Down and Online in Amsterdam Zuidoost
A Qualitative Investigation Into the Role of Online Public Participation Platform’s
in the Redevelopment of the Amstel III Office District
Student Number: 11377542 Program: Sociology (MsC)
Track: Urban Date: 10th July 2017
Place of Submission: Roeterseiland Campus, Amsterdam
Abstract
Platform technology is becoming more ubiquitous in contemporary society, as is the infusing of data and sensing technology into the urban fabric. This is a defining characteristic of the ‘smart city’, a concept pursued by the European Union, nation states and individual municipalities; notably, the municipality of Amsterdam. This thesis intends to understand the implementation of smart city technology on a local, social scale by investigating the role of online public participation platforms in the redevelopment of the Amstel III office district in Amsterdam Zuidoost. This research was carried out by studying the new technology of the ZO! City platform, a project based upon an interactive online map of Amstel III - known as the ‘interactive urban dashboard’ - where individuals can participate in the area’s redevelopment by proposing crowdfunded redevelopment projects. Alongside the study of the dashboard, this project engaged in qualitative analysis, through in depth observation, of the office district in order to compare the online representation of the space to it in reality. To further understand the role of public participation platforms in the Amstel III redevelopment, this project carried out two case studies, one based on participant observation and interviewing members of a local community garden based in Amstel III and secondly an analysis of a soon to begin building of a large scale student housing/public space development carried out through interviews and visual analysis of a concept handbook of the development. These studies highlighted that platform technology is a key component of the Amstel III redevelopment - formerly via the essential use of Facebook and latterly through the connection of diffuse redevelopment stakeholders enabled with platform technology - yet, the ZO! City interactive urban dashboard did not feature as a main component of the redevelopment. This project identifies three reasons for this - an absence of participation monopoly, lack of essentiality and through its infrastructure, poor usability. This project concludes by looking towards the future of the ZO! City interactive urban dashboard and ruminating on its potential uses as it develops, whilst also recommending that for platforms such as the ZO! City dashboard to be successful, they need to be an essential component to fulfil their intended function.
Contents
Acknowledgements
p3
Introduction
p5 - Methodology p6
Literature Review
- Smart Urbanism p8 - Platforms p11- Urban Planning Participation in the Netherlands p13
- Participation on the ZO! City Online Dashboard p19
- Conclusion p21
The Amstel III Office District: Online and Offline
A Building or a Blank Canvas? The ZO! City Online Interactive Urban Dashboard p22
- The Use of Colour on the ZO! City Dashboard p25
- Henri Lefebvre and the Dashboard p27
Where the Atypical Shall be Typical: The Amstel III Office District p31
- The Courtyard et al: Confined and Private Space p32
- Amongst the Office Buildings p34
- A Space of Reflection p36
- Conclusion p38
The Green Shoots of Transformation
Sowing Seeds in Sand: Ubuntu Stadstuin p39
- The Role of the Municipality p41
- Ubuntu Stadstuin and the redevelopment of Amstel III p43
- Participation at the Garden p44
- The Online Ubuntu Stadstuin Garden p48
- ZO! City and Ubuntu Stadstuin p53
The Anatomy of a Catalyst: The Community Campus Amsterdam p56
- The Redevelopment p57
- The Community Campus Amsterdam: Built Environment p59
- “They Call it a Social Community”: Public Space at the Community Campus p60
- Public Park at Amstel III p63
- Public Participation p65
- Conclusion p67
A Platform for the Future?
p69
Conclusion
p71Endnotes p76
Bibliography p79
Image Bibliography p83
Acknowledgements
It is no underestimation to say that I have worked harder on this thesis than I have any other project. It has been a great challenge. A challenge which has only been accomplishable with the support of many people. Firstly, to those who agreed to be interviewed for this project, I am incredibly thankful, for without your kindness and cooperation this project would not have existed. Secondly, Dr Adeola Enigbokan has been a fantastic supervisor for myself, as well as Elli and Elisa. Thirdly I wish to thank JPI Urban Europe, specifically Dr Colette Bos, who offered me the amazing opportunity of working on this project with them, as well as the chance to participate in their conference in Brussels, which was an incredible experience. Also I have to thank the incredible friends I have made here, but especially Elli and Darren, who have been incredible people to get to know (over numerous coffee’s and unfathomable quantities of small beers of course). Finally I have to thank my mum and dad, who despite being in the U.K, have been a great deal of support.
Introduction
With the importance of ‘smart growth’ emphasised in “the EU’s growth strategy for this decade” (Europe 2020, 2016), smart technology is becoming a common feature in European cities. Amsterdam, ranked highest in the EU for the implementation of smart urbanism (Manville et al 2014, p71), is a city “with a large number of [smart] initiatives, each covering a variety of characteristics” (ibid, p75), in order to help achieve the city’s own sustainability targets (See: Structural Vision Amsterdam 2040, 2013). One of these targets is the transformation of “various mono-functional business parks [...] into areas with an urban mix of residential and business functions” (ibid). An example of such transformation is ‘ZO! City’ at the Amstel III office district in Amsterdam Zuidoost (Southeast). ZO! City is a digital platform which intends to encourage both companies and individuals to propose projects, from landscape transformation to sports facilities, via an online ‘interactive urban dashboard’ where interested individuals are able to view an interactive map with information and data concerning potential projects and spaces in the area; reaffirming this motive by stating that “urban development is not something exclusive for the government and developers anymore, but for everybody” (ZO! City, 2017).
However a number of questions are raised which makes the area an interesting place to study. Firstly, why has a project such as this been started and how useful is a platform in facilitating the intended spatial transformation in Amstel III? Secondly, does the platform replace, or change notions of public participation? Thirdly, how does the ZO! City online dashboard, portray the Amstel III office district? Thinking through these questions and issues has led this project to investigate following: what is the role of public participation platforms in the redevelopment of the Amstel III office district?
These questions will be answered through in depth investigation into two prominent projects in Amstel III. Firstly this project will look into the Ubuntu Stadstuin community garden, located at the southernmost section of the office district. The garden is premised upon notions of ‘permaculture’, “the conscious design and maintenance of agriculturally productive ecosystems which have the diversity, stability, and resilience of natural ecosystems” (Mollison, 2002, p ix) and, according to a respondent for this project, the “empowering” capability of people growing
their own food. The garden stands out against its surroundings of office buildings and neat hedgerows and shows an example of the office district moving beyond its mono-functional usage.
Secondly, the first large scale regeneration project to take place in Amstel III will also be investigated. This is the Community Campus Amsterdam, a ‘public-private’ development soon to begin, between the municipality and two real estate firms. When complete it will be comprised of 950 student dwellings (to facilitate the nearby University of Amsterdam Academisch Medisch Centrum (AMC) hospital) and 450 apartments for the general public, as well as spaces for startup businesses. The Community Campus was investigated through analysing a design book for the build, which was supplied by a representative of the municipality who was interviewed for this project as well as attendance at a public demonstration of the project. This was included to highlight the differing approaches to urban transformation and to highlight both how public participation is fostered through this project and the role of ZO! City in its completion.
