The period from the beginning of the industrial revolution through to the early 20th century is fascinating for the way in which architects and engineers were able to successfully adopt novel building methods, typologies, technologies, and above all materials - cast and wrought iron and later steel, Portland cement and reinforced concrete, and large panes of glass - into their buildings. But because they integrated these elements seamlessly into the unbroken lineage of traditional and even classical design idioms, rather than employ them in ‘radical’ ‘innovative’ and ‘challenging’ design ‘approaches’ as would be expected today, this long, fecund period has been somewhat memory-holed. Though it fits well into the history of building technology, in ideological terms it is on the wrong side of ‘year zero’ (whenever you define that to be) and it sits uneasily with the dominant contemporary narrative - that the current moment is somehow ordained; that the Modern is superior to the traditional and even represents a kind of ascent to a higher plane; that the break with and ‘leaving behind’ of the traditional was somehow inevitable and even morally necessary; that technological progress must necessarily go hand-in-hand with Progress as ideology, Progress in Theory and Progress in aesthetics; and that progress in such things is even possible.

Rather than be disheartened by the decoupling of material technology from traditional design, however, we should instead view the achievements of this period as a cause for optimism- after all, if it was done once, why shouldn’t it be done again?

Over recent years, the idea has taken hold among architects and planning authorities alike that building facades need to display ‘modulation,’ ‘articulation,’ and ‘a variety of materials and colours’. The state of New South Wales seems particularly intrusive in this, going so far as to promote and even mandate these notions in its planning schemes. The Hornsby Development Control Plan 2013, for example, contains the following provisions for the street facades of medium density housing developments (basically townhouses and the like):

Articulation should be achieved by dividing all facades into vertical panels. Wall planes should not exceed 6 metres in length without an offset of at least 1 metre and a corresponding change in roof form.
Buildings should include structural elements such as sunshades, balconies and verandahs that provide variety in the built form.
Facades should incorporate a mix of compatible materials such as face or rendered brickwork and contrasting areas of light weight cladding.
Sunscreens and awnings comprised of timber battens or metal frames are encouraged.

It seems that what is being attempted, albeit in a crude and inchoate way, is the reintroduction of some degree of fractal scaling into the streetscape, although it is highly unlikely that the authors of the planning scheme would have described it in these terms. Rather, town planners probably perceived a need to respond to a creeping featurelessness or blandness of the modern developer-driven ‘builder’s vernacular’ without at the same time going to the other extreme of giving free reign to local architects with pretensions of ‘genius’ along the lines of a Gehry or Hadid. The problem they are faced with, probably insurmountable, is how to reconcile these two aims - the avoidance of ‘monotony’ on the one hand, and the imposition of ‘order’ on the other - within the framework of a modern architectural orthodoxy that regards them as contradictory and antithetical.

Traditional design, which is essentially self-regulating, had solved the uniformity/monotony - variety/chaos problem before it even arose. Traditionally, streetscapes displayed a stylistic and material uniformity and harmony within each building, and a degree of variety across different buildings, but each still bound by the constraints of traditional design and materials; today, on the other hand, we have chaotic variety within each building, and a kind of monotonous but equally chaotic sameness across buildings.

The traditional architect had no problem with a long, ‘flat’ facade plane completely lacking in ‘offsets,’ because he knew he could easily avoid a monotonous or oppressive appearance by effectively articulating it on both a wider and a finer range of scales than is typically seen today - that is, by the use of pilasters, string courses, cornices, window sashes with small panes set in muntins and deep window reveals in thick walls, a variety of brick bonds, material textures, and so on. Steps in and out in the facade are typically on the order of centimetres, not metres. Today we start with a flat facade, consisting of flat window frames set close to flush in a flat wall surface made up of flat panels of flat industrial metal and flat industrial brick, and grossly overcompensate by insisting that this facade be arbitrarily stepped in and out by metres, and that materials, colours, roof pitches, etc. be varied equally arbitrarily and randomly, with the aim of somehow providing ‘interest’. Predictably, the result this is that every duplex or townhouse development is essentially indistinguishable from any other: dutiful use of ‘a variety of materials and colours,’ thick square or three-sided ‘picture frames’ of alucobond or fibre cement around balcony openings and garage doors, upper levels cantilevered out over brick lower levels, glass balustrades, and random skillions.

A particular modern favourite is to use two or more different brick colours in large ‘panels’ in a facade. Look at any old brick building, in contrast, and you will rarely find more than one brick colour used; where you do, there is a clear dominant or ‘ground’ brick colour, and the other is the ‘figure’ employed to pick out highlights at corners, around windows, and so on. The variety is in the service of expressing a structural or functional differentiation. It was understood that buildings need to project a sense of visual unity.