	Ahmed locates the origin of feminism in an affective reaction: the bodily and emotional recognition that something is unjust. Being “moved” marks the beginning of political consciousness.
Sharing Movement	“A feminist movement is a collective political movement.”“Each movement making another possible, another ripple, outward, reaching.”“Feminism is bringing people into the room.”“We convene; we have a convention.”“Feminism needs to be everywhere because feminism is not everywhere.”	Feminism grows through collective action and social connection. The metaphor of ripples illustrates how individual agitation transforms into shared energy and public gatherings.
Naming Movement	“I want to take here bell hooks’s definition of feminism as ‘the movement to end sexism, sexual exploitation and sexual oppression.’”“Intersectionality is a starting point, the point from which we must proceed if we are to offer an account of how power works.”“Feminism will be intersectional ‘or it will be bullshit.’”	Naming defines and directs feminist politics. By citing theorists like bell hooks and Flavia Dzodan, Ahmed situates the movement within a lineage of thought, clarifying its aims and rejecting narrow or exclusionary forms.
Sustaining Movement	“A significant step for a feminist movement is to recognize what has not ended.”“We might think we have made that step only to realize we have to make it again.”“A feminist movement depends on our ability to keep insisting on something: the ongoing existence of the very things we wish to bring to an end.”“We acquire feminist tendencies, a willingness to keep going despite or even because of what we come up against.”	To sustain movement means persistence and by recognising unfinished struggles and continuing despite fatigue or opposition. Feminism’s durability comes from repetition, insistence, and collective endurance.
Questioning Movement	“Much injustice can be and has been committed by those who think of themselves as the wrong sort… There is no guarantee that in struggling for justice we ourselves will be just.”“We have to hesitate, to temper the strength of our tendencies with doubt.”“A feminist movement that proceeds with too much confidence has cost us too much already.”	Ahmed ends by reflecting on self-critique within feminism. Questioning movement prevents rigidity; it allows doubt, hesitation, and ethical reflection to coexist with conviction. Movement is sustained not only by action, but by reflection.

Reflection and Conclusion
By approaching the text through the lens of emotional movement, I began to see how feeling functions as both catalyst and structure within Ahmed’s writing. The act of being “moved” is not only personal but also collective, as emotions circulate, gather, and transform into political energy. Through the process of cataloguing, I observed how these movements of feeling expanded into other forms, including personal memories, social struggles, and linguistic shifts. Each operates like a ripple that connects the self to the collective, demonstrating how feminism is continually made and remade through lived experience. In this way, cataloguing became more than an analytical exercise; it became a practice of tracing connection, a small movement responding to Ahmed’s own.

Reference
Ahmed, S. (2017) Living a Feminist Life. Durham: Duke University Press.

Catching the W/Rave

Catching the W/Rave — a play on the words Wave and Rave — is the final project I created for Methods of Cataloguing. The work draws from Harvard’s digital collection Catching the Wave, reimagining and remixing its archive through a new lens. Here’s a glimpse at the 100 photos from the collection that inspired the project.

My (re)definition of cataloging…  

When talking about cataloging, my definition or (re)definition of it is to go beyond categorisation where it involves creating order and narrative, like curation, it’s about shaping connections and telling stories through how things are arranged.

But while working on this set, I’ve been thinking how i can redefine perception without changing the story? Because when it comes to the history and the people who shaped it, we always have to approach it carefully.
We can find new ways to see history, but we must respect its truth and the experiences it carries, otherwise, meaning can easily shift into misrepresentation or unintended humour.

So i came up with these three topics by using different kind of methods:

1. Catching the Wave – using the method of [(re)contextualizing]:
Catalogued in dialogue with the presenter’s narration(generated), tracing the emotional shifts carried through each spoken line.

Generated Speech:
Serious: We stand here because equality is still treated like a privilege, not a birthright.
Joyful: Yet look around—our colors, our laughter, our love—proof that even when the world tried to erase us, we painted it brighter.
Angry: We are done being told to wait, to hide, to be “grateful” for crumbs of recognition.
Sad: Too many names have been lost to violence, silence, and fear, carved into history when they should have been dancing beside us.
Excited/hopeful: But today, we roar louder, prouder, knowing that change doesn’t whisper—it marches.
Resolute: And until every one of us is free to live and love without fear, we will not sit down—we will not stop.