This thesis begins with a chapter concerning the background information necessary to answering the above questions. This commences with a literature review of smart urbanism by highlighting the diffuse and broad scope of the concept through the interpretation and comparison of the different definitions of smart urbanism in the academic literature. Leading on from this investigation will be a brief application of theoretical literature concerning platforms to the ZO! City platform. Thirdly the history of public participation in urban development in the Netherlands will be unpacked in order to portray the different means of participation as well as how it is changing and developing. This, along with a demonstration of the public participation element of the ZO! City ‘interactive urban dashboard’.
The second chapter consists of a comparison between the ZO! City online ‘interactive urban dashboard’ and the Amstel III office district in its physical reality. The ZO! City dashboard represents the office district as an interactive map, where individuals can place their own crowdfunded project ideas and click on spatial representations of buildings and public spaces to obtain information about them. The sociological understanding of the dashboard is interpreted
through French philosopher Henri Lefebvre’s ‘spatial triad’ of ‘perceived, conceived and lived space’ (Lefebvre, 1991, p39).
After the dashboard is covered, the second section of this chapter concerns the Amstel III office district. Data for this analysis has been obtained through systematic and in depth observations of the space, with a subsequent entwinement of theory and literature spanning from the art work of Giorgio de Chirico to the seminal sociological works The Fall of Public Man by Richard Sennett and Michel Foucault’s Discipline & Punish. This is to represent in as concise a manner as possible the experience of those who use the Amstel III district and how the environment physically appears in order to compare and contrast the online representation of Amstel III with it in real life. The third chapter revolves around the two aforementioned case studies of the Ubuntu Stadstuin community garden and the Community Campus Amsterdam, before moving into the concluding chapter which begins with a look to the future of the ZO! City platform before a discussion of findings and conclusion.
Methodology
An overriding aspect of this project is to highlight the ways in which the theoretical idea of the smart city influences physical urban reality, which explains the rationale for this project to investigate the ZO! City platform. To understand the role of the platform in Amstel III, this project draws upon the data gathered through qualitative methods. Specifically the use of participant observations and the interviewing of those involved with the two case studies and the ZO! City platform. Participant observation - “the process of learning through exposure to or involvement in the day-to-day or routine activities of participants in the research setting (Hennink et al, 2015, p179) - was used at the Ubuntu Stadstuin garden, in order to gain a nuanced and detailed understanding of how the ZO! City platform functions beyond its own boundaries, how individuals use and interact with it in order to understand its role in the Amstel III redevelopment. To obtain the ‘emic’ - or the ‘insider’s’ point of view (ibid, p18) - participant observation was the only course of action.
Whilst carrying out participant observations, potential interview participants were asked whether they would like to participate in this project by conducting an interview. These interviews were
recorded and took place on site in order to obtain further understanding of the role of the ZO! City platform in Amstel III and to build upon my own observations. The interviews concerning the ZO! City platform and the Community Campus Amsterdam both took place at a cafe of the respondent’s choice and were also recorded.
Literature Review
Smart Urbanism
Emine Mine-Thompson (2016), states that “outside academia, the general ‘smart’ concept [has become] a generic term fused with data collection, sensors and various monitoring technologies, big data and the IoT” (p358) (Internet of Things: See Rathore et al, 2016, p64). However, for sociological purposes, the smart urbanism concept is not just about smartness ‘jumping scales’ (Harvey, 2012, p69) from the TV to the city, for instance; there is an inherent human element too. Additionally, there are a range of infrastructure-focused definitions of when a city becomes smart, such as when
the use of ICT [makes] the critical infrastructure components and services of a city – which include city administration, education, healthcare, public safety, real estate, transportation, and utilities – more intelligent, interconnected, and efficient (Manville et al, 2014, p22)
While this definition works to describe the physical dimension of smart urbanism, as well as its intended positive outcomes, it clearly doesn’t cover the social ramifications of such a melding of technology and infrastructure. Ezra Ho’s (2016) claim that “on a basic level, a smart city is characterised by the extensive and systematic incorporation of digital networked technologies across the urban landscape and population” (p2), tracks a similar path to the the above indented quotation. Yet by including the human actor in the frame, the latter definition serves this project better. Concilio et al (2013) advance the importance of the human actor in the smart city further by propagating the ‘human smart city’, stating that beyond the above definitions of smart urbanism, “the notion of empowerment of citizens and ‘democratized innovation’ should be added” (p270). This results in a focus upon the “‘softer’ features of ‘smartness’ such as clarity of vision, citizen empowerment [and] participation” (ibid, p271).
Yet, there is another school of interpretation, one which revolves around the economic concerns of smart urbanism (See: Angelidou, 2014, p53 & Batty et al, 2013, p486), with Rob Kitchen asserting that “a smart city is one whose economy is increasingly driven by technically inspired
innovation, creativity and entrepreneurship, enacted by smart people” (Kitchen, 2015, p131). He further elaborates by claiming that
It is posited that smart policies and judicious investment in appropriate fiscal measures, human capital and technological infrastructures and programmes will attract businesses and jobs, create efficiencies and savings and raise the productivity and competitiveness of government and businesses (ibid)
This forms the rubric of smart urban intervention at the policy level. Words such as “efficiency, effectiveness or competitiveness [...] appear to be very popular in smart city literature and marketing materials” (Thomas et al, 2016, p5) - a prescient example of this rhetoric lies within the reportage and scope of the European Union (EU). The EU is investing heavily in smart urban technology to reach its own self-imposed sustainability goals.
Andrea Caragliu (in Thomas et al, 2016) promotes the notion that a city is ‘smart’ “when investments and human and social capital and traditional ICT infrastructure fuel a sustainable
economic growth and a high quality of life, with wise management of natural resources” (p2:
emphasis added). Sustainable and economic growth is the cornerstone of ‘The Europe 2020 strategy’, where climate change features heavily, with “the EU [aiming] to reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 20% (or even 30%) compared to 1990 levels, and [aiming] to get 20% of its energy from renewable energy sources and increase energy efficiency by 20%” (Europe 2020, 2016). A considerable part of the Europe 2020 strategy, 3 of 7 ‘flagship initiatives’ (ibid), is the promotion of ‘smart growth’ and the ideal of a ‘digital society’ (ibid). The digital society is premised upon the notion that “ICT can improve energy efficiency and reduce energy use in our homes as well as in factories, shops and offices” (EU Smart Living, 2016).
The ‘digital society’ (ibid) sits within the EU’s broader ‘strategic energy technology plan’ (SET-Plan), which, “by 2050, [...] intends to slash [the EU’s] greenhouse gas emissions by 60% to 80%” (SET-Plan, no date, p3). To achieve such a large cut-back in emissions, the EU’s plan is to “bring the next generation of renewable energy technologies to market competitiveness” (ibid, p5) whilst also striving to “achieve a breakthrough in the cost-efficiency of energy storage technologies” (ibid). What this analysis of European Union directives shows is a portrayal of the
rhetoric bound up in the utilization of the ‘smart’ concept. The EU can also provide up to 12 million euros of funding to municipalities and cities which install smart urban programs. [1] There is a financial incentive for a municipality to invest in smart urban technology, yet, how is greater sustainability achieved in a smart city?