2. Catching the Rave – using the method of [classifying]:
Classifying the photographs by how close they resonate the energy and visual language of rave culture.

It’s always interesting to think about the relationship between protesting and raving, as both are forms of resistance against systems of control. In many ways, they’re inseparable.
Raving has always carried a spirit of protest — tracing back to the earliest underground gatherings, where those on the fringes of society came together to celebrate freely, without judgment.

3: Catching the Babes –  using the method of [hijacking]:
Hijacking the faces in the photographs to playfully honour both the known and unknown heroes.

Focus on Catching the Rave…

I found them all quite fun to play around with but i chose to focus on Catching the Rave. I created this photo book that brings together the work of Bettye and Freda with found images online from rave scenes, to explore the subtle connections between these two forms of collective expression.

Note: The rave images included here haven’t been formally researched or verified — they’re used purely to convey the concept rather than as verified documentation at the moment.

Photo book Intro
This book reimagines their photographs within different rave settings, connecting past and present through shared energy and emotion. By placing these images in vibrant rave scenes, I wanted to reflect on how these gatherings began— and what they continue to represent today.

Onward
It works by cutting out spaces from rave scene photographs and filling them with fragments from protest images. I kept the original titles given by the photographers, mirroring their format when captioning the rave photos. The color of each page divides the book into two storylines, creating a visual and conceptual parallel between the two forms of expression.

Ending
Ending with the author’s words – which is me – As I worked on this project, I kept thinking about how much of what we have today was made possible by those who refused to stay silent. I hope these images remind us that every moment of joy carries a history of struggle, care, and hope, and that we keep reshaping what freedom means each time we come together.

This is for those who fought so we could dance.

My investigation, The Afterlife of Council Housing: Penshurst, explored whether or not the “Right to Buy” policy has transformed the social fabric of a housing estate once defined by collective ownership. Through photography, video, and recorded self-conversation, I aimed to understand if this shift from communal to private has reshaped the way residents inhabit and relate to shared spaces. Two readings from the course resonate with my work through different relationships of theme, form, and process: 

i. In The Gleaners and I (2000), Agnès Varda begins her documentary as an investigation into the tradition of gleaning — collecting what is left behind after the harvest. Through this lens, she explores how the practice of gleaning has transformed in contemporary society: Who are the modern gleaners? What are their intentions, their meanings, their purposes? Along the way, Varda discovers that although people may be engaged in the same act, their backgrounds and motivations differ entirely. More than simply documenting, she becomes part of the inquiry herself.

Similarly, my investigation adopted a process of observation and reflection. By photographing every door and categorising them into terms and assumptions, I sought to understand if the “Right to Buy” policy has altered the social dynamics of the estate. Like Varda, I found myself both documenting and participating: the act of photographing, naming, and questioning became a form of gleaning, gathering traces of what remains of communal life. Through this process, my position shifted from that of an observer to an inquirer situated within the narrative of transformation itself.

ii. In The Neighborhood from Species of Spaces and Other Pieces (1974), Georges Perec provides a sense of place by observing the ordinary in meticulous detail. He describes everything that happens in the present moment, tracking down common things and outlining the contours of what usually go unnoticed with a light and humorous touch. Through this process of attention, Perec invites us to rediscover the familiar and to question what shapes our surroundings.

Similarly, I approached the Penshurst estate through walking, recording voice notes, and transcribing self-conversations. By tracing the corridors, stairwells and areas I had never stepped into before, I attempted to capture the atmospheres and overlooked details of the site. Like Perec, I used description and reflection as a way to provoke questions: how does the doors, sounds, and routes construct a sense of belonging, and what do these small details reveal about the transformation from collective to private?

Together, these two readings framed my investigation both thematically and methodologically. Varda’s exploration of what remains after social and material shifts paralleled my inquiry into the afterlife of council housing, while Perec’s attentive observation of the everyday informed my method of documentation and reflection.

References:
• Varda, A. (2000) The Gleaners and I. France: Ciné-Tamaris.
• Perec, G. (1997) Species of Spaces and Other Pieces. Translated by J. Sturrock. London: Penguin Books.

The Afterlife of Council Housing: Penshurst
looking at the spaces left behind by policy and time

what happened to these homes?

Since October 3, 1980, the Right to Buy policy, introduced by Margaret Thatcher, has reshaped the UK’s housing landscape.
I wonder what happens to a home when ownership changes hands — from the state to the individual, from the tenant to the landlord, from the collective to the market? 

The Afterlife of Council Housing: Penshurst begins with a simple question: What happened to these homes?

has the appearance of such communities shifted alongside the transformation of ownership structures?

Rather than seeking a definitive answer, I’m trying to observe the traces of transformation left in the build environment. Through quiet documentation and comparative research, it reflects on whether the “Right to Buy” policy reshaped not only London’s housing stock but also its social fabric, its sense of belonging, and its architectural language.

But what does that actually look like today?

Come walk with me for a bit, let’s take a look around the council housing and see what we can find.

so, i tried to see if the appearances matched the reality…

As I went through the documentation, I expected to find a clear visual divide — privately owned homes showing more signs of personalisation or renovation, and council-managed ones appearing more standardised or worn.

To test this assumption, I compared the visual categories with the ownership data through land and property information on HM Land Registry to see which homes are still council-managed and which are privately owned.

And I found out that Penshurst is still mostly council-owned.

The black blocks represent council-owned homes, while the other indicate privately owned ones. ( Council-owed:103 / Private-owned:27)

And if we look at it by terms… (click to reveal the data)

Clean.
Maybe clean doors suggest stability, or simply a tenant or owner who puts time into upkeep? (Out of 55 doors, ___ are private)

Out of 55, 11 are privately owned. But interestingly, at least half of those private ones aren’t what I’d call “clean.” So, maybe cleanliness isn’t about ownership at all. (11/55)

---

Worn.
Then there are the worn doors. Do they point to slow council repairs, or maybe a landlord who’s not so attentive? Or are they just old? (Out of 13 doors, ___ are private)

Surprisingly, none of the worn doors are privately owned. (0/13)

---

Decorated.
I thought decoration would show individuality — someone claiming the home as their own. (Out of 4 doors, ___ are private)

But, out of 4 decorated doors, none were privately owned. That surprised me. (0/4)

---

Repainted.
Fresh paint doors could mean care, or maybe just council maintenance. (Out of 38 doors, ___ are private)

Out of 38 repainted doors, 7 are private. So… maybe the council’s actually doing a decent job? (7/38)

---

Personalised.
Some doors have small details like different knockers, stickers and personal touches. (Out of 32 doors, ___ are private)

Out of 32, 9 are private. It feels like everyone, regardless of ownership, wants to leave a mark in some way. (9/32)

---

Security-oriented.
A few doors were heavy with locks, gates, or bars. Maybe that shows vulnerability, or maybe just caution? (Out of 11 doors, ___ are private)

Only 2 out of 11 were privately owned, still, it makes you wonder what people are protecting themselves from. (2/11)

---

Welcoming.
Some doors just felt… welcoming, little signs of life, does that suggest a sense of warmth in the communal relationships? (Out of 22 doors, ___ are private)

Out of 22, 6 are private. (6/22)

---

Standardised.
Does standardised doors show passivity, compliance, or simply indicate that the place is council-owned? (Out of 60 doors, ___ are private)

Out of 60, 8 are private. (8/60)

---

it turns out… the results weren’t what i expected.

I thought the privately owned homes might look more cared for, more individual. But the patterns don’t quite fit. Some of the most maintained, even welcoming doors, still belong to council tenants and some private ones show signs of age, neglect, or uncertainty.

Perhaps doors alone can’t tell the whole story but they do reveal quiet patterns of care,  neglect, and adaptation that hint at something larger.

A policy once intended to empower disadvantaged groups and promote housing autonomy — has it, perhaps unintentionally, reshaped social hierarchies and created new forms of imbalance?