A key feature in the search for increased sustainability via smart urbanism is the involvement of the citizenry feeding back information into central data sets. This practice is a “primary way in which sustainability is to be achieved within smart cities [...] through more efficient processes and responsive urban citizens participating in computational sensing and monitoring practices” (Gabrys, 2014, p32). Batty et al, interpret such participation as positive, viewing the development of “technologies that ensure informed participation and create shared knowledge for democratic city governance” (Batty et al, 2012, p481) as a challenge for the successful implementation of smart urbanism.
The increased level of participation in the urban environment may change what it means to be a citizen (Gabrys, 2014, p30). For increased sustainability, “monitoring behavior and generating data is the basis for making sound decisions to advance everyday sustainable practices” (ibid, p41), yet, “in order for these schemes to function, urban citizens need to play their part, whether by partaking in transport systems or by generating energy through their continual movement within urban environments” (ibid). This ‘citizen sensing’, means that
Urban citizenship is remade through these environmental technologies, which mobilize urban citizens as operatives within the processing of urban environmental data; citizen activities become extensions and expressions of informationalized and efficient material–political practices. (ibid)
However, in juxtaposition to Batty et al’s (2014) optimism, participation is not necessarily open to all. For instance the “extension of ICTs are far from being socially, geographically or culturally neutral” (Graham, 2001, p53). Vanolo applies this lack of technical neutrality to the smart city by proclaiming that “the citizens that are expected to live in a smart city are supposed to be rather homogeneous: s/he is digitally educated, s/he possesses a smartphone and a pc, s/he constantly generates data and feedback about everything in her/his daily life” (Vanolo, 2016,
p34). If this is to be the case, “non-digital citizens have apparently little room and a limited voice in the city of the future” (ibid).
Whilst the general level of internet usage in the Netherlands is high, questions still remain over whether those who are not ‘smart citizens’ - individuals “well equipped with tools, skills and organizational formats” (Niederer & Priester, 2016, p138) [2] - will be able to actively participate. Also, the smart city has ideological undertones, associated with “the agenda of emerging liberal-progressive political groups [who] employ discourses of civic entrepreneurialism and smart growth” (Savini & Dembski, 2016, p140: See also: Marres, 2012, p68). Thus, are those who participate in smart urban projects all of the same ideological makeup? Is everybody, in this case, solely made up of an IT literate, liberal-progressive persuasion?
Through the implementation of smart urbanity via the use of an online platform, the ZO! City interactive dashboard appears to “[facilitate] a mode of participation that requires only a minimum of effort” (Marres, 2012, p74), a form of what Niederer & Priester (2016) deem ‘lightweight means of participation’ (p139). However, before delving into participation on platforms, it is of importance to situate the ZO! City platform in relevant literature to understand just what a platform is.
Platforms
The word platform has many different uses across the spectrum of the English language, where it spans the ‘computational’, ‘architectural’, ‘figurative’ and ‘political’ realms (Gillespie, 2014, p349-50). [1] Platform businesses have become a central component of the contemporary economy, according to Nick Srnicek’s Platform Capitalism (2017), “numerous companies incorporate platforms: powerful technology companies (Google, Facebook and Amazon), dynamic start-ups (Uber, Airbnb), industrial leaders (GE, Siemens) and agricultural powerhouses (John Deere, Monsanto)” (p43) to name a few. Yet, what is a platform?
In the broadest of terms a platform is a “digital infrastructure where two or more groups interact. They therefore position themselves as intermediaries that bring together different users” (Srnicek, 2017, p43). ZO! City does not take part in the transformation of space in Amstel III by
physically altering things, but they play a part, according to Saskia Beer - the project manager and creator of the ZO! City dashboard - as a mediator who are “exactly between bottom-up and top-down. So on the one hand, we connect citizens and businesses and different stakeholders and local initiatives, whatever things to do with each other, also to the municipality and to the railroad company or to the water company, whatever is going on in the area”. This interview extract shows the positioning of a platform as ‘between’ entities, which ‘connect’ different users, something which Saskia views as an essential characteristic in fostering the redevelopment of Amstel III
We needed a digital platform because it became way too complex and we became the spider in the web, and the whole network that we built became in a way, just as fragile and not as resilient as the original one, even though our community was larger, we were in the middle
According to the extract above, the complexity inherent in Amstel III, with the diffuse ranges of stakeholders involved, makes a platform an essential and efficient means to manage the redevelopment. Srnicek argues that platforms have four ‘essential characteristics’. Firstly, as alluded to above, they provide “the basic infrastructure to mediate between different groups” (ibid, p44). Secondly, platforms “produce and are reliant on ‘network effects’” (ibid, p45). Network effects are “the more numerous the users who use a platform, the more valuable that platform becomes for everyone else” (ibid) - i.e. people use Facebook, for instance, rather than alternative social media platforms because the majority of those who use social media use Facebook. [2] For ZO! City, the more people use the platform, the more useful it becomes as a means to connect people.
Thirdly, “platforms often use cross-subsidisation: one arm of the firm reduces the price of a service or good (even providing it for free), but another arm raises prices in order to make up for these losses” (ibid, p46). ZO! City has a number of companies and governmental organizations signed up to be a part of their ‘community’, [3] with according to Saskia, each of these actors paying a subscription to the platform, yet on the other hand, for the public to sign up and participate on the platform is free. This is to “ensure that more and more users come on board” (ibid) in order to broaden the network effect, thus to improve the platform. Finally, “platforms
are designed in a way that makes them attractive to its various users” (ibid). Despite platforms “presenting themselves as empty spaces [...] the rules of product and service development, as well as marketplace interactions, are set by the platform owner” (ibid, p47). For instance, for an individual to propose a project idea for the regeneration of Amstel III, vis-a-vis ZO! City, the platform needs to accept the project, therefore acting as judge and jury. An individual can propose what they like, but there are rules to what will go through. [4]
These four characteristics each sum up a component of the ZO! City platform. The purpose of this section has been to briefly position in and explain the ZO! City platform with relevant literature concerning the rise of platform technology. The following section will be concerned with public participation in the Netherlands by focusing upon how it has changed in the last 50 years, how new policy may prompt change in how participation is carried out, how smart technology can facilitate participation.
Urban Planning Participation in the Netherlands
From the 1990’s onwards, the notion of public participation in the urban planning process “has been promoted as a necessary component of public service delivery at [the] local level” (Docherty et al, 2001, p2226). Notions of post-war public participation revolved around what Hajer and Zonneveld term ‘end of pipe’ forms of participation (Hajer and Zonneveld, 2000, p351). This is in reference to the rigid hierarchies of top-down forms of interaction between state/municipality and resident (See: Hajer, 2003), where the public is viewed as recipients of a plan, with “politicians [complaining] about the ‘hinder power’ of public participation” (ibid). An example of this can be found in the history of Amsterdam’s famous Jordaan district.
Today the Jordaan is a popular, although expensive district of Amsterdam. [1] However in the 1970’s the housing stock was “cheap and crowded and rents [were] low. Many of the houses [were] in poor structural condition and over the years some have been demolished leaving rubbish-strewn gap sites” (Hague & McCourt, 1974, p146). However, the Jordaan has always been characterised by a sense of ‘liveliness’. According to Hague and McCourt, this essence of liveliness, “derives from a heterogeneous mixture of people living and working together, people who need to be there financially, or because of its central location-low-income residents, traders
and small businessmen” (ibid, p147). Yet in 1969, the municipality of Amsterdam proposed an unpopular redevelopment of the Jordaan.[2] Herein lies “what might well be regarded as classic ingredients for conflict between the city authorities on one hand and the residents, or individuals and groups with interests in the area, on the other” (ibid, p148).
Subsequently, the municipality produced a document favourably outlining the proposed regeneration of the Jordaan. Despite a diverse response from the local population, “the general tenor was undoubtedly antagonistic, and within a few months a number of action groups had formed in the area to protest against the plan” (ibid). [3] The antagonistic dialogue between the municipality and the ‘Jordaaners’ would take place at large scale public meetings and discussion groups, where upwards of 300 residents would attend (ibid, p149). However, those who took part in the discussion groups “found it almost impossible to criticise the plan without also criticising the scope for participation which they had been allowed” (ibid). [4] Ultimately after much wrangling and opposition, a new municipal council was elected in 1970 and the project was scrapped. What this historical example shows is that there was a “clear rejection by the activists of the idea that the municipality should define the problems, decide on a solution and then invite the inhabitants to participate in approving that solution” (ibid, p150).
Hajer and Zonneveld (2000) have argued that the “Dutch system of spatial planning needs to be rethought in order to remain effective and legitimate” (p351). This requires a rejuvenation of planning practice (ibid), which will “require a different approach than ‘end of pipe’ public participation” (ibid, 350) via “a new generation of intermediary practices that do not only allow for the public to have its say (as in the participatory practices) but approach the variety of ‘stakeholders’ as knowledgeable actors in the plan making process” (ibid, p350).
In the years that followed, participation in the Dutch planning process changed. The example concerning the Jordaan above is characterised by the heavy ‘top-down’ (the imposition of a plan by an authority) approach to urban planning, with the municipality believing that the area needed renovating and the citizens should be consulted, but their local knowledge and nuanced insight was not used as an integral aspect of the intended change. Yet, the approach to the interaction between policy and polity shifted during the late 1970’s and into the 80’s. University of Utrecht
political scientist, Maarten Hajer, states that “the constitutional rules of the well-established classical-modernist polities do not tell us about the new rules of the game” (Hajer, 2003, p176).
The game here is the interaction between policy makers and how the public is consulted. Hajer observes a shift from ‘classical-modernist’ forms of governance - “representative democracy, a differentiation between politics and bureaucracy, the commitment to ministerial responsibility and the idea that policy making should be based on expert knowledge” (ibid) - to ‘new political spaces’, that “the ensemble of mostly unstable practices that emerge in the struggle to address problems that the established institutions are, for a variety of reasons unable to resolve” (ibid). The classical-modernist institutions are unable to address the issues of contemporary society alone, “that the ongoing modernisation of society, with its double features of globalisation on the one hand and individualisation on the other, erodes the self-evidence of the classical-modernist institutions as the locus of politics” (ibid, p176). This creates an ‘institutional void’ (ibid, p175) where the previous rigid rules of participation have dissolved. The above example from the 1970’s highlights the rigidity of classical-modernist institutions, where the municipality would solely carry spatial renovation. In the case of the Amstel III redevelopment which this project revolves around, the opposite is apparent.
The ideal of blanket participation, “regardless whether you are a big company or an individual” (ZO! City, 2017) is an apparent cornerstone of the ZO! City transformation. According to Saskia Beer, this intended equality is achieved by each project, regardless of who initiates it, receiving
the same; they get a same sized pin, and every idea gets the same attention, in the sense that we on the website, but also on the social media and the newsletters that these ideas and projects are shared with the community, and they are shared based on the content of the idea and of course it is visible who comes up with the idea because you see the project owner, so if you have a question you can connect with this person
The ability for an individual to propose a project in the area entails direct participation in urban planning, in juxtaposition to the Jordaan example. Korthals-Altes (2016) has written about the new integrated Environment and Planning Act (Omgevingswet) which will abolish “local land-use plans and [replace] them with a system of by-laws” (p420). This intended policy shift
included ‘the concept of planning-by-invitation’, which “can also be described as ‘planning by request for proposals’, which implies that the authorities would still retain a crucial role in evaluating the proposals brought forward by societal actors when current land uses are changed” (Korthals Altes, 2016, p428). Essentially, the municipality would issue a policy and interested parties would apply to facilitate it. ZO! City fits this notion perfectly as “planning-by-invitation [which] involves the organic development of areas and locations, i.e. with no precisely defined blueprint, but with a preferred development direction based on a vision for the area” (ibid, p429) - the municipality has a ‘vision’ for Amsterdam Zuidoost, “does not dictate a plan, but invites other players to put their ideas forward” (ibid). This is the case with the ZO! City project.
Another facet of the Omgevingswet, according to the ‘Digital Government’ website of the Dutch House of Representatives, is the centrality of data collection. For
municipalities [will] digitize their products and services and explore the possibilities of big data. By linking data sets and analyzing them with innovative tools, municipalities can get new insights. Insights that may help solve social issues (Digitale Overheid, 2017)
According to Saskia Beer “with the Omgevingswet there will be a lot of data, a lot of information, enclosed digitally and we are aiming to be the local, sort of the last local interface where all these data can be implemented, both either on list views or on maps”. The ZO! City platform is, therefore a portal to accessing the reams of information coming from the municipality, [5] one which allows participation in the analysis of statistics concerning the Amstel III district. However how is this data utilized by public actors?
A currently popular method of interpreting the urban realm alongside the utilization of ‘smart’ city systems whilst fostering public participation is the ‘urban living lab’, [6] a concept “which is considered as a user-centred, open-innovation ecosystem” (Nevens et al, 2013, p115). Living labs “operate in a territorial context (e.g. city, agglomeration, region) where they integrate concurrent research and innovation processes [...] within a public-private-people partnership [where] user communities [participate] not only as observed subjects or stakeholders that are enabled to have a say in the matters, but also as a source of creation” (ibid). This correlates with
Hajer and Zonneveld’s (2000) aforementioned call for “a new generation of intermediary practices” (p350).
An example of a living lab in Amsterdam is the aptly named ‘Amsterdam Smart Citizens Lab’ (ASCL). [7] The ASCL project revolved around notions of ‘citizen science’, [8] which according to the lab itself:
could be considered a form of social innovation, or strategies, concepts, products and services that meet the greater needs of society while generating social capital by fostering new relationships and collaborations between scientists, designers and everyday people that would otherwise not occur (Henriquez, no date, p21)
This entwinement of local knowledge and scientific expertise would focus on environmental urban phenomena [9] which could be sensed “with an out-of-the-box, low cost, sensor kit” (ibid, p24) which was built by volunteers at the project’s base: the Waag building at Nieuwmarkt, Centraal Amsterdam. This location served an intended double function. It was not only a physical fulcrum point from which the project could run, but
along with the goals of increasing technological proficiency and creating greater community awareness of urban environmental issues, it was hoped that the workshop would function as an inclusive design space where citizens could organize around urban issues they care about, propose meaningful solutions, and create a fruitful interplay between citizens, researchers and policy makers that would translate the will of the community into progressive public policy. (ibid)
The space was essentially a physical platform, where citizens, experts, policy makers for example could meet. As stated in the above quotation, the ultimate intention of the lab was to obtain useful information concerning the local population and apply it to future policy. Yet, a problem persisted in the lab which has been a common feature of public participation:
A quick scan of the faces around the room revealed most to be of an older stock, about 30 years old and above. Half were internationals and tended to be male (3:1), highly educated, and coming from professional, but not necessarily IT, backgrounds. (Henriquez, no date, p54)
The participant demography first of all chimes with Vanolo’s (2016) observation of smart citizens in the opening section of this chapter, and also raises an issue with how ‘public’ the participation is. For, if the majority of the participants are homogeneous groups of well educated, middle aged men, then the living lab will gather information which represents this small segment of the overall population, which could in turn influence and produce policy gendered towards those who take part. Michels and De Graaf (2010) highlight an “absence of some groups, minority groups and young people in particular, from active participation” (p488). In the Netherlands, public participation in the planning process has revolved around partaking in neighbourhood panels (Uitermark & Duyvendak, 2008, p124) and meetings with various actors, from residents to local professionals and neighbourhood organizations (Michels & De Graaf, 2010, Uitermark & Duyvendak, 2008, p125, Hague & McCourt, 1974, p149). The addition of urban living labs has not influenced or altered the narrow representation of the population as a whole.
According to Patrick Bresnihan, “participation [is] understood to be a formal activity separated from daily life [and] is turned into a specific exercise for those who decide they want to 'make a difference'” (Bresnihan & Dawney, 2013, p129). This notion of wanting to make a difference is furthered via Michels & De Graaf (2010) interviewed citizen participants who “indicated that the reason to participate was driven by self-interest alone: citizens participate because they feel that they have something to win or to lose” (p487). The ability to participate in meetings, living labs or to organize as residents associations (ibid, p483) requires the usage of time away from work or family commitments, for instance, and is therefore an option to those who have spare time.
However, theoretically the ‘lightweight’ (Niederer & Priester, 2016, p139) participation of the ZO! City platform may overcome these issues, owing to the interactive urban dashboard facilitating direct involvement. The use of the platform theoretically, to paraphrase Niederer and Priester’s article, results in one not needing to understand the complexities of town planning or
structural engineering to engage with urban transformation on a daily basis through the use of a dashboard (ibid).
Participation on the ZO! City Online Dashboard
To show how the ZO! City dashboard functions, I have placed a project upon it. An observable feature of the Amstel III site is an apparent lack of public space or seating, therefore I added a project, called ‘Water side Park’ (right). The idea is to change a quiet and relatively unkept corner of the district (below), into a small park. To implement a project, a user is asked to provide a name for the project, ‘Water Side
Park’, a description of the project - “This is a
nice and shaded area, which would be a really nice place for a park of some sort. Somewhere people could relax and enjoy a quiet corner of the area” (ZO! City, 2017) - and an external link to the project’s website (if necessary). A user can also add images. This is where the
‘lightweight’, strictly online, facet of participation ends. For, almost instantaneously as one submits their proposal, they will receive an email from ZO! City - in both Dutch and English - explaining a number of things. Firstly, after the project appears to the general public, within the next working day,
other people and companies can like and comment on your idea. Besides, the idea is visible for the city officials who can also comment on its desirability and feasibility. You are responsible for managing the conversation about your idea, so please don’t forget to check the ‘subscribe’ button at the bottom of the comments section of your idea page on the website. By doing so, you will get notified when somebody comments on your idea and you can respond timely (ZO! City: email - see appendix)
After this initial step, ZO! City will contact you “to discuss how we can help you to bring your idea further” (ibid) and will offer potential “advice from the city officials” (ibid). However, the third stage of proposing a project is where the potential differences between the ‘lightweight’ (Niederer & Priester, 2016, p139) participation of the platform is replaced by more traditional ‘heavyweight’, for “when your idea is desirable and feasible but an investment is needed for its execution, we can help you to set up a crowdfunding campaign and generate support within the local community” (ZO! City: email - see appendix). At this stage the individual, for their project to become a reality, needs to engage in a crowdfunding campaign, which is far from easy. In fact, Hui et al (2014) in their article Understanding the Role of Community in Crowdfunding
Work state that:
We find that many people underestimate the work involved and find themselves overwhelmed with the responsibilities of coordinating and answering to a large crowd of supporters (p12)
For crowdfunders to overcome the overwhelming aspect of crowdfunding, they would foster a ‘community of collaboration’ “where creators rely on mentorship, support tools, and outsourced help to accomplish their goals” (ibid). This highlights that for an individual to participate in the physical regeneration of the Amstel III office district through the ZO! City dashboard, they will still be required to partake in ‘heavyweight’ forms of participation, which requires the same relative luxuries discussed above when concerning more established forms of public participation. Therefore, the ZO! City platform does not alleviate the time constraints of participation, if an individual intends to start a project.
This section has investigated the changing nature of participation in urban planning in the Netherlands. This has been done through a historical analysis which displays how the public have been involved in the planning process at various intervals throughout the latter half of the 20th century, up to the present day. The major shift is apparent in how the public have gone from being a collection of actors with little influence in the initial planning of urban space - as evidenced by the Jordaan in the late 1960’s - to being a cornerstone in how the physical city is realised; the Amsterdam Smart citizens Lab. This analysis has led this project into further
analysis of the ZO! City urban interactive dashboard, beyond the role of participation and into how the dashboard works and how it represents the area it portrays.
Conclusion
This chapter started out on a large scale and ended up small. Initially the broad, diffuse and multi-faceted concept of the smart city was interrogated to provide a theoretical background to the technological entwinement of the ongoing Amstel III transformation with the ZO! City project. By providing this background, the initial section also showed how the macro-scale, EU support for smart urbanism - through sustainability goals and funding incentives - funnels down into the city level. Also a cautionary flag was raised to highlight the possibility of exclusion from participating in the smart city. After discussing the smart city, a brief overview of ‘platform’ technology was provided to situate the ZO! City platform in wider literature, in order to theoretically position the platform.
What followed was an investigation into how notions of public participation have changed over the post-war years in the Netherlands, from a bureaucratic ‘modernist’ manner to ‘Living Labs’ where local ‘stakeholders’ are a central component of urban developments; however who participates is still an issue. This led towards how the ZO! City online dashboard could alter notions of participation through its ‘lightweight’ means, facilitated by taking participation online. Yet, once a project is set up, the same ‘heavyweight’ forms of participation reign, meaning that the physical notions of participation still remain. This theoretical background provides a base from which an investigation into the platform, specifically the user interface of the interactive urban dashboard’ into how the Amstel III redevelopment is represented by the platform.
The Amstel III Office District: Online and Offline
A Building or a Blank Canvas? The ZO! City Online Interactive Urban Dashboard
The first thing one is greeted with after pressing the enter key and being whisked to the ZO! City ‘interactive urban dashboard’ [1] (below) is the softly coloured interactive map which fills the screen. In the top left floats the logo, omnipresent with its lettering reminiscent of a thumbprint and tag line of ‘Transforming Amsterdam Southeast’ remaining visible and superimposed
throughout usage. Underneath the logo, in the bottom left corner sits the timeline feature of the dashboard. With this, a user can virtually go back in time to 2010 and witness, according to the platform, how empty the area previously was and slide chronologically into 2025 and witness 15 years of urban transformation; both actual and envisaged. As one may expect the platform’s resting state, i.e. when it is initially loaded, is in 2017, with the map centered on a completed ‘project’.
The map is dotted with individual projects. Each is represented by a coloured pin - somewhat reminiscent to the pins used on Google Maps to denote location - orange for a project focused on ‘area transformation’, violet for a mobility project and green for sustainability centred initiatives. Each pin starts out as hollow, an outline with a figure in the same colour in the centre, for instance an orange outline with a coffee mug to highlight the project as one rooted in providing food and drink. The pin incrementally fills with colour in accordance with the amount of funding each project has received, for the business model of each project on ZO! City platform is rooted in crowdfunding. The more funding a project gets, the less
of a shell its pin appears and the fuller, healthier it is. Each pin, when clicked (page above), produces a page containing basic information relating to the project, from the date of its inception to the project type, a link to the project’s website if applicable and a brief description of what the project is - the information requested when a project is set up. At the bottom of the information page is a comments section where users can provide feedback to the proposed idea, whilst also a la Facebook, being able to ‘like’ and ‘share’ each project.
The project pins are not the only information containing entities on the dashboard, for a number of white angular shapes also contain information. Each shape represents a building in the Amstel III office district, and the ones with ‘shadowing’ (below) are clickable and contain statistical data. At the time of writing, the data contained within the buildings mostly concerns property focused statistics, however as the platform further develops, Saskia Beer, intends to
make the data more actionable, so if you click on a building, you get the different data but you also will be able to make combinations and maybe add some small calculations
These calculations are in order to allow a user to “very easily make informed decisions because they really get the right information”, an idea which follows the same logic proposed by Gabrys in the previous chapter, in how “generating data is the basis for making sound decisions to advance everyday sustainable practices” (Gabrys, 2014, p41).
These shadowed buildings are a part of the ZO! City project, buildings to be given a new means of use in the name of the Amstel III redevelopment, while those unshaded are not included within the project. Another representation of buildings in the area are the coloured project buildings. Much like the aforementioned pins, buildings are also undergoing a process of transformation and completion. A white building with shadowing is a building awaiting a start in its transformation process, then as a project is started it starts to change in colour - from a translucent pink into a rose purple when complete. This same formula also highlights any ‘mobility’ developments, such as cycle lanes, and ‘environmental’ changes, such as parks and enhanced walkways.
It is of importance however, to point out that the ZO! City dashboard is still in the initial phase of its existence. According to Saskia Beer, the dashboard is developed in accordance with the principles of ‘lean’ software development. Mary and Tom Poppendieck, the authors of Lean
Software Development: An Agile Toolkit state that “design is a problem-solving process that
involves discovering solutions through short, repeated cycles of investigation, experimentation, and checking the results. Software development, like all design, is most naturally done through such learning cycles” (Poppendieck & Poppendieck, 2003, p31). In the words of Saskia, ZO! City utilises
instead of a linear process, you have this sort of circular processes and we definitely should have done here, because there is so much new here, there is so much like, assumptions that we made, how people would interact with the platform, how they would understand the platform and that’s the thing where you don’t have an equal information position
The knowledge embodied by the developers of the ZO! City dashboard elevated them above, in terms of knowledge, those who would use the dashboard. Saskia, for instance
thought it was perfectly logical that people would understand how to use the platform, so one of the quick fixes that we will add is a planning page with more like leading people into, you know as now they just end up on the map, and if you are just a random person here working in the area you have no idea, some people were afraid to use it, so immediately that was such a fundamental mistake in a sense that all those things that are in there, people don’t even get there
As well as the “customer journey”, “the data part will get a, quite an upgrade” also. These apparently small development issues or oversights, can create a real barrier between user and platform - where a lack of technical skill, knowledge and, with some being ‘afraid’, confidence in using a map such as this - can be a prohibitive block between a user and the information concerning Amstel III contained within.
The above paragraphs explain the dashboard and how it functions, yet how does the platform work on a theoretical level, and what does this mean for the Amstel III transformation? To investigate this, the preceding paragraphs will delve into the use of colour on the dashboard by melding artistic colour theory and user experience literature, and then will, through the work of Henri Lefebvre, look into how notions of space are represented via the dashboard.
The Use of Colour on the ZO! City Dashboard
A theme with the ZO! City dashboard is the choice of colours. The choice of colour may seem something removed from this study, but it does reveal a subtle, yet inherent feature of the dashboard. On the subject of colour there is no finer authority than Johannes Itten, [2] who “was considered one of the greatest teachers of the art of colour of modern times” (Birren [in Itten] 1961, p6). Of the colours used on the dashboard, there is an absence of the three primary colours of blue, red and yellow: the exception being the light blue canals - in reality they are a khaki-brown. According to Itten, the primary colours “represent the extreme instance of contrast of hue” (Itten, 1961, p33) and this abrupt demarcation of colour results in
the effect [being] always tonic, vigorous and decided. The intensity of contrast of hue diminishes as the hues employed are removed from the three primaries. Thus orange, green and violet are weaker in character than yellow, red and blue” (ibid)
The colours prominent on the ZO! City dashboard are the three colours which equally draw from the three primaries: orange, green and violet. Colours which are ‘weaker’ in character, in boldness and strength than the absent primaries. Therefore, they pose as less
influential than the primary colours. This is of importance for the dashboard, for the project exclaims that its purpose is for individuals to “share [their] own ideas and wishes for the area and convince the community to join in”, whilst also claiming that “urban development is not something exclusive for the government and developers anymore, but for everybody” (ZO! City, 2017).
The use of ‘vigorous and decided’ colour would be juxtaposed this ideal of individual, grass roots participation, as bold and sure-footed primary colours could be manifested as an affront to the user, something to combat against, a potential barrier to applying an idea to the dashboard. For instance, psychologists Sevinc Kurt and Kelechi Kingsley-Osueke (2014) argue that “strong blues stimulate clear thought and lighter, soft blues calm the mind and aid concentration” (p4). In the Johannes Itten quotation above, he states that the “the intensity of contrast of hue diminishes” (Itten, 1961, p33). This results in a less stark difference between colours - owing to a less intense hue. These colours react less with a white or pale background, meaning they produce the same effect as if they were analogous (colours next to each other on the colour wheel - such as blue and green) which, according to user experience blogger Hannah Alvarez, “have lower contrast, and they can be used to create a sense of harmony and continuity in a design” (Alvarez, 2014).
A sense of harmony is a key facet to the dashboards design. Saskia Beer, during her interview for this project, would refer to the platform and dashboard as a ‘pub’, short for a ‘public house’ which is the preferred place to go for social drinking in the United Kingdom. One of the most famous pieces of writing to cover the pub is George Orwell’s ‘The Moon Under Water’. In this essay, the author of Animal Farm and 1984 describes his ideal drinking place as somewhere where “its clientele, though fairly large, consists mostly of ‘regulars’ who occupy the same chair every evening and go there for conversation as much as for the beer” (Orwell, 1946). This ‘atmosphere’, in the words of Orwell, is the ideal of the ZO! City platform, where different ‘regulars’ can come and discuss the Amstel III site in a harmonious setting, much like a local pub which one visits regularly. In short, the more one uses the pub, the more they get out of being there.
pea green (to represent grass) as background colours. These colours represent a sanitised reality of the Amstel III district, their softness belies the physical reality of the space. However, this colouration was not chosen by accident. According to Saskia, the relatively dull greys and mute colours of the dashboard’s background was chosen to “highlight the pins, so they can stand out more”.
According to Brenda Huang, graphic designers should “separate primary and secondary [to] get the sense of clarity” (Huang et al, 2009, p1728), a practice which has been followed in the creation of the ZO! City dashboard. This is an interesting decision, one which gives visual priority to the redevelopment of the space and not the space itself, a representation which therefore purges the area of a historical context, as if the entire site was built in 2010, which as the age of buildings reveals, is not the case. The assemblage of soft colours, muted greys and white squares amount to a blank canvas, with the relative vibrancy of the redevelopment intentionally ‘standing out’ from the map. This is a representation of space which can, be interpreted through the work of French philosopher Henri Lefebvre’s ‘perceived-conceived-lived triad’ (Lefebvre, 1991, p40).
Henri Lefebvre and the Dashboard
Lefebvre argues there are three types of space - that of the perceived, the conceived and the lived. The perceived (also considered as ‘spatial practice’) refers to how “the spatial practice of a society secretes that society’s space; it propounds and presupposes it, in a dialectical interaction; it produces it slowly and surely as it masters and appropriates it” (ibid, p38). This is the production of societal perception of space, the placing of a marker or the typecasting of space. In the case of this research, despite the presentation of an ongoing ‘transformation’, Amstel III is currently functioning primarily as an office district, by virtue of people primarily using the area as a place of work and seldom using the public spaces within. Thus, it is considered an office space, yet, with public interventions - such as the Ubuntu Stadstuin community garden, which will be discussed at length in the following section - a dialectical interaction is taking place between those who use the current Amstel III and the idea of it's transformation in the future, thereby turning the area into an office district undergoing change.
The conceived space is the domain “of scientists, planners, urbanists, technocratic subdividers and social engineers, as of a certain type of artist with a scientific bent - all of whom identify what is lived and what is perceived with what is conceived” (ibid). The dashboard provides the virtual space for individuals to be the ‘certain type of artist’, as it presents the concrete, stone, grass and water, the infrastructures and asphalt of the Amstel III office district as a malleable entity, with the buildings appearing on the dashboard as representations of real structures.
However, in the case of the ZO! City dashboard, the conceived space is literally and figuratively a ‘top-down’ approach to understanding an area, it paints pictures of spaces, but how does one grasp the actuality of a space? This question falls within the realm of Lefebvre’s final corner of the conceptual triad, that of ‘lived’ space. This is “space as directly lived through its associated images and symbols, and hence the space of 'inhabitants' and 'users’” (ibid). For instance, the Ubuntu Stadstuin community garden is perceived as a space which is a community garden, vis-a-vis those who initially enquire about the space, through the associated discourse surrounding it, be that online or in person. Yet, these types of space only cover the removed standpoint of understanding the space. A garden from the point of view of a map or online dashboard, is different to a garden which is experienced firsthand; even the most intricately designed representation of a space cannot replicate the smell of soil or the strong winds which grace a garden. This physical and tactile experience with the space graces it with a different meaning in comparison with the perceived and conceived representations of it.
However, it is important to stress that these three spatial standpoints are not to be understood in isolation: They all interrelate and influence each other. Lefebvre argues that
“we may be sure that representations of space have a practical impact, that they intervene in and modify spatial textures which are informed by effective knowledge and ideology. Representations of space must therefore have a substantial role and a specific influence in the production of space. Their intervention occurs by way of construction - in other words, by way of architecture, conceived of not as the building of a particular structure, palace or monument, but rather as a project embedded in a spatial context and a texture which call for 'representations' that will not vanish into the symbolic or imaginary realms. (ibid, p42)
According to this logic, the ZO! City dashboard acts as a form of mediation between the conceived space and the lived. The dashboard provides a medium through which the idea of spatial change can be displayed; converting it from the domain of individual perception into a “project embedded in a spatial context and a texture” (Lefebvre, 1991, p42). Yet the actual experience of adding an idea to the project, despite being carried out via the representation of the area, is a ‘lived’ experience. The conceptual triad with which this section is entwined was written in the late 1960’s. A common aspect of contemporary urban life is the fusing of the offline and the physical reality in which individuals are present (See: Boy & Uitermark, 2015) and the ZO! City dashboard is an example of this. Yet, it occupies a curious position within the spatial triad offered by Lefebvre. Despite it being argued that these conceptions of space are not to be viewed in isolation, the dashboard is facilitating an environment in “which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate” (Lefebvre, 1991, p39), yet it is not “[overlaying] physical space” (ibid), which is a central feature of Lefebvre’s conception of lived space. The dashboard is straddling the two conceptions of conceived and lived space. For one can ‘live’, by ascribing “symbolic use of its objects” (ibid) within the dashboard, yet the objects with which this symbolic use is being applied are composed of an overlaying representation of physical space, a conception of a physical entity, which, in turn and by virtue of participation within the dashboard, may be physically realised.
The plan inside an individual's head is still within the realm of imagination, but through the platform these conceptions are something “which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate” (ibid). Changing and appropriating a representation of the space that the project ultimately intends to change in physical space. Therefore, the individual who proposes a project is using the conceived space as a lived space. The spaces are not influencing each other, but are an example of a melding of the two in a lived-conception of the Amstel III office district.
This discussion of the ZO! City interactive dashboard has served two purposes. Firstly, it highlights the way in which the area is represented to those who wish to submit an idea and change the Amstel III office district. Secondly, through using the dashboard as an example, the Lefebvrian conceptual triad has been interrogated and expanded upon, thus highlighting a new way of understanding the influence of the online realm upon the physical world. Yet, to
paraphrase Michel de Certeau, the ordinary reality of urban space happens on the ground level (de Certeau, 1986, p93), therefore the next section of this chapter will take the form of an ground-level description of Amstel III.
Where the Atypical Shall be Typical: The Amstel III Office District
The Amstel III office district lies due south of the Amsterdam Arena. Built in the 1980’s as a component of the renewal of Amsterdam Zuidoost, [1] the area covers a total of 920,000 meters squared and contains 1,200 businesses where 50,000 employees work (Gemeente Amsterdam, 2016). The district stretches from the Hoogoorddreef, a major road that runs through Bijlmer Centrum, down to the Academic Medical Centre (Academisch Medisch Centrum (AMC) and contains an Ikea furniture shop. This section outlines the physical space of Amstel III and is composed of systematic observations obtained by walking through Amstel III whilst taking fieldnotes and photographs. The physical description is an auto-ethnographic representation of my fieldnotes where observation and theory are entwined.
Locking my bicycle to one of the many metal hoops under the shade of the Atlas Arena office building, a distinctive concrete block, horizontally intersected by the dark bands of its windows (left), I couldn’t help but notice the amount of greenery which offsets the light grey building. This space sits at the very north of the Amstel III office district, next to one of the three hotels which permeate the office district, a Courtyard Marriot hotel which has a gym as well as Gard - a restaurant self-described as a ‘Nordic Kitchen’. The Atlas Arena building is also marked out by the large logos present, from Adidas and Reebok set atop a glass wall - both international trainer company's occupy large and visible parts of the building.
The Courtyard et al: Confined and Private Space
Under the main bulk of the Atlas Arena building, lies a walkway which gifts itself to a courtyard, a space used by individuals in small groups conjoined by the individualist uniform of smart casual office wear, as well as those leaving their desks for a cigarette break. The courtyard, which is looked over from three sides by the Atlas Arena building (below) is in keeping with the pale concrete of that which watches over it. For there are no curved features, solitarily trees are planted in square wooden boxes, the benches/seating areas are angular wooden creations, hedges are well kept and uniform - seemingly echoing the dress code of those who use the space. The distinctive feature, however, is the ‘Absolute Taste’ restaurant, a green and black banded, low slung building. The alfresco seating arrangements hide from the sun under six square umbrellas and are separated from the rest of the courtyard by neatly trimmed hedges and black framed perspex barriers.
When the sun would shine on this space, as I looked out from one of the angular wooden benches in a corner surrounded by concrete, I could not but help be reminded by the work of Italian metaphysical artist Giorgio de Chirico, especially his painting ‘The Enigma of the Arrival and the Afternoon’ (1912 – page below). Not least because there is, much like in de Chirico's image, a checkerboard imposed on the floor intended for ‘giant’ chess games - although the chess pieces were not seen - but due to the way the sun hits the concrete and how the shadows from the rectilinear furnishings of the space are clear cut, presenting a perceivably sterile environment in keeping with de Chirico’s work. Much like the courtyard where this example is drawn, de Chirico refrained from representing curved surfaces, rather focusing on sharp angles and clear brushstrokes to show the world in a “clear and mordant light [that] embalms objects, never caressing them, never providing the illusion of well-being” (Hughes, 1981, p149). His artwork takes place in a frozen reality, embalming the actions of everyday life, with the inevitable effects of time non-apparent. This is true of Amstel III in its entirety. The district is
neatly maintained, sanitized, with the wear and tear brought on by the natural elements removed or fixed and replaced, to the extent that when one does notice the imposition of natural elements, it is markedly out of place.
De Chirico paints his scapes [2] one step removed, as if they are within reach but out of grasp, with a level of familiarity that is distant. The artist is a lonely observer of empty spaces (ibid, p150) where “there is plenty of evidence of human existence [...] but nobody is there; the place is deserted” (Gompertz, 2016, p252). There is plenty of ‘evidence’ that people use the area - the chessboard, the table tennis tables under the arches (left in the image below), parked cars - but owing to the space’s current formulation as a
place of work and not as a place to stay, for the majority of the day the people who do use the area are inside. Thus the outdoor public space of the office district is empty. Therefore the courtyard is used either as a place to have a smoking break, or a space of transition, of fleeting use, a space revealed as somewhere to cross; to quote Richard Sennett, “to sit on one of the few [benches] for any length of time is to become profoundly uncomfortable, as though
one were on exhibit in a vast empty hall” (Sennett, 1977, p13).
Another characteristic of the courtyard is the manner in which sound travels across the space. It is eerily quiet. Owing to the nature of an office space as discussed above, I would often find
myself traversing these spaces devoid of other people. Therefore any sound which was produced, by either I or another entity is noticeable - the distant trickle of an obscured fountain would wash over the soundscape, in counsel with the static-like rustle of the wind disturbing leaves and the occasional whine of an electric motor propelling a train from the not too distant, but out of sight Bullewijk station. All which provide an oddly soothing but removed audible backdrop to the creaking of dislodged concrete paving slabs under foot. As mentioned before, there are a number of trees in the area, but these are located just beyond the courtyard and are in the periphery of sight. The sources of sound are removed from view, a somewhat disorientating experience, you are aware of their presence, but are unsure where they are; “the hidden [...] is present in its own way. It is in my vicinity” (Merleau-Ponty, 1964, p14).
These phenomena continue as I moved on from the square, exiting along a narrow, square-hedge lined path, towards a freshly constructed bridge which spans the largest canal in Amstel III. Staring across the murky brown water sit six public benches, a rare sight in the district, from which a user can look across the water and onto one of the numerous mirrored buildings (left). At the base of the equally separated trees sat a table-tennis ball, an escapee from the courtyard perhaps. To the left is a wooden jetty hanging over the water, which appears seldom used, owing to the large amount of bird excrement which adorns it. Much like the seating in the courtyard behind the bench, there is a sense of being on display. The building above stares over anyone who uses these benches. The overall lack of public seating space becomes overt when one crosses the canal and enters the next section of Amstel III.
Amongst the Office Buildings
South of the canal sit a web of office buildings, car-parks, square hedges and various forms of fencing and barriers. Each office building is surrounded by the painted asphalt of demarcated car parking spaces, which are in turn separated from the public footpaths in a number of ways. One example (below - far left) is the use of low-rising metal bars. These objects sit around the