As some former tenants become landlords and others renters, how might these structural changes affect the relationships and collective identity within the community? 

• this project does not propose judgment. it asks, instead, whether or not the residue of policy can be seen in paint layers, in ornaments, in doors that both separate and connect us.

week 1: exploration of 3 experiments using different methods of investigating

• method 1

Doors
Investigation Through Observation of the Doors

• method 2

Crowd Activities
Field Observation of Crowd Activities at Different Time Points

architectural plan card and record sheet:

• method 3

Around the Block
Transcript: Describing Penshurst

Transcript : Around the Block at Penshurst

Now I’m here at the front gate of the council house I live in. The house is called Penshurst, but we usually call it PenisHurts, because it’s funnier and honestly just fits the personality of our flat better. Just the nickname.

At the front door there are two signs. One, I think, comes with the council house, it’s a metal letter sign that spells out P-E-N-S-H-U-R-S-T. Then there’s another one in green. I think that’s the one the local council sent over and required to be put up, though I’m not completely sure.

The house faces a side street, Queens Crescent, not the main road, Prince of Wales Road. Out here there’s a line of parking spaces, and those are for permanent owners only, Monday to Friday, from 8:30 in the morning until 6:30 in the evening. Across from the house, there are these beautiful independent houses in different colors, almost like Notting Hill, but not quite. Honestly, I think it’s prettier. A really nice blend of paint and bricks.

Turning back to the house, I’m looking at the windows. The frames are white, and I’d say most of them are covered with curtains, with just a few that use blinds. The brickwork has a bit of a pattern, the arrangement creates these geometric shapes. The base color is gray, some with a slight red tint, and then around the windows they’ve used red bricks as accents. I can see some flats comes with a balcony, in total maybe 12 of them.

There are five benches in front of the main gate, and three little oases with these beautiful big old trees. And then, on the right-hand side of one of the oases, there’s what might be the most hilarious sculpture, or installation… I’m not sure. Looking at it, it seems like there’s a turtle, and then… some kind of cute, unknown creatures. Yes, that’s what I’m going to call them: Unknown Creatures.

Now I start walking along the outside of the council house, heading into Marsden Street, where my flat is. This street is stunning, with lots of trees, and it’s kind of reminiscent of the main road in Regent’s Park. At this time of year, autumn, the street is covered with orange fallen leaves, and it’s just romantic. Here we have another gate, again with the metal letter sign that says Penshurst. On this end of the house, there are no balconies.

Getting to this alleyway between Penshurst and another council house called Burmarsh. My kitchen faces this side, since we’re in the corner flat. This alleyway has a circular car way to the Burmarch basement, and a church that is now occupied by Camden art projects. Halfway down the alleyway, on the right, you see the car gates for Penshurst, and then the alley opens up into a fire access route.

Turning right, I’m on the big road, Prince of Wales Road. And… there’s a lot of dog shit. It’s weird that British people don’t pick up their shit most of the time. Even though this side faces the main road, it seems like it’s the least maintained side of the house. The bushes here are tall enough to cover the ground-floor flats. And in the middle, there’s another side gate, also with the metal letter sign of Penshurst.

---

week 2: Iteration of the three explored experiments and one further developed investigation

• method 1

Doors
Investigation Through Observation of the Doors

• method 2

Crowd Activities
Field Observation of Crowd Activities at Different Time Points

• method 3

Around the Block
Transcript: Describing Penshurst

Transcript : Around the Block at Penshurst

Now I’m here at the front gate of the council house I live in. The house is called Penshurst, but in our flat we call it PenisHurts. It is funnier, and honestly it just fits the personality of us better. Just the nickname, and somehow it stuck.

At the front door there are two signs. One, I think, comes with the council house, it’s a metal letter sign that spells out P-E-N-S-H-U-R-S-T. Then there’s another one in green. I think that’s the one the local council sent over and required to be put up, though I’m not completely sure.

The house faces a side street, Queens Crescent, not the main road, Prince of Wales Road. Out here there’s a line of parking spaces, and those are for permanent owners only, Monday to Friday, from 8:30 in the morning until 6:30 in the evening. Across from the house on the right hand side, there are these beautiful independent houses in different colors, almost like Notting Hill, but not quite. To me, it is even prettier, a mix of paint and brick that feels less polished and more real. On the left hand side, there is another council house called Silverbirch Walk. It has beautiful wooden frame windows, but the bricks feel low maintenance, almost neglected. The whole building looks like a moody gingerbread house.

Turning back to the house, I’m looking at the windows. The frames are white, and I’d say most of them are covered with curtains, with just a few that use blinds. The brickwork has a bit of a pattern, the arrangement creates these geometric shapes. The base color is gray, some with a slight red tint, and then around the windows they’ve used red bricks as accents. I can see some flats comes with a balcony, in total maybe 12 of them. Most of the balconies are dressed with plant pots, some even with little elves sitting next to them. It is as if these elves are keeping an eye on the flats, maybe even helping their owners with the laundry. Lazy but lucky.

There are five benches in front of the main gate, and three little oases with these beautiful big old trees. And then, on the right-hand side of one of the oases, there’s what might be the most hilarious sculpture, or installation… I’m not sure. Looking at it, it seems like there’s a turtle, and then… some kind of cute, unknown creatures. Yes, that’s what I’m going to call them: Unknown Creatures. Somehow these creatures give the place a magical air, as if they gather the youth here to talk about their great dreams—or maybe just to daydream.

Now I start walking along the outside of the council house, heading into Marsden Street, where my flat is. This street is stunning, with lots of trees, and it’s kind of reminiscent of the main road in Regent’s Park. At this time of year, autumn, the street is covered with orange fallen leaves, and it’s just romantic. Here we have another gate, again with the metal letter sign that says Penshurst. Unfortunately, the third bin room of the council house is tucked right next to the door. It feels like bad feng shui, the kind of detail that ruins the entrance. On this end of the house there are no balconies for the elves to sunbathe, but at the corner stands a crooked tree that adds its own touch of whimsy.

Getting to this alleyway between Penshurst and another council house called Burmarsh. My kitchen faces this side, since we’re in the corner flat. This alleyway has a circular car way to the Burmarch basement, and a church that is now occupied by Camden art projects. Halfway down on the right, there is a temporary station I still have not figured out. It looks like a builders’ office, yet there is no construction happening around here. Right after it comes the main bin room, then the car gates for Penshurst, before the alley opens into a fire access route. On this side, between the house and the fire lane, there is a wide stretch of grassland. It is completely fenced in, with no entrance from the house. A shame really, such a waste of space.

Turning right, I’m on the big road, Prince of Wales Road. And… there’s a lot of dog shit. It’s such a bad habit that people here don’t pick up their shit most of the time. Even though this side faces the main road, it seems like it’s the least maintained side of the house. The bushes here are tall enough to cover the ground-floor flats. And in the middle, there’s another side gate, also with the metal letter sign of Penshurst. Right here, a bus stop waits, one that takes you straight down to Kentish Town and all the way to King’s Cross. Walk a little further to the corner, and you find the communal bike parking area. If you are athletic enough, your bike can take you just about anywhere in the UK.

• method 4

Environment
Quiet Documentation Filming

For my first brief on methods of investigation, I have chosen to focus on Penshurst, a council housing estate, due to both personal and conceptual interests.

On a personal level, I currently live in this council house, which has provided me with first-hand experience of its architecture, atmosphere, and the everyday realities of communal living.

Beyond that, I am drawn to the original ideology behind council housing — the belief that good design and thoughtful planning could provide dignity, comfort, and a sense of belonging for all, regardless of income.

However, the introduction of the “Right to Buy” policy in 1980 under Margaret Thatcher reshaped the UK’s housing landscape, prompting questions about what becomes of these homes once their ownership and purpose begin to shift.

Through this investigation, I aim to examine whether these founding ideals are reflected in Penshurst’s design, and how policy and the passage of time have transformed the lives and experiences of its residents today.

Initial photographic documentation of Penshurst, a council housing estate: