Routledge Companion to Creativity and the Built Environment 1032274468, 9781032274461

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Routledge Companion to Creativity and the Built Environment

This book critically examines the reciprocal relationship between creativity and the built environment and features leading voices from across the world in a debate on originating, learning, modifying, and plagiarizing creativities within the built environment. The Companion includes contributions from across the disciplines of architecture, design, planning, construction, real estate, economics, urban studies, geography, sociology, and public policies. Contributors review the current field and propose new conceptual frameworks, research methodologies, and directions for research, policy, and practice. Chapters are organized into five sections, each drawing on cross-disciplinary insights and debates:

• Section I connects creativity, productivity, and economic growth and examines how our built environment stimulates or intimidates human imaginations.

• Section II addresses how hard environments are fabricated with social, cultural, and institutional meanings, and how these evolve in different times and settings.

• Section III discusses activities that directly and indirectly shape the material development of a built environment, its environmental sustainability, space utility, and place identity.

• Section IV illustrates how technologies and innovations are used in building and strengthening an intelligent, real-time, responsive urban agenda.

• Section V examines governance opportunities and challenges at the interface between creativity and built environment.

An important resource for scholars and students in the fields of urban planning and development, urban studies, environmental sustainability, human geography, sociology, and public policy. Julie T. Miao is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne; a visiting scholar at Harvard University; and an Australian Research Council Discovery Early Career Research Fellow. Her main research interests lie in innovationspace, urban entrepreneurism, and intrapreneurial state. Tan Yigitcanlar is an eminent Australian researcher and author with international recognition and impact in the field of smart and sustainable city development. He is a Professor of Urban Studies and Planning at the School of Architecture and Built Environment, Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, Australia.

“This rich and diverse collection connects the idea of the creative city with a much broader research base, and offers a really valuable base for rethinking the role of creativity in the urban environment. The editors have assembled a book that stimulates thoughts on new connections and combinations and challenges the way we look at the city. It should be a required reading for all students of the urban environment.” David Charles, Northumbria University, UK “Creativity is not just the product of gifted individuals and it does not exist ‘in the air.’ It is a social process which is embedded in our urban landscapes and built environment. This volume brings together a wide range of contributors to help us better understand this critical nexus.” Richard Florida, author of The Rise of the Creative Class “Miao and Yigitcanlar offer a truly interdisciplinary resource on the multifaceted intersections between human creativity and the urban context. The authors dig into an impressive range of issues and open critical lines of inquiry that deepen our knowledge of this important research area. Ambitious in scope and scale, The Routledge Companion of Creativity and the Built Environment will be a go-to reference on urban creativity for years to come.” Carl Grodach, Foundation Professor of Urban Planning and Design, Monash University, Australia

Routledge Companion to Creativity and the Built Environment

Edited by Julie T. Miao and Tan Yigitcanlar

Designed cover image: gettyimages.ca/Ihor_Tailwind First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 selection and editorial matter, Julie T. Miao and Tan Yigitcanlar; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Julie T. Miao and Tan Yigitcanlar to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Miao, Julie Tian, editor. | Miao, Julie Tian, editor. Title: Routledge companion to creativity and the built environment / edited by Julie T. Miao and Tan Yigitcanlar. Description: First Edition. | New York, NY : Routledge, [2023] | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2023034221 (print) | LCCN 2023034222 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032274461 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032274485 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003292821 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Creative ability--Social aspects. | City planning--Environmental aspects. | Urban renewal. | Urban policy. Classification: LCC BF408 .R722 2023 (print) | LCC BF408 (ebook) | DDC 153.3/5--dc23/eng/20231115 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023034221 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023034222 ISBN: 978-1-032-27446-1 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-27448-5 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-29282-1 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821 Typeset in Times New Roman by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

This book is dedicated to the following beloved, beautiful, and brilliant people that have shaped our lives: Yulia, Nick, Aili, Haijun and Wang Cahide, Susan, Ela, and Selin

Contents

List of figures List of tables List of contributors Foreword: Creativity and the built environment by Charles Laundry 1 A reflection on the interface between creativity and the built environment

xii xvi xviii xxvi 1

JULIE T. MIAO AND TAN YIGITCANLAR

SECTION I

Economy and productivity

17

2 Built cultural heritage and local development: The mediating effect of multi-dimensional creativity

19

SILVIA CERISOLA

3 Impact of the built environment on the spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity: Evidence from the Pearl River Delta, China

32

WU KANGMIN, WANG YANG, ZHANG HONG’OU, LIU YI, AND YE YUYAO

4 Housing, productivity and creativity

48

ZHIYUAN LI

5 Community and business innovation in the Indonesian kampung cases from Semarang

62

NICHOLAS A. PHELPS AND HOLI B. WIJAYA

6 The infrastructures of innovation districts: Happy coincidence or creative collective curation?

73

JULIE T. MIAO

7 Workplace repositioning post-pandemic: Hybrid working EILEEN SIM

84

viii  Contents 8 Creativity in sustainable finance: Growth of green instruments

93

KRUTI UPADHYAY AND RAGHU DHARMAPURI TIRUMALA

9 Creativity in blue economy financing

107

RAGHU DHARMAPURI TIRUMALA AND KRUTI UPADHYAY

SECTION II

Society and culture

121

10 Creativity and the city: New forms of work and life

123

DAN EUGEN RATIU

11 Between performativity and spectacle: Provocations of street-based public art festivals

134

RISHIKA MUKHOPADHYAY

12 The role of community arts organisations in heritage-led regeneration and placemaking: The case of LAMO and Old Town, Leh

145

MICHAEL BUSER AND MONISHA AHMED

13 Learning by failing better: Coproducing creativity in the informal city of Los Arenales, Chile

155

MARTIN ARIAS-LOYOLA AND FRANCISCO VERGARA-PERUCICH

14 The circuit of memory, creativity, and built environment in the making in Gwangju, South Korea

169

HAERAN SHIN

15 Artists, arts and culture-based city revitalization, and the built environment

180

MEGHAN ASHLIN RICH

16 Culture-led regeneration and urban governance: The case of South Rome

190

ANNA LAURA PALAZZO AND ROMINA D’ASCANIO

17 The art of dancing for urban design: An examination of a creative built environment in Helsinki, Finland

205

TOMMI INKINEN

SECTION III

Environment and space

219

18 End of the Holocene City: The limits of urban imagination

221

FRANCISCO JAVIER CARRILLO

Contents  ix 19 Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability: A bibliometric and literature review

234

CRISTINA CILIBERTO, RAFFAELLA TADDEO, KATARZYNA SZOPIK-DEPCZYŃSKA, TAN YIGITCANLAR, AND GIUSEPPE IOPPOLO

20 Collingwood Yards: The formation of a creative precinct

259

ESTHER ANATOLITIS AND HÉLÈNE FRICHOT

21 Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city

269

ROB MCGAURAN

22 Flagship architecture and city branding

283

AMPARO TARAZONA VENTO

23 The corporate campus

293

D.J. HUPPATZ

24 Urban design dimensions of creative clustering: Mix/adaptation/ networks/ambivalence

302

STEPHEN WOOD, KIM DOVEY, AND LUCINDA PIKE

25 The dark side of creativity: A design perspective on the built environment’s chequered histories

314

MARCUS FOTH, SKYE DOHERTY, AND NICK KELLY

SECTION IV

Technology and innovation

327

26 The application of big data and technology in urban transport management

329

MARK STEVENSON AND AVITA STREATFIELD

27 Customer uptake and preference analysis for mobility as a service (MaaS) schemes

338

XIAOYANG YU, PRITHVI BHAT BEERAMOOLE, CHAITRALI SHIRKE, AND ALEXANDER PAZ

28 Who speaks for smart cities?: Social media, influence, and stories of innovation

353

MARK WILSON, TRAVIS DECAMINADA, CORNELIUS DARCY, AND EVA KASSENS-NOOR

29 The new socio-spatial dimensions of creativity: Theorising creative hybrid-places in the digital age DANIEL DE O. VASCONCELOS

365

x  Contents 30 Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in the built environment

376

JENNIFER WHYTE AND DRAGANA NIKOLIĆ

31 Virtual reality and desiring-production

386

PETER RAISBECK AND MICHAELA PRUNOTTO

32 Lean construction in China: A review

398

YANQING FANG AND SHANG GAO

33 Co-designing infrastructures: Working with communities to create resilient cities

411

SARAH BELL, CHARLOTTE JOHNSON, TSE-HUI TEH, KAT AUSTEN, AND GEMMA MOORE

34 Creativity and innovation: Revitalisation experiences as strategies to foster areas of innovation in Brazil

423

ANA CRISTINA FACHINELLI, SUÉLEN BEBBER, BIANCA LIBARDI, AND THAIS ZIMMERMANN SUZIN

35 Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus: A case study of Bandung

435

JULIE T. MIAO, ADIWAN FAHLAN ARITENANG, AND NADIA GISSMA

36 Melbourne’s skyscrapers: A case study in creative destruction

448

GIORGIO MARFELLA

SECTION V

Governance and planning

461

37 The multifunction polis: An urban idea and its end

463

PAUL WALKER

38 The creative city in Australia: Where are we now?

473

EMMA FELTON

39 Suburbs by design: Design and its antithesis in the Australian suburb

481

ALAN PERT AND NICHOLAS A. PHELPS

40 Innovation districts and the physical environment of knowledge-based economic development

491

JOSHUA DRUCKER

41 Tech-development, public space, and planning failures CARLA MARIA KAYANAN

504

Contents  xi 42 The planning of creative Paris

516

JACOB THOMAS SIMPSON

43 University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation: The case of the Macquarie University Incubator

530

SHA LIU AND KRISTIAN RUMING

44 Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure of cultural amenities: Lessons from Amsterdam

543

ROBERT C. KLOOSTERMAN AND JOCHEM DE VRIES

45 Global cities in the making

554

CAITLIN MORRISSEY AND MICHELE ACUTO

Afterword: From creative cluster to innovation complex: Aspirational infrastructure for anxious cities

563

SHARON ZUKIN

Index

566

Figures

2.1 Listed buildings per square km in England and in London 2.2 From built cultural heritage to development through multi-dimensional creativity (a) England; (b) Italy 3.1 Research design 3.2 Framework of the innovation-based built environment 3.3 The Pearl River Delta 3.4 The spatial distribution of patents in the Pearl River Delta 3.5 The spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity in the Pearl River Delta 3.6 (a–d) Map of seven factors in relation to regional innovation productivity in the Pearl River Delta 3.7 Power of impact factors guiding the spatial heterogeneity of innovation productivity 4.1 The location of Z-SP and sub-parks 4.2 The location of the study area 5.1 Map of Semarang and location of Kampung Bugangan and Kampung Siroto 5.2 Typical scene in Bugangan metal and plastic industry cluster 5.3 Snack food production in kampung Siroto 6.1 Historical Seaport 6.2 Fort Point heritage buildings 6.3 Seaport District Hall 7.1 Four generations of office workplace 8.1 Global climate finance growth (USD billion) 8.2 Green bond issuance in USD billion 8.3 Sector wise climate finance allocation for 2019–2020 8.4 Total committed capital through blended finance in USD billion 9.1 Different categories of blue finance institutions 9.2 Seychelles Blue bonds 11.1 Fresh coat of paint on a neighbourhood building 11.2 The promotional poster saying ‘Malat dea Kumartuli’ (Kumartuli under a colourful cloak) 11.3 Patchwork of motifs: The image of the deity 11.4 A girl taking selfie: Contemporary art in the potters’ quarter 11.5 Walls speak the language 11.6 Installation inside an iron utensil shop

24 25 35 36 38 38 40 42 43 52 53 65 66 67 77 79 80 87 95 97 99 100 109 116 137 137 138 138 139 139

Figures  xiii 11.7 11.8 12.1 12.2 12.3 13.1 13.2 13.3 13.4 14.1 14.2 14.3 16.1 16.2 16.3 16.4 16.5 16.6 16.7 16.8 16.9 17.1 17.2 17.3 19.1 19.2 19.3 19.4 19.5 19.6 19.7 19.8 20.1 20.2 20.3 21.1 21.2 21.3 21.4 24.1 24.2

Interwoven playfulness: Art and everyday bamboo craft sculpture Use of nondescript doors, window frames, and walls Tsemo hill, the Old Town, and Leh Palace The LAMO centre before and after restoration Community mapping project organised and led by LAMO Map Chile indicating the location of the city of Antofagasta and the location of Los Arenales within this city Macrocampamento Los Arenales Production of bread by female cooperativists in the cooperative bakery CINTRA Los Arenales Service-learning activity finished May 18 specific locations developed as exhibition places in the fourth Gwangju Biennale Asia culture centre Four creative belts with media art works Territorial overview. Location of the Municipi involved in the ‘Progetto urbano’ Transformations foreseen by the Progetto urbano Ostiense-Marconi How the Ostiense district looked like in the early 90s How the Ostiense district was expected to become The Gasometer along the Tiber River left bank Via Ostiense. Department of Law, designed by Alfredo Passeri and Giuseppe Pasquali, 2000 Via Ostiense. New rectorate, designed by Mario Cucinella, 2021 Valco San Paolo. Student house, designed by Lorenzo Dall’Olio, 2021 Share of creative sub-sectors in the area between Rome and the sea A classification framework for assessing creative location in a city Dance house exteriors, close proximity plaza, and building entrance Dance house lobby, entrance to performance hall and cafeteria Research methodology Trend of publications Journals’ concentration Geographic concentration Types of studies reviewed Keywords’ trend Keywords match The conceptual framework of the integration among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability Opening Night at Collingwood Yards Collingwood Yards Image of activity at Collingwood Yards 22@Barcelona The Monash governance model Monash precinct principles The Monash Clayton Campus – from and to Study areas in Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane Functional mix

140 141 148 149 151 159 160 162 164 173 173 175 191 192 195 195 196 197 198 198 199 208 209 210 246 248 249 249 250 250 251 253 260 266 267 272 277 280 281 304 306

xiv  Figures 24.3 Interface adaptations 24.4 Mapping walkable networks 25.1 Brisbane’s Howard Smith Wharves post-development showing deliberate design of curves to slow cyclists 25.2 Brisbane communities protesting excessive noise pollution from Brisbane Airport’s flight paths 25.3 Low intensity fire on private land in the D’Aguilar range 29.1 The features of unbundled creativity 29.2 A representation of creative hybrid-places 32.1 Evolution map of LC in China 32.2 LC research prospect tree 33.1 Bottom-up infrastructure co-design method 33.2 Garage rooftop on Kipling Estate 33.3 Results from the value elicitation 33.4 Model of garden scenario 33.5 Mapping the rooftop 34.1 Degraded building in the historic centre of Recife 34.2 Recife urban revitalisation in Porto Digital Technological Park 34.3 School Museum Catarinense refurbished to house the coworking of the Creative District 34.4 Revitalisation works in the historic centre of Florianópolis 34.5 Vila Flores architectural complex in the fourth district of Porto Alegre 34.6 Caldeira Institute in the fourth district of Porto Alegre 35.1 Locations of coworking spaces in Bandung 35.2 Client and customer networks of coworking spaces 35.3 Important contacts of coworking spaces 36.1 ICI House, Bates, Smart & McCutcheon, 1955–58 36.2 From left to right: BHP House, Yuncken Freeman, 1968–72; Collins Place, I.M. Pei and Partners with Bates Smart & McCutcheon, 1971–81; Rialto Towers, G. De Preu with Perrott Lyon Mathieson, 1984–86 36.3 Australia 108, Fender Katsalidis Architects, 2015–2021 36.4 Melbourne CBD; 1955–1995 36.5 Melbourne, tall buildings 1955–2020 36.6 Joseph Schumpeter’s process of creative destruction 37.1 Lionel Glendenning of Edwards Madigan Torzillo & Briggs, Multifunction Polis drawing 39.1 Vermont Park cluster development 39.2 Greenways and signage in Caroline Springs 40.1 Innovation districts in the United States 40.2 Views of Cortex Innovation Community, St. Louis, Missouri 41.1 Tech firms in the SDZ before 2002 41.2 Tech firms in the SDZ 2021 41.3 Building use in the Dublin Docklands, 2021 41.4 Demographics SDZ and Dublin city

309 310 318 320 321 369 371 401 406 414 416 418 419 420 427 428 429 430 432 432 441 444 445 452

453 455 457 457 458 469 484 488 492 498 508 509 509 511

Figures  xv 42.1 42.2 42.3 42.4

New headquarters of Adobe France. Rue Laureston, Paris 16th Samsung France R&D in Le Centorial Samsung France R&D in Le Centorial The white metal and red brick façades on the left host the headquarters of Facebook France at 6 rue Ménars, Paris 2nd 44.1 A typology of cultural amenities

521 523 523 525 544

Tables



3.1 3.2 3.3 4.1 4.2 4.3

4.4 4.5

4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9



7.1 8.1 8.2 9.1

9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5 17.1 19.1 19.2 27.1 27.2 27.3 27.4 28.1 28.2 28.3

Summary of variables Results of positive standard deviation values tail values examination Estimation results of negative binomial regression Questionnaire design Descriptive statistics of dependent and independent variables Statistics of dependent variables in different dwelling types and MannWhitney U test results Statistics of dependent variables in different over-crowding status and MannWhitney U test results Statistics of dependent variables in different commuting time and MannWhitney U test results Mann-Whitney U test results of working time between different commuting time Mann-Whitney U test results of efficiency between different commuting time Mann-Whitney U test results of innovation between different commuting time Statistics of dependent variables in different housing affordability and MannWhitney U test results Comparison of third-generation workplaces Different labelled bonds in Q1 of 2022 Sector-wise use of bond proceeds Blue economy strategies and principles of multilateral and bilateral development financial institutions Blue economy strategies and principles of investment banks and AMCs Blue economy strategies and principles of funds, NGOs, and accelerators Illustrative multilateral agencies’ initiatives Blue bonds Summary of the dance house characteristics according to spatial dimensions and scale Literature analysis Overview of Industry 4.0 emerging technologies Socio-economic characteristics of the sample Example of a MaaS choice question Estimates of model parameters to analyse MaaS preferences Willingness to pay for important MaaS attributes Twitter users with more than 5,000 tweets on #smartcity Most mentioned entities in tweets containing #smartcities Influencers with the most followers that reference #smartcities

37 41 41 53 54 55 55 56 56 56 57 57 85 98 98 110 111 112 114 114 213 235 240 345 346 348 350 358 360 361

Tables  xvii 30.1 Focus, approach, findings, and directions for further research in selected recent reviews of AR and VR and its implementation in construction and the built environment 30.2 Focus, approach, findings, and directions for further research in selected recent experimental studies of AR and VR and its implementation in creativity and design 32.1 Research areas of LC in China 32.2 The influence factors of LC in Mainland China 32.3 Mainland China’s LC effect evaluation 35.1 Dimensions of coworkingscape 35.2 Coworking spaces in Bandung 35.3 Details of coworking space in Bandung 40.1 Examples of innovation districts and features 40.2 Examples of former innovation districts and features 44.1 Direct and indirect interventions 45.1 Approaches to creativity and the built environment nexus in global cities

378 380 403 404 404 437 439 443 494 495 546 559

Contributors

Michele Acuto is the Director of the Melbourne Centre for Cities at the University of ­Melbourne, where he is also a Professor of Urban Politics and Associate Dean (Research) in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning. He is also a Fellow of the Chicago Council on Global Affairs and a member of the City of Melbourne Night time Economy Committee. His research lies at the intersection of international relations and urban governance. Monisha Ahmed is the Co-Founder and Executive Director of Ladakh Arts and Media Organisation, Leh. She is an independent researcher, writer, and curator whose work focuses on art practices and material culture in Ladakh, as well as other areas of the Himalayan world. Esther Anatolitis is the Editor of Australian literary journal Meanjin, honourable Associate Professor at RMIT School of Art, and a Director of the National Gallery of Australia. She has authored hundreds of articles and book chapters spanning art, architecture, and political commentary. Esther’s book Place, Practice, Politics was published in 2022. Martín Arias-Loyola is the Director of the Magíster en Gerencia Pública y Desarrollo Regional, Associate Researcher of the IDEAR and ORDHUM and assistant professor at the Universidad Católica del Norte. He is the Principal Investigator of the FONDECYT N11228200 and his research interests lie in power asymmetries, extractivisms, and informality. Adiwan F. Aritenang is an Associate Professor in the Urban and Regional Program and a researcher at Smart City and Community Innovation Center, Institut Teknologi Bandung. His main research interests are in urban and regional economics, creative and smart cities, and urban analytics. Kat Austen’s artistic practice is underpinned by extensive research and motivated by questions of how to move towards a more socially and environmentally just future. She creates sculptural and new media installations, performances, and participatory work that encompasses co-design, citizen science, and participatory artistic research. Suélen Bebber is an architect; has a master’s degree and PhD in administration with a research focus on innovation and competitiveness at the University of Caxias do Sul; a researcher at CityLivingLab (www.citylivinglab.com). Her main research interests are smart cities, sustainable development, knowledge-based development, public services, and value co-creation. Prithvi Bhat Beeramoole is a PhD candidate in the School of Civil and Environmental Engineering, Queensland University of Technology. Her research focuses on the development of improved methods for extensive hypothesis testing to support estimation of discrete outcome models.

Contributors  xix Sarah Bell is the City of Melbourne Chair in Urban Resilience and Innovation at the University of Melbourne and a Visiting Professor in Environmental Engineering at University College London. She is a Fellow of Engineers Australia. Her research addresses transdisciplinary approaches to urban resilience, including community engagement with infrastructure. Michael Buser is an Associate Professor of Collaborative Community Practice in the Centre for Sustainable Planning and Environments at the University of the West of England, Bristol. His interests centre on interdisciplinary research on themes of climate change, mental health, care, and community. Francisco Javier Carrillo is an Emeritus Professor of Knowledge-Based Development at Tecnológico de Monterrey, President of the World Capital Institute, and Editor of the International Journal of Knowledge-Based Development. His last book is A Modern Guide to Knowledge: From Knowledge Societies to Knowledge in the Anthropocene, Edward Elgar (2022). Silvia Cerisola is an Assistant Professor of Regional and Urban Economics at Politecnico di Milano, Italy. Her main research topics are Regional Development, Cultural Heritage, Creativity, Regional Disparities, and Regional Competitiveness. In 2021, she was awarded ‘The William Alonso Memorial Prize for Innovative Work in Regional Science’ by the North American Regional Science Council. Cristina Ciliberto is a PhD in Economics, Management, and Statistics in the Faculty of Economics, University of Messina. She is an expert of the subject in Production Cycles Technology, Quality Management, and has a Lean Six Sigma Black Belt. Her research interests include Industry 4.0, Operations, and Supply Chain Management. Cornelius Darcy is a May 2022 graduate of Michigan State University with a PhD in planning, design, and construction. Dr Darcy’s research interests include disruptive technologies, smart cities, communications theory, and technology acceptance. Dr Darcy is the interim director of admissions and strategic communications for California Polytechnic State University, Humboldt. Romina D’Ascanio is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the Department of Architecture, Roma Tre University and Adjunct Professor in Urban Planning at the Faculty of Architecture, Sapienza University of Rome. Her main fields of research are urban and landscape planning, collaborative governance, and environmental policies. Jochem de Vries is an Associate Professor of Urban and Regional Planning and Chair of the Department of Human Geography, Planning and International Development Studies at the University of Amsterdam (UvA), The Netherlands. His research interests include urban planning and governance, institutional and cultural conditions of planning, and environmental planning. Travis Decaminada is a Doctoral Student at the University of Pennsylvania, Weitzman School of Design. Before starting his doctoral program, Travis attained a master’s in urban planning from Michigan State University. Travis’ research interests centre around technology, transportation, and nature, working on novel means to limit biodiversity loss on roads. Skye Doherty is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Communication and Arts and an Affiliate Research Fellow in the School of Information Technology and Electrical Engineering at The University of Queensland. Her current research focuses on designing for social change.

xx  Contributors Kim Dovey is a Professor of Architecture and Urban Design at the University of Melbourne, where he is also Director of InfUr- the Informal Urbanism Research Hub. He has published widely on social issues in architecture, urban design, and planning. Books include Framing Places (Routledge 1999/2008), Becoming Places (Routledge 2010), Urban Design Thinking (Bloomsbury 2016), and Atlas of Informal Settlement (Bloomsbury 2023). Joshua Drucker is an Associate Professor of Urban Planning and Policy at the University of Illinois Chicago, where he is a faculty advisor for the Government Finance Research Center. He researches economic development planning and policy, innovation, and technology, anchor institutions, entrepreneurship, and methods for planning and economic analysis. Ana Cristina Fachinelli is a PhD holder in Strategic Intelligence from the University of Poitiers (France) with a postdoctoral degree in Knowledge for Innovation from the University of Deusto (Spain). She is currently a professor at the University of Caxias do Sul, where she is also the founder and head of CityLivingLab (www.citylivinglab.com). Her primary research interests include knowledge-based development, knowledge for innovation, territorial intelligence, and sustainable development in cities. Emma Felton is an Adjunct Senior Researcher at the University of South Australia’s Creative People, Products and Places (CP3). She publishes widely on urban culture, people, and place. Emma is the author of the book Filtered: Coffee, Cafe and the 21st Century City and co-author and editor of Design and Ethics: Reflections on Practice. Marcus Foth is a Professor of Urban Informatics at the School of Design, Queensland University of Technology. He is a Fellow of the Australian Computer Society and the Queensland Academy of Arts and Sciences, a Distinguished Member of the Association for Computing Machinery, and a member of Australia’s College of Experts. Hélène Frichot is a Professor of Architecture and Philosophy, Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne. In her former position, she was a professor of Critical Studies and Gender Theory and Director of Critical Studies in Architecture, School of Architecture, KTH (Royal Institute of Technology) Stockholm, Sweden. Nadia Gissma is a master’s graduate from the Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University Rotterdam, The Hague. Her main research interest is revolving around urban and regional economics, decolonization on planning, and agrarian studies. D.J. Huppatz is an Associate Professor in the School of Architecture and Design, Swinburne University of Technology, Melbourne, Australia. He is the author of Design: The Key Concepts (2020) and Modern Asian Design (2018), and his research spans design, architecture and urbanism. Tommi Inkinen is a Professor of Economic Geography at the University of Turku, Finland; a Chair of the International Geographical Union’s Innovation, Information and Technology Commission (C20.16); and a current member of the Research Council for Culture and Society of the Academy of Finland. Giuseppe Ioppolo is a Full Professor of Commodity Science at the University of Messina, Department of Economics (Italy). He was a visiting professor at Tsinghua University, Tokyo University, and CML Leiden University. His main research fields lie in Lean and Sustainable Management, Circular Economy, and Industry 5.0. Charlotte Johnson is the Head of Research Programmes at the Centre for Sustainable Energy and a Senior Research Fellow at University College London. Her research focuses

Contributors  xxi on energy transitions and inclusive innovation. She uses ethnographic, participatory, and co-design methods. Eva Kassens-Noor is the Professor and Chair of the Institute of Transport Planning and Traffic Engineering in the Civil and Environmental Engineering Department at TU Darmstadt, and is an Adjunct Professor at Michigan State University. Her interests are mobility and accessibility for, during, and despite extreme events and urban transformations. She further conducts research on the resilience of critical transport infrastructure in the pursuit of carbon-neutral. Carla Maria Kayanan is an Assistant Lecturer at Maynooth University (Ireland) with joint appointments in the Social Sciences Institute and the Department of Geography. She is a political-economic geographer studying the impacts of urban and regional development on marginalized communities. Recent work examines how data assemblages obscure Ireland’s housing crisis, the role of the state in land development, and the challenges posed by urbanrural binaries to spatial planning and urban theory. Nick Kelly is a Senior Lecturer of Interaction Design at the School of Design, Queensland University of Technology. His research is focused on situated cognition and networked learning approaches to design education. Robert C. Kloosterman is an Emeritus Professor of Economic Geography and Planning, University of Amsterdam. He has published on urban economies, migrant entrepreneurship, and cultural industries (notably architecture and music). Charles Landry is widely acclaimed as a Speaker, Author, and Innovator. He facilitates complex urban change projects. He has written over a dozen books, most recently The Civic City in a Nomadic World. His best-known work is The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. Zhiyuan Li is a PhD in The Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne; he got a master’s degree in Renmin University of China, majoring in Real Estate Economics and Management. Her main research interests lie in housing markets, development and management, knowledge, and innovative economics. Bianca Libardi is a civil engineer; a master’s degree student in administration, with a research focus on innovation and competitiveness, and emphasis on smart cities at the University of Caxias do Sul; researcher at CityLivingLab (www.citylivinglab.com). Her main research interests are in smart cities, sustainable mobility, and quantitative research. Sha Liu is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the Department of Geography and Planning, School of Social Sciences, at Macquarie University; and a member in the Urban Housing Lab@Sydney, School of Architecture, Design and Planning, at the University of Sydney. Her research focuses on financialization of housing, cross-border capital transfer in the globalized housing market, and global cities and governance. Giorgio Marfella is a Senior Lecturer in Architecture and Construction at the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne. He is a registered architect and his research primarily investigates the architecture and construction of tall buildings, and the history and processes of technological innovation in modern building products and materials. Rob McGauran is the Founding Director of MGS Architects, a Life Fellow of the Australian Institute of Architects, a Professorial Fellow (Architecture and Urban Design), University of Melbourne, and Adjunct Professor (Architectural Practice), Monash University. He has a large body of awarded projects in Architecture, Urban Design & Planning, where his focus

xxii  Contributors has been on leveraging national strengths in education and innovation, combatting social inequity, and addressing housing disadvantage. Julie T. Miao is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne; a visiting scholar at Harvard University, and an Australian Research Council Discovery Early Career Research Fellow. Her main research interests lie in innovation-space, urban entrepreneurism, and intrapreneurial state. Gemma Moore is an Associate Professor (Teaching Fellow) and Senior Research Fellow at the Institute for Environmental Design and Engineering at University College London. As a Faculty Impact Lead at the Bartlett, Gemma undertakes research and teaching in the field of sustainability, participation, community engagement, health, and environmental quality. Caitlin Morrissey is a Graduate Researcher in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning at the University of Melbourne and in the School of Environment, Education and Development at the University of Manchester. Her research explores the making of global cities through large scale public transport infrastructure projects. Rishika Mukhopadhyay is a Lecturer in Development Geography at the School of Geography and Environmental Science, University of Southampton. Her research interests span across living heritage, craft economy, and southern urbanism. Methodologically, her work involves arts-based public engagement practice. She is currently working on urban sensory heritage. Dragana Nikolić is an Associate Professor in the Digital Built Environment at the School of the Built Environment, University of Reading, UK, and a member of the Human Data Interaction Committee of the European Centre of Computing in Construction. Her research explores how evolving digital practices transform the project delivery in the built environment. Anna Laura Palazzo is a Full Professor at the Department of Architecture, ‘Rome Tre’ University of Rome, where she coordinates the PhD program ‘Architecture City Landscape’. Visiting Professor at Ecole Normale Supérieure de Lyon, Northeastern University of Boston, and San Diego State University. Her main research interests lie in urban regeneration, heritage and landscape planning, and local development. Alexander Paz is a Professor of Civil and Environmental Engineering and the Transport and Main Roads Chair at the Queensland University of Technology. He is a Registered Professional Engineer in Queensland with a strong background in transport engineering, travel behaviour, transport planning, infrastructure management, intelligent transportation systems, and road safety. Alan Pert is a Professor of Architecture and Deputy Dean of the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning at the University of Melbourne. Pert has established a State-wide Housing Research Lab (IBA Melbourne) and Chairs the University’s Housing Research Initiative. Pert also ran a design practice (NORD) in the United Kingdom, winning the title of RIBA Young Architects of the Year in 2006. Nicholas A. Phelps is the Chair of Urban Planning and Associate Dean International in the Faculty of Architecture Building and Planning at the University of Melbourne. He is the author of numerous journal papers and several books on suburbanization including Post-Suburban Europe, Sequel to Suburbia, and Interplaces. Michaela Prunotto studied her Master of Architecture at the University of Melbourne. She was an editor of Inflection Journal Vol. 8, which received the AIA Bates Smart Award. She

Contributors  xxiii has worked with Edition Office, Gregory Burgess, MRTN Architects, Public Realm Lab, and MSD FabLab. Peter Raisbeck teaches Architectural Practice, Design, Design Activism, and Contemporary Architectural Archives at the Melbourne School of Design. He has an interest in understanding the architectural profession’s present condition through its histories, theories, and current politics. His most recent book was Architects, Sustainability and the Climate Emergency: A Political Ecology (2022). Dan Eugen Ratiu is a Professor in the Department of Philosophy, Babes-Bolyai University in Cluj-Napoca, Romania; a member of the European Society for Aesthetics and European Sociological Association. His main research interests lie in everyday aesthetics, urban aesthetics, and the interaction between cultural policy and artistic creativity. Meghan Ashlin Rich is a Professor of Sociology and Women’s and Gender Studies at the University of Scranton. Her research focuses on neighbourhood development and gentrification in cities, with a particular interest in declining cities and arts and culture-based revitalization. Kristian Ruming is a Professor of Geography and Planning and Australian Research Council Future Fellow in the Department of Geography and Planning, School of Social Sciences at Macquarie University. His research focuses on urban governance, urban regeneration, and housing studies. Paul Scott is the Program Manager for Queensland’s Department of Transport and Main Roads MaaS and Mobility Program. The program is responsible for considering the department’s response to emerging mobility and service trends. Paul’s work with the program includes the establishment of its research activities and foundational policy streams of activities. Shang Gao is a Senior Lecturer in Construction Management at the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne. He is also the director of Victoria Council of Lean Construction Australia and New Zealand (LCANZ). Dr Gao’s research work is located in the intersection of the disciplines of construction, construction management, and project management with a focus on Lean Construction. HaeRan Shin is a Professor in the Department of Geography at Seoul National University. Based on actor-focused approaches, she has focused on political geography and migrant studies, exploring how different actors form and develop power relations, strategies, and adaptive preferences. Chaitrali Shirke is a Traffic Engineer at the Department of Transport and Main Roads (TMR), Queensland. She is a part of the Network Optimisation team which is responsible to maintain the optimal traffic flow on the state road network using various control methods. Her expertise includes traffic modelling and road operations. Eileen Sim is a Teaching Fellow in the Property Discipline within the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne, and a Workplace Consultant at Veldhoen + Company. Her main research interest lies in workplace innovation, future workplaces, corporate real estate, workplace strategy, and workplace change management. Jacob Thomas Simpson is Assistant Director of Rice School of Architecture Paris and Adjunct Professor at the Ecole d’urbanisme de Paris and Columbia University’s Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation. His research looks at how property market actors define and shape the qualities of the built environment.

xxiv  Contributors Mark Stevenson is a Professor of Urban Transport and Public Health and Co-Director of the Transport, Health, and Urban Design (THUD) Research Lab in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning and the Faculty of Engineering and Information and Technology at the University of Melbourne. Prof Stevenson is a Fellow of the Australian Academy of Health and Medical Sciences. Avita Streatfield is a Research Assistant and Coordinator for the FEEDBACK Trial at the Transport, Health, and Urban Design (THUD) Research Lab in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne. Her main research interests lie in placemaking and the impact of urban design on human wellbeing. Thais Zimmermann Suzin is an architect urbanist; a master’s degree student in administration, with research focus on operations and strategy, and emphasis on sustainable buildings at the University of Caxias do Sul; researcher at CityLivingLab. Her main research interests are in sustainability and willingness to pay in real estate. Katarzyna Szopik-Depczyńska is an Associate Professor in Management Sciences at the University of Szczecin, Institute of Management. She is the author of many books and about 170 publications, including in Q1 and Q2 journals. Her main research topics are innovation management, R&D, and sustainability issues. Raffaella Taddeo is an Assistant Professor of Commodity Sciences, Department of Economic Studies, University ‘G. d’Annunzio’ of Chieti-Pescara (Italy). Her main research interests concern the theoretical-methodological and applicative developments of Industrial Ecology, in particular for the implementation of eco-efficient productions and for synergistic and integrated management of materials and energy flows. Amparo Tarazona-Vento is a Lecturer at the Department of Urban Studies and Planning, University of Sheffield. Her research investigates the contested politics of urban regeneration, placing a special focus on the analysis of the political mobilization of iconic architecture and the contribution of grassroots politics to placemaking. Tse-Hui Teh is a Lecturer in Urban Design and Planning at the Bartlett School of Planning at University College London. She is interested in how urban areas can coevolve to become sustainable ecosystems supporting flourishing human and non-human lives. Raghu Dharmapuri Tirumala is a Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne. His main research interests lie in sustainable infrastructure finance, green and blue economy, and public-private partnerships. Kruti Upadhyay, SCR, is an Independent Researcher in the field of climate change financing, green financing, and sustainability. Prior to this, she was engaged by the University of Melbourne through Husys Consulting Limited as a consultant for undertaking research work broadly focused on SDGs, blue economy, and infrastructure financing. Daniel de O. Vasconcelos is a PhD Candidate in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne, and holds a master’s in Politics and International Relations from Peking University. His research explores new conditions of social existence engendered by technology, creativity, and their reflections on the built environment. Francisco Vergara-Perucich is the Chair of the Centro Producción del Espacio at the Universidad de Las Américas, where he is an Associate Professor. He earned a BA in Architecture from the Universidad Central de Chile and an MA from the Pontificia Universidad Católica

Contributors  xxv de Chile. He also holds an MSc and a PhD in Planning Development from The Bartlett Development Planning Unit. Paul Walker is a Professor of Architecture in the Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning at the University of Melbourne. He teaches architectural theory, history, and design. Walker is the editor and lead author of John Andrews: Architect of Uncommon Sense (Harvard Design Press, 2023). Jennifer Whyte is a Professor in the School of Project Management at the University of Sydney, and Director of the John Grill Institute for Project Leadership. Her research interests are in infrastructure, leadership, organizing, design, digitalization, and visualization, and recent work on systems integration, handover, projects as interventions into nature, project data analytics, and future making. Mark Wilson is a Professor of Urban and Regional Planning in the School of Planning, Design and Construction at Michigan State University. Research interests address the urban implications of autonomous technologies; planning for industrial parks; mega-event planning for world’s fairs and Olympics; and the role of innovation, knowledge, and information technology in urban development. Stephen Wood is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Humanities, Arts, Social Sciences and Education, University of New England, Australia, where he is also the Course Coordinator for the Urban and Regional Planning Program. His main research interests lie in planning theory and urban design. Kangmin Wu is an Assistant Professor in the Research Department of Human Geography and Regional Development at Guangzhou Institute of Geography, Guangdong Academy of Sciences. His research interests include innovation and financial geography. Yanqing Fang is a Lecturer at the School of Management Science and Engineering, Tianjin University of Finance & Economics. Her main research focuses on lean construction, construction management, and project management. Tan Yigitcanlar is an eminent Australian Researcher and Author with international recognition and impact in the field of smart and sustainable city development. He is a professor of Urban Studies and Planning at the School of Architecture and Built Environment, Queensland University of Technology, Brisbane, Australia. Xiaoyang Yu received his BEng (Hons) in Civil Engineering from the Queensland University of Technology. He is presently an MPhil student at the School of Civil and Environmental Engineering, Queensland University of Technology. His research area is the development of discrete choice modelling and analysis of consumer preferences for Mobility as a Service. Sharon Zukin is a professor emerita at Brooklyn College and the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. She is the author of Naked City, The Innovation Complex, and the classic study Loft Living. She received the Lynd Award for career achievement in urban sociology from the American Sociological Association.

Foreword: Creativity and the built environment Charles Laundry

Then, now, and tomorrow: A trajectory More people, more organizations, more cities, regions, countries, and global organizations for more reasons have found that the culture, creativity, and innovation triad can aid their city development as they embark on and navigate their transformational trajectories. They understand that culture is who we are and that creativity can help create what we can become. They asked what are the physical conditions that enable these intangible assets to flourish. They recognized a significant phenomenon in the transition to the evolving knowledge intensive economy from the 1980s onwards. These were dramatic affecting the organization of work and prospects of cities as the deindustrialization process in the West had winners and losers. It reduced the power of blue collar workers and their unions with a rise of professional workers and the ‘creative’ professions associated with design or new media. Remember too, and this is now hard to believe, that we then thought that cities had little hope as cities hollowed out with suburbanization and as industries declined and moved production to Asia and elsewhere. New York, as one example, nearly went bankrupt in the 1970s. The city then began again to exert a gravitational pull with the recognition of its resources in learning, its capacity to help exchange and transactions, its gathering places, its cultural institutions and richer artistic life and vibrancy, its stock of buildings and infrastructure and its transport links. The city was seen as an accelerator of opportunity, chance encounter, and resources. The city, as a dense communications system, is not easy to replicate in other settings. Once the urban focus re-emerged, a vast urban regeneration process began with the tearing down of the past to make the city ready for professional services related industries, offices, and residential developments. These frequently pushed out older tenants mostly living in more human scale street patterns as a result of the gentrification process. Often, the results were negative. Simultaneously, an extensive retrofitting exercise began. Worldwide several hundred old warehouses, breweries; train, bus, or fire stations; cement, coal, textile, tobacco, or steel factories; old markets or military barracks were transformed into culture or experience centres, start-up incubators, and company breeding grounds or headquarters and as hubs for wider urban regeneration. The latter often used the industrial heritage to provide identity as the creative professionals, in particular, were drawn to these places. Strangely, those same places that had horrible working conditions began to be celebrated as places for the new and the hip. Those structures resonated as they exude memory with their layered patina of time in an age where novelty increasingly erases memory, and physically, their spaces are large and allow for flexibility and interesting structures. The homogenizing effects of a globalizing world highlighted the desire to protect the distinctive and the special including tangible and intangible heritage. Within this the cultural

Foreword: Creativity and the built environment  xxvii creative industries were seen as playing a significant role by impacting on anchoring local identity and belonging or the perception of place to attract talent, investment, tourism and image as well as helping improve the quality of life and overall liveability. At the same time, the real estate community saw vast opportunities to build afresh with icon-mania taking hold worldwide in a frenzy to outpace urban competitors. It continues unabated as cities try to find the physical version of the killer app that takes the world by storm and puts a city on a fast route to fame. A roving band of nomadic starchitects began to step over themselves to produce the most spectacular forms, proliferating gleaming glass towers, bold shapes breaking out of traditional square box patterns; skyscrapers exploding onto the landscape, some with good public spaces. Vast retailing, entertainment, or cultural centres try to bewitch, enchant and seduce. The attempt to mimic the ambiance and creative milieux that older more finely grained and textured somewhat shabby rather diverse environments that artists in particular began to regenerate was difficult with newly built structures. Think here of the shabby café with second hand furniture and atmosphere versus the more squeaky clean alternative. Or a re-sited university department housed in transformed industrial building versus a green field innovation campus located at the city’s edge. This raised the question of what physical contexts enable creativity. That creative milieu can be defined as: a place – either a cluster of buildings, a part of a city, a city as a whole, or a region – that contains the necessary pre-conditions in terms of ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ infrastructure to generate a flow of ideas and inventions. Such a milieu is a physical setting where a critical mass of entrepreneurs, intellectuals, social activists, artists, administrators, power brokers, or students can operate in an open-minded, cosmopolitan context and where face to face interaction creates new ideas, artefacts, products, and services and institutions and as a consequence contributes to economic success. The creative milieu requires the right mix of hard and soft infrastructures and the tangible and intangible, such as institutions, research centres, cultural facilities, buildings, and support services – mobility, amenities, healthcare – as well as a density of social networks. The ‘hard infrastructure’ is the ‘container’ and provides the physical environment, setting a platform upon which the activity base – the ‘contents’ – can unfold. ‘Soft infrastructure’, by contrast, consists of the associative or intermediary structures and social networks, connections, and human interactions that underpins and encourages the flow of ideas between individuals and institutions including relaxed meeting places, events, symposia, or conferences. These intangible attributes are manifested in informal groups, cross-sectoral partnerships, collaboration, and common interest networks and crucially in forms of trust, kinship, and personal relationships. The qualities of urbanity are key, which the German saying ‘Stadtluft macht frei’ (urban air makes you free) encapsulates as it highlights the idea that urban citizens are more open-minded, cosmopolitan, able to deal with diversity and difference, and welcome chance encounter. In this sense, urbanity can be defined by a set of distinctive social characteristics. Other characteristics of urbanity are physical concentration, proximity and density, flows of people, or the speed of information and mobility. It involves too the notion of the public realm which Richard Sennett describes as any context that facilitates free communication among strangers where shared spaces accommodate unplanned and unmanaged encounters as they are beneficial for personal and social development. That public realm requires publicly owned places and spaces that belong to and are accessible by everyone regardless of gender, race, ethnicity, age, or socio-economic level. These can include city streets, lanes, squares, plazas, sidewalks, trails, parks, open spaces, waterfronts, public transit systems, and civic buildings and institutions. With the digitizing world virtual spaces can be considered a new type of public space that fosters interaction and social mixing.

xxviii  Foreword: Creativity and the built environment The Covid experience has highlighted how in spite of the opportunities cyberspace provided, meeting physically remains a deep human need and so the power of public space. The public sphere (German: Öffentlichkeit) was first defined by philosopher Jürgen ­Habermas. It carries with it a related and broader idea of relevance. The public sphere is a place accessible to all, where public debate and a discussion culture are encouraged, and where issues of public concern, often expressing diverging views, can be debated. That debate takes shape via mass and social media or meetings, academic contexts, or government policy documents. All of this combines to the process of creative placemaking, a term coined by Artscape in Toronto in 2006. This harnesses the potential of the arts, culture, and creativity to serve a community’s interest whilst simultaneously pushing a city’s wider agenda for change, growth, transformation, and physical development in ways that build distinctiveness, character, and quality of place. Its success is reliant upon a collaborative approach between various civic stakeholders such as governments, private investment, not-for-profit organizations, artists, and citizen groups. Shared leadership and partnering are crucial to build momentum to improve the quality of life and to revitalize buildings, neighbourhoods, or cities. What next? Creativity was invariably a key attribute of city making. Think here as an instance of the astonishing heritage left by cities across the world, especially places of ritual like churches, mosques, or temples that sought to impress and generate awe that required new methods of building or the first aqueducts. The difference between the past and today is that cities are self-consciously encouraging and planning to create the enabling pre-conditions for creativity. Its central characteristic is to foster a more open mindset, management style, and organizational structure for inventive ideas and projects to flourish. Here, the notion of the ‘creative bureaucracy’ is important. This allows a city to respond to changing circumstances and to become adaptable. Creativity is context driven. What was ‘creative’ in the 19th or 20th century will be different from what is creative now and tomorrow. Think of the complexity of developing London’s 720 km long sewage system in the 1860s. Or over the last 40 years, the focus on the contribution of the arts to city making and now how we can help foster the green transition. The city has always been a source of problems as well as a laboratory for finding inventive solutions to any problems it creates technologically, conceptually, and socially. Now the special focus should be on ‘what really matters’ such as creating the fourth clean, green, lean industrial revolution, intercultural understanding, helping to reduce the rich-poor divide and to create ambition and meaning beyond consumerism. This requires a 360-degree holistic perspective to ensure the complexity of the city is fully understood. It acknowledges the specific sub-sector perspectives and knowledge but stresses that silo thinking has limitations. These overall urban trends highlight spatial planning issues and three are significant. First, the alarming and escalating levels of inequality and subsequent segregations. The extreme concentration of money, power, and influence of a few at the very top has pernicious effects on the rest of us. Second, development is a double edged sword. The intent of improving areas is positive, such as creating public spaces, parks, new housing, or bike lanes or investing in increasing safety. Yet, when driven solely by market mechanisms, this process raises property prices and rents often pushing out precisely those at whom development is targeted. This gentrification process over time changes the authenticity or sense of community as local shops close to be replaced often by upscale shops or chain stores and workspaces disappear. Property owners or speculative investors are the beneficiaries getting a windfall of unearned income of neighbourhood

Foreword: Creativity and the built environment  xxix improvement. Often, artists in search of cheap space and good intent spur development if they turn a dilapidated warehouse into a gallery that then attracts a restaurant, cafe, or an artisan bakery. So indirectly they trigger the forces they wish to prevent. This raises the questions of ‘whose voices’, ‘whose culture’, and ‘what culture’ are being heard. Third, private interests are shaping the look and feel of cities in ways rarely lead to balanced economies, well mixed communities and instead reinforce spatial segregation. It is the relative increase in capital value from property over the last decades that has far outstripped other forms of investment, thereby sharpening the affordability crisis dramatically. This raises the question: what is the aim of creativity and its relation to the built environment? Urban creativity needs a purpose, a goal, and an ethical frame. It should include giving back to its community and even to the world. It is better to be the most creative city for the world rather than in the world. This ethical framework and moral compass should guide a city’s imaginative energies and actions. Any evolving place development initiative needs to address the dynamic of our current economic system, which is ‘materially expansive, socially divisive and environmentally hostile’. Today, a deep concern to be sustainable in every sense is one such priority. Thus, our collective imagination needs to focus on innovations that go beyond being sustainable, which tends to imply ‘do less harm’ and to reduce the ecological footprint so that we can operate within the natural limits of the biosphere whilst coexisting with nature. Being ‘restorative and regenerative’ goes further. To restore is to bring back to a healthy state and to be regenerative is to allow the system to evolve. This is a place and economy that goes beyond a ‘take-make-waste’ growth driven model. It highlights how growth models can be overcome such as with circular, doughnut, or sharing economy principles. This would shape how planners, investors, architects, and the construction industry operates. The resulting buildings may look the same, but their internal construction processes will differ to ensure they are intelligent buildings. Yet as buildings communicate through their mere presence, their physical aesthetic is increasingly changing, such as with green roofs or living green walls. Our future creativity would encourage physical environments where its communities within their daily lives are encouraged to behave differently. Here, the 15-Minute City promoted by Paris or the Barcelona Superblock are pushing in the right direction. These seek to localize and establish facilities from health care to education to pocket parks in close proximity. The walkability enabled shifts infrastructure patterns, it highlights public transport solutions and micro-mobility options and even urban rewilding. It requires planning regimes to create physical settings and structures that foster all of these processes. Here, you not only ‘repair, reuse, recycle’ but also restore natural capital and so rebuild and enhance the conditions for cities to become resilient. The return to the local is being seen as a boon potentially increasing a sense of community and so these processes can improve peoples’ quality of life. Here, the pandemic was a game changer and increased our understanding of how this potential might dramatically help our work/life balance. It normalized hybrid working which changed our relationship to space, place, and time. If you only have to go to an office occasionally and can interact increasingly through Zoom or Teams, this impacts on our sense of the space we operate in. The idea of operating within a 100 km radius became normal. The digitizing world highlights how we think about community given the human bias to be social. The ability to be ‘here and there’ simultaneously force feeds a more nomadic world. Whilst the desire for and necessity of community has not changed how it is expressed has – less bound in the fixed physical spaces of traditional community limited to family and a few outsiders. It is defined more by and embedded in our networks than classic bonds. Place matters in

xxx  Foreword: Creativity and the built environment our shifting landscape. It provides anchorage, belonging, opportunity, connection, and, ideally, inspiration. Here, online and offline, cyberspace and local space combine to make identity, shape interests, and generate a meaningful life. The public realm, from sidewalks to benches, pocket parks, and well-designed covered areas, rise dramatically in importance as do third places, like informal cafes. These third places are essential for community building – communal yet homely. The idea of civic creativity I developed in 1998 can be a useful framing device. This is defined as imaginative problem-solving applied to public good and public interest objectives. It seeks to combine an entrepreneurial attitude whilst maintaining the focus on issues of equity and transparency. ‘Civic creativity’ is the capacity for public officials, businesses, large and small, or civil society organizations together to generate a flow of opportunities to improve urban life physically and in terms of emotional experience. This highlights how public policy priorities in city making need to change towards a shift ­towards the ‘social turn’ so that investment is geared to good social results including addressing inequality and affordability as well as providing opportunities for participation and empowerment. It will be a battle to shape market driven economic processes towards these broader public interest aims. By insisting on some strategic, non-negotiable, principles yet being tactically flexible it is possible to ensure that the higher goals of a creative city agenda are not side tracked. Those principles ensure that one has strong guidelines for action whilst maintaining the fluidity necessary to adapt to changing circumstances. Charles Landry

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A reflection on the interface between creativity and the built environment Julie T. Miao and Tan Yigitcanlar

State of the art review This book brings together two important but together not so much investigated areas of ­research – i.e., creativity and built environment. On the one hand, built environment refers to the human-made surroundings where people gather to live, work, socialise, and play. It encompasses both the physical structures where people undertake these activities and the supporting infrastructures, such as transport, water, and energy networks. There are several key industries and associated disciplines that provide direct material and intellectual inputs in producing and altering our built environment, including architecture, design, planning, construction, real ­estate, and so on. On the other hand, creativity can be described as the ability to produce new and original ideas and things. In other words, it is any act, idea, or product that changes an existing domain or transforms an existing domain into a new one (Yigitcanlar, Velibeyoglu and Baum, 2008). While the creative industries boom, during the early 2000s, brought the creativity discourse at the forefront of academic debates, creativity within the built environment sectors in shaping our hard environment for better functionality, aesthetics, and economic values has long been recorded and celebrated (Tiwari and Miao, 2022). There are other disciplines, notably economics, urban studies, geography, sociology, and public policies, that although not directly engaged in the engineering side of hard environment, provide crucial insights on the economic, social, and institutional fabrics that are constructed or disrupted by our built environment. How creativity, as a human attribute and social capital, could be influenced by people’s lived experience and surroundings is a revival topic among these disciplines, especially since the popularity of the ‘creative cities’ (Landry, 2000, 2019) and ‘creative class’ (Florida, 2002) theses. Jane Jacobs’ book The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961) is a forerunning in the debate on how built environment, in her case, sidewalks, public parks, and functional diversity among adjacent uses, could all help to induce users, schedules, and random encounters, which encourage a sense of safety but also encourage creativity and innovation (‘the economy of ­diversity’). Her critiques of the orthodox urbanism, which may be regarded as radical and creative in its own regard in promoting an ordered, self-contained, and low-density suburban living, speak to the fact that some contents and practices of creativity could hold responsible for the decline of city neighbourhoods, diversity, and the source of innovation. Inspired by Jacobs’ writing on the importance of dense mixed-use development, walkable streets, and bustling pedestrian environment, Florida (2002) highlighted the attractiveness of a certain type of urban environments and social fabrics to creative workers: the so-called 3Ts (i.e., technology, talent, tolerance) and the authenticity. In his reversed logic of ‘jobs following talent’, the hard and soft qualities of built environment become protruding. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-1

2  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar On the other side of the coin, Peter Hall’s account of Cities in Civilization (1998) is a tribute to the cities as the birthplace of Western civilisation. Drawing on 2,500 years’ history and spanning across 21 cities, Hall identifies four distinct expressions of civic creativity: artistic growth, technological progress, the marriage of culture and technology, and solutions to evolving problems. All these expressions found their artefacts in the built environment, being it through the architectures, the street patterns, the factories and stream working lines, and the bars and music venues. The last expression of creativity, in particular, that cities have to solve problems created by their very size, is strongly resonated in built formats. With Imperial Rome, for example, came the apartment blocks and aqueducts; 19th-century London introduced prisons and sewers; 20th-century New York developed the skyscrapers; and Los Angeles became the first centreless city ruled by cars. Although implicit, the role of urban built environment in attracting artists, engineers, and enterprisers, as well as in stimulating and realising their creativities and innovations, is underlined. Zooming in on the roles of artists, Sharon Zukin’s Loft Living (1982) explains the artists’ role in attracting investors and developers to the derelict loft districts where they made their home, and uncovers the broader economic shifts and cultural transformations that brought widespread attention to artists as lifestyle models and agents of urban change. In a similar but more practice-facing manner, Charles Landry’s best-selling book, The Creative Cities (2000), provides a clarion call for imaginative action in the development and running of urban life, as well as a clear and detailed toolkit of how to revive and revitalise cities, drawing upon case studies of urban innovation and regeneration from around the world. This seminal work has led many built environment professionals and local decision-makers to view creativity as an essential intangible in the construction of urban environments. The creativity and built environment symbiosis not only helps in a consolidated livability and sense of place but also cultivates citizen creativity and civic engagement (Baum et al., 2007). This experience, in turn, can contribute to shape a happier, healthier, more sustainable, and just urban futures. Plausibly, these scholarships draw our attention to the influence of built environment on socio-economic and physical well-being, or on how urban challenges resulting from congestion, climate changes, and segregations, etc., could be solved creatively. Furthermore, the literature also underlines the positive correlation between prosperity and creative activity (Baum, O’Connor and Yigitcanlar, 2009; Durmaz, Platt and Yigitcanlar, 2010). There are, however, very few dedicated volumes that focus on the reciprocal relationships between creativity and the built environment simultaneously, especially from an international and/or multi-disciplinary approach. Existing works are of several types. The largest number of existing books are conventional edited collections and authored books focused upon a particular disciplinary or sub-disciplinary field. These include, for example, ­Anjeline de Dios and Lily Kong’s Handbook on the Geographies of Creativity (2020, Geography), Sarah Williams Goldhagen’s Welcome to Your World (2017; Architecture), Natalya Sergeeva’s Making Sense of Innovation in the Built Environment (2018; Construction), Silvia Cerisola’s Cultural Heritage, Creativity and Economic Development (2019, Preservation), Julie Miao, Paul Benneworth and Nick Phelps’ Making the 21st Century Knowledge Complex (2016, Planning), Alexander Tzonis and Liane Lefaivre’s Times of Creative Destruction (2016; Architectural History), Tüzin Baycan’s Sustainable City and Creativity (2016, Public Policies), and Tan Yigitcanlar, Koray Velibeyoglu and Scott Baum’s Creative Urban Regions (2008, Urban Studies). As could be expected, these volumes tended to be based around narrower and more specific themes and often failed to explicitly address multi-disciplinary reflections.

A reflection on the interface  3 The second category of existing publications tends to focus on either creativity or built environment. These include, for example, Robert Sternberg’s The Cambridge Handbook of Creativity (2019), which collected a few chapters that touch upon the physical environment of creativity. Karl Kropf’s The Handbook of Urban Morphology (2017) focuses on the form, structure, and evolution of the built environment but with creativity implied rather than explicitly addressed and analysed. Gerhard Krauss and Rolf Sternberg’s Handbook of Research on Entrepreneurship and Creativity (2014) included a section discussing the influence of public policies on creativity. Janet Chan and Kerry Thomas’ Handbook of Research on Creativity (2013) discussed the influence of school environment on creativity. Third category includes those studies discussing creativity from industry and/or city management perspective. Nancy Marshall’s The Routledge Handbook of People and Place in the 21st Century City (2019) discussed contemporary issues that have influenced the relationship between people and place in urban environments. Although it has major implications for the processes and products of urban planning, design, and management, it tends to treat the connections between creativity and built environment as exogeneity. Candace Jones’s The Oxford Handbook of Creative Industries (2015) focused on individual creativity and scaled up to teams, social networks, cities, and labour markets. Built environment is only a subtle matter covered in this Handbook. Andersson, Andersson and Mellander’s Handbook of Creative Cities (2011) detailed the construction of creative cities but primarily from the perspectives of urban studies and planning. This brief review suggests that there are currently intellectual gaps in: first of all, exploring the endogenous and reciprocal relationships between creativity and the built environment in great depth and scope; second, offering a state-of-the-art, critical review of the theoretical, methodological, and practical issues connecting creativity and built environment; third, encouraging interdisciplinary dialogues from leading voices internationally that not only survey the field but also develop and introduce new agendas and frameworks for future research; and last, a wider and more comprehensive collection and reference point mapping out the terrain of creativity and built environment in an international and multi-disciplinary context. What this book offers The concise review reported above indicates that despite the growth of the literature on creativity and the built environment, it is still an u­ nder-studied area. Particularly, there is, to our knowledge, a lack of key reference sources, especially in the form of handbook or companion, that are ‘go to resources’ for practitioners, policymakers, researchers, and undergraduate and postgraduate students. The raison d’etre of this book is to fill such a gap. Building upon the extensive expertise in the field and also respective success of the two editors’ books – Making 21st Century Knowledge Complexes (Miao, Benneworth and Phelps, 2015) and Building Prosperous Knowledge Cities (Yigitcanlar, Metaxiotis and Carrillo, 2012), Miao and Yigitcanlar team together in this Companion to reflect, celebrate and prognosis the reciprocal relationship between creativity and the built environment within an international and multi-disciplinary context. Despite the growing authored and edited volumes that touch upon some of the similar issues discussed above, few were able to bring together leading international voices from multi-disciplinary backgrounds to convene on this topic in a scale and scope achieved by this Companion. There is also practical value in composing a comprehensive Companion like this one, when public and private interest on creative-led economic growth and

4  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar urban regeneration is surging and local stakeholders are looking for inspiration, lessons, and best practices worldwide in designing their next grand projects. Specifically, our aims for the companion are as follows:

• To provide critical reviews and appraisals of the current, and future, development of con-

ceptual and theoretical approaches as well as empirical knowledge and understanding of the reciprocal relations between creativity and the built environment. • To encourage dialogue across disciplinaries of Architecture, Planning, Design, Real Estate, Construction, Urban Studies, Economics and Geography, and so on, and to synthesise best practices against different regional and local contexts through the international reach of our contributors. • To engage with, and reflect upon, the practice of a creative-led urban development strategy by connecting theoretical discussions with empirical reflections, where such strategies could contribute to constructing happier, healthier, more sustainable, and just urban futures. • To offer a repository of relevant information, material, and knowledge to support research, policymaking, practice, and transferability of experiences to address the connection between creativity and the built environment. With these aims in mind, we put together a Companion that brings together invaluable perspectives of key experts across the globe on the topic. The Companion helps in forming a consolidated understanding on the multi-faceted intersections between creativity and the built environment at times when the disciplinary boundaries are becoming more porous. Moreover, it also generates much needed inspirations, lessons, and best practices from across the globe for public and private actors in designing and delivering projects that support creative-led economic growth and urban regeneration. Contributions After the introduction, this Companion is organised into five sections, each drawing on crossdisciplinary insights and debates. Section 1: Economy and productivity

This section connects creativity, productivity, and economic growth and situates such connections within the broader hard and soft environments. Eight scholars reflect critically on how our built environment not only contains but also profoundly stimulates or intimidates human imaginations. Case studies are drawn from the UK, US, China, Indonesia, and Australia, among others. Silvia Cerisola, in Chapter 2, explores the mediating effect of multi-dimensional creativity. Specifically, it examines local economic development based on the relationship between built cultural heritage and creativity. The hypothesis is that impressive elements of built cultural heritage, through their aesthetic and historical value, may inspire local creativity, which in turn favours economic development by generating new and innovative ideas. An application recently conducted in England is presented here and originally compared with previous results obtained for Italy. The mechanism is confirmed, although in England, built cultural heritage seems to enhance economic development both directly and indirectly through its role in inspiring economic creativity by triggering related entrepreneurial and business ideas, which, in turn, do interact effectively with artistic and scientific creative talents.

A reflection on the interface  5 Taking this quantitative exploration further, Wu and colleagues’ contribution in Chapter 3 speaks directly to the influence of built environment, measured by environmental health, daily environment, mixed land use, commuting convenience, and technology atmosphere, on regional innovation productivity. Using China’s Pearl River Delta (PRD) as case study, the authors show that the spatial distribution of innovation productivity in the PRD is extremely uneven, and that the built environment has a significant impact on the spatial differentiation of regional innovation performance. Meanwhile, it seems that the built environment factor impacts the spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity to varying degrees, with technology atmosphere impacting the most. Their analysis thus provides direct evidence on the importance of innovation-oriented design and updating of built environments. In a similar vein but on a more defined scope, Zhiyuan Li, in Chapter 4, explores an interesting but largely undermined intersection between housing conditions, productivity, and creativity. Drawing upon a unique questionnaire survey conducted in Beijing, Li shows that long commutes negatively affect knowledge workers’ efficiency and innovation. Moreover, exploratory analysis and non-parametric tests show that the networking opportunities of knowledge workers living in seriously unaffordable housing conditions are more likely to be affected than knowledge workers on other housing affordability levels. His findings, therefore, echo that of Silvia Cerisola in unveiling the multi-dimensional creativity parameters but also highlight the multi-faced housing conditions beyond the sheer numbers and affordability that could influence knowledge workers’ performance. Taking the discussions on the multi-dimensional creativity and its spatial articulations further, Nicholas Phelps and Holi Wijaya’s work in Chapter 5 discusses business innovation at informal settings. Drawing insights from first-hand interviews and survey data at two kampungs (traditional villages) in Semarang City, Indonesia, the authors note that innovation is a notable feature both of informal businesses and the informal urban context. In particular, they highlight the home as a locus of innovation, whereas the neighbourhood or kampung appears less relevant as a supportive setting for business innovation. To a certain extent, therefore, Phelps and Wijaya’s writing on community and business innovation reaffirm the argument of Zhiyuan Li that housing, as an important component of the built environment, could also play a role in the innovation and creativity equation. Also focusing on the business environment and the variegated stakeholders involved, Chapter 6, contributed by Julie Miao, discusses innovation infrastructures as carefully crafted hard, soft, and cultural facilitators of innovation in defined urban areas. She argues that instead of attributing the genesis of an innovation cluster to ‘happy coincidences’, a better understanding of the design, utilisation, and improvement of innovation infrastructures, as well as the interweaved relations between different stakeholders, could shed light on the much-debated genesis and evolution of innovation clusters. She refers to Seaport Innovation District at Boston and illustrates how artists, designers, developers, planners, and local bureaucrats have all played a role in turning this underused yet primely located land into one of the most sought-after and least affordable economic hotspots in Boston. Eileen Sim’s contribution in Chapter 7 builds upon Miao’s work on innovation infrastructure but focuses more on the design and evolution of office spaces, especially in a post-COVID environment. She traces the evolution of four generations of workspaces from corridor offices to open-plan offices, and then non-territorial, sharing-based model, and now a hybrid working mode. Sim argues that the adoption of hybrid working will have major implications in how offices should be redesigned. The process of redesigning will vary dependent on the type of workplace that an organisation currently occupies as well as employees’ activity preferences. Chapters 8 and 9, both contributed by Kruti Upadhyay and Raghu Tirumala, lead our attention to the green and blue economies and how creative financial mechanisms have been

6  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar developed so far to support their development. In Chapter 8, the authors emphasise that green infrastructure is receiving substantial international attention considering the benefits it provides and can lead to an improved chance of achieving SDGs and combating climate change-related issues. Investments required to meet SDGs and climate action are, however, very substantial, hence there is a necessity to configure creative financing mechanisms. Some of the mechanisms that emerged are carbon credits, concessional finance, different thematic bonds (green, social, and sustainability), and the broader blended finance arena. Chapter 9 also bases its rationale on the Sustainable Development Goals (14 – Life under Water). Tirumala and Upadhyay believe that the traditional methods of financing have not been successful in addressing the concerns of this sector. Innovative changes in the blue finance ecosystem are nonetheless emerging quickly. These include (i) stronger articulation of the blue themes in the mandate of the financial institutions, (ii) development of various taxonomies, (iii) the instruments that have been developed and launched, and (iv) the institutional mechanisms to augment the capacity of the stakeholders and to channel a wide range of investors to the blue economy projects. All in all, contributions in the first section provide the statistical evidence on the connections between creativity and the built environment. More importantly, they draw our attention to the vintaged definitions, articulations, and components of both creativity and the built environment. It is very interesting, for example, to note that housing is an important shaper of creativity and that developers and financiers can also be imaginative in planting the seed of an innovation cluster or sector. Many authors also allude to culture and social fabric that are embedded in the built environment (Section 2) as important influencers of a place’s creative capacity. Section 2: Society and culture

Taking on the clue left by the last session, Section 2 explicitly addresses how hard environments are fabricated with social, cultural, and institutional meanings. Their unique feel and layout are constantly absorbed by those lived-in and passing-bys and form part of their cognitive development and creativity. Under the overarching theme of Society and Culture, chapters in this section discuss the social and cultural norms and standards that shape, and are shaped by, the urban forms, as well as how they evolve and differ at different times and in different settings, with case studies drawn from Baltimore in Maryland, Gwangju in South Korea, to Leh in India and Helsinki in Finland. The opening Chapter 10, contributed by Dan Eugen Ratiu, suggests a philosophical question of seeing the ‘city’ as a normative world in order to explore the often-neglected aspects of the creative urban life. Echoing the work of Sharon Zukin, the author discusses how new forms of creative work and urban lifestyles, as epitomised by the ‘project-oriented city’ and the ‘creative city’, have emerged under the influence of artistic lifestyle and values. The analysis reveals that extending the hyper-mobile and flexible creative lifestyle as everyday urban life triggers both benefits and risks. It also raises serious challenges to the creativity-led policies for urban development and their sustainability. Rishika Mukhopadhyay, in Chapter 11, details two street-based public art festivals in India. Specifically, the author is interested in how these events are inspired by the existing sociospatiality and cultural production of the space on the one hand, and how these public art events chose to interact with the built environment on the other. The first case, Rong Matir Panchali, a two-day art festival organised by Kumartuli Art Forum, has transformed an impoverished neighbourhood into a momentary space of spectacle. Comparatively, Chitpurer Chalchitra, a threeday public art trail organised by Chitpur Craft Collective, has interweaved its creative process

A reflection on the interface  7 with the existing built environment and thus foregrounded spatial performativity and the city’s existing visual aesthetics. Different interactions with the built environment raise questions about art’s political commitments. Building upon Mukhopadhyay’s articulation on the artist organisations, Chapter 12, contributed by Michael Buser, further addresses a gap in scholarship on the role of local arts groups in India and the impact they can have on place-making. The author narrates the Ladakh Arts and Media Organisation’s heritage-led regeneration efforts in Leh Old Town, India. The analysis revealed positive impacts the organisation has made both on the built environment and wider community. But it is noted that due to the organisation’s voluntary nature and small size, life in the Old Town remains largely as it is for the past several decades, characterised by deteriorating buildings and poor water, sanitation, and transport infrastructures, hence denoting the need for a broader support. Focusing on informality and the active promotion of the right to the [formal] city by slum dwellers, Martín Arias-Loyola and Francisco Vergara-Perucich in Chapter 13 present three cases of building the first cooperative bakery in a Chilean slum, a service-learning, and a ­Public Participation Geographic Information System, where multiple actors (grassroot informal communities, local and international NGOs, academia and the state) co-produced several actions aimed to make Los Arenales’ urban utopia a concrete reality. Their work demonstrates the complex, dynamic, and multi-faceted relationship between creativity and the [informal] built environment, and calls for a prefigurative politics stance, where the inexistent place (utopia) is gradually constructed in the here and now through direct action and planification. In Chapter 14, HaeRan Shin’s account of the remaking of Gwangju in South Korea through a creative city brand touches upon the roles of both events and key actors in restoring the image of the city. Shin criticises a monolithic view on creativity by demonstrating that different creativities can encounter, conflict, and negotiate. Her longitudinal study of Gwangju, the place where university students staged a peaceful anti-dictatorship protest on May 18, 1980, and in response, the national government sent in troops that brutally beat protestors, shows three stages of transformation in which its creative city strategies competed and renegotiated the nature of the built environment to reform the city’s identity. Importantly, Shin suggests the addition of history and memory to the intersections between creativity and the built environment. As the case of Gwangjun demonstrates, different creativities relating to the specific memory of a built environment can eventually align and combine to become an asset to urban resilience. On the transformation of physical environment, Meghan Ashlin Rich, in Chapter 15, examines artists’ relationship to city revitalisation and the built environment, and the role of arts-themed development and branding in city revitalisation plans. Here, the artists’ role of transforming and upscaling previously industrial spaces before they eventually being displaced – a process also noted by Sharon Zukin – is alluded to. Yet the author rightly points out that much of the research on gentrification has centred on global cities, whereas how arts and culture affect the built environment of peripheral, smaller cities, is less discussed. This chapter focuses on an arts and cultural district in Baltimore, Maryland, as an example of arts themed development through public-private partnerships. This case shows the possibilities of ‘striking a balance’ between revitalisation and gentrification in arts districts when development includes careful consideration of various neighbourhood stakeholders’ interests. Partly confirming Rich’s argument but through a less successful example, Anna Laura Palazzo and Romina D’Ascanio in Chapter 16 document a culture-led regeneration of the Ostiense working-class district in the city of Rome from a ‘factory city’ to a ‘knowledge city’. Despite its reputation as a multi-cultural melting pot, Ostiense is facing a far more ambitious challenge. Besides conflicts over space and uses, Palazzo and D’Ascanio record variegated governance

8  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar expectations and failures in mediating between various interests, resulting in highly segmented dynamics along the multiple paths of ethnic, cultural, and socio-economic differences. Chapter 17, contributed by Tommi Inkinen, leads our attention to a more defined scale. Specifically, it looks at a temporal renewal of a cable factory into a dance house building in ­Helsinki. Most interestingly, its methodology combines creativity and built environment together with photographs, site-visit experiences, and qualitative classification framework considering three spatial elements: Material (architectural); Social (interactive); and Experienced (emotional) spaces, and embedded them on three spatial scales: the building, its immediate surrounding, and the city. Take-away lessons are: first, combination and utilisation of old structures in the creation of new spaces for arts and culture is still a highly viable solution. Second, active programming should be considered together with physical regeneration. Third, accessibility and customer feedback cannot be underestimated. Taking together, Section 2 offers new insights on the conceptualisation of cities and creativity and underlines the different implications in normative values where different definitions and norms are promoted. It offers hope in balancing urban regeneration and inclusion and in leveraging the power of grassroot organisations, citizens, and their memories. It also warns the complicities involved and the different interests need to be coordinated. Section 3: Environment and space

This section discusses those activities that directly and indirectly shape the material development of our built environment and the thinking that exhibit human originality. At the same time, authors are encouraged to reflect upon how practice in these industries not only engineer our built environment but also exert influence on environmental sustainability, space utility, and place identity. Chapter 18, contributed by Francisco Javier Carrillo, is a theoretical reflection on how contemporary urban life has taken the Holocene climate for granted. Yet anthropogenic environmental impacts are on course to disrupt our way of life in deeper ways and at a wider scale than anything previously experienced by mankind at a global level. Despite increasing warnings, most cities seem to be in denial of the impending catastrophes and remain ill-prepared to cope with major disruptions. A review of the most relevant existing transdisciplinary literature leads to a call to overcome existing paradigms of urban development and let the Holocene city go. The case is made for rethinking the urban Anthropocene in the light of the challenges likely to be faced by cities around the world over the coming years. Also centred on the issue of sustainability, Cristina Ciliberto, Raffaella Taddeo, Wenjie Liao, Tan Yigitcanlar, and Giuseppe Ioppoloin in Chapter 19 provide a thorough review on current writing of Industry 4.0 and lean production, in order to seek for potential synergies between technological and organisational innovations in manufacturing and solutions for a more ecoefficient production. Result shows that these three dimensions complement each other, and the emerging technologies are potential vectors able to support lean and digitalised sustainable business models. In Chapter 20, Esther Anatolitis and Hélène Frichot discuss environment and space from a planning and design perspective. They introduce the concept of creative ecologies to investigate the ways in which a creative precinct emerges as a result of a range of complex relationships among diverse actors. Using a case study of Collingwood Yards in Naarm, Melbourne’s newest creative precinct, Anatolitis and Frichot demonstrate how deliberating and careful planning could resist contributing to yet more gentrification in the area, although years before it would become a creative precinct, developers deployed an unauthorised Gentri-fiction to leverage site

A reflection on the interface  9 value and future apartment sales by riding on the promise of rubbing shoulders with creative types – a process not so dissimilar from that in the Seaport Innovation District (Chapter 5). Focusing on the role of architectural and urban design in the Conceptual Age, Chapter 21, contributed by Rob McGauran, emphasises the importance of urban designers in not solving a problem, but identifying what is the right question to be asked. His case studies reveal the crucial role of quality affordable housing as essential infrastructure for the creative city, a finding echoes those made in Chapter 3. The more detailed study of the Monash National Employment and Innovation Cluster adds to the importance of a strong relationship between Town and Gown. To achieve this, the author suggests six crucial steps in setting up and delivering a master plan for the innovation precinct to succeed, a useful toolkit that could be adopted in other places. Chapter 22, contributed by Amparo Tarazona Vento, also departs from an architectural and design perspective but draws our attention to flagship architectures in city branding. Sharing the view of Chapter 14 on the power of history, Vento takes a historical approach to explore the connections between architecture, city branding, culture-led urban regeneration and the political economy of city making more widely, and the evolution of these connections over time. In reflection, Vento sounds at the danger of disconnecting these flagship architectures from everyday lives and the risk of focusing on the iconic city at the expense of the everyday others. Also paying attention to flagship architectures, Daniel Huppatz, in Chapter 23, critically examines recent iterations of the corporate campus, as represented by Apple Park, Facebook’s MPK 21, and Google’s Mountain View, from their external, symbolic value of branding and internal space designs that encourage staff creativity and collaboration. Although sustainable practices, programs, and initiatives are emphasised by all three cases, Huppatz points out their separatist nature as these corporate campuses isolate staff from the rest of the world and their use of ‘green camouflage’ to distract from the campus’s automobile dependency and huge energy expenditure elsewhere. Taking the design perspective further, Stephen Wood, Kim Dovey, and Lucinda Pike, in Chapter 24, ask how, and to what degree, morphology factors such as building types, public/ private interfaces, density, mix, and walkability make a difference to creative clusters. Drawing upon a series of in-depth interviews with cultural producers working in creative clusters in Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane, Australia, the authors argue that the creative cluster is a socio-spatial assemblage of a set of synergies that they summarise as MANA: Mix, Adaptation, Networks, and Ambivalence. The authors further argue that some of the fuzzier properties, such as ‘buzz’, ‘atmosphere’, and ‘character’ of creative clusters, are emergent effects of these synergies. The final Chapter 25 in this section, contributed by Marcus Foth, Skye Doherty, and Nick Kelly, is a useful reflection on the role of design and designers. Under the title ‘The dark side of creativity’, these authors point out that creativity and criminality are close cousins: while creativity is often heralded as a prime skillset planners and designers of the built environment must aspire towards, it can result in consequences that are ambiguous at best and malevolent or harmful at worst. Using design historiography as the method in examining three cases at Howard Smith Wharves, Brisbane airport, and fire resilience design in Australia, these authors sensitise the readers to the unintended implications when design creativity is co-opted by institutional processes and economic frameworks for objectives beyond the designer’s own circle of influence. All in all, chapters in Section 3 have covered a broad range of topics from environmental concerns to creative ecologies, from partnership to morphology. Those writings on design, in particular, have helped to set up a clear reciprocal relation between creativity and the built environment. Whereas a mixture of spatial qualities does attract the clustering of creative businesses,

10  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar the design and planning of these qualities need to be deliberate at avoiding certain unfavourable consequences. Section 4: Technology and innovation

This section illustrates how technologies and innovations, as displays of human creativity, have been used in building and strengthening an intelligent, real-time, responsive urban agenda. Authors are encouraged to critically evaluate their effect and effectiveness, including those negative ones. Chapter 26, contributed by Mark Stevenson and Avita Streatfield, reviews innovations in big data collection and analysis. Specific applications covered include in-vehicle telematics, Mobility-as-a-Service, on-demand transport, and electric micro-mobility. The authors believe that big data will enable cities to not only adapt to an unstable climate but also to digitalise their transport systems. It, therefore, will be crucial for planners and decision-makers to utilise big data to monitor the development of urban areas and determine priorities for resource allocation. Focusing on Mobility as a Service (MaaS), in Chapter 27, Xiaoyang Yu, Prithvi Bhat ­Beeramoole, Chaitrali Shirke, Paul Scott, and Alexander Paz discuss how it could be used as a single platform to provide travellers with access to (i) a broad range of transport options; (ii) trip information; and (iii) payment services, recommendations, and incentives. A case study using a stated preference for MaaS in Queensland is presented. Detailed statistical analysis reveals that price, access to public transport, rideshare, and carshare facilities are important attributes affecting MaaS preferences. Age and income levels are also important influencers. Most importantly, an overall reluctance was observed for MaaS uptake, suggesting MaaS is still a new idea with a tiny market presence in Australia. Another case of big data implementation is critically discussed in Chapter 28 by Mark ­Wilson, Travis Decaminada, Cornelius Darcy, and Eva Kassens-Noor. Specifically, these authors ask how the narrative of smart cities is created and disseminated. Analysing 4.7 million tweets containing #smartcity or #smartcities, they show that the major influencers for smart cities on Twitter are centrally placed or allied to the technology vendors and advisers that endorse smart cities and that a few influencers and bots account for a significant share of the tweets on the subject. These lead to the question about how an increasingly technology-based society learns and understands the forces that shape our daily life. Taking on this question, Daniel de O. Vasconcelos, in Chapter 29, discusses the new sociospatial dimensions of creativity by theorising the creative hybrid-places in the digital age. The author points out that there is a profound yet under-explored nexus between creativity, digital technologies, and the urban environment. To fill this gap, Vasconcelos argues that the recent digitisation of social practices has led to the rise of unbundled creativity, a form of creativity that is flexible, discontinuous, and a source of new subjectivities and embodiments. Its spatial reproduction is defined as creative hybrid-places, an assemblage of spaces integrated by digital technologies that support different tasks and requirements of creative production. Paying special attention to the virtual spaces, Chapters 30 and 31 illustrate the rise of augmented (AR) and virtual reality (VR) from different perspectives. Chapter 30, contributed by Jennifer Whyte and Dragana Nikolić, approaches AR and VR as useful technologies that could democratise design by making built environments more accessible. They detail progress on AR/ VR applications in the built environment and the impact of AR and VR on creativity and design across a range of design domains. This leads them to highlight that many existing frameworks and approaches are inadequate to support a playful and creative design inquiry. The authors hence call for relinquishing control in ways that make design more participatory.

A reflection on the interface  11 In Chapter 31, Peter Raisbeck and Michaela Prunotto conceptualise the application of AR and VR as part of a libidinal economy. Central to VR production is the desire to remake the real. But this (re)framing process, according to the authors, also seduces the passive adoption of false innovation for the sake of being spuriously ‘cutting edge’ rather than offering new political futures. Examining the adoptions of VR in architecture, construction, and planning, the authors note that VR and its creative imaginaries exist within an entangled libidinal ecology of desiring production. In this way and contrary to the view of Chapter 30, VR actually fosters control over the subjectivity of others through the design and manipulation of perception rather than producing a resistant politics. Shifting our attention to the construction discipline, Yanqing Fang and Shang Gao, in Chapter 32, offer a thorough literature review of lean construction in China. The authors focus on four topic areas in their content analysis: Lean construction theory and application, areas of Lean construction research, factors related to the influence of Lean construction, and an evaluation of the effect of Lean construction in China. Overall, Fang and Gao argue that the existing research on lean construction theory is somewhat lacking, the drivers of lean construction need to be strengthened, and the evaluation of lean construction effects needs to be deepened. In Chapter 33, Sarah Bell, Charlotte Johnson, Tse-Hui I, Kat Austen, and Gemma Moore provide an interesting case of bottom-up infrastructure design that supports healthy, sustainable, and resilient cities. A six-step design method and a set of associated tools are offered, including: setting aims, characterising communities, capturing requirements, analysing options, crafting solutions, and evaluation. The method was applied to the design of a rooftop garden on a socialhousing estate in London. The implementation process shows the potential for digital tools to further enable the intersection of community and technical knowledge in creative co-design of infrastructure and opportunities to incorporate more community creativity in formal design processes. Also focusing on the roles of agents in adopting and transforming technologies and spaces, Chapter 34, contributed by Ana Cristina Fachinelli, Suélen Bebber, Bianca Libardi, and Thais Zimmermann Suzin, discusses different strategies used to foster areas of innovation (AOIs) in three Brazilian cases of Porto Digital Technological Park in Recife, Sapiens Centre Creative District in Florianópolis, and the Fourth District in Porto Alegre. The authors find evidence of the different performances of the agents of the Triple Helix and that all agents are necessary to fulfil the phases for the transformation of the environments into a creative and innovative space. Julie Miao, Adiwan Fahlan Aritenang, and Nadia Gissma, in Chapter 35, also touch upon the different stakeholders involved in technology advancement and spatial transformation. They enter this discussion through the smart city discourse and the coworking spaces in particular. Using spatial network analysis, this chapter contributes to existing literature with a case study on Bandung, a creative and smart city in Indonesia. It demonstrates the spatial agglomeration tendency of coworking spaces as well as their diverse physical and social environments as a result of their size, financial strength, and history. The future development of coworking spaces in Indonesia, however, is facing the challenge of regulative ambiguity, hence calls for urgent policy action. Chapter 36, contributed by Giorgio Marfella, explores the relationship between design, technology, and creativity through the phenomenon of tall buildings. He argues that tall buildings are generated by the encounter of innovative building technologies and architectural ideas with the entrepreneurial forces that foresee the benefits of their economic exploitation. A historical account of skyscrapers in Melbourne’s Central Business District reveals a clear shift from owner-occupied properties to speculative projects, and highlights the importance of design in contributing to change while balancing public and private interests in high-rise developments.

12  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar It is clear that contributors in this section have paid attention not only to specific technologies and their applications but more so to the social and institutional environments and key agents that either enable or constrain their adoption and efficacy. Technologies and innovative productions, therefore, are the artefacts of creativity, whose spatial and social embeddedness requires contextualised interpretation and analysis. Section 5: Governance and planning

Chapters in this section examine governance opportunities and challenges at the interface ­between creativity and built environment. Leading voices from different regions are brought on board to provide a global review of practice in connecting creativity and built environment, and how communities and grassroot initiatives are responding to, and responded by, both planned and bottom-up approaches. Creativity and/or opportunism of the public sector in forging strategic partnerships are also distilled and analysed. Chapter 37, contributed by Paul Walker, starts this section with an interesting historical review of the birth and demise of the Multifunction Polis in Australia, which was proposed for Australia by the Japanese Minister for International Trade and Industry in 1987. After government investment reputed to be $100 million, the scheme was abandoned in 1997. Documental analysis reveals suspicion about the Japanese intentions and the different expectations on both sides. Interestingly, Walker noted the South Australian proposal won on the base of the priority it gave to urban design over propositions about industry and by its focus on environmental issues – both were advanced in its time and demonstrated bureaucratic creativity. Building upon Walker’s account but fast forward to Australia’s more recent creative city pursue, Emma Felton, in Chapter 38, discussed the unfolding of this planning logic and the broader social-economic consequences. Specific to Australia, Felton points out that current creative city thesis has overwhelmingly focused on inner-city precincts while overlooked activities occurring in the suburbs and outer suburbs. Moreover, the suburbs rather than the city, are typically the location of buildings which accommodate small-scale creative and craft type activities found in what have become known as makerspaces. Yet current arts and culture framework in Australia has left a gap in planning for these quasi-creative precincts. Elaborating this suburb creativity, Alan Pert and Nicholas Phelps, in Chapter 39, argue that the suburbs have always been locations for greater experimentation with regard to the built environment than is commonly recognised. Moreover, governments have at times themselves been important developers or, as regulators, instigators of experimentation in suburban housing. They present instances of suburbs by design in greater Melbourne, including Merchant Builders’ cluster housing anomalies, Boyd’s antidote to ugliness at Fountain Gate, Bent Architecture’s ‘Living Places’ cluster social housing and Habitat 21, and Delfin’s master planned community at Caroline Springs. All cases illustrate some of the patches of innovation and residential design beauty in what might otherwise be characterised as greater Melbourne’s suburban landscape. Shifting our attention to innovation districts, in Chapter 40, Joshua Drucker provides a useful review of this approach. He outlines what makes innovation districts different is their intentional grouping of multiple elements, which combine networking opportunities, entrepreneurial assistance, and other innovation support services. These districts package them together within a circumscribed and thickly clustered space, the physical features of which catalyse knowledge spillovers and networking opportunities while motivating and gratifying workers and entrepreneurs. Physical characteristics, in particular, are recognised as having a pivotal influence in an innovation district, and in an economic development strategy more broadly.

A reflection on the interface  13 Chapter 41, contributed by Carla Maria Kayanan, builds on above discussion by tracing the scholarship on tech spaces. While current literature emphasises the importance of a dense, walkable, amenity rich urban fabric as catalyst for the spontaneous synergistic interactions integral to innovation, the case of Dublin Docklands discussed in this chapter reveals that urban restructuring accommodating the desires of the tech sector creates new material, cultural, and social tensions. Critically, the author warns that without a deliberate change, the planning apparatus ends up either meeting the demands of the tech sector or finds that they do not have the means to achieve the type of comprehensive neighbourhood envisioned at the beginning. The phenomenon of large corporates flooding back to heritage buildings in the old district of Dublin also finds its replication in Paris. Jacob Thomas Simpson, in Chapter 42, presents empirical evidence on the prevalence of historic buildings among foreign firms in Paris Ile-de-France. In particular, Simpson examines the role of property market actors in shaping the quality of the built environment. Interestingly, interviews with actors involved in site selection revealed that historic buildings are regarded as ‘second best’ and less attractive compared to new built, even within the city centre, although creative industries and creative classes tend to appreciate the value of built heritage. His findings suggest that the types of investment taking place in historic Paris are framed by planning and preservation policies. In Chapter 43, Sha Liu and Kristian Ruming, echoing the writing of Rob McGauran in Chapter 21, further add to the debate on urban innovation and innovation districts from the perspective of universities and university incubators. Perceiving these incubators as physical, social, and educational spaces of creativity and innovation, Liu and Ruming examine how the Macquarie University incubator (Mqi) encapsulates the ideals of creativity and innovation, and how ideals of creativity and innovation have informed the planning, design, and construction of the Mqi. The physical design of Mqi, its social programs, and its educational missions have all worked together to support start-ups and build connections between the university and industries. Summarising discussions on cultural amenities and planning, Robert Kloosterman and ­Jochem de Vries in Chapter 44 present a holistic framework that distinguishes four types of cultural amenities. These include: small scale and caters to niche markets; small scale and caters to local mainstream audience; large scale with a niche orientation; and large scale that targets a mainstream audience. Both direct and indirect government interventions could be used to steer their development, as shown by the case of Amsterdam, but a governance perspective brings indirect interventions and partnerships to the fore. The final Chapter 45 in this section, contributed by Caitlin Morrissey and Michele Acuto, is a very useful remark on the making of ‘global city’. In particular, the authors, by reviewing how current research on, and policymaking for, global city-making has engaged with creativity, call for a broader ‘global urban’ interpretation of this domain. The chapter advocates for engaging with scholarship that has recast engagement with creativity from beyond the global north in a more cosmopolitan fashion. Creativity, from this point of view, is argued as not only a powerful asset and pervasive ‘ideas industry’ in circuits of global city-making but also a core component of the way we imagine the ‘global’ in cities. It is in itself an essential piece of the act of ‘worlding’ of urban processes, cities, and urbanisation, which allows us to expand the vocabulary and practice of global(ly engaged) city-making from a more inclusive point of view. Discussion and way forward Together, contributors in this Companion have initialised an intellectual journey of comprehending the reciprocal relations between creativity and our built environment, drawing insights from some of the most relevant disciplines, which, however, rarely talk to each other. Authors in

14  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar this Companion assemble and assess an array of plausible methodologies against their specific contexts in examining the multi-faceted interactions between the dynamic creativity and the inert built environment. By comparing and contrasting the thinking and practice behind some of the popular development strategies, this collection invites critical reflections of the validity of these strategies in different regional settings and the originality of the strategy being used. Explicitly, contributions in this Companion promote an appreciation of politics and power relations in multi-level, multi-agent, and devolving systems of government and governance and the normative dimensions of value judgements about the kinds of creativity we should be pursuing and the built environment we should be developing. Some common themes and open questions also emerge across the 45 chapters that call for further explorations. First of all, there is a need to further unpack the multi-dimensional and multi-scalar nature of creativity and the built environment. Several authors have pointed out the fuzzy definition and fluid boundary of creativity, and problematised its attachment to particular cities, places, and social classes. HaeRan Shin’s (Chapter 14) suggestion on adding history and memory to the play of creativity is a case in point. Who are creative, who can execute it, and who benefits from it are also some of the critical questions explicitly asked by Mark Wilson and colleagues (Chapter 28). One strong message emerged from our collection is that creativity is a distributed quality found across the public, the private, the third sector, as well as the populace. It can benefit but also impede economic and social well-being, as shown in Marcus Foth and co-authors’ writing on the dark side of creativity (Chapter 25). The meaning and content of the built environment are also scrutinised by several authors. City and its built environment, for example, is perceived as a normative world by Dan Eugen Ratiu (Chapter 10), and Daniel de O. Vasconcelos (Chapter 29) writes on the creative hybrid-places as the norm in a digital age. Analytically, Tommi ­Inkinen (Chapter 17) suggests the built environment’s material (architectural); social (interactive); and experienced (emotional) elements for a more comprehensive investigation. Second and related, the relationship between creativity and the built environment is variegated and mutable. On the one hand, it is arguably to say that creative clusters are more likely to be found in certain built environments, as summarised in Wood and colleageus’ MANA quality (Chapter 24), in Pert and Phelps’ examination of suburbs (Chapter 39), in Drucker’s surveying of innovation districts (Chapter 40), and in Kloosterman and de Vries’ distinguish between four types of cultural amenities (Chapter 44). Moreover, the quality of a built environment is evidenced to have an impact on regional and local innovation and creativity, as shown by Cerisola (Chapter 2) and Wu et al. (Chapter 3). Importantly, several authors have highlighted certain built elements that are important to innovation and creativity but have not attracted sufficient attention so far. These include, for example, affordable housing (see Chapters 4 and 21), innovation infrastructures (Chapter 6), makerspaces (Chapter 38), and university incubators (Chapter 43). On the other hand, the reciprocal relationship between creativity and the built environment is strongly shaped by the contexts and agents. It seems that informal businesses (Chapter 5) and third sectors (Chapters 11–13) are playing crucial roles in the global south, sometimes even filling the gaps left by formal institutions. Whereas in global north, planning regulations, developers, architects, financiers, and large corporates (see, e.g., Chapters 6, 8, 9, 22, 36, 41, and 42), often hold account for the creativity-built environment interface. Moreover, the cause effect between creativity and built environment could be positive or negative, depending on the rationales and relative powers of different stakeholders as well as how their different interests are negotiated and compromised (see Chapter 20). Third, there is a rich pool of methodological approaches emerging from this volume, both qualitatively and quantitively. Some of the most-used methods include literature review and

A reflection on the interface  15 content analysis (see, e.g., Chapters 19 and 32), secondary data and case studies (e.g., ­Chapters 7, 16, and 23), as well as primary data collected through interviews and surveys (e.g., Chapters 4 and 27). Other useful and innovative methodological tools are historical account (e.g., Chapter 37), spatial modelling (Chapter 3), geographic information system mapping (Chapter 24), social network analysis (Chapter 35), participatory planning (Chapter 33) and grounded theory (Chapter 17). There are also writings from the authors’ personal experience in observing, implementing, and/or managing an innovation ecosystem (see, e.g., Chapters 20, 21, and 33), which usefully bridge theoretical exploration with practical actions. There is, therefore, a further need of methodological conversation and evidence exchange among scholars interested in the broad theme of this Champion. Last but not least, almost all contributions have usefully reflected on the roles and implications of public interventions in the built environment to stimulate creative industries and revitalise local economy. It is noted that high-quality built environment is either an asset itself, or a marketing tool to attract investments, tourists, and consumptions. The role of the public sector is not only regulator but also negotiator, mediator, and even direct investor in this process. But two important chains on this feedback loop are arguably undermined so far. The first chain is the creativity within the public sector in imagining a different future for its localities and the creative toolkit they deploy to approach this. Miao’s writing (Chapter 6) on innovation infrastructure is a direct response to this gap, whereas Simpson’s (Chapter 42) finding of the unintentional clustering forced by heritage legislation provides indirect evidence on the role of planning. The other chain is the impact of a creative cluster or agents on local built forms. Evidence for this chain effect is more difficult to find given the inert nature of the built environment and the more scatted evidence of proactive transformation. Stories told by Mukhopadhyay (Chapter 11) on India’s street-based public art festivals and by Phelps and Wijaya (Chapter 5) on home as a locus of innovation have managed to shed some light on this regard. Further research, nonetheless, is needed to comprehend and nourish the creativity and built environment synergy. We believe in absence of rich literary resources on the interplay between creativity and the built environment, this Companion will serve as a key repository of relevant information, material, and knowledge to support research, policymaking, practice, and transferability of experiences to bridge the disconnect. Happy reading! Acknowledgment The leader author could like to thank the generous funding provided by the Australian Research Council Discovery Fellowship Grant (DE210100872) and the visiting scholar position offered by Harvard Asia Center in convening this volume. References Andersson, E. D., Andersson, E. A. and Mellander, C. (2011). Handbook of Creative Cities. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar. Baum, S., O’Connor, K. and Yigitcanlar, T. (2009). The implications of creative industries for regional outcomes. International Journal of Foresight and Innovation Policy, 5(1–3), 44–64. Baum, S., Yigitcanlar, T., Horton, S., Velibeyoglu, K. and Gleeson, B. (2007). The Role of Community and Lifestyle in the Making of a Knowledge City. Brisbane, Australia, Griffith University. Baycan, T. (2016). Sustainable City and Creativity. London, Routledge. Cerisola, S. (2019). Cultural Heritage, Creativity and Economic Development. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar. Chan, J. and Thomas, K. (2013). Handbook of Research on Creativity. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar.

16  J. T. Miao and T. Yigitcanlar de Dios, A. and Kong, L. (2020). Handbook on the Geographies of Creativity. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar. Durmaz, B., Platt, S. and Yigitcanlar, T. (2010). Creativity, culture tourism and place-making: Istanbul and London film industries. International Journal of Culture, Tourism and Hospitality Research, 4(3), 198–213. Florida, R. (2002). The Rise of the Creative Class. New York, Basic Books. Goldhagen, W. S. (2017). Welcome to Your World. New York, HarperCollins Publishers. Hall, P. (1998). Cities in Civilization. New York, Pantheon. Jacobs, J. (1961). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York, Random House. Jones, C. (2015). The Oxford Handbook of Creative Industries. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Krauss, G. and Sternberg, R. (2014). Handbook of Research on Entrepreneurship and Creativity. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar. Kropf, K. (2017). The Handbook of Urban Morphology. Chichester, Wiley. Landry, C. (2000). The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. Oxford, Earthscan. ——— (2019). Advanced Introduction to the Creative City. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar Publishing. Marshall, N. (2019). The Routledge Handbook of People and Place in the 21st Century City. London, Routledge. Miao, J. T., Benneworth, P. and Phelps, N. A. (2015). Making 21st Century Knowledge Complexes: Technopoles of the World 20 Years after. London, Routledge. Sergeeva, S. (2018). Making Sense of Innovation in the Built Environment. London, Routledge. Sternberg, R. (2019). The Cambridge Handbook of Creativity. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Tiwari, P. and Miao, J. T. (2022). A Research Agenda for Real Estate. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar. Tzonis, A. and Lefaivre, L. (2016). Times of Creative Destruction. London, Routledge. Yigitcanlar, T., Metaxiotis, K. and Carrillo, J. F. (2012). Building Prosperous Knowledge Cities. Cheltenham, Edward Elgar. Yigitcanlar, T., Velibeyoglu, K. and Baum, S. (2008). Creative Urban Regions: Harnessing Urban Technologies to Support Knowledge City Initiatives. Hersey, PA, IGI Global. Zukin, S. (1982). Loft Living: Culture and Capital in Urban Change. New Brunswick, Johns Hopkins University Press.

Section I

Economy and Productivity

2

Built cultural heritage and local development The mediating effect of multi-dimensional creativity Silvia Cerisola

Introduction This chapter aims at exploring local development through the relationship between built environment and creativity. The reasoning is conducted according to a particular approach, which focuses on specific perspectives on both elements. In fact, the peculiar built environment we have in mind is a ‘cultural’ one, i.e., built cultural heritage in terms of historical/architectonical beauties. On the other hand, the creativity we refer to is multi-dimensional, thus involving a combination of different talents, i.e., artistic, scientific, and economic. Both built environment (here in the form of built cultural heritage) and creativity may be fully considered as territorially rooted, which further justifies the territorial attitude characterising the present contribution. While in the case of the built environment the territorial foundations are quite explicit, it is worth mentioning here the reasons why we see creativity as a territorial feature. Although creativity has been in fact initially considered as an individual psychological characteristic (one among different ‘personality traits’), within this work we refer to the concept of creative environment, according to the idea that what is called ‘creative’ is never the result of individual action per se (Csikszentmihalyi 1988). Rather, social, cultural, historical, and physical contexts are important for individuals, as they provide the basis from which to create meanings (Nonaka et al. 2000; Landry 2011). In this sense, the creative environment that characterises a given area may be considered as determined by the endowment of different creative talents and by their particular combination. Overall, many different disciplines have investigated built cultural heritage (e.g., history, architecture, preservation, conservation, valorisation, and restoration) and creativity (e.g., psychology, sociology, neuroscience) before these elements were considered within the economic domain. All these approaches have informed the present work and have contributed to the wide and multidisciplinary conceptual and operational framework presented here.1 In more detail, the reasoning developed in the present contribution explores how the presence of built cultural heritage may inspire multi-dimensional creativity, which in turn favours local development through the generation of new and original ideas. To unfold the interpretation proposed, the chapter is structured as follows. After a literature review on the relationship between built cultural heritage, creativity, and local development, our operational definition of multi-dimensional creativity is conceptually and empirically explained. Subsequently, the results of a recent applied study on England are presented and interestingly qualitatively compared with those obtained by the author in earlier studies about Italy. Some final reflections conclude the work.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-3

20  S. Cerisola Built cultural heritage, creativity, and local development in the existing literature Built cultural heritage and local development

When we mention ‘built cultural heritage’, the immediate reference that comes to mind is immovable tangible cultural heritage, in terms of monuments, groups of buildings, and sites, which are of outstanding universal value from the historical, aesthetic, ethnological or anthropological point of view (UNESCO 1972). Immovable tangible cultural heritage also implicitly encompasses non-material meanings such as identity and experience (Carr 1994; ICOMOS 1964; Burra Charter 1999; Charter of Krakow 2000; Faro Convention 2005) since works of art and culture are influenced by the historical period during which they are created, functioning as physical supports of collective memory, sense of belonging and civic pride. Therefore, they can be considered a tangible expression of the history and culture of a given territory and community (Carta 1999; Spagnolo 2019), as well as identity and cohesion (Council of the European Union 2014; European Commission 2016). The role of the built cultural heritage in local and regional socioeconomic development has been emphasised in the last 20 years by many scholars and institutions.2 However, in most cases, an effective relationship between built cultural heritage and local economic development has been simply assumed, according to the idea that the presence of tangible cultural heritage has an automatically positive effect on economic development. In other cases, the only investigated transmission channel through which the presence of built cultural heritage is supposed to affect economic development is cultural tourism.3 Although undeniably significant, this mechanism risks to hide more complex and sophisticated processes that, instead, could well be at place. As Ashworth (2013) puts it, in fact, tangible cultural heritage in the form of a historic built environment is a place-bound major contributor to people’s identification with specific places and it becomes inextricably involved in local place images, identities, and economic geographies. In this sense, tangible heritage is frequently believed to perform many instrumental roles as a driver of (local) economic development (e.g., as a location factor for people and other sectors, as a contributor to environmental amenities and local identity, as a critical component of place image promotion and branding, and as a catalytic element in neighbourhood regeneration) (p. 367).4 According to this wider and more sophisticated perspective, some characteristics of societies such as creativity, sense of place, cultural landscape, social cohesion, and identity may play a relevant and important (although indirect) role within the relationship between built cultural heritage and the local socioeconomic development. Related to this, and conceptually drawing on some previous works (Cerisola 2019a, 2019b), the attempt here is to consider the inspirational role played by built cultural heritage5 on creativity, as will be thoroughly explained later. Creativity and local development

Initially studied within the psychology domain, creativity has relatively recently become a relevant research topic in economic and spatial fields due to its potential positive impact on local economic development. Its promising role has been indeed recognised by both scholars and institutions (see, for instance, UNCTAD 2008, 2010; European Commission 2010). In particular, creativity is seen as a central driver of growth and change, mainly through its role in innovation. Therefore, deepening our understanding of the mechanisms through which creativity may have a positive impact on economic performance becomes important also from a policy perspective.

Built cultural heritage and local development  21 However, defining and measuring creativity is not straightforward, essentially because the concept is fuzzy, intangible, and multi-dimensional. While there are many different existing definitions of creativity – substantially based either on its content, or on its outcome (product), or on its characteristics as a process (for a review, see Cerisola 2019a, Chapter 3) – the challenging measurement of this intangible and sophisticated concept is performed mainly through two approaches: the industry-based one and the occupational one. The industry-based approach focuses on the identification of ‘creative industries’ whose employment and value added are considered as proxies for the creativity of a given area.6 The existing literature on the relation between creativity and economic development based on creative industries highlights that these industries tend to cluster and to concentrate in big cities, characterised by high population density, agglomeration economies, positive externalities, and easy face-to-face interaction.7 Nevertheless, not much is available on the direct impact of creative industries on economic development. Among the existing studies, De Miguel-Molina et al. (2012) show an important correlation between creative industries and regional wealth, while Boix et al. (2013) provide evidence on the impact of creative services on regional wealth. More recently, Boix-Domenech and Soler-Marco (2017) found out that creative service industries increase regional labour productivity. The second existing approach to the measurement of creativity is the occupational one and in fact more empirical evidence on the link between creativity and development is available based on this perspective. The occupational approach is related to Florida’s (2002) work, where the author looked at ‘creative occupations’, identifying a so-called ‘creative class’. The idea that the presence of individuals working in creative jobs like sciences, education, culture, and arts favours local development has been remarked especially among policymakers. In this sense, a quite abundant literature is available, showing the positive contribution of the creative class on productivity (e.g., Florida et al. 2008; Marrocu and Paci 2012, 2013) and employment growth (e.g., Marlet and van Woerkens 2007; McGranahan and Wojan 2007; Boschma and Fritsch 2009), although in this last case Faggian et al. (2017) actually find out that creativity (measured à la Florida) does not appear as a dominant factor with respect to education and entrepreneurship. However, issues related to the causality direction of the investigated relationships are far from being solved and to be sure they still deserve particular attention, needing to be carefully considered also in the future related research. In addition, both approaches explained above present some limits and drawbacks.8 As for creative industries, in most cases, the whole production chain is considered (e.g., Howkins 2007; see Boix et al. 2013, on creating vs making and UNCTAD 2010, on value-chain analysis), without distinction between more or less design intensive activities. This also implies that even people who do not perform creative tasks within a creative industry are eventually considered, while people performing creative tasks outside the creative industries are not. Following this logic, the occupational approach overcomes the main problems of the industry-based one since it considers the specific tasks performed. Nevertheless, Florida’s creative class comes out to be very (too) wide, besides being strongly correlated with the group of more educated people, as highlighted by many scholars, who pointed out the difficulty in discriminating between the creative and the educational components (Glaeser 2005). Moreover, both methods are based on an ex-ante selection of creative sectors/occupations which is in fact quite discretionary. Theoretically drawing on some earlier studies by the author, the present chapter considers the multi-dimensional nature of creativity and proposes a conceptual and operational perspective to disentangle the complex relationship between built cultural heritage, creativity, and local growth, as will be illustrated in the rest of this work.

22  S. Cerisola Creativity as a mediator between built cultural heritage and local development

The existing literature has also mildly suggested that there is a relation between built cultural heritage and creativity. Back in 2005, the Faro Convention already stressed how these elements are linked, the promotion of cultural heritage protection being a crucial factor in the mutually supporting objectives of sustainable development and creativity. Later, the European Commission (2012, 2014) considered the contribution of cultural heritage through its direct and indirect economic potential, including the capacity to strengthen cultural and creative industries and to inspire creators and thinkers. Clarifying the channels through which the cultural (built heritage) and creative features of a local area can positively affect its economic development is therefore extremely important to design appropriate policies, able to trigger and push economic performance effectively, taking advantage of (and incentivising) the peculiar local cultural and creative environment. In more details, the present work puts together and reconciles the two strands of literature described in the previous sections, with the aim of highlighting the mediating function of creativity in linking built cultural heritage to local development. Our belief, in fact, is that built cultural heritage – through its aesthetical, beautifying, and identity value – can play an inspirational role for the generation of local creativity, which in turn works as a trigger of development. This mechanism was empirically – and successfully – evaluated at the local level in Italy and, more recently, in England NUTS3 regions (Cerisola 2022). The present chapter focuses on this last case, also providing some comparisons between the two situations, which show in fact some interesting and instructive differences. In order to properly get into the topic, the next section is devoted to explaining the perspective taken here to conceptually and operationally define (multi-dimensional) creativity at the local level. Multi-dimensional creativity: an operational definition Defining and measuring creativity is extremely difficult, essentially because the concept is blurred, abstract, and complex and because there are in fact distinct types of creativity. Thus, to address the topic, the present work identifies artistic, scientific, and economic creativities as the main modes in which local creativity can be expressed. Based on specific talents, each of them is shortly defined as follows. Artistic creativity involves imagination and capacity to generate original ideas and novel ways of interpreting the world, mainly expressed through text, sound, image, and performing arts (UNCTAD 2010, ch.1). Scientific creativity implies curiosity and willingness to experiment and make new connections in problem-solving (UNCTAD 2010, ch.1). This type of creativity finds its expression in engineering, or R&D and academic research in any field. Economic creativity is related to entrepreneurial skills, and it manifests itself through business ideas/practices/organisation, marketing, etc. (see also UNCTAD 2010, ch.1; Stolarick et al. 2011). In more detail, the present contribution is based on the conceptual idea that local creativity can be interpreted as ‘ideation based on talent of different types, i.e., stemming from different domains’. These different talents can fruitfully and synergistically interact, being simultaneously present, with different intensities and in different combinations, within a given territory, therefore characterising it. In this sense, our belief is that single creative types do not contribute

Built cultural heritage and local development  23 particularly to local development. Instead, the most breakthrough ideas are the result of the interaction of different creative talents stemming from different mental settings. In fact, their association is the way to approach the complexity of the world, thanks to the combination of artistic, scientific, and economic talents. The mental cross-fertilisation of talents (Andersson 1985), rather than creativity on its own, is, therefore, the driver of local development (Cerisola 2018). This definition, however, needs to be operationalised. Since the occupational approach to the measurement of creativity in fact overcomes some of the limits of the industrial approach (see previous section), the former is here considered as the starting point for quantifying artistic and scientific creativity, also trying to include some sectoral considerations. Therefore, artistic creativity is measured as the share of people performing creative tasks in artistic sectors and scientific creativity as the share of people performing creative tasks in scientific sectors over ­total employment.9 Finally, economic creativity is measured as trademark applications per capita, being trademarks an expression of new and original business ideas. Based on the conceptual and empirical definition of multi-dimensional local creativity presented above, the link between built cultural heritage and local development as mediated by multi-dimensional creativity was recently explored in England NUTS3 regions. The outcome is described in detail in what follows, as well as qualitatively compared with the case of Italy. The mediating role of territorial multi-dimensional creativity between built cultural heritage and local development in England: a comparison with Italy As mentioned in the previous section, the research work presented here made use of data geographically disaggregated at the NUTS3 level.10 Such level of spatial disaggregation can be considered particularly appropriate since it is quite detailed, but still allows to consider our territorial perspective because it involves a whole region characterised by specific tangible and intangible features (see the concept of territorial capital in OECD 2001; European Commission 2005; Camagni 2008, 2019). In particular, in a recent work on England, data on built cultural heritage were kindly provided by Historic England11 in terms of NUTS3 level information on the number of listed buildings.12 The absolute values were weighted by area to obtain an indicator representing the residents’ degree of exposure to built cultural heritage, and consequently – as mentioned before – also indirectly expressing some intangible aspects such as identity, collective memory, culture, and sense of belonging. The endowment of built cultural heritage in England is displayed in Figure 2.1, with the distinct categories being defined according to the quartiles of the distribution. As can be smoothly inferred from the map, the northern part of England – more remote and rural – is less endowed with built cultural heritage, which is, instead, clearly concentrated in the cities. Birmingham, Southampton, York, Manchester, Portsmouth, Bristol, Nottingham, Liverpool, and – above all – London evidently emerge from the map. A zoomed image of London is also provided to supply a more apparent contribution to the understanding of the great peculiarity of this city within the overall English context. This piece of information functioned as the starting point for the empirical analyses conducted by the author to explore the idea that the exposure to the physical presence of impressive, beautiful, and historical elements of built cultural heritage inspires territorial multi-dimensional creativity. Through this mechanism, it favours local development since creativity in turn pushes innovation by promoting the generation of new and original ideas. In order to empirically investigate the reasoning, measuring creativity as explained in the previous section, structural equation models were performed to test econometrically the overall relation.13

24  S. Cerisola

Figure 2.1  Listed buildings per square km in England and in London. Source: Author’s elaboration on data kindly provided by Historic England (listed buildings). Regions’ areas were retrieved from Eurostat.

As for the results, the presence of built cultural heritage seems to be effectively used in England, and in fact, it appears to have a positive direct impact on economic development (such outcome being possibly related to tourism). This is not the case in Italy, instead. On the other hand, the three creative talents do not appear to affect economic development when considered individually, and this is interestingly the case in both countries, which confirms the expectation that single types of creativity are not effective per se. For the sake of clarity and synthesis, the other – more sophisticated and more interesting – results are graphically displayed in Figure 2.2, where panel (a) represents England and panel (b) represents Italy. Bold links symbolise statistically significant relationships. As can be seen, the existence of abundant built cultural heritage is significantly related to economic creativity in the English case, while it is the reverse in Italy, where it comes out to be a determinant of artistic and scientific creativity. The hypothesis of a fruitful interaction between different creative talents is empirically investigated through the inclusion of interaction terms in the main econometric specification. In this case, the outcome demonstrates that while in England artistic and scientific creative talents do not appear to play any significant joint role in affecting economic development, when they are interacted with economic creativity it clearly emerges how the regions that are abundantly endowed with both economic creative talent – on the one hand – and with either scientific or artistic creativity – on the other – perform better in terms of economic development. The result is consistent with the case of Italy, where nevertheless also artistic and scientific creativity play a significantly positive synergistic role in favouring development. Thus, overall, in England, built cultural heritage seems to enhance economic development both directly and through its role in inspiring economic creativity, where the mechanism could

Built cultural heritage and local development  25

Figure 2.2 From built cultural heritage to development through multi-dimensional creativity. (a) England; (b) Italy. Source: Author’s elaboration based on Cerisola (2019a, 2019b, 2022).

be associated with the presence of built cultural heritage triggering related entrepreneurial and business ideas, which, in turn, do interact effectively with artistic and scientific creative talents. The process is conceptually similar in Italy but, in this case, it is linked to the positive effects of built cultural heritage on artistic and scientific types of creativity, which synergistically interact between themselves and also positively and smoothly interplay with economic creativity in favouring local development. Therefore, while in England, built cultural heritage seems to be more conducive to organisational and business skills, in Italy, the creative talents that come out to be stimulated by the presence of impressive tangible elements of culture are those stemming from more traditional sources (i.e., art and science). Overall, there are indeed significant differences between the two countries, and this is extremely interesting since it conveys the message that the mechanism (built cultural heritage → multi-dimensional creativity → development) is, in fact, at play, but it works differently in different cultural and institutional contexts. The peculiar features of the built cultural heritage present in an area may also affect the particular ways in which it inspires different creative talents. This outcome highlights once more the importance of local – mainly ­intangible – specific characteristics (territorial capital) in determining the development path of a given area.

26  S. Cerisola Moreover, the case of England led our attention towards the role played by a particularly big, vibrant, and developed metropolitan area, such as the one of London, where scientific and – even more so – artistic creative talents are concentrated, as well as built cultural heritage. The city of London can for sure be counted among the urban areas characterised by the ‘knowledge city paradigm’, implying a leading role in economic, social, and cultural development, beside the importance of intangible assets in their evolution. In this sense, cities may be considered as economic engines and cradles of creativity and innovation, which can also be promoted by the stimulating role of diversity (Yigitcanlar et al. 2012). In addition, knowledge cities are characterised by open attitudes towards the external world (cosmopolitan local identity), as well as by a vibrant cultural participation, all elements generating, boosting, and attracting talents, social vitality, and cultural heterogeneity (Landry and Bianchini 1995; Zukin 1995; Hall 1998; Scott 2000; UNESCO and World Bank 2021; Cerisola and Panzera 2022). Conclusions Stimulated by different disciplinary approaches on built cultural heritage, on creativity, and on their relationship, this chapter aimed at illustrating an unconventional transmission channel which implies the positive effect of built cultural heritage on local development through its inspirational role on territorial multi-dimensional creativity. The recently analysed case of ­England was explained, and it was also compared with some previous studies on Italy. Overall, built cultural heritage turned out to be a determinant of local development not only through the well-known touristic mechanism but also through a more sophisticated and intangible channel. This result corroborates the importance of proper conservation and valorisation of cultural heritage not only as an unproductive moral duty but also as an effective way of benefiting the well-being of an area. Therefore, it is fundamental to raise awareness on the importance of built environment characterised by the presence of cultural heritage as an effective tool for favouring economic performance through different channels, among which, significantly, local creativity. As usually happens, some challenges still need to be addressed and some interesting additional issues have emerged, deserving to be further dug into in future research. In particular, the (cultural) built environment-creativity nexus has been here highlighted through an inspirational mechanism. Nevertheless, such relationship has been considered as completely passive, without involving any direct interaction between built cultural heritage and residents. One might think, however, that the link could be even more effective if ‘activated’ through the cultural participation (engaged fruition) of local stakeholders. This type of transmission channel still requires more academic effort to be properly understood. In addition, a deeper investigation of the role of cities within this reasoning could be particularly interesting since they are suitable and important loci for a fruitful relationship between built cultural heritage and multi-dimensional creativity. However, some potential critical issues also need to be considered in this sense. Concentrating policies and efforts on innovative, creative, cultured, and educated big cities could lead to serious disparities, favouring growth in already strong areas to the detriment of weaker ones. Related to this, the productive relationship between a built environment characterised by cultural heritage and creativity could instead be used to strengthen more fragile areas and possibly to catch-up after the economic crisis generated by the COVID-19 pandemic. Finally, the application of our reasoning to other and different contexts could provide further insight into this interesting topic.

Built cultural heritage and local development  27 Notes 1 On the relevance of the interplay between different domains (conservation and economics in particular), the reader may refer to Boniotti and Cerisola (2022). 2 See, among others, Bowitz and Ibenholdt (2009); Ashworth (2013); European Commission, Directorate General for Research and Innovation (2015). 3 E.g., Herrero et al. (2006); Greffe (2009); Yang et al. (2010); Bonet (2011); Patuelli et al. (2013); Snowball (2013); Noonan and Rizzo (2017), Panzera et al. (2020). 4 Related reasonings can also be found in European Council (1999, 2014). 5 On the psychological relationship between patina, spontaneous fantasies, and place attachment the reader may also refer to Wells and Baldwin (2012) and Wells (2017). 6 Among the most renowned classifications of creative industries, UK-DCMS (1998, 2001); WIPO (2003); UNCTAD (2004, 2010); KEA (2006). 7 E.g., Hitters and Richards (2002); Scott (2005); Capone (2007); Freeman (2010); Power (2011); Lazzeretti et al. (2012); Boix et al. (2015). 8 For a more thorough discussion of this issue, the reader may refer to Cerisola (2019a, Chapter 3). In particular, the UK Department of Culture Media and Sport (DCMS 2015) through the concept of ‘creative intensity’ and the European Commission (2016) also proposed some more sophisticated measurement methods that aim to integrate the creative industries with the occupational perspectives to the quantification of creativity. 9 In more detail, and drawing also on UNCTAD (2010), artistic creativity is measured as the share of professional occupations in ‘artistically creative’ sectors (motion picture, video and television program production, sound recording, and music publishing activities; programming and broadcasting activities; creative, arts and entertainment activities; libraries, archives, museums, and other cultural activities) while scientific creativity is measured as the share of professional occupations in ‘scientifically creative’ sectors (computer programming, consultancy and related activities; architectural and engineering activities; technical testing and analysis; scientific research and development; advertising and market research; other professional, scientific, and technical activities). 10 The NUTS classification (nomenclature of territorial units for statistics) is a hierarchical system for dividing up the economic territory of the EU and the UK for the purpose of collecting, developing, and harmonising European regional statistics, providing socio-economic analyses of the regions, and framing EU regional policies. The NUTS3 level represents small regions for specific diagnoses (https:// ec.europa.eu/eurostat/web/nuts/background, accessed 12 May 2020). 11 https://historicengland.org.uk/. 12 Listed buildings are buildings of special architectural or historic interest (DCMS 2018, accessed 12 May 2022 at https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_ data/file/757054/Revised_Principles_of_Selection_2018.pdf). They may include great cathedrals, houses, but also more modest but still fascinating structures. 13 Structural equation modelling (SEM) allows to provide a comprehensive econometric model that shows the role of creativity as a mediator between built cultural heritage and economic development. The model is meant to provide the impact of the built cultural heritage on the different creative talents (artistic, scientific, and economic) and the subsequent effect of such (individual and interacted) creative talents on regional economic development (see also Cerisola 2019a, Ch. 7). Moreover, among other regressors, the specification controls for human capital (education) to avoid the problems highlighted before. For additional details on the model and specifications, the reader may refer to Cerisola (2019a), Cerisola (2019b), and Cerisola (2022).

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Built cultural heritage and local development  31 Wells, J. C. (2017), ‘How are old places different from new places? A psychological investigation of the correlation between patina, spontaneous fantasies, and place attachment’, International Journal of Heritage Studies, 23(5), 445–469. Wells, J. C. and E. D. Baldwin (2012), ‘Historic preservation, significance, and age value: A comparative phenomenology of historic Charleston and the nearby new-urbanist community of I’On’, Journal of Environmental Psychology, 32, 384–400. WIPO (2003), Guide on Surveying the Economic Contribution of the Copyright-Based Industries, ­Geneva: World Intellectual Property Organization. Yang, C., H. Lin and C. Han (2010), ‘Analysis of international tourist arrivals in China: the role of World Heritage Sites’, Tourism Management, 31, 827–837. Yigitcanlar, T., K. Metaxiotis and F. J. Carrillo (eds.). (2012), Building Prosperous Knowledge Cities – Policies, Plans and Metrics, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Zukin, S. (1995), The Cultures of Cities, Hoboken: Blackwell Publishing.

3

Impact of the built environment on the spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity Evidence from the Pearl River Delta, China Wu Kangmin, Wang Yang, Zhang Hong’ou, Liu Yi, and Ye Yuyao

Introduction In the past few decades, the global economy has gradually shifted from the neoclassical industrial production paradigm to the knowledge-based innovation paradigm. Innovation, technology, and creativity have become integral to the mainstream discourse regarding economic development (Capello and Lenzi, 2016, Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018b, Lv et al., 2019). In an ever-changing global environment, innovation productivity has been widely recognised as an important source of regional competitive advantage (Crossan and Apaydin, 2010, Capello, 2017, Chen et al., 2017). As a major manufacturing country, China has been trying to transform its role in the global production network from an assembler to a high value-added technologyintensive producer (Yang, 2014). The relationship between innovation and location has received substantial attention in research. The mechanism of innovation agglomeration and location choice involves two aspects: the production of knowledge and the choice of location of the innovation activities. Studies have identified two major mechanisms of innovation production and aggregation, namely, agglomeration and diversity (Adler et al., 2019, Zhang and Wu, 2019). The agglomeration paradigm emphasises the significant role of proximity, co-location, knowledge spillover, and agglomeration externalities in innovation (Marshall, 1890). More concepts, such as knowledge, cognitive, social, institutional, and organisational proximity (Boschma, 2005, Rammer et al., 2019), have further been proposed to explain the emergence of innovation. The diversity paradigm emphasises the impact of heterogeneity on innovation, highlighting the knowledge spillover and urban buzz are brought about by diversity (Capello and Lenzi, 2018). The impact of cultural or social diversity, racial diversity, sexual diversity, gender diversity, and other factors on the aggregation of creative class and RIP have been examined in literatures (Florida, 2004, Florida et al., 2008, Qian, 2013, Bereitschaft and Cammack, 2015, Ozgen et al., 2017, Wixe, 2018). In recent years, innovation research has begun to focus on the impact of place quality on high-quality labor agglomeration and innovation productivity. Place quality is the physical response of urban development to the new socio-economic paradigm. It focuses on knowledgebased and innovation-based urban development (Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018a) and on the provision of a high-quality living environment for knowledge-based professionals to create a pool of talent and innovation, thereby creating a spatial differentiation of innovation capacity. This concept established a connection between innovation clusters and the urban environment on a finer-grained level (Winden et al., 2013, Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018a, 2018b, 2018c). In past studies, the built environment factor has been incorporated into the discussion on innovation location. Accessibility (Ewing et al., 2016), urban amenity (Li et al., 2019), urban form DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-4

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity  33 (Hamidi and Zandiatashbar, 2018, Hamidi et al., 2019), mixed use, and urban density (Carlino et al., 2007) have been partly incorporated into the discussion framework of innovation location. (Li et al., 2019) found that urban amenities attract high-quality professionals, and hence, they significantly influence business location decisions and employment concentration. Hamidi et al. (2019) examined the relationship between urban compactness and start-ups and regional innovation capacity and found that compact development is more conducive to the development of local innovation capacity. (Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018a) analysed the spatial structural characteristics of innovation districts by constructing a conceptual framework of place quality with five aspects comprising form, context, function, image, and ambience; the author concluded that an effective integration of innovation districts into cities and a regard for public needs are more likely to create a vibrant environment that attracts and retains talent and investment. (Zandiatashbar and Hamidi, 2018) found that transit service quality and walkability contribute toward forming a robust local knowledge economy through the influence of knowledge intensive business services and the creative class. (Wood and Dovey, 2015) found that a compact and diverse development model facilitates face-to-face contact with urban buzz, which significantly increases local innovation productivity (Spencer, 2015) empirically analysed the differences in distribution preference between creative and high-tech industries from the perspective of evolutionary economic geography and found that knowledge-intensive firms tend to located in high-density, mixed-use neighbourhoods of city centres. However, we also note that the built environment is often partially conceptualised as part of the location conditions and is incorporated as an independent factor into the analysis framework of agglomeration, diversity, or place quality in the literature on location and innovation. The literature on innovation location lacks systematic organisation and conceptualisation of the built environment. Compared to the mere concepts of accessibility and urban service facilities, the built environment is a broader concept including infrastructure conditions, local technological innovation environment, environmental health quality, and so on. Meanwhile, although existing regression studies reveal the relationship between built environment factors and innovation, these studies neglect the spatial dimension. Accordingly, the impact of the built environment on the spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity remains underexplored. What is the relationship between the built environment and RIP? How strong is its impact on the spatial heterogeneity of RIP? Is there heterogeneity in the intensity of impact among the built environment factors? Although some studies have theoretically described these relationships, there is hardly any research that systematically conceptualises the built environment and obtains empirical evidence from the spatial dimension. This study aims to find out how the built environment affects the spatial heterogeneity of RIP. We chose the Pearl River Delta (PRD) in China as a case study and attempted to conceptualise the built environment systematically from the perspective of innovation. We went one step further with the regression analysis method by using Geodetector to measure the degree to which built environment factors impact the spatial heterogeneity of RIP. An innovation-based built environment Built environment: Concepts and indicators

The built environment comprises human-made physical environments, including various basic amenities (roads, urban amenities, recreational facilities, etc.) (Zhang and Yin, 2019). The concept of ‘built environment’ has different meanings at different scales (Yang and Zhou, 2019).

34  W. Kangmin, W. Yang, Z. Hong’ou, L.Yi, and Y. Yuyao Current scholars have widely examined the relationship among built environment characteristics and the obesity epidemic (Yang and Zhou, 2019, Zhang and Yin, 2019), body mass (Sun and Yin, 2018), health, and safety (Casares Blanco et al., 2019), and upward mobility (Hamidi and Ewing, 2015). Microscale research has shifted the research perspective to communities or an analysis of a specific site. This type of research is more concerned with the impact of a specific environmental field on the research subject, as it aims to understand the mechanism of the built environment through the analysis of specific urban design elements and spatial data (Spencer, 2015, Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018a). Currently, the literature focuses on several aspects of the built environment, including diversity, accessibility, and density (Zhang and Yin, 2019). Through specific indicators, such as density, mixed land use, road network connectivity, and the distance from major transportation sites, the influence of the built environment has been studied elaborately in a substantial body of literature (Carlino et al., 2007, Hamidi et al., 2019, Rammer et al., 2019, Wu et al., 2019). Studies currently focus on built environment factors and issues, like health, obesity, traffic safety, and traffic congestion. There is not much research on the impact of the built environment on RIP. Innovation-based built environment

Based on the three paradigms of innovation and location research mentioned in the previous subsections, namely, agglomeration, diversity, and place quality, we summarise the literature on how the built environment may affect innovation productivity. First, the agglomeration effect may be one of the means by which the built environment affects RIP. Knowledge- and innovation-based, high-tech companies tend to agglomerate in the distribution (Scott, 2000, Wu et al., 2019). These innovation subjects can benefit from sharing high-quality human resources, integrative learning opportunities, or knowledge spillovers and thus, further their own innovation (Giuliano et al., 2019). In addition to innovation clusters, universities and governments of the triple-helix model outside these clusters are likely to contribute to the establishment of local innovation capacity. Therefore, as an important aspect of the built environment, the condition of the local innovation infrastructure is crucial to RIP. Its effects include not only the urban buzz brought about by the clusters but also the connection established between local clusters and a broader global flow of knowledge through the global pipeline (Bathelt et al., 2004). Second, the built environment may influence RIP through diversity. Beginning with (Jacobs, 1969), diversity has been seen as a characteristic of the city itself, and the knowledge spillover and urban buzz engendered by diversity play an important role in stimulating vitality and innovation in the city. In addition, with the introduction of such concepts as tolerance and creative class by Florida (2004), the contribution of tolerance, openness, and cultural or social diversity to regional economic development has been widely recognised in academia (Qian, 2013). Tolerance and diversity are closely intertwined with human capital and social productivity. Thus, from this point of view, a compact (Hamidi et al., 2019) and diversified built-environment development orientation may be conducive to the production of local knowledge and economic social capital and, in turn, the local innovation productivity. Third, the built environment may affect RIP through place quality. It can promote RIP through the agglomeration of innovative talents. It is observed that investment in the development, attraction, and retention of human capital has become a key issue in the knowledge economy (Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018b). In this context, it must be noted that location and lifestyle are

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity  35 considered important factors in the development, attraction, and retention of knowledge workers (Storper and Scott, 2009). Global cities have also embraced the knowledge-based urban development strategy to stimulate the development of RIP and promote local economies. From this perspective, the cultivation of innovation and creativity-oriented place quality can also play a crucial role in the reconstruction of the built environment in the context of the global knowledge economy. Creating a high-quality, innovative, and creativity-oriented built environment would attract and agglomerate human capital, bringing more innovative activities and driving the development of local innovation productivity. Research design, data, and methodology Research design

This study aimed to verify the impact-level of built-environment factors on the spatial heterogeneity of RIP. Our research design is shown in Figure 3.1. We chose the PRD as our case study, and patent data to represent RIP. First, we built a patent-spatial database of the PRD based on geocoding technology. Second, we proposed a framework for an innovation-based built environment and construct the impact factor system. Third, we used negative binomial regression to verify the significance and the impact direction of the built-environment factors. Next, we verified the impact intensity of the significant impact factors with Geodetector. Finally, based on the model results, we discussed how the built environment shapes the spatial pattern of RIP. Innovation-based built environment: Framework and indicators

From the perspective of innovation, we tried to conceptualise the built environment more comprehensively and systematically, and developed a framework of an innovation-based built

Figure 3.1  Research design.

36  W. Kangmin, W. Yang, Z. Hong’ou, L.Yi, and Y. Yuyao

Figure 3.2  Framework of the innovation-based built environment.

environment (Figure 3.2). In this framework, we considered five aspects of an innovation-based built environment, namely, environmental health, daily interaction, mixed land use, commuting convenience, and technology atmosphere. Based on the case of the PRD, we selected the corresponding indicators to construct the impact factor index system (Table 3.1). Study area and data source

The PRD, located on the southeastern coast of China, is known as one of China’s three most developed urban agglomerations along with the Beijing-Tianjin-Hebei region and Yangtze River Delta. The PRD is composed of Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Foshan, Dongguan, Zhuhai, ­Zhongshan, Huizhou, Zhaoqing, and Jiangmen (Figure 3.3). The PRD has a total land area of 41,711 km2 and its resident population reached 59.1268 million in 2017. Since the late 1980s, there has been an influx of foreign capital into the PRD, which has rapidly promoted the industrialisation and urbanisation of the area. As the ‘world factory’, the rise of the PRD is conceptualised as an effective strategic coupling between cheap production factors and global production network (Yang, 2012, Yang, 2013, Ye et al., 2019). However, since 2005, the PRD’s development model has exhibited limitations due to the rise of production factors. In 2019, the central government announced the Development Plan for the GuangdongHong Kong-Macao Greater Bay Area. It demonstrates the PRD’s ambition to transform its economic development model and achieve ‘innovation-driven’ development. The 2017 patent data are obtained from the Patent Announcement Inquiry System of the State Intellectual Property Office of China, and include the patent name, application acceptance number, filing date, public announcement number, patent applicant, patent classification code, and detailed address information of the applicant (or organisation) (https://www.cnipa. gov.cn/). Using geocoding technology, we obtained the latitude and longitude of each patent’s address through the Baidu map API (https://map.baidu.com/). We established a spatial database of the PRD patterns through coordinate correction and data cleansing, which contains a total of 522,546 patent applications filed in the PRD in 2017 (Figure 3.4).

Table 3.1  Summary of variables Definition

Symbol

Dependent variable Innovation productivity

Density of generated patents (activities/km2)

Y

PM2.5 annual average detected value (microgram/m3) Density of start-up firms (activities/km2) Density of road network (m/km2) Mix of six main land-use types Density of major living facilities (coffee shop, convenience stores, supermarkets) (activities/km2)

HEA TEC COC LU INT

Per capita GDP (yuan (RMB)) % of population with high education (undergraduate and above) Average wage of urban residents (yuan (RMB))

Built environment Healthy environment Technology atmosphere Commuting convenience Mixed land use Daily interaction Urban fundamental Local economic condition High-quality workforce Wage

Expected direction

Min.

Max.

Mean

SD

0

1467.3300

11.1989

48.9699

− + + + +

23.7266 0 0 0 0

49.2698 20.6667 24.7206 1.6321 113.2220

35.3343 0.2668 2.8201 0.4849 4.4359

4.4526 0.9176 3.6332 0.4706 12.4928

GDP EDU

+ +

35921 0.0107

324165 0.2649

92539.1534 0.0450

54488.0337 0.0362

W

+

57394

128508

69873.5107

12443.4236

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity  37

Variables

38

W. Kangmin, W. Yang, Z. Hong’ou, L.Yi, and Y. Yuyao

Figure 3.3  The Pearl River Delta.

Figure 3.4  The spatial distribution of patents in the Pearl River Delta.

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity 39 The index system, with eight indicators and their data sources, are as follows. The healthy environment data were extracted from the PM2.5 monitoring data published by the Ministry of Environmental Protection of China (http://www.mee.gov.cn/). The technology atmosphere data were extracted from a list of start-up firms published by the Guangdong Science and Technology Department in 2017; we also used geocoding technology to obtain each firm’s latitude and longitude coordinates and established a spatial database of 12 516 start-up firms in the PRD in 2017. The mixed land use and daily interaction data were extracted from the PRD point of interest (POI) database, and the commuting convenience data were extracted from the Guangdong province road network vector database. The urban fundamental indicator data are statistical data; of these data, the high-quality workforce data were collected from 1% Population Sample Survey Data of Guangdong in 2015, and the local economic condition and wage data were extracted from the statistical yearbooks of each city. Analytical model setting

As shown in Table 3.1, the data used in the empirical work have a nesting structure. Both RIP and built environment factors are fine-point data, while the urban fundamental data are administrative scale statistics. Introducing the concept of spatial stratified heterogeneity, we used regression analysis to examine the impact direction of the built environment factors. Second, we obtained the impact intensity of built environment factors on the spatial heterogeneity of innovation productivity using the Geodetector technique. We divided the PRD into 5212 research units (3 km × 3 km) (Ye et al., 2019). Grid analysis avoids the effects of the distribution of natural elements, such as mountains and water bodies in administrative districts, preventing inaccuracies that emerge from the incorporation of these elements into the regression analysis. For urban fundamental data, we assigned the administrative districts data the specific grid. It is worth mentioning that since we calculated the impact intensity of the impact factors using the Geodetector technique, the scale inconsistencies of these variables will not introduce errors in the results. Results and analysis Spatial stratified heterogeneity of innovation productivity

We explored the spatial distribution characteristics of the PRD’s innovation productivity through a grid-based density analysis and a positive standard deviation value tail value test (Yu et al., 2015). According to the normal distribution law, mean ± σ covers about 68% of the data, and mean ± 2σ covers about 95%. We used a positive standard deviation value tail value test to draw the standard deviation line (sd line). Based on the sd line, we can visualise the high-value areas of nuclear density (Yu et al., 2015, Wu et al., 2016). The results are shown in Figure 3.5. It shows that the spatial distribution of the PRD’s innovation productivity is uneven, with the distribution of patents concentrated in a few areas. Positive standard deviation tail value test results (Table 3.2, Figure 3.5) show that 416,211 patents are concentrated within the spatial range covered by the 1 sd line, accounting for 79.65% of the total number of patents. The area of the 1 sd line is merely 16.24% of the PRD. The 5 sd line shows that innovation productivity peaks in Guangzhou and Shenzhen, which are also the two most developed cities in the nine PRD municipalities. This proves that the spatial distribution of the PRD’s innovation productivity is extremely uneven, with a few cities monopolising the spatial pattern.

40 W. Kangmin, W. Yang, Z. Hong’ou, L.Yi, and Y. Yuyao

Figure 3.5  The spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity in the Pearl River Delta.

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity  41 Table 3.2  Results of positive standard deviation values tail values examination SD line

Area (km2)

Patent activities

Area proportion/%

Patent proportion/%

Count density/ (patents/km2)

PRD 1 sd line 2 sd line 3 sd line 4 sd line 5 sd line

41,711 6,775.77 3,743.8 2,146.23 1,312.57 863.51

522546 416211 326300 257780 194229 152728

100 16.24 8.98 5.15 3.15 2.07

100.00 79.65 62.44 49.33 37.17 29.23

12.53 61.43 87.16 120.11 147.98 176.87

Factors influencing the spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity

We estimated the negative binomial model with Stata 12.0. Table 3.3 gives the results of the regression analysis. The results show that most variables are significant and with expected signs. We found that, of the five built environment factors in this study’s built environment conceptual framework, four factors are significant, namely, Healthy environment (HEA), Technology atmosphere (TEC), Commuting convenience (COC), and Mixed land use (LU). Of the urban fundamental factors, Local economic condition (GDP), High-quality workforce (EDU), and Wage (W) are all significant. Based on this result, we used the Geodetector technique to further explore the impact intensity of the built environment factors on the spatial differentiation of RIP. Categorical variables must be employed in the Geodetector technique. We used the Jenks natural breaks classification method to divide the seven significant impact factors into five levels (Wang et al., 2010, Wang et al., 2016), from high level to low level, based on their scores; their spatial distribution is shown in Figure 3.6. Based on the principle of the Geodetector technique, we calculated the impact level of the seven significant factors, as shown in Figure 3.7. The factors are sorted by impact level as follows: TEC > COC > EDU > W > LU > GDP > HEA. First, technology atmosphere was found to have a significant impact on the PRD’s regional innovation productivity. The negative binomial regression’s results show that it is significantly Table 3.3  Estimation results of negative binomial regression Variables

Coeff.

Robust SE

z

P

VIF

Healthy environment Technology atmosphere Commuting convenience Mixed land use Daily interaction Local economic condition High-quality workforce Wage Constant /lnalpha Alpha

0.0155* 0.4940*** 0.4490*** 2.0157*** −0.0080 0.0000*** 4.5199*** 0.0000*** −2.7069*** 0.8444 2.3266

0.0094 0.0871 0.0234 0.1072 0.0064 0.0000 1.6343 0.0000 0.4654 0.0362 0.0842

1.6500 5.6700 19.2100 18.8000 −1.2500 6.3400 2.7700 −2.6700 −5.8200

0.0990 0.0000 0.0000 0.0000 0.2130 0.0000 0.0060 0.0080 0.0000

1.3385 1.7917 5.2098 1.4491 4.2882 2.0208 2.8935 2.8192

Wald chi2(8) = 3068.69; Log pseudolikelihood = –9116.5051; Prob > chi2 = 0.0000 Notes: *is significant at the 0.1 level. **is significant at the 0.05. ***is significant at the 0.01.

42 W. Kangmin, W. Yang, Z. Hong’ou, L.Yi, and Y. Yuyao

Figure 3.6  (a–d) Map of seven factors in relation to regional innovation productivity in the Pearl River Delta.

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity  43

Figure 3.7  Power of impact factors guiding the spatial heterogeneity of innovation productivity.

positive with an impact intensity of 0.4419 in the Geodetector technique—the highest among all built environment factors. This result confirms that Marshallian specialisation externalities are conducive to the cultivation of RIP (Marshall, 1890). Figure 3.6c shows that the high-value areas of technology atmosphere are mainly around the east and west banks of the Pearl River, especially around the east bank. Two distinct peaks are formed in Guangzhou and Shenzhen, which are highly correlated with the spatial pattern of the PRD’s innovation productivity. The importance to innovation of a technology atmosphere and innovation actors is demonstrated in the literature on innovation systems (Albahari et al., 2018, Souzanchi Kashani and Roshani, 2019). Innovation actors and technology atmosphere have been conceptualised as important components of the regional innovation system (RIS) in the theoretical frameworks of RIS (Cooke et al., 1997), technological innovation systems (Bergek et al., 2015), sectoral innovation systems (Malerba, 2004), and triple helix (Souzanchi Kashani and Roshani, 2019). Our study also found that the spatial distribution of innovative actors has an important impact on RIP, and technology atmosphere is the most important built environment factor. Second, commuting convenience was found to be positively correlated with RIP, and its p-value was 0.2614, second only to technology atmosphere. Several studies have confirmed the impact of commuting and transportation conditions on business location and industrial distribution. Regardless of whether for the industrial sector (Ye et al., 2019) or high-tech sector (Wu et al., 2019), accessibility has always been an important factor when choosing a location. Our research also confirmed that places with better commuting and accessibility conditions may have higher innovation productivity. Third, mixed land use had a significant effect on RIP, with results showing a p-value of 0.0664. Mixed-use development and high-quality place making are considered conducive to facilitating social and cultural exchanges and, in turn, increasing the opportunities and effects of knowledge spillovers and generating stronger social capital (Hamidi and Zandiatashbar, 2018). Therefore, regions with more concentrated development can provide better social and human capital, which affects innovation productivity (Zheng, 2010). This is supported by our empirical evidence. Fourth, healthy environment was found to be positively correlated with RIP, with a p-value of 0.0286, which differs from our original hypothesis. In our framework, we assumed that environmental health conditions are an important consideration when knowledge workers choose their employment location, and they affect the flow of regional innovative talents and, consequently, the spatial pattern of RIP (Schoenberger and Walker, 2017). This assumption is not validated by

44  W. Kangmin, W. Yang, Z. Hong’ou, L.Yi, and Y. Yuyao our empirical study. This can be attributed to the development stage of the PRD and even China as a whole. At the regional level, currently, environmental health conditions have not been an important determinant of innovation productivity (Wu et al., 2019). For example, Beijing has some of the highest air pollution levels in China, but this factor has not stopped innovative talent across the country from moving into the capital city. Beijing even put forward a clear plan to control the size of its population strictly in the recent Beijing Master Plan (2016–2035) in 2017. In our empirical study, we found that healthy environment is positively correlated with innovation productivity. However, the results of the Geodetector technique show that it has a negligible impact on innovation productivity. Fifth, daily interaction was found to have no significant impact on the spatial differentiation of innovation capacity. In our hypothesis, urban amenities, comprising basic infrastructure and a place of exchanges, form an important part of place quality and influence the workplace selection decisions of skilled workers (Esmaeilpoorarabi et al., 2018c, Lee and Kim, 2019). Hence, we assumed that daily interaction would promote RIP. However, our empirical study shows that the impact of daily interaction on innovation productivity is not significant in the PRD. We believe that one possible cause is again related to the PRD’s development stage. Considered as the ‘world factory’, the PRD is still transitioning from a manufacturing-oriented stage to innovation-driven development, and hence, urban amenities and factors alike are yet to have a decisive effect on the flow of high-quality talent and RIP. Discussion and conclusions Based on the 2017 patent spatial database of the PRD, this study constructed a framework of innovation-based built environment. Using the negative binomial regression and the Geodetector technique, it demonstrated how the built environment affects the spatial differentiation of innovation from the perspective of spatial stratified heterogeneity. Our empirical study validated the existence of such an effect, along with some unique findings. First, the PRD’s innovation productivity appears to be highly aggregated, with 79.65% of the patents concentrating in 16.24% of the land area. Second, our study found that the built environment has a significant effect on the spatial ­differentiation of innovation productivity, and there is heterogeneity in the impact intensity of different factors. Among the factors, technology atmosphere has the highest level of impact. Such empirical results confirmed the existence of Marshallian cluster externalities and proved that developing the local innovation industry and local innovation atmosphere is the key to promoting innovation productivity. Commuting convenience and mixed land use also have a significant positive effect, indicating that the mixed-use development model and the improvement of infrastructure conditions remain important means of attracting innovation subjects and talent. Additionally, they facilitate the development of the local innovation productivity. Therefore, local governments should focus on upgrading infrastructure and mixed-use development models when designing policies to promote local innovation productivity. Third, in our framework, although we assumed that healthy environment and daily interaction exert negative and positive influences, thereby impacting innovation productivity, our empirical results show that healthy environment is positively correlated with innovation productivity but has a minor impact, while the effect of daily interaction is insignificant. This shows that environmental health conditions and place quality have not yet become decisive factors affecting the flow of highly skilled workers in the PRD’s current stage of development. Our empirical results show that this transformation has not been completed, and there is still a spatial mismatch between innovation productivity and place quality. Local governments should

Impact of the built environment on spatial heterogeneity  45 also recognise this problem and develop more comprehensive plans to balance the innovationoriented needs of the built environment. The empirical study is potentially of great importance to policymakers. Recognising the significant impact of the built environment and factor heterogeneity, the PRD local governments, when formulating local innovation development policies, should focus not only on introducing technology, building global and local connections, and constructing innovation networks but also on ensuring an innovation-oriented built environment configuration. This focus would help them to spearhead the expansion of innovation infrastructure and urban amenities, improve the local natural and living environment, and promote mixed-use development. A combination of policies that focus on both soft and hard environments would be able to drive the development of local innovation productivity and help the PRD to gain a head start in future transitional development. References Adler, P., Florida, R., King, K. & Mellander, C. (2019). The city and high-tech startups: The spatial organization of Schumpeterian entrepreneurship. Cities, 87, 121–130. doi: 10.1016/j.cities.2018.12.013. Albahari, A., Barge-Gil, A., Perez-Canto, S. & Modrego, A. (2018). The influence of science and technology park characteristics on firms’ innovation results. Papers in Regional Science, 97, 253–280. doi: 10. 1111/pirs.12253. Bathelt, H., Malmberg, A. & Maskell, P. (2004). Clusters and knowledge: Local buzz, global pipelines and the process of knowledge creation. Progress in Human Geography, 28, 31–56. doi: 10.1191/ 0309132504ph469oa. Bereitschaft, B. & Cammack, R. (2015). Neighborhood diversity and the creative class in Chicago. ­Applied Geography, 63, 166–183. doi: 10.1016/j.apgeog.2015.06.020. Bergek, A., Hekkert, M., Jacobsson, S., Markard, J., Sanden, B. & Truffer, B. (2015). Technological innovation systems in contexts: Conceptualizing contextual structures and interaction dynamics. Environmental Innovation and Societal Transitions, 16, 51–64. doi: 10.1016/j.eist.2015.07.003. Boschma, R. A. (2005). Proximity and innovation: A critical assessment. Regional Studies, 39, 61–74. doi: 10.1080/0034340052000320887. Capello, R. (2017). Towards a new conceptualization of innovation in space: Territorial patterns of innovation. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 41, 976–996. doi: 10.1111/1468-2427.12556. Capello, R. & Lenzi, C. (2016). Innovation modes and entrepreneurial behavioral characteristics in regional growth. Small Business Economics, 47, 875–893. doi: 10.1007/s11187-016-9741-x. Capello, R. & Lenzi, C. (2018). Regional innovation patterns from an evolutionary perspective. Regional Studies, 52, 159–171. doi: 10.1080/00343404.2017.1296943. Carlino, G. A., Chatterjee, S. & Hunt, R. M. (2007). Urban density and the rate of invention. Journal of Urban Economics, 61, 389–419. doi: 10.1016/j.jue.2006.08.003. Casares Blanco, J., Fernandez-Aracil, P. & Ortuno-Padilla, A. (2019). Built environment and tourism as road safety determinants in Benidorm (Spain). European Planning Studies, 27, 1314–1328. doi: 10. 1080/09654313.2019.1579784. Chen, X., Liu, Z. & Ma, C. (2017). Chinese innovation-driving factors: Regional structure, innovation effect, and economic development-empirical research based on panel data. Annals of Regional Science, 59, 43–68. doi: 10.1007/s00168-017-0818-5. Cooke, P., Uranga, M. G. & Etxebarria, G. (1997). Regional innovation systems: Institutional and organisational dimensions. Research Policy, 26, 475–491. doi: 10.1016/s0048-7333(97)00025-5. Crossan, M. M. & Apaydin, M. (2010). A multi-dimensional framework of organizational innovation: A systematic review of the literature. Journal of Management Studies, 47, 1154–1191. doi: 10. 1111/j.1467-6486.2009.00880.x. Esmaeilpoorarabi, N., Yigitcanlar, T. & Guaralda, M. (2018a). Place quality in innovation clusters: An empirical analysis of global best practices from Singapore, Helsinki, New York, and Sydney. Cities, 74, 156–168. doi: 10.1016/j.cities.2017.11.017.

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4

Housing, productivity and creativity Zhiyuan Li

Introduction Housing is a critical part of the built environment, not only as a location where people live but also in relation to self-identity, physical and emotional demands, and social connections. When reviewing the literature on housing, most studies focus on housing ownership, the housing market, housing in urban policy, and homelessness (Landvoigt et al., 2015; Rohe, 2017; Wu et al., 2019), in which housing affordability is a big concern which not only refers to the relationship between income and housing costs but also reflects the results of budgetary trade-offs for residents, including residential location choices, demand and access to infrastructures and amenities and even physical and emotional well-being. However, there is limited exploration of how housing affects productivity and creativity. The boom of knowledge economies has led many cities to transfer to knowledge-based development where housing is a critical attracting factor for the ‘creative class’ (Yigitcanlar et al., 2007, 2008). In China, the science park model has been used as a critical platform for the knowledge economy, attracting large numbers of knowledge workers. Science parks are concentrated with high-tech industries and similar knowledge-based economic activities with the features like knowledge sharing, innovation promotion, and the commercialisation of research outcomes (Benko, 2000; Macdonald & Deng, 2004; Miao, 2017; Miao et al., 2015; Nahm, 2000). As a consequence, if a huge number of knowledge-based economic activities concentrate in science parks, the housing prices may be pushed up by the ‘overheating’ or ‘diseconomies of agglomeration’, which may lead to housing issues among knowledge workers. Therefore, based on the gap in knowledge on the relationship between housing and productivity and creativity, and considering the potential harm to the productivity and creativity of knowledge workers, the critical human capital supporting the knowledge economy through providing innovative insights continuously (Hendarman & Tjakraatmadja, 2012), this study examines how housing characteristics including tenure types, over-crowding, commuting time and affordability influence knowledge workers’ working time, efficiency, innovation, and networking opportunities. Using the data collected from questionnaire surveys, a non-parametric test is adopted to examine the impact on the work of knowledge workers from differences in housing characteristics. Literature review Housing and health

Housing is one of the key social determinants in keeping mental health (Lund et al., 2018; WHO, 2014), and many studies established evidence that housing disadvantages including DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-5

Housing, productivity and creativity  49 tenure, financial insecurities, and physical characteristics are associated with worse mental health. Tenure links housing and mental health through the quality of dwellings and the ontological security provided (Bentley et al., 2016). Some studies believed that renters tend to have poorer mental health than homeowners (Gibson et al., 2011; Macintyre et al., 2003), but Baker et al. (2013) pointed out that this was caused by individual characteristics instead of causation of tenure. And Mason et al. (2013) thought that tenure was actually a response to housing affordability problems and they found that private renters were more likely to suffer from the negative mental health effects of unaffordable housing when compared to homebuyers. And housing affordability may even decrease the mental health of families. Bentley et al. (2011) investigated if these households with unaffordable issues would experience a deterioration in their mental health. The authors concluded that the mental health of low-to-moderate income households would deteriorate when they lived in housing that exceeded their affordability. Whereas households with higher income were not affected obviously. Furthermore, unaffordable housing stress may force people to live in housing with an unpleasant environment, which is a critical contributing factor in damaging mental health (Baker et al., 2016; Evans, 2003). Especially residing in informal housing or dormitories may cause additional stress by exposure to overcrowding, lack of indoor facilities, and unfriendly neighborhoods (Li & Liu, 2018). Crowded residences may result in noise and even disruption of sleep and daily routines (Conley, 2001; Evans, 2003), and poor physical housing quality may force residents to be exposed to noise thus affecting sleep (Bonnefoy, 2007). As a result, stress may be generated from concerns and fears of daily harassment. Housing and commute

The relationship between residential and employment location has been discussed since the 19th century by Chicago school who attributed the long commuting time or job-housing imbalance to the changing structure of the city, from monocentric to multicentric model (Burgess, 1925; Harris & Ullman, 1945; Hoyt, 1939). This transformation of urban structures is accompanied by suburbanisation and decentralisation of housing (Mills & De Ferranti, 1971; Moses & ­Williamson, 1967), as a result, employees have to commute increasingly long distances to their workplaces. Diseconomies of agglomeration in metropolitan areas are another factor contributing to long commuting time. Congestion costs are one of the major diseconomies of agglomeration in the urban area because the over-concentration of economic activities within the city leads to negative effects such as long commuting time and the reduction of land for housing (Tabuchi, 1998). However, the housing-job imbalance is widespread worldwide, especially in developing countries, where urbanisation is accompanied by a dramatic restructuring of social and spatial relations (Zhang et al., 2018). For low-income workers, the disadvantages of car and housing affordability forced them to settle down in areas far from their workplaces and highly depend on public transport (Gakenheimer, 1999). But the lack of public transport provision in distant suburbs exacerbates commuting challenges (Ahmed et al., 2008; Zhao & Li, 2016). From a microscopic perspective, some studies explored how individual and household characteristics affect residential choices, thus affecting commute. Rouwendal and Meijer (2001) revealed that residents in the Netherlands were willing to bear long commutes to trade for

50  Z. Li desirable housing attributes, especially housing type, location, and owner occupation. The research conducted in India by Manoj et al. (2015) disclosed that renters commuted longer than owners in urban areas, but the opposite was true in rural areas. And urban residents who travelled longer distances prefer to rent. An interesting finding recently by Xiao et al. (2021) pointed out that significant negative impacts on innovation due to longer commutes, which inspired the focus in this chapter on how housing location influences creativity. In addition, many studies believed that long commutes worsen mental health (Mauss et al., 2016; Milner et al., 2017), which may be a potential contributor to decreasing creativity. Housing and networking

Social networking is a web-connected with personal relationships consisting of interactions between individuals, namely social ties (Kleit & Carnegie, 2011; Pollack et al., 2014). Furthermore, the social network has been recognised as a critical channel for knowledge sharing and searching for employment opportunities (Perry-Smith & Mannucci, 2015), in which innovation may be promoted by knowledge transfer or knowledge spillovers caused by human mobility. However, housing provides a space for building connections with each other, and many studies have demonstrated the positive influence in enhancing social integration or homophily, and further expanding social networks. From a micro or personal point of view, Hipp and Perrin (2009) indicated that social homophily was promoted by interactions and proximity between residents. However, propinquity didn’t imply the existence of a social tie which was also influenced by social-economic class, life cycle, culture, and gender. From a broader perspective, Wong and Solomon (2002) built a framework for community integration based on a supportive housing community. They pointed out three scopes of community integration including physical integration, social integration, and psychological integration. Furthermore, social integration may have a significant impact on creating extensive social networks. Wilson (1987) pointed out that residents living in poor neighborhoods might lead to isolation from resources and opportunities which could drive them to find jobs because the poverty in neighborhoods usually meant weak ties in labor and employment networks. In contrast, a mixed-income community provides opportunities to build connections with different income groups, thus accessing more employment resources and building job networks (Joseph et al., 2007). However, housing tenure may also impact the formation of social networks. Some studies believes that homeowners tend to have more extensive community networks than tenants because they are more willing to participate in community activities such as joining organisations or contributing to problem-solving (Beekman et al., 2001; DiPasquale & Glaeser, 1999). Another study by Ziersch and Arthurson (2005) explored how public housing tenures impacted employment networks. The finding showed cooperating housing tenants had border networks and these networks were more likely to be used in employment compared to other types of tenants. The previous study inspires the reflection that housing will influence knowledge workers physically and mentally, and eventually suppress their productivity and creativity. Our primary objective in this chapter is to examine the impact of housing characteristics on knowledge workers’ work. This requires us taking into account the channel linking housing, productivity, and creativity; however, it is beyond the scope of this chapter. Further analysis of the physical and mental influences from housing should be explored in future research.

Housing, productivity and creativity  51 Method The methodology adopted by researchers in the study on housing is hybrid including both qualitative and quantitative methods. Studies on the relationship between housing and mental health were mainly quantitative. In psychosocial studies, quasi-experiment was widely adopted where data were collected from the perspective-controlled study (Egan et al., 2013; Kearns et al., 2011; Thomson et al., 2007). For example, Kearns et al. (2011) compared the changes in mental health between a control group and an intervention group after the latter moved into new homes two years later. Urbanists and socialists usually use surveys or interviews to collect quantitative data (Bentley et al., 2016; Desmond & Kimbro, 2015; Guite et al., 2006). A study by Desmond and Kimbro (2015) tracked mental health changes for five consecutive years by conventions of material hardship surveys. Econometric and statistical models are widely used in investigating how housing impacts commutes. Using open-source data, Blumenberg and Siddiq (2022) developed a spatial lag model to explore the relationship between job-housing fit and commuting distance. Similarly, Moos et al. (2018) built weighted multiple linear regression models that measured the relations between housing sustainability and commuting distance. Another study by Blumenberg and Siddiq (2022) utilised open-sourced survey data to calculate minimum commute distance and excess rate via an iterative algorithm developed by Boussauw et al. (2011) and used a non-parametric test to explore jobs-housing proximity differences between different areas and years. Case study is also a popular method. It was used by Ziersch and Arthurson (2005) to explore how housing tenure impacted social networks. The data was qualitative and collected through interviews with policymakers. Kim and Kim (2017) did a case study in a social housing community in Seoul. They collected data from questionnaires and interviews to investigate how the spatial configuration of housing impacted the social networks of the elderly. Similarly, Cho and Yoon (2019) established a negative binomial model based on quantitative data from a case study of a public housing project– HOPE VI to inspect how housing types influenced employment networks. In this chapter, a case study in Beijing was carried out in order to present the real-life housing and working situation of knowledge workers (Yin, 2018). The quantitative data was collected through a questionnaire survey in Beijing’s science park. Based on the literature review, this chapter identified four housing-related independent variables including (1) dwelling type, (2)  over-crowding, (3) affordability, and (4) commuting time. Dependent variables involve (1)  working time, (2) working efficiency, (3) innovation, and (4) networking opportunities, which were summarised from previous studies on knowledge workers’ productivity and creativity (Ramírez & Nembhard, 2004). For in-depth analysis, a non-parametric test was conducted by SPSS to explore the differences between dependent variables between different groups of independent variables. Case study Case selection

In this study, ZGC-SP (Zhongguancun SP) in Beijing was selected as a case study. Since the 1990s, Beijing was transforming from an industrial city to a knowledge-based city (Zhao, 2010). And so far, Beijing had developed into one of the top tech cities in the world with the most famous science park – ZGC-SP in China. According to a report of Top Tech Cities in

52  Z. Li

Figure 4.1  The location of Z-SP and sub-parks.

the World 2018 from Expert Market, a business resource company based in the United States, ­Zhongguancun had unseated San Francisco’s Silicon Valley as the top technology hub in the world.1 Based on data analysis including average salaries, available funding for early-stage businesses, and the living cost, the author Spohia Patsikas ranked Beijing as the top tech hub in the world, followed by Berlin (Germany) and San Francisco (USA). ZGC-SP had become one of the world’s most famous science parks after multiple stages of reform. Under the so-called ‘One District, Multiple Sub-parks’ strategy, Z-SP is seeking new space for expansion with 16 sub-parks already developed (see Figure 4.1) (Miao, 2017). Especially, these sub-parks provided this research with several alternative cases for collecting data for in-depth analysis. Study area and data collection

In order to minimise the heterogeneity caused by industrial differences, this chapter selected Software SP, Tus SP, and IT Industry Park which all focus on the IT industry as study areas (shown in Figure 4.2). A paper-based questionnaire survey was conducted face-to-face in these three sub-parks from May to September of 2021. The questionnaire design is shown in Table 4.1.

Housing, productivity and creativity  53

Figure 4.2  The location of the study area.

A total of 487 effective questionnaires were collected with 26.7% effective response rate. These questionnaires are comprised of 162 from Software SP, 155 from Tus SP and 170 from IT Industry Park. Results of descriptive analysis and nonparametric tests are presented below. Statistical analysis and results Descriptive analysis and variables coding

This chapter constructed four sets of independent variables to capture the housing characteristics of respondents in the questionnaire survey, including commuting time, dwelling type, overcrowding, and housing affordability. Four dependent variables were developed by asking respondents whether their working time, efficiency, innovation, or networking opportunities were negatively impacted by housing. The descriptive statistics of dependent and independent variables are shown in Table 4.2. In terms of independent variables, commuting time was measured by the time respondents spent on a one-way trip from home to work and coded as ordinal variables – 1 (0~30 mins), 2 (31~59 mins), and 3 (>60 mins) respectively. Dwelling type was captured by the ownership of property in which the respondents live (coded 1 if rent, coded 0 if owned). Over-crowding was defined as three members living in a house with less than two bedrooms, or four members Table 4.1  Questionnaire design Question type

Data collected

Single choice Fill-in-the blank Multiple choice

Dwelling type; housing affordability Commuting time; the number of bedrooms and roommates The impacts on work (working time, efficiency, innovation, and networking opportunities) from housing

54  Z. Li Table 4.2  Descriptive statistics of dependent and independent variables Variables names Independent variables

Frequency

Percentage

Rent

171

35.11%

Owned

316

64.89%

Over-crowded

375

77.00%

Not over-crowded

112

23.00%

0~30 mins

168

34.50%

31~59 mins

118

24.23%

More than 60 mins

201

41.27%

Affordable

359

73.72%

Moderately unaffordable

110

22.59%

18

3.70%

Working time

99

20.33%

Efficiency

64

13.14%

Innovation

27

5.54%

Networking opportunities

66

13.55%

Dwelling type Over-crowding Commuting time

Housing affordability

Seriously unaffordable Dependent variables

living in a house with less than three bedrooms, and so on (coded 1 if over-crowded, coded 0 if not over-crowded). Housing affordability was measured by the ratio of monthly housing costs (including rent and mortgage loans) to income and was rated into three categories: affordable (50%, coded 3). Regarding dependent variables, the individual variable was coded as ‘1’ if the answer was ‘yes’ by the respondent, otherwise ‘0’. Empirical finding

Two nonparametric tools (Mann-Whitney U Test and Kruskal-Wallis H Test) were adopted in this study because variables did not satisfy the normal distribution. Mann-Whitney U Test and Kruskal-Wallis H Test were applied to compare the differences between two independent groups and among more than two independent groups, respectively. Specifically, Mann-Whitney U Test was used to explore the differences of impacted work between different dwelling types and over-crowding status. Kruskal-Wallis H Test was adopted to explore the differences of impacted work among different commuting times and housing affordability, and the Mann-Whitney U Test was used in pair comparison to clarify the difference between specific groups. DWELLING TYPE

As Table 4.3 shows that although there are slight differences in the mean between respondents who were renting and owned a house in terms of working time, efficiency, innovation, and networking opportunities, Mann-Whitney U test results show that there are no statistical differences (p > 0.05), which implies that dwelling type has limited impacts on the work of knowledge workers.

Housing, productivity and creativity  55 Table 4.3  Statistics of dependent variables in different dwelling types and Mann-Whitney U test results Dependent variables

Dwelling types

Mean

N

Std.

Mann-Whitney U

Z

Asymp. sig.

Working time

Owned

0.19

171

0.391

26345.50

−0.65

0.515

Rent

0.21

316

0.409

Owned

0.11

171

0.315

26172.50

−0.97

0.330

Rent

0.14

316

0.350

Owned

0.04

171

0.185

26170.50

−1.44

0.149

Rent

0.07

316

0.249

Owned

0.14

171

0.348

26817.00

−0.22

0.819

Rent

0.13

316

0.340

Efficiency Innovation Networking opportunities

OVER-CROWDING

Similarly, Mann-Whitney U Test in Table 4.4 shows that there are no statistical differences between respondents living, or not, in over-crowded housing (p > 0.05). This indicates that overcrowding has no significant influence on knowledge workers’ working time, efficiency, innovation, and networking opportunities. COMMUTING TIME

The Kruskal-Wallis H Test in Table 4.5 indicates that there are statistically significant differences in how commuting times influence knowledge workers. It seems their working time, efficiency, and innovation have been impacted most significantly but less so for their networking opportunities. Mann-Whitney U Test was used for pairwise comparisons which are shown below. Table 4.4  Statistics of dependent variables in different over-crowding status and Mann-Whitney U test results Dependent variables

Over-crowding

Mean

N

Std.

Mann-Whitney U

Z

Asymp. sig.

Working time

Over-crowded

0.21

375

0.404

20813.00

−0.205

0.837

Not over-crowded

0.20

112

0.399

Over-crowded

0.14

375

0.346

20338.00

−0.866

0.387

Not over-crowded

0.11

112

0.311

Over-crowded

0.06

375

0.240

20462.00

−1.039

0.299

Not over-crowded

0.04

112

0.186

Over-crowded

0.14

375

0.346

20713.00

−0.370

0.711

Not over-crowded

0.13

112

0.332

Efficiency Innovation Networking opportunities

56  Z. Li Table 4.5  Statistics of dependent variables in different commuting time and Mann-Whitney U test results Dependent variables

Commuting time

Mean

N

Std.

Kruskal-Wallis H

df

Asymp. sig.

Working time

0~30 mins

0.05

168

0.226

45.988

2

0.000

31~59 mins

0.19

118

0.391

More than 60 mins

0.34

201

0.474

0~30 mins

0.05

168

0.226

13.602

2

0.001

31~59 mins

0.17

118

0.377

More than 60 mins

0.17

201

0.380

0~30 mins

0.02

168

0.133

6.908

2

0.032

31~59 mins

0.08

118

0.267

More than 60 mins

0.07

201

0.263

0~30 mins

0.12

168

0. 325

1.059

2

0.589

31~59 mins

0.13

118

0.335

More than 60 mins

0.15

201

0.362

Efficiency

Innovation

Networking opportunities

WORKING TIME

Table 4.6 shows that the p values of the comparisons between different commuting times are all less than 0.05. Relating to Table 4.5, it indicates that the longer the commute, the more likely that working time will be affected. EFFICIENCY

According to Tables 4.5 and 4.7, Mann-Whitney U Test shows that among the respondents whose efficiency is affected, the proportions of those with more than 60 mins commuting time Table 4.6  Mann-Whitney U test results of working time between different commuting time

More than 60 mins 31~59 mins 0~30 mins

0~30 mins

31~59 mins

0.000 0.000

0.004

More than 60 mins

Table 4.7  Mann-Whitney U test results of efficiency between different commuting time

More than 60 mins 31~59 mins 0~30 mins

0~30 mins

31~59 mins

0.000 0.001

0.916

More than 60 mins

Housing, productivity and creativity  57 Table 4.8  Mann-Whitney U test results of innovation between different commuting time

More than 60 mins 31~59 mins 0~30 mins

0~30 mins

31~59 mins

0.012 0.015

0.957

More than 60 mins

and 31~59 mins are significantly higher than those with 0~30 mins, while there is no statistical difference between those with commutes of 31~59 mins and more than 60 mins. This implies that once the commute is longer than 30 mins, the efficiency of knowledge workers is more likely to be influenced. INNOVATION

Similarly, results in Table 4.8 indicate that innovation of knowledge workers with a commute of more than 30 mins is more likely to be affected than those commuting 30 mins or less. HOUSING AFFORDABILITY

Table 4.9 shows that there are significant differences among respondents with different housing affordability in terms of networking opportunities. And Mann-Whitney U Test is used for pairwise comparisons.

Table 4.9  Statistics of dependent variables in different housing affordability and Mann-Whitney U test results Categories

Housing affordability

Mean

N

Std.

Kruskal-Wallis H

df

Asymp. sig.

Working time

Affordable

0.19

359

0.397

0.582

2

0.747

Moderately unaffordable

0.23

110

0.421

Seriously unaffordable

0.22

18

0.428

Affordable

0.13

359

0.335

0.253

2

0.881

Moderately unaffordable

0.14

110

0.345

Seriously unaffordable

0.17

18

0.383

Affordable

0.05

359

0.213

4.139

2

0.126

Moderately unaffordable

0.09

110

0.289

Seriously unaffordable

0.00

18

0.000

Affordable

0.12

359

0.325

7.097

2

0.029

Moderately unaffordable

0.15

110

0.363

Seriously unaffordable

0.33

18

0.485

Efficiency

Innovation

Networking opportunities

58  Z. Li NETWORKING OPPORTUNITIES

Seriously Unaffordable Moderately Unaffordable Affordable

Affordable

Moderately Unaffordable

0.009 0.340

0.068

Seriously Unaffordable

The p-value of the comparison between affordable and seriously unaffordable respondents is less than 0.05, which means that the mean of networking opportunities of seriously unaffordable respondents is significantly higher than those of affordable respondents (relating to table). Conclusion Current housing studies have indicated that housing problems may influence residents physically and psychologically, which may, in turn, contribute to knowledge workers’ low productivity and creativity. This study explores how housing, as a critical part of the built environment, influences the work-related performance of knowledge workers. It highlights the influences from housing characteristics, in particular tenure type, over-crowding, commuting time, and affordability on working time, efficiency, innovation, and networking opportunities. It is found that commuting time has significant influences on knowledge workers’ working time, efficiency, and innovation. The relationship between housing and commute found in the empirical test implies the significance of residential location to productivity and creativity. Previous studies emphasised the job-housing imbalance caused by affordability problems and the potential mental harm to residents. This study further illustrates this situation can further influence the creativity and productivity of knowledge workers. Knowledge workers’ networking opportunities are found to be impacted by housing affordability. This may be resulted from the potential that severe affordability issues have forced some knowledge workers to live out of where creative workforce agglomerates. And this also hints at the possibility that living in poorer neighborhoods may lead to isolation from social resources and opportunities (Wilson, 1987). Overall, this study provides empirical evidence that housing characteristics, especially commuting time and affordability, may affect knowledge workers’ productivity and creativity. It adds to the call for attention to affordability problems of knowledge workers working in science parks and housing provisions around them (Miao, 2017). Governments increasing the provision of affordable housing for knowledge workers near science parks could relieve the affordability problems of knowledge workers and boost their working performance as a consequence. Note 1 Source: Top Tech Cities in the World 2018 (https://www.expertmarket.com/focus/research/top-techcities).

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5

Community and business innovation in the Indonesian kampung cases from Semarang Nicholas A. Phelps and Holi B. Wijaya

Introduction The inventiveness of ordinary cities and resourcefulness of urban informality have been celebrated recently in influential accounts (Robinson, 2006; Roy, 2005). These accounts are bolstered by the coincidence of two stylised facts pertaining to global south cities – the predominance of physical informality and business informality. However, these accounts leave some of the detail and ambiguity of the connection between the physical form and mode of social organization of cities and the inventiveness or resourcefulness of their entrepreneurial communities under-investigated. The original research on which this chapter is based is drawn from a wider study of industry clusters across three Indonesian cities designed to examine the relationship between kampungs and business innovation undertaken in 2017, prior to the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. Here we draw on findings from in-person surveys of 41 businesses in kampung (or villages) Bugangan, noted for its production of products made from recycled metals and plastics since the 1950s, and 38 businesses in kampung Siroto in which snack foods have been produced since the new Millennium. In this chapter, we draw on original survey evidence from these two contrasting kampungs or urban neighbourhoods in the city of Semarang, Indonesia, to consider some of the connections between urban and business informality and innovation. Kampung Bugangan, in an inner urban location, is an urban kampung involved with light industry. Kampung Siroto, at the edge of Semarang city, was a formerly rural and agrarian community but has become significantly more urbanised. The picture that emerges is not a simple one, but it is one that underlines and, at the same time, also qualifies the contribution of informally developed neighbourhoods to processes of business innovation in cities across the global south. In the following section of the chapter, we detail some of the connections between urban and business informality and their impact on business innovation – we concentrate on the role of the home and neighbourhood or kampung and the circular economy credentials of business informality as it intersects with urban informality. We then go on to present evidence from the city of Semarang. Semarang is not regarded as an especially entrepreneurial city within Indonesia, and it has not been designated a creative city in national government policy. Our findings are indicative of a weaker than expected association between urban and business informality as this affects business innovation but point to the implication of urban and business informality as part of the circular economy of cities across the global south. Urban informality and the ordinariness of innovation The predominance of urban informality and the predominance of business informality in global south cities has long been recognised. Doubtless, these twin realities have informed influential DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-6

Community and business innovation  63 accounts that have emphasised the overlooked inventiveness of ordinary cities and resourcefulness of urban informality (Robinson, 2006; Roy, 2005). Inventiveness and resourcefulness here refer to collective acts of social organisation and innovation rather than the creativity, invention, and innovation of individual businesses commonly emphasised in literature on the economics of entrepreneurship and innovation. Nevertheless, different disciplinary perspectives on the inventiveness of informality emphasise different things and could hardly be said to offer a consensus (Phelps, 2021). Moreover, the details of any connection there may be between the physical form of cities and the inventiveness or resourcefulness of their communities, on the one hand, and business innovation, on the other hand, is one that cannot be assumed for all neighbourhoods in individual cities let alone all cities across all global south nations. This is the case, not least, because business informality can be defined in two important but only partly coincidental ways. Business registration for tax purposes is one indication of the (in)formality of business. Another definition of informality based on the presence or absence of codified business practices is sometimes suggested as more appropriate to understanding the nature of businesses themselves and their implication in ‘relationships of production’ (Portes, 1983). The predominance of urban informality found across the global south tends to suggest that the home often doubles as a business location and one that may offer certain advantages. While autoconstruction rivals the state as a mode of housing production, it remains unclear to what extent and in what ways the qualities of the ‘sheltering home’ (Turner, 1976) extend to the establishment, maintenance, and performance of the business. It seems likely that the self-built home might shelter numerous business start-ups but may also be a hindrance to business expansion and development. Some industrial processes that local governments seek to regulate are incompatible with a home environment such that nationally significant industry clusters such as those involved with batik have largely relocated from urban environments as a result (Phelps and Wijaya, 2020). Especially difficult to square with the celebration of the inventiveness of the urban informality of ordinary cities are the empirical findings that indicate the constraints on small business growth (Phelps and Wijaya, 2020), patterns of innovation, business models and practices across the global south – including in Indonesia – that tend to be ones of survival (Altenburg and Meyer-Stamer, 1999; Phelps and Wijaya, 2020; Turner, 2003). These constraints on the mainly informal businesses found across cities of the global south are more in keeping with the changeless change of ‘involution’ that Geertz (1963) spoke of in connection with agriculture in Indonesia. The role of community (and the social capital associated with it) on business innovation appears especially ambiguous (Woolcock, 1998, 2001). The communities that individual households and businesses are located in may be an asset for business formation but also a constraint on the sorts of capital accumulation and innovation taken as the signature of Schumpeterian entrepreneurship across the global north. Indeed, Indonesian evidence suggests that exogenous stimuli associated with migrant entrepreneurs and government policy have been vital in some less inventive urban settings (Wijaya, Rudiarto and Kurniawati, 2020).1 Moreover, while many global south cities have grown in an organic fashion with the accretion of informally developed communities, the relationship of these to administrative units of urban governments is complex in its evolution as has been described elsewhere in the case of Indonesia (Rifai et al., 2022). Taking these contrasting viewpoints and considering the intersections of literature found from across geography, urban planning, economics, and development studies touching on informality and innovation suggests a variety of outcomes lying somewhere between Schumpeter

64  N. A. Phelps and H. B. Wijaya and Geertz (Phelps, 2021). On what terms, then, might we understand the inventiveness of urban informality? The inventiveness of urban informality may, in many instances, be an informal, uncodified, and unprotected act of creativity that precedes those more readily codified and (informally or formally) protected acts of innovation and invention that we commonly take note of as business innovation broadly defined. Here, the inventiveness of global south urban informality registers itself primarily in an array of alternative economy practices which are typically invisible, undervalued, and under-remunerated (Gibson-Graham, Cameron and Healy, 2013). Urban informality is a partial alternative to, and partially an underappreciated support for, mainstream capitalist enterprises. It should be little surprise, then, that the inventiveness of urban business informality also may announce itself in terms of its circular economy credentials. Here, alongside squatting and consolidating, Bhan (2019) highlights the salience of practices of repair found across the global south. For Bhan (2019: 646), ‘Repair is … foundational to incremental and autoconstructed materialities’. It may be distinct from upgrading (as something overly associated with improving the physical form of urban informality and therefore done to communities) and be focused on immediate needs (Bhan, 2019). Yet, curiously, circular economy principles have been relatively silent on urban land and land markets, leading to detailed questions of how urban informality is implicated with business informality in ways that may promote sustainability (Williams, 2019). Nevertheless, in its broader associations with notions of upgrading, the practice of repair also may be useful in highlighting some of the inventiveness and aspiration of individuals and communities that we are concerned with here. In what follows we examine empirically some of these considerations of the inventiveness of informal businesses in informal urban setting of the kampung or self-built urban village so widespread across Indonesian cities. The cases of kampung Bugangan and kampung Siroto, Semarang

As much as 70–80% of urban development in Indonesia is in the form of kampungs (Benjamin, Arifin and Sarjana, 1985). A similar proportion of all businesses in Indonesia are also informal (unregistered) (Charmes, 2017). These facts alone should alert us to the inventiveness of urban informality in Indonesia. However, more than a passing phenomenon of adjustment to an urban way of life, kampungs have endured as the bases for social harmony both as a state of being and a mode of action (Guinness, 1986), further signalling acts of inventiveness. Yet the scale of kampungs can vary dramatically. In the single city case of Bandung, Benjamin, Arifin and ­Sarjana (1985) found that kampungs varied in size from populations under 1,000 to over 300,000. At the upper end of this spectrum, we might speculate whether individual kampungs are large enough to generate Jacobs’s (1969) externalities of diversity and innovation rather than Marshallian externalities of specialisation and sterile divisions of labour. Here, we compare and contrast two kampung-based industry clusters in the port city of ­Semarang on the northern coast of Java in Indonesia. The two kampungs have different histories of development and relationships of the home and wider neighbourhood to those industries (Figure 5.1). Kampung Bugangan is a largely linear urban concentration of businesses specialised in the making of products from recycled metal and plastics (see Figure 5.2). It is a valuable case to examine in several respects. It has existed as an industry concentration since the 1950s, beginning with the production of children’s toys from used cans for sale at the ‘Dugderan’ annual

Community and business innovation  65

Figure 5.1  Map of Semarang and location of Kampung Bugangan and Kampung Siroto.

festival in Semarang City ahead of the fasting month of Ramadhan. Businesses are organised with an industry association and have since produced an evolving range of products including pots, pans, and plastic waste bins to more complex equipment such as gas stoves and spinning and mixing machines. It is an industry based largely, though not exclusively, on the recycling of materials in production processes. The kampung has in the past been supported by the Ministry

66  N. A. Phelps and H. B. Wijaya

Figure 5.2  Typical scene in Bugangan metal and plastic industry cluster. Source: The authors.

of Industry and a state-owned company PT Jasa Marga as a Metal Industry Center, though the urban planning authority in Semarang now regards its main recycling and production activities as incompatible with the residential location. One informed observer – the leader of the local businesses – suggested there were 63 street vendors based in Bugangan. However, not all of these were manufacturers and not all manufacturers selling in the kampung had their business premises there. We concentrated on a narrower group of metal and plastics products manufacturing businesses based in Bugangan. Team members were able to survey almost the entirety of metal and plastic products businesses located in Bugangan. In what follows, we report on data obtained from a questionnaire administered to 41 businesses in person in 2017 prior to COVID as well as the industry representative in Bugangan and local government officials. Our survey covered businesses that were formed in each decade from the 1960s to the present. Peri-urban kampung Siroto has become notable for a concentration of micro (one or two person) snack food enterprises (Figure 5.3). The industry cluster has some of its origins in the introduction of cassava cultivation and a modest scale of simple snack production from cassava. It has emerged only after 2000 as a more significant industry cluster with business ideas brought to Semarang and the kampung by two migrant female entrepreneurs, one of whom subsequently left the kampung (Wijaya et al., 2020). The kampung and its industry cluster are therefore also notable for the entrepreneurs being exclusively women with some men assisting with some specific aspects of production and packaging. The technological barriers to entry are low in this industry though equipment such as ovens, mixers, blenders, and rice cookers are now shared among the entrepreneurs. The peri-urban location of the kampung allows for some sourcing of local ingredients. However, agricultural production of cassava and milk used in the snack foods produced in the kampung have decreased significantly due to residential development. Unlike Bugangan, there are few outward signs of the businesses operating out of the houses located there.

Community and business innovation  67

Figure 5.3  Snack food production in kampung Siroto. Source: The authors.

Home, community and business innovation The creativity or inventiveness of businesses is related both to the informality of businesses themselves and the informal context in which those businesses are embedded. The informality of businesses extends beyond their status as unregistered for tax purposes into the ‘relations of production’. The urban context in which those businesses are located can also be described as informal given that individual premises and entire neighbourhoods have been self-built. Informality and innovation at home?

For the purposes of official statistics, business informality is defined in terms of whether a business is registered for tax purposes or not. Using this definition of formal registration, in some contrast to national level figures that suggest as much as 80% of businesses in Indonesia are unregistered, a minority – 16 of the 41 (39%) businesses surveyed in Bugangan – were not registered. The proportion in the snack industry cluster in kampung Siroto was even lower, with 11 of 38 (29%) being unregistered businesses. Immediately, this underlines some of the difficulties of generalising about the inventiveness of informality. In order to explore how informality defined in terms of a lack of registration for tax purposes intersected with informality defined in terms of the relations of production (Portes, 1983), we asked business owners to indicate whether and which of a pre-defined list of business processes or practices were documented. The findings indicate that the majority of the businesses in ­Bugangan (22 of 41 surveyed) could be said to be informal in their business processes. In the case of Siroto, all of the producers had some formalisation of their business practices. This

68  N. A. Phelps and H. B. Wijaya appears to be the result of being suppliers to a variety of vendors and to local government as part of procurement policies designed to underpin local businesses and the taking receipt of foodstuffs and packaging from suppliers. In the case of Bugangan, when combining these two definitions of business informality, we find that there are notable proportions of formal businesses having undocumented business processes (29%) and vice versa (17%). Indeed, the majority (52%) of registered businesses still had undocumented business processes. 22% of businesses surveyed were both unregistered and without documentation of their business processes. In the case of the Siroto snack food cluster, no businesses were both unregistered and without some element of codification of their business practices. Established and reputable industries in Indonesia – such as batik – remain home-based despite production processes that are incompatible with homelife from the perspective of the health of family members. They are domesticated for a number of reasons (Brenner, 2012). The snack food industry of Siroto is similarly domesticated with 94% of businesses being based in homes which is to be expected given both the small scale of production and the greater compatibility of food materials and snack production processes with a home environment. However, even in the case of the metal and plastics recycling cluster of Bugangan, 36 of the 41 (88%) businesses surveyed had their main business premises at the home of the owner. The figure here is high given the type of products being made, the potential incompatibility of the processes needed to recycle metal and plastics with home life – and we return to this point in the coda of this chapter. The majority (75.6%) of businesses in Bugangan had introduced an innovation of some sort, but in Siroto, innovative businesses were in a minority (49%). Putting these figures together with those on the location of business premises, we can examine whether the home environment is associated with innovation. In broad terms, we can say that urban informality is associated with innovation and that, in the case of some industries such as the metal and plastics recycling cluster of Bugangan, authorities would do well to consider how the formalisation of business, especially in terms of its location might impact on business innovation. 66% of the businesses in Bugangan had innovated and were also based at the home of their owners (the corresponding figure for the Siroto snack food cluster being 43% of businesses). The innovations introduced by businesses surveyed were diverse. Seemingly, both business and urban informality have presented constraints to process innovations in the case of both kampung industry clusters since only one producer in Bugangan and none in Siroto had identified production processes as the focus of their innovative efforts. Equipment readily available such as cookers and blenders have been in use for some time in the case of the Siroto snack food industry. Instead, 46% of the metal and plastics recycling businesses in kampung Bugangan had introduced new products or product variants. The corresponding figure for the Siroto snack food cluster was lower at 28%, but when those businesses innovating to improve product quality are included, the figure rises to 45%. A quarter or more businesses in both kampungs also had innovated in the marketing of their products. Our fieldwork indicated that in both kampung-based industries product innovation has come notably at the request of customers. Informality and innovation in the kampung?

We asked respondents to select the three most important advantages of their business location from a pre-defined list that included proximity to the city centre; proximity to market/customers; proximity to suppliers; proximity to other similar businesses; proximity to transportation; active support by local government; active support by community; and others. The advantages of the home emerge, not as those of the specifics of the premises concerned, but as a nexus of business relationships. In this respect, the advantages of business and urban informality come face to face

Community and business innovation  69 with and underline the thought that urban informality needs to be defined less in physical terms and more in terms of the networks of relations centred on particular communities (Roy, 2005). These are a familiar mix which the majority of respondents identify as proximity to customers, suppliers, transportation, then more specifically proximity to other similar companies (19 of 41), and reputation being mentioned specifically by 2 of 41. The disadvantages identified by surveyed businesses were also selected from a pre-defined list that was the mirror opposite of the advantages noted above and produced more varied responses. It is notable that no businesses in Bugangan cited government support from a predefined list of advantages, but 14 of 41 mentioned a lack of support from the government as a disadvantage. No businesses in Bugangan mentioned support from the community as an advantage which tends to undermine slightly the thought above – of the advantages of urban informality in terms of networks of relations – with 2 of 41 mentioning it as a disadvantage while the 5 businesses of 41 that mentioned competition from other businesses also were likely referring to competition within the industry cluster. The nature of the industry and its relationship to the wider residential neighbourhood beyond the main commercial strip may account for this less than positive appraisal of the role of community and social bonds in industry performance. It certainly is a reminder of the ambiguous contribution that community makes to industry performance across the global south (Woolcock, 1998). We also asked businesses whether their innovation had benefits for the neighbourhood or kampung, asking them to select from a pre-defined list including more affordable prices to local customers; the sharing of profits; improvements in the environment; faster services; increased opportunities for business collaboration; increased togetherness of the community; improved reputation of the kampung; increased knowledge capacity of the kampung; and others. In the case of the metal and plastics recycling industry cluster of Bugangan, 18 of the 41 (43.9%) businesses surveyed indicated that there were also benefits of their innovation to the kampung. In Siroto, virtually all (37 of 38) indicated there were benefits to the kampung. Multiple responses were obtained for a pre-defined list of benefits as well as an option to specify other benefits. In both kampungs, respondents saw broad-based – reputational, environmental, ‘togetherness’ – benefits of their innovations to their kampung. While profit sharing is a notable feature of kampung-based enterprises in Indonesia and might be regarded as detracting from business competitiveness and capital accumulation and even the collective organisation of industry (Phelps and Wijaya, 2016), it is more than matched by benefits of business collaboration in the case of both kampungs. The development of the knowledge capacity appears as a minor benefit to communities in Bugangan and Siroto from the innovative practices of entrepreneurs there. The circular economy credentials of kampung-based industry

The informal business sector is pervasive across global south cities and is implicated with practices of repair (Bhan, 2019). However, in the open and complex urban systems that are cities, the sustainability of business is more complex than the use of recycled materials. The energy used in sourcing of those materials and the movement of finished products to market may offset the energy saved by recycling. Businesses in the industry concentration in Bugangan are known for their use of recycled materials such as various metals and plastics but also the salvage and reconditioning of old mechanical and motor parts. On the face of it, this reputation provides some evidence of the role that some urban communities may play in enhancing the circularity of city economies across the global south. Our survey suggested that the majority (63%) of businesses in Bugangan did indeed use recycled materials. Those that did generally made very high use of them in their

70  N. A. Phelps and H. B. Wijaya products with the unweighted average proportion of materials used reaching 72% across the 26 businesses involved. In the snack food industries of Siroto, as one might expect given the nature of the product, only a couple (5.2%) of businesses noted that they used recycled materials such as paper for packaging the food items. At 12.5%, the unweighted average percentage of inputs by value was much lower than for the metal and plastics recycling industry of Bugangan. Respondents were also asked to identify their three main suppliers and their locations. The peri-urban location of Siroto meant that not a single business cited a Semarang city supplier among their three main suppliers. Nearby rural Ungaran and its produce market was one highly cited location for the main suppliers to snack food producers. The figures hear highlight some of the difficulties of defining circularity on the basis of jurisdiction and the need to define the circularity of urban economies in ways that include urban hinterlands. Entrepreneurs in Bugangan saw their role as providing an alternative to new and generally cheaper versions of products than would otherwise be available to consumers. In many cities across Indonesia such local alternatives are vital to the needs and continued presence of the poorest – frequently informally settled – populations but also their leisure pursuits. However, the role of the industry concentration in Bugangan in this respect is less clear than it might at first seem. As we saw in the discussion above, lower prices for local people were not the main advantage of business innovation accruing to the local community. In the Siroto snack food cluster, a quarter (10 of 38, 26.3%) of businesses saw lower prices as one advantage of their innovations to their local community. Conclusion Our study of business innovation in Semarang confirmed a certain innovative vibrancy of businesses in kampungs. In this way, innovation of some sort is a notable feature both of informal businesses and the informal urban context – the kampung – in which they have formed and developed. These two facets of informality come together across urban Indonesia as they doubtless do elsewhere across cities of the global south. We were also able to explore the implication of urban and business informality when considering the relationship of businesses and their innovations to the home and their neighbourhood or kampung. Our survey provided clear evidence of the centrality of the home to business formation and development including innovation. Future research might explore in more detail the nuances of how the physical features of, and inter-personal relationships centred on, the home nurture innovation. Informal business is typically well-located to access raw materials and customers at the kampung scale, though the vaunted relationship to community as an input to business performance is extremely modest even if some of the benefits of business innovation appear to accrue to the communities in which they are embedded. As a result of this last feature, business, and urban informality make their contributions to the circularity of the local economy. The Bugangan metal and plastics recycling cluster was a prime case in point, but the Siroto snack food cluster also highlighted the good use of local sources of inputs while at the same time being revealing of the need to consider the hinterlands of global south cities in the daily and seasonal rhythms by which business survives and innovates. Coda Our research was undertaken two years before the COVID-19 outbreak. For the Bugangan metal and plastics recycling cluster much has changed since that time. This is partly a result of

Community and business innovation  71 COVID but more particularly the government regulation of land uses. The collection of businesses located in Bugangan is now exclusively focused on the sale of items rather than recycling processes and the manufacture of items. Manufacturing processes have migrated to other locations including the Wijayakusuma industrial estate primarily resulting from increased government regulations on land and building uses in Bugangan and eviction due to the improvement of the riverside to which some of the businesses were adjacent. Approximately five metal and plastics processing businesses remained by December 2022. The Siroto snack food cluster has not been affected in the same way by government regulation. And while some reductions in orders for face-to-face meetings were experienced, overall, orders have increased. Coinciding with people’s increased working from home, the number of businesses in the Siroto snack food industry cluster has actually increased. There are now 50 snack food enterprises operating from Siroto with 40 being members of an organised group. Acknowledgement We gratefully acknowledge the support for this research from the British Academy (Grant no.  GF100064). Note 1 Our case study city of Semarang could be considered to be one such case when compared to for example Bandung and Surakarta.

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72  N. A. Phelps and H. B. Wijaya Rifai, A., Asterina, N., Hidayani, R. and Phelps, N. A. (2022) ‘The creativity of the kampung’, in S.  Roitman and D. Rukmana (eds), Routledge Handbook of urban Indonesia. Abingdon, Routledge, 248–260. Robinson, J. (2006) Ordinary cities: Between modernity and development. Abingdon: Routledge. Roy, A. (2005) Urban informality: Toward an epistemology of planning. Journal of the American Planning Association, 71(2), 147–158. Turner, J. F. C. (1976) Housing by people: Towards autonomy in building environments. London: Marion Boyars. Turner, S. (2003) Indonesia’s small entrepreneurs: Trading on the margins. London: Routledge-Curzon. Wijaya, H. B., Rudiarto, I. and Kurniawati, H. (2020) ‘Migrant entrepreneurs in industry cluster formation and innovation: The case of Semarang, Central Java, Indonesia’, in C. Y. Liu (ed.), Immigrant entrepreneurship and urban development: A comparative perspective. Berlin, Springer. Williams, J. (2019) Circular cities. Urban Studies, 56(13), 2746–2762. Woolcock, M. (2001) Microenterprise and social capital: A framework for theory research and policy. Journal of Socio-Economics, 30, 193–198. Woolcock, M. (1998) Social capital and economic development: Toward a theoretical synthesis and policy framework. Theory and Society, 27, 151–208.

6

The infrastructures of innovation districts Happy coincidence or creative collective curation? Julie T. Miao

Introduction Innovation districts (IDs) have attained a prominent place in academic and policy discourse with regard to the (re)making of knowledge complexes fit for the 21st century (Miao et al. 2015). In promoting the idea of IDs, the Brookings Institute (Katz and Wagner 2014) identified a dozen examples ‘where leading-edge anchor institutions and companies cluster and connect with start-ups, business incubators and accelerators’. These IDs often locate in physically compact, transit-accessible, technically wired and mixed-use urban neighborhoods, following one of three development models, including the ‘anchor plus’, the ‘re-imagined urban areas’, and the ‘urbanised science park’. The South Boston Waterfront, later named as the Seaport Innovation District, featured strongly in this widely circulated piece with two out of the five images in the Brookings Institute report taken from this up-and-coming 21st-century innovation highland. Among these exemplary cases, Brookings identified three assets as crucial features shared by these IDs. These include the economic assets, i.e., the firms, institutions, and organisations that drive, cultivate, or support an innovation-rich environment; the physical assets that are designed to stimulate connectivity, collaboration, and innovation; and the networking assets that strengthen trust and collaboration within and across companies and industry clusters. Cleverly, authors of the IDs borrowed the best-selling stories from Jane Jacobs, Manuel Castells, Michael Porter, and Richard Florida, etc., in making a happily-ever-after story where these different types of assets just happen to exist at the same time, at the same place, and feed into each other in the growth of an innovation ecosystem. Public and private leaders worldwide buy into this story because it sounds straightforward, defined, modularisable, transferable, and, importantly, tangible and investable. Yet exactly how a functional innovation milieu could be planted in the first place is little discussed or even eschewed in the ID literature. Moreover, while the concept of ‘district’ was defined in Brookings’ writing, the meaning of ‘innovation’ was taken for granted and largely assumed as a private endeavor that sets and keeps the capitalist engine in motion. These limitations mirror those in the broader economic geography scholarship, where the evolution of industrial clusters has long been debated, but identifying the particular seed of a successful cluster is often regarded as messy and less important (Braunerhjelm and Feldman 2006; Phelps 1992). There is also a tendency to focus on companies’ decision-making and/or the life cycle of a particular sector in exploring industrial evolution instead of the broader supporting built environment. This chapter focuses on the roles of innovation infrastructures and the variegated actors involved in setting in motion the development of an ID, drawing upon a case study of B ­ oston Seaport. The Oxford Dictionary defines infrastructure as ‘the basic physical and organisational structures and facilities needed for the operation of a society or enterprise’. A narrower DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-7

74  J. T. Miao interpretation of infrastructure focuses on those physical constructions such as buildings, roads, and energy supplies, whereas a broader definition views it as a bundle of hardware, software, ‘wetware’ (or human ingenuity or capital), and cultural facilities and systems that support the sustainable functionality of households and firms. Taking the broader definition, this chapter defines innovation infrastructure as the assemblage of hard, soft, and cultural facilities in defined areas to support innovation-related activities. In what follows, the development of innovation infrastructures and the key actors involved are reviewed. This is followed by the empirical case study. The conclusion summarises the key lessons that can be learned from an investigation of the development of Seaport and offers some directions for future research on innovation infrastructures. Innovation infrastructures and key actors Innovation is a socially embedded process and requires various supporting infrastructures ­(Winden et al. 2014). Innovation infrastructures are developed with these networking needs in mind but also cater to the demand for facilities, spaces, and transport connections. Like the expression of ‘organisational learning’, which is regarded as an ‘oxymoron’ by Weick and Westley (1996), the term ‘innovation infrastructure’ also exhibits the dilemma between flexibility and stability, as to ‘innovate’ denotes creative destructions, whereas to provide ‘infrastructure’ signals fixity, sunk investment and ‘lock-in’. But it is argued here that the contradiction between changes brought by ‘innovation’, on the one hand, and stabilisation emphasised by ‘infrastructure’, on the other hand, could be lessened or solved by the feedback mechanisms between these two processes. Actually, one of the capabilities of an innovation infrastructure lies in dealing with this dilemma on spatial, material, cultural, and temporal dimensions (Heidenreich 2004). To fuller understand how innovation infrastructures could cope with or absorb this dynamic tension requires addressing at least three further questions. The first one relates to identifying the key actors in using and providing the innovation infrastructures. Current literature tends to take the view that R&D-intensive companies are the drivers of the innovation process and innovation culture and that developers build office/lab spaces, and governments regulate and facilitate these processes while providing public goods and facilities. Investment decisions of the latter two are assumed to be led by the former (Acs 2002), and the quality of built environment often serves as the background in accounts that focus on innovative firms (Scott 2010). This narrower perception of ‘who is doing what’ calls for attention to the second issue, that is, the bidirectional interactions between the changes in the techno-creativity domain and changes in the socio-institutional domain. Fuzzy concepts like ‘interactions’ or ‘mutual influences’ between these two are frequently used with the implicit assumption of ‘institutions as derived entities’ prevalent (Coriat and Dosi 2000, p352). The third and related issue ponders the role of governments. Criticism tends to view public interventions as constraints on technology advances due to their inert nature, contradictory interests, and the ‘one-size-fits-all’ principle. To explore the first issue, it is important to recall the definition of innovation infrastructure used in this study: i.e., the assemblage of hard, soft, and cultural facilitates to support innovation-related activities. This broader definition brings everyone who designs, delivers, uses, and improves the innovation infrastructures on board. Innovative firms are the users of infrastructures, whose spatial agglomeration and networking also create the wetware (human capital) and culture of an innovation milieu. At the same time, firms and their employees provide constant feedback to the providers of existing and future infrastructures, hence stimulating a co-evolution of innovation and the built environment. Drawing upon the resource-based view of the firm (Barney 1991) and strategic management theory (Freeman and Soete 1997),

The infrastructures of innovation districts  75 Miao (2013) argued that firms are unique combinations of resources and strategy preferences. A minimal level of internal knowledge stock is arguably a precondition for firms to appreciate the opportunities and to absorb the new technologies, and a minimal level of entrepreneurship is required for a company to be proactive and risk-taking. Developers, architects, and planners, on the other hand, design, deliver, and improve physical infrastructures, including housing. At the same time, their creative programming of activities in a place could help to enrich the software and culture of innovation, augmenting those created by the innovative firms (Miao 2017, 2018). Moreover, by closely engaging customers in the space design and post-usage evaluation, these actors bridge the feedback loop between innovation needs and infrastructure provision, ameliorating the tension between flexibility and stability inherent in the idea of innovation infrastructures. But there are potential misalignments between the interests of developers and planners. While the former is profit-driven so sectorial and design considerations are low on their priority list (Adair et al. 2003), the latter often shoulder the mandate of supporting the embryonic industries and/or small and medium enterprises, which do not yet generate much revenue. When this happens, public agencies either intervene directly by taking on the role of developers themselves or indirectly by using planning tools such as developer incentives or obligations. Public creativity, or intrapreneurship, using the term of Miao and Phelps (2019) introduced below, often features in these intervention processes. For the second issue, it is argued that feedback between the techno-creativity and the socioinstitutional domains is mediated through the design, the utilisation, and the efficacy of innovation infrastructures. User engagement and public consultation in the design stage are the first step where actors in the techno-creativity domains sound-out their desires and needs, which in turn are fed into the composition, function, and morphology of innovation infrastructures. By monitoring the usage of different types of infrastructures at different times, managers of innovation infrastructures – these being tenant companies, developers, and public agencies – obtain a sense of the temporal and spatial patterns of innovation activities. This information enables them to adjust the layout and functional division of spaces as well as introducing new programs of activities (Wilson 2019). The efficacy of innovation infrastructures could be examined through economic and innovation indicators but also broadly the quality of life and happiness of employees; it could be measured on multiple scales ranging from individual office blocks to a company complex, to the whole district, and even the whole city or metropolitan area, depending on how well-connected and thought-out these innovation infrastructures are. For the third issue, Harvey (1989) has long drawn our attention to the entrepreneurialism of local governments in competing with each other for the bases of tourism, taxation, and mobile investments of businesses. Commentators have since observed the inseparability of states and markets in the entrepreneurial processes (Mazzucato 2013) and how local governments have sought to ‘business-up’ economic and social development when re-making investment climates. These include, for example, using public land as collateral for loans to finance infrastructure investment (Wu 2022), tax increment financing (Weber 2010), and the (re)engineering of urban infrastructure to create an investable class with securitised flows of funds (O’Neill 2019). Along with the proliferation of the urban entrepreneurialism literature comes the call for greater sensitivity to the variegated forms of urban entrepreneurialism and the corresponding innovations and creativity of instruments mobilised (Phelps and Miao 2019). In particular, dissatisfied with the neoliberal reading of the state as an obstacle to innovation, Miao and Phelps (2019) proposed ‘state intrapreneurship’ as an alternative interpretation of the modern state’s role in socio-­ economic development. They argue that innovative forms of stateness could ‘come as much from within (as important legacies of the intrasocietal functions of the developmental state) as from without (as a reflection of the extrasocietal pressures of globalisation in particular)’ (ibid. p320).

76  J. T. Miao Specific features of state intrapreneurship were derived from the intersections between state developmentalism and entrepreneurialism, including continued leadership in the setting of industrial priorities; the leadership and action power present in partnership; and the outcome-oriented decision-making process. Taking the lens of ‘state intrapreneurship’, innovation infrastructures are not just infrastructure investment per se but a creative decision-making of the public sector in directing the industrial structures and local competitiveness towards a particular trajectory. In what follows, the case study of Seaport ID will be presented to illustrate the actors within, and the roles of, innovation infrastructures. Boston innovation district: One man’s vision? Generally speaking, US innovation policies and strategies at the Federal level tend to be sectorfocused, aspatial, and broad brush. The overall purpose of innovation policies is to provide a supportive environment (legislation, labour, etc.) for innovation. Nelson and Langlois (1983) pointed out there are four types of innovation supportive policies in the US, including (1) government R&D support for technologies in which the government has a strong and direct procurement interest; (2) decentralised systems of government-supported research in the ‘generic’ area between the basic and the applied; (3) a decentralised system of clientele-oriented support for applied R&D; and (4) government ‘picking winners’ in commercial applied R&D. The last one was identified as being not effective. Dedicated innovation planning and strategies do not exist in the commonwealth of Massachusetts (MA) either. Instead, initiatives are coordinated by key public agencies and are often spin-offs from other (such as economic) strategies. The relatively ‘laid-back’ position of MA is perhaps conditioned by the fact that the state has been lucky to have a large pool of talent and enterprises leading the innovation process. Belanger (2017, p20), for example, noted that over the last decade, efforts to support innovation in Massachusetts have often focused on specific industries. For example, under the Deval Patrick administration (2007–2015), there was a big bet on Greater Boston’s life sciences industry, whereas other regions of the commonwealth were struggling with weak market conditions and low private investment (MassINC 2022). The Baker-Polito administration’s economic development plan, Opportunities for All Making, builds thematically on the Patrick administration’s 2014 legislation by emphasising workforce development and the potential for innovation to reach all regions of the Commonwealth. This strategy focuses more on innovation infrastructures, including co-working spaces, venture centers, maker and artist spaces, incubators and accelerators, classes, competitions, meet-ups, and interactions with thought leaders, to foster a culture of innovation and entrepreneurship. Two key agencies are instrumental in the operation: MassDevelopment, formed in 1998 from a merger of the Government Land Bank and Massachusetts Industrial Finance Agency, oversees the hardware development, and MassTech, founded in 1982, focuses more on the software of supporting business formation and growth in the state’s technology sector. It is set against these national and regional backgrounds that this chapter explores the genesis and features of Seaport. Seaport is a centrally located former port area created landfill through the dumping of sludge and sediment from the dredging of Boston Harbor during the 1800s and into the early 1900s. The modern shape of Seaport began to emerge by the 20th century with the western portion, locally recognised as Fan Pier, becoming the city’s hub for commercial shipping and rail transportation, and the eastern portion, now the 190-acre Marine Industrial Park, becoming a US military base acting as a key transport hub for the Army and Navy during the two World Wars (Drucker et al. 2019). As containerisation of cargo shifted to deep water ports in other locations and the demand for rail reduced, so did the fortunes of the Fan Pier terminal and its supporting neighbouhoods in the south (Fort Point) and east (Seaport Square). Rail

The infrastructures of innovation districts  77

Figure 6.1  Historical Seaport.

companies gradually sold their interests and the property lay dormant. The Marine Industrial Park was also left unused when the South Boston Army base was decommissioned in 1974. For a long time after the demise of many of its port-related activities, Seaport existed as a set of warehouse and pier buildings in an expanse of derelict land turned over to parking lots for the nearby Boston central business district (Figure 6.1). Today, Seaport has turned its fortune around to become one of the most sought-after districts in the Boston Metropolitan region. It agglomerates more than 350 companies across healthcare, technology, construction, consulting, and finance (WS Development 2022), such as Vertex Pharmaceuticals, PwC, BCG, Skanska USA, PTC, Autodesk, Reebok, Amazon, Boston Global Investors and Fallon Management Co. The success of Seaport ID has often been attributed to several ‘happy coincidences’ (Drucker et al. 2019; The Intersector Project 2015). The Central Artery/Tunnel Project, commonly referred to as the Big Dig, for example, is a frequently mentioned megaproject led by the Commonwealth government that fundamentally changed the accessibility of Seaport. It started in 1982 and completed in 2006 with a significantly overspent budget of $14.6 billion (original estimate at $2.6 billion), which nonetheless transformed the accessibility and development potential of Boston and Seaport in particular. With a dedicated exit ramp off the MassPike (I-90) and direct connections to Logan International Airport, the Seaport is now arguably the most accessible location in Boston. Boston harbor and waterfront clean-up is another major project that made Seaport more attractive as a destination. The harbor used to be recognised as the dirtiest in the nation, surrounded by brownfields and suffering from over a century of contamination of sewage and sludge. In 1985, the United States Environmental Protection Agency was ordered

78  J. T. Miao by a federal judge to oversee the clean-up of the harbor. It ended up becoming one of the largest public projects in New England and one of the nation’s greatest environmental achievements. Further augmenting these investments, The Boston Convention and Exhibition Center was approved in 1997 by an act of the Massachusetts legislature, in light of growing concerns that Boston lacked a facility to adequately host major conventions and events. The John Joseph Moakley Federal Courthouse was also located in Fan Pier in 1999 as its first tenant, both of which had started to make Seaport a destination. Weaving all these investments together, the then Mayor Thomas M. Menino, the longestserved Mayor in Boston’s history, was determined to make Seaport ID a signature mark of his term in office. Menino mobilised his influence over the Boston Redevelopment Authority to steer development towards Seaport – labelling it, at the time, Boston Innovation District – while drawing key concessions from developers to lure in anchor tenants and public facilities. One case in point is the Seaport District Hall, now arguably the most referred to case in the ID literature, which is a building leased for public use, developed by private finance and on private land. Boston Seaport district: Many hands make light work? Yet deeper explorations through intensive interviews with a wide range of stakeholders on the ground revealed that the development of Seaport’s innovation infrastructures is better regarded as something of a collective and iterative effort rather than the vision of an individual, having benefitted from the creative inputs of several different actors. A once large group of artists located in Fort Point were among the first set of actors to help craft Seaport as it is today, though not always in agreement among themselves or with the development process in, or the names Innovation District or Seaport applied to, the area. Beginning in the 1960s and 1970s, artists had appreciated the features of the 1800s warehouses and brick factories of Fort Point, which once served the shipping and rail connections of Fan Pier, but later largely left abandoned. Artists begun illegally, or with peppercorn rents from building owners, occupying these old brick warehouses and investing their ‘sweat equity’ to turn them into studios and galleries and collectively purchasing or obtaining long leases on buildings for these activities. In the process, they transformed this neighbourhood into a hub of start-ups and creative culture in the 1990s and early 2000s. At the height, there were over 800 artists occupying most of the obsolescent buildings in Fort Point. Their existence and activities injected a hip and cool feeling to this neighbourhood at the same time keeping most of the heritage buildings in use, many of which have now been rented out to start-up companies and large corporates ­(Figure 6.2). Along with the regeneration process, artists have fought strongly against a uniform, glass-tower development of Seaport, an effort highly valuable as it not only retains the historical feel of this place – a quality valued by creative class but also aroused a better willingness of developers and planners to engage and listen to artists. Although displacement did happen in Seaport which saw the number of artists shrink to the 200–300 that are present now, artists have remained a close-knit group with active leaders continuously championing for a more inclusive, sustainable, and heritage-sensitive development approach in Seaport. The activities of these artists therefore, helped to protect a good mixture of the innovation infrastructures. Their artistic creations, exhibitions, and expressive lifestyle also excite the culture of Seaport, making it attractive to tech talent who do share some interest in art and developers and corporate occupants who are aware of the value of leveraging art in their buildings and for their brands. Developers have always been at the background of innovation infrastructures. Their creative craft lies not only in speculating but, more importantly, we are made to believe, having a vision

The infrastructures of innovation districts  79

Figure 6.2  Fort Point heritage buildings.

for the future of what, in this case, was derelict land. In this sense, the physical development of Seaport also embodied the software and cultural ingredients of what Seaport was to become. Much of the land in Fan Pier, for example, was purchased by Boston developer Joseph Fallon and Massachusetts Mutual Life Insurance Co. in 2005 from the Chicago Pritzker family. The latter had left this lot mostly used as parking spaces since the 1980s. Urged by Mayor Menino,

80  J. T. Miao Pritzker agreed to sell the 20.5-acre site between the ICA and the Federal Courthouse to the partnership. Joseph Fallon, again through the introduction and encouragement of Menino, leased 22,000 square feet of office space for free in his brand-new One Marina Park Drive building to MassChallenge, a move that successfully lured this Kendall Square-based not-for-profit incubator and accelerator. This also became the turning point for Seaport on its way to an ID, as the existence and activities of MassChallenge helped to generate significant traffic to the district, changed its industrial character, and helped to attract entrepreneurs who could have looked nowhere other than the entrepreneurial hub of Kendall Square (The Intersector Project 2015). In 2011, the Fallon Management Co. and MassMutual further extended their agreement with MassChallenge to another three years, consolidating MassChallenge as the anchor entity at Seaport. Seaport Square is another large piece of land right in the centre of Seaport that was used as a parking lot. In 2006, Boston Global Investors (BGI) and Morgan Stanley joint ventured to purchase this land (23 acres) for $205 million. A master plan was developed which envisioned a mix of luxury condominiums, boutique shops, upper floor office space, and restaurants. As part of the planning approval requirement, BGI designed, built, and then transferred the District Hall to the city council for free, which became the landmark and social hub for the local entrepreneurial community. It was the first building constructed at Seaport Square and remains the most striking example of the city’s 30% innovation uses set-aside (Figure 6.3). Public authorities are also active as major landlords. MassPort, a state transportation authority, is one of the largest landowners in the South Boston Waterfront, controlling nearly 300 acres of development parcels, ship maintenance dock, the marine passenger terminal, and most of

Figure 6.3  Seaport District Hall.

The infrastructures of innovation districts  81 waterfront property east of D street. The Commonwealth Flats, 70 acres of land immediately east of Fan Pier and stretching to the center of Seaport, for example, was perceived by this authority as a strategic development site that could create dependable revenue streams needed to finance additional maritime improvements and operations. A Commonwealth Flats Strategic Plan was developed in 2000 which set the vision of a mixed-use commercial development into the next 20 years, and it was regarded as a pioneer initiative in reimagining the future of Seaport (MassPort 2000). Besides MassPort, the 70–80 acres comprising the BCEC and its abutting properties along D Street fall under the jurisdiction of another state authority – the Massachusetts Convention Center. The city, on the other hand, created the Marine Industrial Park in 1983 by purchasing the Bronstein Industrial Center, an eight-storey, 1.4 million square feet complex once used to store military supplies. The lease on the Bronstein building was split into two. The eastern side became home to the Dry Dock – an incubator specialising in bio-pharma, marine, and other businesses needing a shared wet-lab facility. The western side was renamed the ‘Innovation and Design Center’, first becoming home to the Boston Design Center (a showcase and workspace for design professionals) and later to ventures like the MassChallenge Accelerator (moved out), the Autodesk Building, and a testing facility for Reebok (Drucker et al. 2019). The local planning authority completes the last piece of the jigsaw. In 1999, the Boston Redevelopment Authority developed the Seaport Public Realm Plan under Mayor Menino’s instruction. This was followed a year later by the South Boston Waterfront Municipal Harbor Plan. Both documents had sought to leverage and capitalise the public investments that had already happened in Seaport by encouraging a mixed-use development. Yet both plans failed to identify a unique selling point for this place. After examining the Barcelona 22@, Mayor Menino and his Chief of Staff came up with the term ‘innovation district’. During his fifth inaugural address, Mayor Menino officially declared his vision for Seaport: ‘Our mandate to all will be to invent a 21st century district that meets the needs of the innovators who live and work in Boston – to create a job magnet, an urban lab on our shore, and to harvest its lessons for the city’ (Menino 2010). An experimental approach in planning, building partnership, and seeking contributions from developers was encouraged which stimulated interest among the business community and created momentum for the public sector to engage developers, design and architecture firms, corporates, entrepreneurs, and non-profit organisations in constructing the fabric of a community. ‘Move small, move fast; be a much more nimble [public] entrepreneur’ was the motto of the city (The Intersector Project 2015). This creative branding soon triggered a chain of reactions and became the catalyst of Seaport’s fast development. It also left a legacy of institutional flexibility and public-private partnership in this district – an environment favored by innovative companies. Conclusions and discussions Contrary to the popular view that an ID is born out of happy coincidences, the story of Seaport revealed that an array of innovation infrastructures – the improved transport connections, open spaces, water cleaning, the creative culture and heritage buildings preserved by the artist community, the mixture of properties and programming of activities offered by private and public developers, the existing talent and entrepreneurship this neighbourhood could draw upon, as well as the determination and networks of Mayor Menino and the successful marketing and flexible planning schemes used by BRA – have all played a part in Seaport’s development. Indeed, the speed at which Seaport developed means that while more and better could have been done to curate this ostensibly ‘new old’ of Boston, the many hands involved have ensured that it is less of a mono-urban and industrial district than might otherwise have been the case.

82  J. T. Miao The majority of these innovation infrastructures underpinning the success of Seaport were planned and/or invested well before its take-off, highlighting the long-term development horizon of an ID. The staged development strategies used by private developers also have evolved with the demand emanating from particular industrial sectors, leaving spaces for newcomers, such as the bio sector, to discover this space. Moreover, an active and creative role of the ­local government was evident not only in promoting the catchy title of ID but also in weaving together the scattered infrastructure investments and innovation fabrics. It is perhaps not an exaggeration to say that the effort of the Mayor and his office has helped to shorten the time needed for Seaport to bloom. Albeit successful in economic terms, the growth of Seaport has resulted in unintended consequences: with sky-high real estate prices, many innovative entrepreneurs, artists, and startup companies have been priced out by large corporate entities like Vertex Pharmaceuticals, Amazon, PTC, and PwC. There are not enough residential developments and those offered tend to be on the luxury end, affordable only by residents with a median household income of over US$150,000 – the highest in the city and more than double of Boston’s median income (Remedios 2021). There is also a lack of neighborhood facilities such as supermarkets, schools, and playgroups for families. So, Seaport is now one of the most exclusive districts dominated by white, young, single, and relatively high-income workers and residents. Thus, housing creative and knowledge workers remains a fundamental challenge internationally (Miao 2017). Concerned with the growing disparity, the successor to Mayor Menino, Mayor Martin Walsh, released a report in 2015 with the purpose of exploring the possibility of building on the successes and lessons learned from the Seaport and creating more neighborhood IDs in Boston to empower the city’s entrepreneurial talent (City of Boston News 2015). The current Mayor Wu wants to further open up this place by promoting a greener agenda, making residential offerings more affordable and the district more representative of the mix of Boston’s population. No concrete plan, however, has been announced, underlining the difficulty of changing the direction of a train when fully on power. References Acs, Z. J. (2002), Innovation and the Growth of Cities (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar). Adair, A.,Berry, J., McGreal, S., Hutchison, N., Watkins, C., Gibb, K.. (2003), ‘Urban Regeneration and Property Investment Performance’, Journal of Property Research, 20 (4), 371–386. Barney, J. B. (1991), ‘Firm Resources and Sustained Competitive Advantage’, Journal of Management 17, 99–120. Belanger, R. (2017), Developing Common Wealth: Workspaces for Innovation and Entrepreneurship in Massachusetts, Master Thesis, (Boston: Massachusetts Institute of Technology). Braunerhjelm, P. and Feldman, M. (2006), Cluster Genesis: Technology-Based Industrial Development (New York: Oxford University Press). City of Boston News (2015), ‘Report explores creation of more neighborhood innovation districts’. https:// www.boston.gov/news/report-explores-creation-more-neighborhood-innovation-districts Coriat, B. and Dosi, G. (2000), ‘The institutional embeddedness of economic change: An appraisal of the “evolutionary” and `regulationist’ research programmes’, in G. Dosi (ed.), Innovation, Organization and Economic Dynamics: Selected Essays (Glos: Edward Elgar Publishing Limited), 347–76. Drucker, J., Kayanan, C. M. and Renski, H. (2019), ‘Innovation Districts as a Strategy for Urban Economic Development: A Comparison of Four Cases’ (Center for Economic Development Technical Reports). Retrieved from https://scholarworks.umass.edu/ced_techrpts/192, accessed on 7 December 2021. Freeman, C. and Soete, L. (1997), The Economics of Industrial Innovation (London: Pinter). Harvey, D. (1989), ‘From Managerialism to Entrepreneurialism: The Transformation in Urban Governance in Late Capitalism’, Geografiska Annaler. Series B, Human Geography 71 (1), 3–17.

The infrastructures of innovation districts  83 Heidenreich, M. (2004), ‘Conclusion: The dilemmas of regional innovation systems’, in P. Cooke, M. Heidenreich and H-J. Braczyk (eds.), Regional Innovation System: The Role of Governance in a Globalized World (London and New York: Routledge), 363–394. Katz, B. and Wagner, J. (2014), ‘The Rise of Innovation Districts’. Retrieved from https://www.brookings. edu/articles/rise-of-innovation-districts/, accessed on 30 December 2021. MassINC (2022), ‘This Is the Moment to Make Transformative Investments’. https://massinc.org/2022/06/ 09/this-is-the-moment-to-make-transformative-investments/ MassPort (2000), ‘Commonwealth Flats Strategic Plan’, (Boston: Massachusetts Port Authority). Mazzucato, M. (2013), The Entrepreneurial State: Debunking Public vs. Private Sector Myths (London: Anthem Press (Kindle Edition)). Menino, T. M. (2010), ‘Inaugural Address’. Retrieved from cityofboston.gov/TridionImages/2010%20 Thomas%20M%20%20Menino%20Inaugural%20final_tcm1-4838.pdf, accessed on 27 December 2021. Miao, J. T. (2013), ‘The Birth, Evolution and Performance of High-Tech Zones in China’, PhD thesis (London: University College London). ——— (2017), ‘Housing the Knowledge Economy in China: An Examination of Housing Provision in Support of Science Parks’, Urban Studies 54 (6), 1426–1445. ——— (2018), ‘Knowledge Economy Challenges for Post-Developmental State: Tsukuba Science City as in-between Place’, Town Planning Review 89 (1), 61–84. Miao, J. T., Benneworth, P. and Phelps, N. A. (2015), Making 21st Century Knowledge Complexes: Technopoles of the World Revisited (London: Routledge). Miao, J. T. and Phelps, N. A. (2019), ‘The Intrapreneurial State: Singapore’s Emergence in the Smart and Sustainable Urban Solutions Field’, Territory, Politics, Governance 7 (3), 316–335. Nelson, R. R. and Langlois, R. N. (1983), ‘Industrial Innovation Policy: Lessons from American History’, Science 219 (4586), 814–818. O’Neill, P. (2019), ‘The Financialisation of Urban Infrastructure: A Framework of Analysis’, Urban Studies 56 (7), 1304–1325. Phelps, N. A. (1992), ‘External Economies, Agglomeration and Flexible Accumulation’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 17(1), 35–46. Phelps, N. A. and Miao, J. T. (2019), ‘Varieties of Urban Entrepreneurialism’, Dialogues in Human Geography 10 (3), 304–321. Remedios, J. (2021), ‘The Seaport Cost Billions to Build. What Will It Take to Save It?’. Retrieved from https://www.wbur.org/news/2021/06/16/boston-seaport-fort-point-climate-change-sea-level, accessed on 3 June 2023. Scott, A. (2010), ‘Cultural Economy and the Creative Field of the City’, Geografiska Annaler 92 (2), 115–130. The Intersector Project (2015), ‘The Development of Boston’s Innovation District’. http://intersector.com/ reports/innovation-district/, accessed on 23 December 2021. Weber, R. (2010), ‘Selling City Future: The Financialization of Urban Redevelopment Policy’, Economic Geography 86 (3), 251–274. Weick, K. E. and Westley, F. (1996), ‘Organizational learning: Affirming an oxymoron’, in S. R. Clegg, C. Hardy and W. R. Nord (eds.), Handbook of Organization Studies (London: SAGE Publications Ltd), 440–458. Wilson, D. (2019), ‘What the Rise of Coworking Means for the Real Estate Industry’. https://medium.com/ swlh/what-the-rise-of-coworking-means-for-the-real-estate-industry-5365916f3ae4. Winden, Willem van, Braun, E., Otgaar, A., Witte, J-J. (2014), Urban Innovation Systems: What Makes Them Tick? (New York: Routledge). WS Development (2022), ‘Boson Seaport’. https://www.wsdevelopment.com/our-properties/boston-seaport2/, accessed on 17 January 2023. Wu, F. (2022), ‘Land Financialisation and the Financing of Urban Development in China’, Land Use Policy 112 (Jan), 1–10.

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Workplace repositioning post-pandemic Hybrid working Eileen Sim

Introduction Prior to the 20th century, the term ‘office’ did not represent a physical workplace but rather referred to a position or role of authority or service (Aronoff & Kaplan, 1995; Haigh, 2012). ‘Office’ has since evolved and it currently refers to the corporate real estate housing non-­manufacturing or ‘office work’ for an organisation (Neufert, Neufert, & Kister, 2012). This chapter discusses offices in the context of ‘workplace’ such as the workplace layout, the worksettings and technological equipment, supporting employees’ work, or ‘Space Plan and Stuff’ (Brand, 1994). Prior to COVID-19, the norm of ‘going to work’ implies that one was heading to the office or their workplace. However, COVID-19 pandemic had redefined where work was conducted as lockdowns and work-from-home orders were introduced. It has required organisations to offer maximum flexibility and challenged traditional management philosophies that work meant being in the office from 9 am to 5 pm. During COVID-19 and lockdowns, when employees were working from home, the phrase ‘going to work’ was no longer about physically going to an office, but it was about shifting our attention and activity towards work and its productive activities. Approximately 50% of employees in Australia reported working from home in September 2020 (compared to approximately 5% pre-pandemic in 2016), and almost 70% preferred to continue working mostly from home post-pandemic (Melbourne Institute, 2020). Supported by the legal system in Australia (Fair Work Ombudsman, n.d.), employees are demanding for greater flexibility in where they work and to feel safe in their choices to work from the office or to work from home (Marzban et al., 2021). Therefore, it is more than likely that partial working from home will be a norm (Henry, Hunt, & Marasco, 2020; Lang et al., 2020; Savills, 2020). COVID-19 has accelerated and expedited the transformation of workplaces compared to the historical speed of workplace changes as organisations begin to comprehend how the new norm of work post-COVID-19 will be as employees settle into a new rhythm of hybrid working. This raised some big questions of whether offices are here to stay and their role in employees’ productivity post-pandemic. This chapter puts forward a discussion on the typology of workplaces to position the role of flexibility in future workplaces, the importance of offices exclusively occupied by an organisation and redesigning workplaces post-pandemic. Typology of workplaces Pre-COVID-19, innovation in workplaces can be segregated into three generations of workplaces: 1 First-Generation workplace: Corridor offices: ‘… series of adjoining enclosed rooms …’ (p. 65) supporting small groups or solo work functions ‘… reflecting either their elevated DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-8

Workplace repositioning post-pandemic  85 position in society or their more humble role as a loyal assistant’ (Bedford & Tong, 1997, p. 65). The Corridor offices emerged as businesses expanded resulting in merchants and selfemployed entrepreneurs being unable to conduct their work in their own homes as they did before the 19th century and the industrial revolution (Gatter, 1982); 2 Second-Generation workplace: The rapid industrialisation in the Western World drove the emergence of the Second-Generation workplace as larger organisations required more clerks within cities to coordinate and control the growing complexity of information in manufacturing and distribution (Bedford & Tong, 1997; Gatter, 1982). The Open-plan offices first emerged and were open desks without enclosures arranged in a rectilinear manner resembling a factory production line that were enclosed by private offices along the building perimeter for higherranked employees (Bedford & Tong, 1997; Sundstrom & Sundstrom, 1986). The desk was also designed based on the Taylor Scientific Management System to increase productivity (Forty, 1986; Kuang, 2009). Employees resented the Open-plan office as they were treated as ‘unthinking automatons’ with no control, no privacy, and had many distractions (Duffy & Wankum, 1969). The Bürolandschaft (German) that translates to ‘Office Landscape’ was introduced in the 1960s with more focus on the team approach, flexibility, and hierarchy removal (Duffy, Cave, & Worthington, 2013). Private offices were removed and the Bürolandschaft consisted of large undivided open floor areas with standardised desks arranged at odd angles and workers arrangedbased communications (Duffy et al., 2013; Gatter, 1982). Multipurpose ‘movable screens’ was introduced to deal with issues around privacy, noise, distraction, and lack of personalisation (Duffy & Wankum, 1969, p. 10). In 1968, the Action office emerged to deal with privacy and communication issues from the Bürolandschaft (Budd, 2001). The Action Office featured modular design and free-standing enclosure panels with adaptability options such as storage units, personal items, and work surfaces (Gatter, 1982; Laing, 1997). Taken to an extreme, the Action Office started being associated with a lack of privacy and interaction (Budd, 2001). Both the First- and Second-Generation workplace still featured assigned workspace or individual territory. 3 Third-Generation workplace: In the 1970s, the third-generation workplace was introduced featuring non-territoriality, sharing-based model for more efficiency in space use and processbased model to support a variety of work processes (Allen & Gerstberger, 1973; Bedford & Tong, 1997). Despite the success in experimentation, there was little take up and speculations that it was too innovative for its time as technology innovation lagged and was unable to support mobility (Stone & Luchetti, 1985). Over the years, four types of non-territorial offices (Co-location spaces, Activity-Based Working, Self-owned Desks, and Hot-desking) have emerged and can be differentiated based on the organisation’s exclusive use of Desks, individual’s exclusive use of workstation and variety of worksettings as seen in Table 7.1. Table 7.1  Comparison of third-generation workplaces

Organisation’s exclusive use of office space Individual’s exclusive use of worksetting Large variety of worksettings

Co-location spaces

ABW

Self-owned desk

Hot-desking

No

Yes

Yes

Yes

No

No (only lockers) Yes

Yes (mobile worksetting per employee) Yes

No

Yes

No

86

E. Sim Co-location spaces differ from the rest as the office is shared with several organisations (Nenonen, 2016). Self-owned Desk differs from the rest as individuals have exclusive use of their own pedestal Desk stored in the locked at the end of the day (Ortony, Clore, & Foss, 1987). Hot-desking lacks a large variety of worksettings and are similar to non-territorial Open-plan offices unlike ABW offices that features a large variety of worksettings to support the various work activities (Veldhoen + Company, no date; Duerksen, 2012). There is much negative connotation around Hot-desking (for example, Warner (2013) and Wyllie et al. (2012)) as it offers little benefits besides cost-savings, compared to ABW offices that are purported to offer: • Higher space efficiency and utilisation, flexibility to support future spaceless growth (Brunia, De Been, & Voordt, 2016; Candido et al., 2016); • Talent attraction and retention by providing employees more autonomy, flexibility, and enjoyable workplaces (Brunia et al., 2016; Candido et al., 2016); • Increased productivity as the variety of worksettings are designed to support employees’ activity needs (Brunia et al., 2016; Candido et al., 2016); • Facilitates knowledge-sharing through superior communication and collaboration (Brunia et al., 2016; Candido et al., 2016); and • Better aligns with organisational equality values since no employees are assigned Desks.

As discussed earlier, prior to COVID-19, approximately 5% of employees in Australia worked from home and this increased to 50% in September 2020 with almost 70% of employees preferring to continue mostly working from home post-pandemic (Melbourne Institute, 2020). This leads to the introduction of the fourth-generation workplace as economies emerge from COVID-19: 4 Fourth-Generation workplace: Hybrid Working in which employees are provided with the option to work from home on some days and work from the second- or third-generation workplace (Marzban et al., 2021) on other days are expected to be the new norm. In Australia, the expectation and preferences are to work from home at least two days a week and the remainder in the office for employees offered the flexibility (Higgins et al., 2022; Productivity Commission, 2021). Contrary to the previous generations of offices that focuses more on the office workplace and its location, Hybrid Working focuses on a more flexible way of working that has a shared workplace location (most commonly between one’s home and the workplace) (Higgins et al., 2022). Whilst hybrid working has existed pre-pandemic, it was uncommon and typically only existed alongside thirdgeneration workplace that promoted flexibility. Employee productivity is increasingly being accepted as employees’ ability to deliver and complete their work within the required time frame rather than their ability to clock on and off on-time and to be present at the office for the required work hours. Again, this concept of productivity is not new, but it has taken a long time for widespread acceptance. This chapter returns to redesigning hybrid workplaces later. The four generations of office workplace are conceptualised in Figure 7.1. The new norm of Hybrid working challenges the definition of Corporate Real Estate. Corporate Real Estate is defined as the real estate that organisations need to conduct their core business (Arkesteijn, 2019). With people’s homes becoming part of the real estate that organisations need to conduct their core business, are people’s homes part of organisations’ Corporate Real Estate?

Workplace repositioning post-pandemic  87

Figure 7.1  Four generations of office workplace.

Redefining Corporate Real Estate to include people’s homes has several implications that are outside the scope of this chapter but is an important consideration for organisations’ management of real estate. Importance of physical office workplaces Whilst there were speculations on whether offices will be a thing of the past, it is unlikely that organisations will completely move to full time working from home rendering the physical workplace obsolete. Offices provide face-to-face socialisation that creates a sense of community as employees bond over the shared organisational culture and values that are lacking during COVID-19 (Henry et al., 2020; Lang et al., 2020; Savills, 2020; Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020). Recent industry studies have found that certain activities, such as Focused Work, were better conducted at home, whereas other activities centered around communication and connection, such as Collaboration and Brainstorming, Learning from Colleagues, Talent Development and Interconnectedness with company culture, were better supported in the office (Lang et al., 2020). This is not new as pre-COVID-19, research has found that some employees struggled to conduct Focused Work in the office and preferred to conduct Focused Work at home (Lang et al., 2020; Sim, 2021). Whilst some activities are better supported at home, working from home is reported to cause feelings of loneliness (Lang et al., 2020). There are varying benefits derived from working from home and in the office: a daily routine, mental health, physical health, quality family time, sense of belonging or pride in company, personal growth, work-life balance (Lang et al., 2020). This provides a strong contention for Hybrid Working to capitalise on the benefits of both working from home and in the office.

88  E. Sim Redesigning workplaces The adoption of Hybrid Working has major implications in how offices should be redesigned. Prior to moving into the design of offices, there are three approaches to Hybrid Way of Working identified by Higgins et al. (2022) based on whom the control/autonomy resides with: 1 Office Centric (Low Autonomy, Employer Chooses) – in which the employer decides that employees work at the office on designated days (typically two to three days) of the week; 2 Team Oriented (Medium Autonomy, Manager Chooses) – in which managers decide which days employees and their teams work at the office; and 3 Choice Centric (High Autonomy, Employee Chooses) – in which employees decide on when and where to work, factoring organisational priorities. Choices and Autonomy are at the core of the approaches to Hybrid Working (Higgins et al., 2022). Extending beyond choosing the location (home or the office), organisations should further consider the choices and autonomy offered within the workplace provided when redesigning the workplace or making decisions on the type of workplace the organisation occupies (second- or third-generation workplaces). Organisations currently occupying Second-Generation workplaces, such as Open Plan offices, are facing the choice of continued adoption of the Second-Generation workplace or adopting a Third-Generation workplace. The choice of continuing in a Second-Generation workplace may result in low utilisation and occupancy rates as some employees are working from home on certain days. The low variety of worksettings in Second-Generation workplaces risks a poor fit between the work activities that employees intend to conduct at the workplace (Thorpe & Alaterou, 2021). Activities poorly supported in Second-Generation workplace and better supported at home disincentivises employees to come to the office and may further decrease utilisation and occupancy. This is of great concern in a work environment post-COVID lockdown where the lack of ‘buzz’ and underutilisation of offices are already in the spotlight. These may lead organisations to consider the adoption of non-territorial Third-Generation workplaces for higher space utilisation and occupancy. Of the few types of Third-Generation workplaces, Hot-desking is not recommended as it does not offer the large variety of worksettings suited to the activities that employees conduct and is overly focused on cost-cutting as a workplace strategy (Veldhoen, n.d.). Pursuing Occupancy Cost minimisation as a workplace strategy may be unattractive to retaining and attracting employees in an environment where employers are struggling to attract employees back to the office for collaboration and ‘accidental collissions’ and competing for talent. In Melbourne, organisations are relocating into higher quality offices alongside implementing hybrid working to attract employees back to the office (Dexter, 2022; Freeman, 2022). The recommended type of non-territorial workplace to adopt alongside Hybrid Working/partial work from home is Activity Based Working (ABW) as they are designed to offer employees the flexibility they desire and a large variety of worksettings to support the activities employees prioritise to support employees’ productivity. Organisations that had previously occupied ABW offices pre-COVID may also have to adapt their ABW ­offices to better fit the activities that employees intend to conduct in the office. For instance, rethinking how employees meet or their meeting objectives and alignment with the various meeting mode capabilities’ task-technology-fit, task-media fit, and social presence (Standaert, Muylle, & Basu, 2021) and designing meeting spaces to fit so that employees can have more productive meetings. In fact, productivity experts point towards employees having too many meetings (Laker et al., 2022) and to rethink the need for synchronous meetings. Communicating

Workplace repositioning post-pandemic  89 asynchronously through softwares such as Loom to record information or knowledge sharing and prioritising time for synchronous meetings such as Initiation, Ideation, Converging, and Bonding (Dean, 2022). As discussed earlier, some activities are better conducted in the office and some are better conducted at home. Therefore, employees’ activity preferences at the office should guide how future offices are designed. For instance, if employees have indicated that they predominantly come into the office for meetings and collaborative activities, the office should be fitted out with more appropriate meeting and collaborative spaces. The elimination of worksettings supporting activities of a lower preference, such as Focused Work, is unlikely as some employees may still have to conduct Focused Work when they are in the office. For instance, when employees are in between meetings. Since the majority of employees may not spend large amounts of time at their Desk as they split their time between the office and home, it is unlikely that each employee will need an assigned Desk and may be more open to unassigned seating in an ABW compared to pre-COVID. The ratio of worksetting variety in ABW offices should reflect the activities that employees intend to conduct at the office to ensure that there are sufficient, appropriate worksettings to promote employee productivity in the office. Identifying the right ratio has its own challenges as employees within the organisation change over time (e.g., New employment and employees leaving) and periods or time of the year in which employees are more consumed with one activity than the other (e.g., End of financial year reporting). One way of coping with the fluctuation of activities to be accommodated is to have a designated area for flexibility. For instance, a large corner room called ‘Ebb and Flow’ with mobile desks, whiteboards on walls, pin-up boards, and movable walls that may be able to accommodate sprints, meetings, projects, collaboration, routine work, and focused work by reconfiguring the mobile desks and redefining the workplace guidelines based on the activity the space is meant to support. When space pressure is low and no employees are struggling to find a suitable worksetting for their activity, the ‘Ebb and Flow’ room can be used as an area to accommodate Focused Work. When space pressure is high and there are insufficient Collaborative spaces, the space can be reconfigured into a space for Collaboration and Brainstorming. This may require more proactive workplace management from the workplace management team, concierge, or Facilities Management. Whilst the earlier discussion focuses on rethinking about the role of offices and how the physical built environment can better support the activities employees desire to take up in ABW offices, the physical built environment in isolation is not sufficient to generate buzz and attract employees back in the long-run. The physical built environment requires alignment with the intangibles such as organisational culture, management or leadership practices, and expectations. For instance, Higgins et. al. (2022) discuss that Hybrid leadership practices have to be centred around three pillars: Trust, Clarity, and Outcomes-focus. Organisations transitioning from assigned Second-Generation workplaces to unassigned Third-Generation workplaces as part of their Hybrid Working strategy typically encounter a drastic physical workplace change and also require a cultural and leadership/management practice change as part of the workplace change management process. Regardless of the change, these organisations will have to partially or fully undergo an implementation and workplace change management process (Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020). The implementation process of an ABW office can be summarised in Sim and Heywood’s (2019) paper. A recent study on the implementation process of ABW offices found the importance of organisations pursuing a business-driven strategy as they result in superior employee acceptance (Sim & Heywood, 2023). Business-driven projects are more user-centric aiming for a more effective work environment as opposed to Cost-driven projects that aimed to produce the same

90  E. Sim results without reducing effectiveness (Becker et al., 1994). The worksettings designed into the ABW office must support the affordances employees intend to conduct well to incentivise employees to use various worksettings. There is unlikely to be a one-size fits all physical and functional solution (such as workplace guidelines) within organisations as these may vary depending on:

• Employees’ type of work (Lang et al., 2020; Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020); • Activities taken up in their role on a daily basis (Lang et al., 2020; Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020);

• Employees’ age group or stage in their career that may affect their ability to work independently (Lang et al., 2020; Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020);

• Ability to set up a safe home office to work from home. This determines whether there

are hazards compromising their physical health and whether they have a spare room or office such that there is a physical separation between their work and personal life affecting their mental health and work-life balance. A recent study found that more than 85% of respondents between 18 and 24 years old were lacking a physical separation (Lang et al., 2020); • Personality types (need for socialising) (Lang et al., 2020; Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020); and • Distance to commute to work and culture (Lang et al., 2020; Savills Real Estate Advisory, 2020). The economic impact of COVID-19 across sectors differs, but one unavoidable truth is that COVID-19 has shifted the way office workers work and workplace strategy and design should respond to this. Conclusion The post-pandemic office workplace is challenging to define as it varies from organisation, cultures, strategies, and management philosophy. Defining the post-pandemic workplace can be seen as a challenge or more importantly, an opportunity for organisations to redefine what Productivity means, how productivity can be supported differently through its translation into the way they work and their work strategy and culture. There is no one-size-fits-all Hybrid Working solution but at the very least, all organisations should be reflecting on how well their worksettings are supporting the activities that employees intend to conduct in the office and whether their current way of working aligns with the organisation’s vision and how their people would like to work to promote employee wellbeing. References Allen, T. J., & Gerstberger, P. G. (1973). A field experiment to improve communication in product engineering department: the nonterritorial office. Human Factors, 15(5), 487–498. https://doi.org/10.1177/ 001872087301500505 Aronoff, S., & Kaplan, A. G. (1995). Total workplace performance: rethinking the office environment. Ottawa: WDL Publications, Pennsylvania State University. Becker, F., Quinn, K. L., Rappaport, A. J., & Sims, W. R. (1994). The ecology of new ways of working implementing innovative workplaces: organizational implications of different strategies. New York: International Workplace Studies Program.

Workplace repositioning post-pandemic 91 Bedford, M., & Tong, D. (1997). Planning for diversity: new structures that reflect the past. Reinventing the workplace. Oxford: Architectural Press, 64–75. Brand, S. (1994). How buildings learn: what happens after they’re built. New York: Penguin. Brunia, S., De Been, I., & Voordt, T. J. M. (2016). Accommodating new ways of working: lessons from best practices and worst cases. Journal of Corporate Real Estate, 18(1), 30–47. Budd, C. (2001). The office: 1950 to the present. In The offices. Workspheres – design and contemporary work style (pp. 26–35), P. Antonelli (ed.). New York: The Museum of Modern Art. Candido, C., Zhang, J., Kim, J., Dear, R. D., Thomas, L., Strapasson, P., & Joko, C. (2016). Impact of workspace layout on occupant satisfaction, perceived health and productivity. In 9th Windsor conference: making comfort relevant (pp. 7–10). Cumberland Lodge, Windsor, UK: Network for Comfort and Energy Use in Buildings. Dean, A. (2022). Team anywhere|Atlassian presents: work life 22. YouTube channel. Retrieved 3 March 2023 from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2x2mbb9KfTg Dexter (2022). ‘Workers want luxury: rising office vacancies lead to “arms race”’, The Age. Available at: https://www.theage.com.au/national/victoria/workers-want-luxury-rising-office-vacancies-lead-toarms-race-20220802-p5b6na.html Duerksen, G. J. (2012). Winning the war for talent. International Food and Agribusiness Management Review, 15(Special Issue A), 13–17. Duffy, F. (1969). Office landscaping: a new approach to office planning: layout planning in the landscaped office. London: Anbar Publications. Duffy, F., Cave, C., & Worthington, J. (2013). Planning office space [electronic resource]. Burlington: Elsevier Science. Ekstrand, M. (2016). Walk the talk: creating a collaborative culture in an activity-based workplace. In CIB Facilities Management Conference, 283–295. Fair Work Ombudsman. (n.d.). Flexible working arrangements. Fair Work Ombudsman. Retrieved from https://www.fairwork.gov.au/employment-conditions/flexibility-in-the-workplace/flexible-workingarrangements Forty, A. A. (1986). Taylorism and modern architecture. Transactions, 9(1), 73–81. Freeman. (2022). ‘PCA office vacancy market commentary – tenants unite in flight to quality quest’, Cushman and Wakefield. Available at: https://www.cushmanwakefield.com/en/australia/news/2022/08/ pca-office-vacancy-market-commentary Gatter, L. S. (1982). The office: an analysis of the evolution of a workplace. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Haigh, G. (2012). The office: a hardworking history (Vol. 142). Carlton, Vic: The Miegunyah Press. Henry, D., Hunt, S., & Marasco, J. (2020). The future of the office space. Colliers Insights (Vol. Office). https://doi.org/10.1177/0013916582145006 Higgins, E., Joosten, M., Li, I., & Mesa, G. (2022). On the leading edge of hybrid: lessons from the Australian experience. Veldhoen + Company. https://www.veldhoencompany.com/hybrid-workingreport-au-experience Kuang, C. (2009). ‘Design: Office Spaces’, Wired. pp. 54. Available at: https://ezp.lib.unimelb.edu.au/login? url=https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=aci&AN=42098787&site=eds-live& scope=site Laing, A. (1997). ‘New patterns of work: the design of the office’, Reinventing the workplace (pp. 23–38). Oxford: Architectural Press. Laker, B., Pereira, V., Malik, A., & Soga, L. (2022, March). Dear manager, you’re holding too many meetings. Harvard Business Review. Retrieved from https://hbr.org/2022/03/dear-manager-youreholding-too-many-meetings Lang, S., Smith, Y. R., Wightman, N., & Gardner, D. (2020). Office FiT survey results: the office is vital, but needs to change. Retrieved from https://pdf.savills.com/documents/Savills-Office-FiT-SurveyResults_.pdf

92  E. Sim Marzban, S., Durakovic, I., Candido, C., & Mackey, M. (2021). Learning to work from home: Experience of Australian workers and organizational representatives during the first Covid-19 lockdowns. Journal of Corporate Real Estate, 23(3), 203–222. Melbourne Institute (2020). ‘Taking the pulse of the nation’, Research Insights, 14–18 September 2020. Available at: https://melbourneinstitute.unimelb.edu.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0003/3504612/Takingthe-Pulse-of-the-Nation-14-18-September.pdf Monique Arkesteijn. (2019). Corporate real estate alignment. A+BE: Architecture and the Built Environment, 9(12). doi:10.7480/abe.2019.12.4126. Nenonen, I. K. S. (2016). Typologies for co-working places in Finland – what and how? Facilities, 34(5/6), 302–313. Neufert, E., Neufert, P., & Kister, J. (2012). Architects’ data (4th ed.). Chichester, West Sussex; Ames, Iowa: Wiley-Blackwell. Retrieved from https://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&AuthType= sso&db=cat00006a&AN=melb.b4364253&site=eds-live&scope=site Ortony, A., Clore, G. L., & Foss, M. A. (1987). The referential structure of the affective Lexicon. Cognitive Science, 11, 341–364. Productivity Commission (2021) ‘Working from home’, Research Paper September 2021. Available at: https://www.pc.gov.au/research/completed/working-from-home/working-from-home.pdf Savills. (2020). The immediate and longer term impacts of Covid-19 on the workplace. Retrieved from https://www.savills.com.au/publications-pdf/office-fit-global-occupiers-v2.pdf Savills Real Estate Advisory. (2020). Adapt: easing back to the office. Retrieved from https://www.savills. com.au/publications-pdf/office-fit-easingbackin-v2.pdf Sim, E. (2021). Organisations’ and employees’ acceptance of activity based working (ABW) offices: an examination on the throughput and outputs. Available at: https://discovery.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/ plink?id=65381f8b-4c1d-3276-8fcd-50a1eaec5b26 (Accessed: 27 September 2022). Sim, E., & Heywood, C. (2019). Activity Based Working Offices: One Office Type Implemented Three Ways. 25th Annual Pacific-Rim Real Estate Society Conference, 14–16 January 2019. Sim, E., & Heywood, C. (2023). Employees’ Acceptance of Varying Activity Based Workplace Implementation Strategies. 29th Annual Pacific Rim Real Estate Society Conference, 15–19 January 2023. (Pending acceptance). https://www.prres.org/conference-2023#proceedings Standaert, W., Muylle, S., & Basu, A. (2021). How shall we meet? Understanding the importance of meeting mode capabilities for different meeting objectives. Information & Management, 58(1), 103324. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.im.2020.103324 Stone, P. J., & Luchetti, R. (1985). Your office is where you are. Harvard Business Review, 63(2), 102–117. Sundstrom, E., & Sundstrom, M. G. (1986). Work places: the psychology of the physical environment in offices and factories. Cambridge University Press. Thorpe, G., & Alaterou, M. (2021) ‘Changing places: how hybrid working is rewriting the rule book’, PWC The Future of Work. Available at: https://www.pwc.com.au/future-of-work-design-for-the-future/ changing-places-hybrid-working.html Veldhoen + Company. (n.d.). What is hot desking? Retrieved 14 June 2016 from http://www. veldhoencompany.com/en/publications/publication/1841/what-is-hot-desking/ Warner, L. (2013) Activity based working: impact on the Sydney CBD Office Market. https://cdn2.hubspot. net/hubfs/2095495/propertycouncil/Posts/Advocacy%20Submissions/131203%20PCA%20JLL%20 ABW%20Report.pdf Wyllie, T., Greene, M., Nagrath, R., & Town, A. (2012). Activity based working. Retrieved from http:// www.jll.com.au/australia/en-au/Documents/jll-au-activity-based-working-2012.pdf

8

Creativity in sustainable finance Growth of green instruments Kruti Upadhyay and Raghu Dharmapuri Tirumala

Green infrastructure: A background Infrastructure plays a very important role, particularly when countries have struggled to cope with the pandemic since early 2020 and are looking to achieve sustainable development goals (SDGs). Compounding that, by 2030, 60% of the world’s population will be residing in urban areas, but 60% of the infrastructure required has not been built yet (UN, 2018). Infrastructure developed for future use must also support the environment and social aspects of society. As estimated by OECD, approximately a 10% increase in annual investment for infrastructure development will be required to meet the Paris Climate Agreement goals (OECD, 2017). Energy, transport, and water sector infrastructure jointly account for 60% of the world’s carbon emissions (OECD, 2020). It is important to configure innovative financing mechanisms that can help achieve the SDGs, particularly as the decade of delivery of SDGs has started and with the constrained public finances across the globe (OECD, 2020). More than two decades have passed since the introduction of the term green infrastructure, though many different interpretations exist. While this concept finds its roots in the 19th and 20th centuries, the term green infrastructure was introduced by Benedict and McMahon (2002). They defined green infrastructure as an ‘interconnected network of green space that conserves natural ecosystem values and functions and provides associated benefits to human populations’ (Benedict & McMohan, 2002). Some widely accepted definitions of green infrastructure come from European Environment Agency (EEA), European Commission, and Energy Protection Agency (EPA). Green infrastructure definitions include many common features: (i) it delivers more than one functionality, (ii) it encourages the use of resources and processes in a more sustainable and efficient way, (iii) it improves the quality of life and the environment, (iv) it can be viewed as an interconnected network of many ecosystem services that would help in climate adaption and mitigation. According to the International Capital Markets Association (ICMA), green infrastructure projects are typically from ‘renewable energy, energy efficiency, pollution prevention and control, environmentally sustainable management of living natural resources and land use – waste management, terrestrial and aquatic biodiversity conservation, clean transportation (electric, hybrid, public, rail, non-motorised, multimodal, infrastructure for clean energy vehicles, reduction of emissions), sustainable water and wastewater management, climate change adaptation, eco-efficient and circular economy adapted products, production technologies and processes and green buildings’ sectors (ICMA – International Capital Market Association, 2018). Some of the well-known examples in daily use include permeable pavements and pavement parking (pavements that allow the rainwater to get absorbed by the soil, and help reduce the intensity of floodings. A similar arrangement in pavement parking also helps to cool down the surrounding environment) (Upper Midwest Water Science Center, 2019) and DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-9

94  K. Upadhyay and R. D. Tirumala encourages people to commute by bicycle. Apart from emission reduction, this non-motorised transport initiative is expected to deliver socio-economic return of approximately 19%, reduce annual sick days to 34,000 days, and reduce the number of car rides by 1.4 million during rush hours (Hubert, 2021). Green infrastructure is receiving international attention considering the benefits it provides. Implementing greener projects will improve the chance of achieving SDGs and combating climate change-related issues (Sachs et al., 2019). However, this comes with a price to be paid for the implementation, as a huge financing gap must be bridged. As per IFC estimates, the investments required to meet SDGs of the 21 emerging countries from 2016 to 2030 is USD 23 trillion (Kludovacz et al., 2018). It is difficult to mobilise such a large sum quickly; hence, it is necessary to make a fundamental shift in the financial sector to support the green infrastructure (Berensmann & Lindenberg, 2016). The post global financial crisis investments have not picked up the way they should have and due to limitations of the policy actions relating to long-term infrastructure financing (Sachs et al., 2019). Even though green infrastructure represents a fraction of the overall investment requirements, the gap is huge. However, there is a consensus that green financing is the need of the hour to raise funds to develop green infrastructure, which in turn requires developing innovative financial instruments that can help reduce the existing financing gap (Berensmann et al., 2017; Hickman, 2015; Kludovacz et al., 2018; Sachs et al., 2019). It is estimated that if green infrastructure investments are made on time, then benefits up to USD 4.1 billion can be reaped by 2030 (GCA, 2019). Exponential growth of green finance Industry stakeholders, representing 187 institutions with assets under management (AUM) of USD 13 trillion, acknowledged the need to tackle the challenges posed by climate change at the Copenhagen Summit in the year 2009. Many other institutions subsequently joined to support the cause and recognised the urgency to take steps to handle the impacts due to climate change. This awareness led to efforts to create common frameworks for identifying the resources for combating climate change-related issues (CBI, 2012). Another push for the sector came from the US Environment Protection Agency in 2014, which committed to reducing carbon emissions by 30% by 2030 from their 2005 levels (Eckhouse, 2014). A general international boost was witnessed in 2015 with the countries’ adoption of the Paris Agreement. The corporate stakeholders have begun to acknowledge their role as one of the responsible stakeholders, resulting in their opting for green business principles and driving the demand for green finance instruments (Bhattacharyya, 2021). ICMA defines green finance as ‘broader than Climate Finance in that it also addresses other environmental objectives such as natural resource conservation, biodiversity conservation, and pollution prevention and control’ (ICMA, 2020). Green finance is ‘a positive shift in the global economy’s transition to sustainability through the financing of public and private green investments and public policies that support green initiatives’ (Berensmann & Lindenberg, 2016). The global green finance, including the green bonds, loans, and equity funding, has increased tenfold from USD 5.2 billion in 2012 to about USD 540.6 billion in 2021 (Reuters, 2022). The climate finance fundraising is much larger, including different instruments, as mentioned in the Figure 8.1(a and b). The Figure 8.1(a) indicates the total climate finance growth from 2012 to 2020. Figure 8.1(b) presents the share of various instruments in 2019–2020. The most prominent instruments are balance sheet financing and the project level market rate debt. Climate Bonds Initiative began to categorise the bonds depending on use of proceeds and their alignment with climate themes, heralding the journey of labelled and non-labelled green

Creativity in sustainable finance  95

Figure 8.1  (a and b) Global climate finance growth (USD billion). Source: Authors based on Climate Policy Initiative (CPI), 2018, 2020, 2021.

bonds (CBI, 2012). Various categories of bonds have been introduced namely Green, Social and Sustainability, Transition and Sustainability linked bonds. At the end of 2021, the cumulative total labelled bond issuance touched USD 2.8 trillion, with the year 2021 (USD 1.1 trillion of fresh issuance) contributing to approximately 39% of the cumulative bond issuance (Harrison et al., 2022). For the year 2021, green bonds issuance stood at USD 523.7 billion, almost 75% higher than year 2020 issuance (Harrison et al., 2022). This capital inflow has been spread across different countries and sectors. The predominant issuances were from Europe and the Americas. Outside of that, China and India dominated the bond issuances. The sectors that attracted the most attention include renewable energy, buildings, and transport. The issuances that target other sectors are relatively much lower. The entities participating in green finance cover the entire gamut of the corporate sector, public sector, banks, and financial institutions. For instance, in Asia, Asian Development Bank has been very active in supporting green infrastructure projects. It has supported projects such as Cambodia Solar Park Project in 2019 (total investment of USD 26.7 million) and Waste to Energy Project in Greater Male (total investment of USD 151.13 million). ADB has supported transition bond issuance to Indonesia and blue bond issuance to the Philippines (Mehta & Andrich, 2021). ADB launched ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility (ACGF) in 2019 to accelerate the region’s green project implementation (ADB, 2020). In India, green finance is heavily focused on renewable energy projects, sustainable transport, hydropower projects, agriculture, land use, and other ecosystem-based projects (Ghosh et al., 2021). For the financial years 2016 to 2018, green finance flows in India stood at USD 38 billion, and most of the issuances were by public sector corporations, domestic commercial banks, and the government (Acharya et al., 2020). In the Middle East region, green bonds issuance has reached the mark of USD 6.4 billion. Institutions such as Green Climate Fund (GCF), Clean Technology Fund (CTF), and Global Environmental Facility (GEF) are leading the way and have provided a total resource pool of USD 1317 billion from 2003 to 2019 (Watson & Schalatek, 2020). In the Latin America region, ‘Green Finance for Latin America and the Caribbean’ platform was established in 2016 to provide information and knowledge about green financing (GFL, 2022). Since 2003, different multilateral funds have approved USD 5 billion for 550 projects for the region. GCF has approved 30 new projects worth USD 811 million and provided approximately 91% of the funding for these projects (Watson

96  K. Upadhyay and R. D. Tirumala et  al., 2022a). In the Sub-Saharan Africa region, GCF, CTF, GEF, and the Least Developed Countries Fund have provided the largest contributions to green finance and have approved USD 6.6 billion for 900 projects and various programmes since 2003 (Watson et al., 2022b). Innovative financial instruments The need to develop innovative financial instruments is well acknowledged at various levels in the last few years and new instruments are being introduced quickly (Kazlauskiene & Draksaite, 2020). The more popular and creative instruments include carbon credits, concessional finance, different thematic bonds (green bonds), and the broader blended finance arena. Carbon credits

Carbon credit is an innovative financing mechanism that allows stakeholders worldwide to contribute towards reducing carbon emissions through trading on various international exchanges. In this system, the carbon credit buyer, who needs to offset its carbon emissions (generated from its business activities), buys ‘carbon credits’ from entities who wish to implement climate friendly projects but are constrained by the lack of capital. This mechanism has an internationally accepted emissions measurement system (1 carbon credit is equivalent to 1 tonne of CO2 emission), and the credits are traded publicly (Sawhney, 2022; World Bank, 2022a). As per the World Bank report on Carbon Pricing, 68 different carbon pricing instruments have been implemented. These instruments also include taxes and emission trading systems. Carbon credit markets picked up in 2000 and faced a downtrend in 2012 due to the Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) collapse. They again gained pace post the Paris Climate Agreement (Sankar, 2020). It is expected that the carbon credit market will get the much-required push as Article 6 of the Paris Agreement got approved at CoP26 summit held in Glasgow, Scotland, and many corporates promising to transition to net zero (IHS Markit, 2022). In 2021, exchange-traded prices of carbon credits reached higher levels in the EU, the Republic of Korea, the USA, and New Zealand (World Bank, 2022b). The innovations in the structuring allowed for voluntary carbon credits, whose market reached the USD 1 billion mark in 2021 (IHS Markit, 2022). In 2021, transaction volume was approximately 362 million credits which is 92% higher than the transaction volume of 2020 (World Bank, 2022b). Concessional finance

The main differentiating features of concessional finance against conventional debt are comparatively lower rates, more flexible timelines, and ‘softer’ repayment terms and conditions. International financial institutions and multilateral funds usually provide this support to help developing nations achieve their climate change-related goals and targets. Loans, grants, and, in some cases, equity investments are used to provide concessional finance (Bhattacharyya, 2021; Roberta & Marco, 2020; UNESCAP, 2018). Depending on the goals and requirements of the developing nation, these instruments can be customised. It can take the form of a grant (technical assistance) for developing the region’s policies that help the industry to move towards decarbonisation (Durate, 2021). For instance, Inter-American Development Bank (IADB) provides concessional financing to some of its most vulnerable member countries. Currently, IADB provides concessional financing, partially covering the costs, in the form of blended loans to Honduras, Guyana, and Nicaragua. However, Haiti receives only grants (IADB, 2022).

Creativity in sustainable finance  97 Concessional financing can be structured creatively and provides a lot of flexibility in the form of ‘softer’ terms and conditions, which makes this innovative financial instrument more attractive for developing nations. Bonds

The most common instruments used to raise financing for green projects are various thematic bonds (green bonds, sustainability bonds, climate bonds, social bonds, sustainability linked bonds, blue bonds, transition bonds, and SDG bonds). Green bonds have emerged as one of the most innovative green financial instruments due to their defined use of proceeds for green investments (Maltais & Nykvist, 2021; Piñeiro-Chousa et al., 2022;) and have had exponential growth over the past decade (Environmental Finance, 2022). The innovative feature of the green bond is its unique use of proceeds. The funds raised through green bonds (proceeds) are utilised to provide full or partial capital support to green projects; these proceeds are not utilised to manage the working capital needs (OECD, 2016). Though with varied adoption rates, green bonds have been adopted rapidly worldwide in different sectors. Green bonds also facilitated diverting the much-needed debt financing to the sectors which deal with climate change-related issues (Flaherty et al., 2017). Figure 8.2 presents the green bond issuance over the last decade, which has a rather spectacular growth over the last decade. The other thematic bonds have also witnessed rapid adoption. The proceeds from the blue bonds are used for projects which improve ocean health and other ocean-related activities. Social bonds focus on sectors such as affordable housing, financial inclusion, gender equality, and health & education. Sustainability bond proceeds are utilised for projects delivering environmental and social impacts. Transition bond proceeds are used for financing credible transition efforts to decarbonise and align with net zero targets. In the case of sustainabilitylinked loans, achievement of key performance indicators is linked to the financial payouts. Payments vary depending on the level of the pre-defined targets achieved. The financial payouts

Figure 8.2  Green bond issuance in USD billion. Source: Authors compilation from yearly reports of Climate Bond Initiative.

98  K. Upadhyay and R. D. Tirumala Table 8.1  Different labelled bonds in Q1 of 2022 Bond labels

USD million

% of total issuance

Green bonds Green sustainability-linked bond Social bond Sustainability bond Sustainability-linked bond Transition bond Total

98,125 300 34,472 34,914 23,960 265 192,036

51.1% 0.16% 17.95% 18.18% 12.48% 0.14% 100%

Source: Environmental Finance Data (2022).

of these sustainability linked bonds change based on whether the key performance indicators meet the pre-agreed sustainability performance targets (CBI, 2022; Mathew & Robertson, 2021; Moody’s, 2021). Table 8.1 presents the share of different thematic bonds in Q1 2022. These bonds have been issued by the governments, banks, multilateral agencies or private investment institutions. In the year 2018, the bonds relevant for compliance of SDG requirements emerged with distinction being ‘green’, ‘sustainability’, or ‘social’ depending on the end use of the funds raised under these categories of bonds. This made it easier for investors to identify bonds that comply with their investment criteria. BBVA became a frontrunner in this field, with a EUR1bn green bond issued under its newly developed SDG Bond Framework (CBI, 2019). Bonds issued under the social theme saw the sharpest increase, as their volume quadrupled in H1 2020 versus H1 2020 from USD36.8 billion to USD146.6 billion. Sustainability bond issuance also recorded 20% of year-on-year growth. Social bonds related specifically to funding COVID-19 mitigation and recovery were not issued in the first half of this year, while in the first half of 2020, they amounted to USD88 billion (CBI, 2021). The market for these thematic bonds is likely to grow as stakeholders become more empathetic towards environment and sustainability and are eager to make a difference by incorporating innovative means of structuring and issue such instruments. Table 8.2 presents the share of different sectors in bond issuances over the last five years. The sectors of energy, building, and transport have attracted the highest share of bond use proceeds from 2017 to 2021. The share of all the other green sectors is substantially lower. Figure 8.3 presents the sector-wise financing used for the year 2019–2020. Energy systems and transport have garnered over 80% of the green bond issuances. The sectoral characteristics and the policy frameworks in different countries influence whether the private capital flows to them. For example, in the case of water sector projects, initial investments are very high and the pay-back time horizon is in the range of 20–30 years. Some investors do not have such a Table 8.2  Sector-wise use of bond proceeds Year

Energy, transport, and building

Other sectors

2017 2018 2019 2020 2021

78% 76% (E – 52%, B – 13%, T – 11%) 82%(E – 32%, B – 30%, T – 20%) 85% 81%

22% 24% 18% 15% 19%

E – Energy; B – Buildings; T – Transport. Source: Authors compilation from yearly reports of Climate Bond Initiative.

Creativity in sustainable finance  99

Figure 8.3  Sector wise climate finance allocation for 2019–2020. Source: Authors based on CPI (2021).

long-term investment horizon, and this mismatch of expectations makes the sector less attractive for the investors (OECD, 2022b). The policy environment is still not fully conducive to encouraging investments in green infrastructure projects over conventional ones. The fossil fuel usage is still encouraged, or the carbon pricing is insufficient to nudge a transformation. There is a lack of transparent policy frameworks that help the newly developed technologies achieve competitiveness (Hickman, 2015), leading to less private capital flowing into the sectors. The taxonomies and frameworks developed in the last decade are helping guide the investments into the green, social, and sustainability sectors. These frameworks provide a generally accepted method of use of proceeds, selecting projects, monitoring, verifying, and reporting the performance. However, the process and the understanding are not uniform across all the sectors. For example, in agriculture, there is a lack of awareness about how adopting specific agriculture practices can help attract green financing to the sector (Havemann et al., 2020). In some instances, the regulatory policies may unintentionally lead to investment restrictions and accounting. Some might lead to more favourable outcomes in the short term but not benign over a longer period. Suitable financial instruments that catalyse investments coupled with transparent information and data accessibility are needed for assessing transactions and the risks involved (Berensmann & Lindenberg, 2016; Deschryver & Mariz, 2020; Park, 2018; Tolliver et al., 2019). Blended finance

The broader concept of blended finance brings creativity in structuring sustainable finance instruments. The blended finance is defined as ‘the strategic use of development finance for the mobilisation of additional finance towards sustainable development in developing countries’ (OECD, 2022a) and ‘the use of relatively small amounts of concessional donor funds to mitigate specific investment risks and help rebalance risk-reward profiles of pioneering investments that are unable to proceed on strictly commercial terms’ (IFC, 2022). Utilising public funds to generate private resources is the innovation that makes blended finance different (OECD, 2019).

100  K. Upadhyay and R. D. Tirumala

Figure 8.4  Total committed capital through blended finance in USD billion. Source: Authors based on Convergence (2022).

Blended finance is a structuring approach that judiciously uses concessional capital, guarantees (risk guarantees), technical assistance funds, and design stage grant funds (Convergence, 2022). Blended finance attracts various investors, from traditional institutional investors to pension and insurance funds, high net worth individuals, asset managers, and commercial banks (Basile & Dutra, 2019). The growth of blended finance is presented in Figure 8.4. Blended finance solutions are typically used for developing countries. As reported in an OECD survey, 180 participants (funds and facilities) invested approximately USD 7.6 billion in least developed countries. Africa had the largest share of approximately 29% of the AUM (for which data has been considered/available for the survey) (OECD, 2022a). Development banks along with governments make considerable investments in these funds and facilities. Institutional creativity: GCF and ACGF The creativity in green finance can also be seen in how the institutional structures have evolved and the instruments designed. Multilateral/bilateral agencies play an important role in catalysing green finance using innovative instruments (Chaudhury, 2020). Two such entities have been established to combat climate change: the Green Climate Fund (GCF) and ASEAN Catalytic Green Financing Facility (ACGF). Green climate fund (GCF)

GCF was established by the Conference of Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) in 2011. This fund was established to achieve the targets set by the convention. GCF supports low-emission and climate resilient initiatives of the developing nations by helping them to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and in adapting to the climate change impacts while considering the needs of the developing countries, especially the countries which are highly vulnerable to adverse impacts of climate change (GCF, 2021). It is one of the largest multilateral funds dedicated to climate change. It was established to mobilise USD

Creativity in sustainable finance  101 100 billion annually till 2020 by developed countries to support developing nations to address climate change adaption and mitigation activities (José Valverde et al., 2022). For each dollar invested by GCF, another USD 2.5 is estimated to be contributed from the private co-funding (Levaï, 2021). Currently, World Bank serves as a trustee to the fund (GCF, 2021). GCF provides support in the form of concessional loans, grants, guarantees, and equity investments, as seen in the initiatives of the Green Growth Equity Fund and The Acumen Resilient Agriculture Fund.

Green Growth Equity Fund (GGEF) – India Green Growth Equity Fund is a climate focused fund that invests low-carbon transition and climate resilient projects such as renewable energy projects, low carbon transport, energy efficient technologies, and resource conservation (FMO, 2022; GCF, 2022). Through this project, 166 million tonnes of carbon emission is expected to be avoided. Apart from the CO2 reductions, this project also aims to treat and generate additional 5,700 million cubic meters of alternative resources for use by as farmers, households, and businesses (Mercom India, 2021). The total project value is USD 944.5 million, out of which GCF’s share is 14.5% (equity of USD 132.5 million and grant of USD 4.5 million). GCF has disbursed nearly 52% of its commitment in two payments of USD 33 million in December 2021 and USD 38 million in March 2022 (GCF, 2022).

The Acumen Resilient Agriculture Fund (ARAF) ARAF is an equity fund that will provide capital support to African agribusinesses which in turn supports smallholder farmers in adopting climate change. This fund was closed at USD 58 million in June 2021. This fund is sponsored by Acumen, with GCF as an anchor investor, and supported by other development finance institutions including Dutch ­entrepreneurial development bank (FMO), the Soros Economic Development Fund, PROPARCO, IKEA Foundation, Children’s Investment Fund Foundation and Global Social Impact (ARAF, 2022). Acumen Capital Partners which is wholly owned subsidiary of Acumen is responsible of fund management (Acumen, 2021).

ASEAN catalytic green financing facility (ACGF)

ACGF, established in 2019, is an innovative financing mechanism aiming to accelerate green projects in the Southeast Asia region. This facility was established as part of ASEAN Infrastructure Fund’s Green and Inclusive Infrastructure Window. This facility aims to support ASEAN countries to invest in projects which focus on achieving Southeast Asian countries’ climate change goals and sustainable development. ACGF supports ASEAN member countries in terms of technical assistance for identifying and preparing commercially viable green projects and loans for covering capital investment costs. ACGF’s two-pronged approach helps ‘de-risking’ green projects and makes the projects more attractive for private investors. ACGF provides access to more than USD1 billion to ASEAN member countries (ADB, 2019, 2020). A couple

102  K. Upadhyay and R. D. Tirumala of projects that ACGF supported include the EDSA Greenways Project and Agricultural Value Chain Competitiveness and Safety Enhancement Project.

EDSA Greenways Project – Philippines This project aims to improve existing pedestrian facilities in four areas – Balintawak, Cubao, Guadalupe, and Taft mass transit stations – along Epifanio de los Santos Avenue (EDSA) in Metro Manilla. The project aims to improve five kilometres of elevated walkways, which have elevators attached to address the requirements of persons with disabilities, elderly, women, and people with small children. These walkways will be connected with the mass transit station for promoting public transport usage (ADB, 2021b). The total project cost of this project is USD 179.3 million, with ADB’s funding being USD 123 million, AIF commitment under ACGF for this project being USD 15 million. This project was approved in December 2020 (ACGF, 2021).

Agricultural value chain competitiveness and safety enhancement project – Cambodia The project aims to boost the value chains of agricultural products such as cassava, cashew nuts, mangoes, vegetables, and chicken. This project is situated in the provinces of ­Kampong Cham, Kampong Thom, Oddar Meanchey, Preah Vihear, Siem Reap, and Tboung Khmum. The objective is to help the agro-businesses access credit, to foster market links among agricultural cooperatives and agro-enterprises and to make farm-to-market connectivity better (ADB, 2021a). The total project cost is USD 110 million. ADB’s funding for the project is USD 70 million and AIF commitment under ACGF for this project is USD 5 million. This project was approved by ACGF in November 2020 (ACGF, 2021).

Conclusions To tackle the growing concerns on climate change and sustainable practices, all the stakeholders including the governments, financial institutions, corporates, and non-government organisations need to increase their activities and actively seek to adopt newer methods, instruments, and policies. The existing financing gaps for meeting the SDGs and for making the transition to zero carbon economies is a long arduous process that needs cohesive action from all the stakeholders. The supportive initiatives need creative solutions that brings together the financing ecosystem on a common platform (CPI, 2021; OECD, 2022b). The green infrastructure underpins the global sustainable growth, but it is under a potential threat of not having adequate financing options. The aggressive nationally determined contributions and the targets set under the Paris Climate Agreement provide a platform for attracting creative solutions in the green infrastructure arena. The rapid growth of the green finance instruments and their applications provide a glimpse of the potential for mainstreaming these aspects into regular investing practices. The green financing instruments are crucial to tackle the severe challenges posed by climate change, and can play a role of catalyst in making the paradigm shift in how businesses reduce or nullify

Creativity in sustainable finance 103 the negative impacts due to their actions. It is necessary to leverage the existing investor interest to meet the financing requirements (Bhattacharyya, 2021). Necessary policy actions, predefined frameworks for impact measurements, defined revenue streams, and capacity building activities can help make these investments more attractive to the investors. The sustainable and bankable project pipeline development can help investors better evaluate the available projects and allow the governments to identify the sectors that require immediate attention. Although the common taxonomy development is a work in progress, it is necessary to have a common understanding which can help in evaluating the overall progress of the steps taken collectively at the global or national level (Bhattacharyya, 2021; CPI, 2021; Havemann et al., 2020; OECD, 2022b). The overall scale and growth rate of the green finance instruments indicate the potential of creativity in built infrastructure. Funding The funding support of the University of Melbourne through the Early Career Researcher Grant Scheme for this research is gratefully acknowledged. References ACGF. (2021). ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility 2019–2020 Accelerating Green Finance in Southeast Asia. https://www.adb.org/documents/asean-catalytic-green-finance-facility-2019-2020 Acharya, M., Sinha, J., Jain, S., & Padmanabhi, R. (2020). Landscape of Green Finance in India. https:// www.climatepolicyinitiative.org/publication/landscape-of-green-finance/ Acumen. (2021, July 27). Acumen Closes $58 Million Impact Fund, the First to Drive Climate Adaptation for Smallholder Farmers. Acumen. https://acumen.org/blog/acumen-resilient-agriculture-fund/ ADB. (2019). Overview: ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility (ACGF), Asian Development Bank. ADB. https://www.adb.org/what-we-do/funds/asean-catalytic-green-finance-facility/overview ADB. (2020). ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility. https://www.adb.org/sites/default/files/publication/ 544486/asean-catalytic-green-finance-facility.pdf ADB. (2021a, January 16). 50264-002: Agricultural Value Chain Competitiveness and Safety Enhancement Project. Asian Development Bank. https://www.adb.org/projects/50264-002/main ADB. (2021b, September 23). 51117-003: Epifanio de los Santos Avenue Greenways Project. Asian ­Development Bank. https://www.adb.org/projects/51117-003/main ARAF. (2022). ARAF – Acumen Resilient Agriculture Fund. https://arafund.com/ Basile, I., & Dutra, J. (2019). Blended Finance Funds and Facilities: 2018 Survey Results, OECD Development Co-operation Working Papers, No. 59. In OECD iLibrary. https://doi.org/10.1787/806991a2-en. Benedict, M. A., & McMohan, E. T. (2002). Green infrastructure: Smart conservation for the 21st century. Renewable Resources Journal, 20, 12–17. Berensmann, K., & Lindenberg, N. (2016). Green Finance: Actors, Challenges and Policy Recommendations. German Development Institute/Deutsches Institut Für Entwicklungspolitik (DIE) Briefing Paper 23/2016. https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=2881922 Berensmann, K., Volz, U., Alloisio Fondazione Eni Enrico Mattei, I., Celine Bak, F., & Bhattacharya Gerd Leipold, A. (2017). Fostering Sustainable Global Growth Through Green Finance-What Role for the G20? www.G20-insights.org Bhattacharyya, R. (2021). Green finance for energy transition, climate action and sustainable development: Overview of concepts, applications, implementation and challenges. Green Finance, 4(1), 1–35. https:// doi.org/10.3934/GF.2022001 CBI. (2012). Bonds and Climate Change The State of the Market in 2012. In Climate Bonds Initiative. https://www.climatebonds.net/files/uploads/2012/05/CB-HSBC_Final_30May12-A3.pdf

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106  K. Upadhyay and R. D. Tirumala Roberta, N., & Marco, P. (2020). Finance for Future. The Role of Multilateral Development Banks in Green Finance [School of Industrial and Information Engineering]. https://www.politesi.polimi.it/handle/ 10589/167178?mode=complete Sachs, J. D., Woo, W. T., Yoshino, N., & Taghizadeh-Hesary, F. (2019). Why Is Green Finance Important? ADBI Working Paper 197. https://doi.org/10.2139/SSRN.3327149 Sankar, G. (2020). Supply and Demand Evolution in the Voluntary Carbon Credit Market. https:// kleinmanenergy.upenn.edu/research/publications/supply-and-demand-evolution-in-the-voluntary-carboncredit-market/ Sawhney, D. (2022, May 18). Millions of India’s Smallholder Farmers Could Soon Access Carbon Credits – That’s Good for Them and the Planet. World Economic Forum. https://www.weforum.org/ agenda/2022/05/carbon-credits-could-help-india-reach-net-zero-2070/ Tolliver, C., Keeley, A. R., & Managi, S. (2019). Green bonds for the Paris agreement and sustainable development goals. Environmental Research Letters, 14(6). https://doi.org/10.1088/1748-9326/AB1118 UN. (2018). The World’s Cities in 2018. https://www.un.org/development/desa/pd/content/worlds-cities2018-data-booklet UNESCAP. (2018). Innovative Instruments for Green Finance. https://www.academia.edu/37039025/ Innovative_instruments_for_Green_Finance Upper Midwest Water Science Center. (2019, March 17). Evaluating the Potential Benefits of Permeable Pavement on the Quantity and Quality of Stormwater Runoff. U.S. Geological Survey. https:// www.usgs.gov/centers/upper-midwest-water-science-center/science/evaluating-potential-benefitspermeable-pavement Watson, C., & Schalatek, L. (2020). Climate Finance Regional Briefing: Middle East and North Africa. https://climatefundsupdate.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/CFF9-2019-ENG-DIGITAL.pdf Watson, C., Schalatek, L., & Evéquoz, A. (2022a). Climate Finance Fundamentals 6: Climate Finance Regional Briefing – Latin America. In Climate Funds. https://us.boell.org/en/2022/03/04/climate-financefundamentals-6-climate-finance-regional-briefing-latin-america Watson, C., Schalatek, L., & Evéquoz, A. (2022b, February). Climate Finance Regional Briefing – SubSaharan Africa. Climate Funds Update, ODI, HBS. https://us.boell.org/en/2022/03/04/climate-financefundamentals-7-climate-finance-regional-briefing-sub-saharan-africa World Bank. (2022a). What Is Carbon Pricing? | Carbon Pricing Dashboard. World Bank. https:// carbonpricingdashboard.worldbank.org/what-carbon-pricing World Bank. (2022b). State and Trends of Carbon Pricing 2022. Washington, DC: World Bank. https:// openknowledge.worldbank.org/entities/publication/a1abead2-de91-5992-bb7a-73d8aaaf767f

9

Creativity in blue economy financing Raghu Dharmapuri Tirumala and Kruti Upadhyay

The blue economy context The UN has termed 2020–2030 a Decade of Action at global, local, and people levels to push towards Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). The availability of an adequate quantum of funds and appropriate forms (instruments) is vital for financing sustainable development (United Nations, 2021). The threat of not delivering on the SDGs is increasingly worrying due to the yawning gap between the requirements of sustainable development and political ambitions, coupled with the availability of development financing. The financing of projects that contribute to the achievement of SDGs has not kept pace with commitments made, which has been exacerbated by the COVID pandemic situation (United Nations, 2021). As per McKinsey’s estimation, there is a gap of USD300 billion for conservation funding (Davies et al., 2016). However, other researchers have estimated this to be a substantially severe gap of almost USD7 trillion (Bos et al., 2015; Mallin et al., 2019; Trucost, 2013), providing an indication of the magnitude of the problem that the world is facing. To bridge this level of gap, a combination of different funding sources is essential. The public sector’s own resources, official development assistance, and grants are the most commonly used sources of conservation financing (Tirumala & Tiwari, 2020). ‘Sustainable Development Goal 14 – Life Under Water’ (using marine resources healthily and sustainably) has attracted widespread attention from various stakeholder groups and is seen as a representative indicator for the overall SDGs (Credit Suisse, 2020). SDG 14 addresses a broad array of sub-sectors, including fisheries, aquaculture, ports, shipping, and various activities that cause ocean/water body pollution. The ‘blue economy’ is defined as ‘… practical ocean-based economic model using green infrastructure and technologies, innovative financing mechanisms, and proactive institutional arrangements for meeting the twin goals of protecting our oceans and coasts and enhancing their potential contribution to sustainable development, including improving human well-being, and reducing environmental risks and ecological scarcities’ (PEMSEA, 2012). If treated as a country, it is estimated that the ocean economy would be the seventh largest economy in the world (WWF, 2014). The market value of coastal, marine resources, and related industries is an estimated USD3 trillion to USD5 trillion, nearly 5% of global GDP (United Nations, 2015). Asia (India and Indonesia being the two larger countries) dominates fish production globally while also contributing to ocean pollution (GEF et al., 2019). The blue economy emphasises the utilisation of ocean resources in a sustainable manner and without doing any harm to its ecosystem while bolstering the growth of humans (Mathew & Robertson, 2021; Schutter & Hicks, 2019; Shiiba et al., 2022). The prominence of the blue economy came to the fore in 2012 at the RIO+20 United N ­ ations (UN) Conference on sustainable development ‘Blue economy’ (UN, 2012). Blue Economy DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-10

108  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay emerged as a term inspired by the Green Economy (the RIO+20 conference theme) based on the ocean-related activities it supported. (IFLR Correspondent, 2019; Schutter & Hicks, 2019). Another key milestone is the launch of ‘Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles’ at the Economist World Ocean Summit 2018. These principles were developed jointly by the European Committee, the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF), the European Investment Bank, and the International Sustainability Unit (Shiiba et al., 2022). Oceans play a vital role in the carbon cycle by functioning as a carbon sink. Oceans now contain 40% of the human-generated carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. Increasing pollution has adversely affected the ocean’s natural resources and ecosystem services (Deltares et al., 2021). So far, oceans have absorbed almost 90% of the heat caused by increasing greenhouse gas emissions and have taken in approximately 30% of carbon emissions (UNFCCC, 2021). Despite the importance of the ocean economy, ongoing human activities of polluting the water bodies have been impacting the health of oceans negatively at an alarming pace. For instance, almost half of the mangrove forests and coral reefs have been lost in the past 50 years. Global fish stock has already depleted by almost 33%. If this continues, it is estimated that the commercial fishing stock will vanish by 2048 in the Asia-Pacific region. There might be more plastic in oceans than fish in terms of weight by 2050. Also, there are chances that oceans can lose up to 90% of the coral reefs (Wees, 2019). South Asia and South-East Asia contribute to the most ocean pollution, with India and Indonesia being the two larger countries in that region (GEF et al., 2019). Considering the levels of adverse effects on the oceans, the blue economy has attracted much-needed attention. It is necessary to ensure that oceans’ health is maintained so that the world follows the 1.5°C pathways and can fulfil both the SDGs targets and goals set by Paris Climate Agreement (UNFCCC, 2021). The commitments made by various countries under SDG 14 aim towards infrastructure development, inculcating better operational practices, and sectoral reforms, which need to be supported by adequate investments. Blue finance: Creativity in ecosystem development It is estimated that nearly USD5 billion of initial public investment would be needed over the next decade to combat coastal degradation and conserve ocean resources (Thiele & Gerber, 2017). The conventional funding sources that underpin the commitments include official development assistance, public budgets, and multilateral/bilateral agencies (McManus et al., 2019; Wabnitz & Blasiak, 2019). These typical infrastructure funding sources are structured assuming a certain profile of cash flows of the underlying project and have the standard covenants of a security package that guarantees the repayment. Many of the blue economy sectors, and the projects therein, are characterised by lower financial returns even though their economic benefits are substantial. There is a dearth of projects which are investible with suitable deal size and risk-return balance for the capital available. Many ocean-related projects, which generate very low or no returns, require support in terms of grant capital. While some projects may be able to generate financial returns, they are too small, resulting in higher due diligence costs (Sumaila et al., 2021). The traditional methods of financing have not been successful in addressing the concerns of this sector, and hence, the stakeholders need to explore creative solutions. Given the scarcity of public sector resources, it was necessary to develop innovative financial instruments that could support the growth of the blue economy (Shiiba et al., 2022). Newer sources have emerged for the environment and sustainability projects in the recent past, including philanthropic grants (Guggisberg, 2018; Mallin et al., 2019; Vanderklift et al., 2019). The avenues available under green finance are sought to be utilised for funding SDG 14; however, the trends of green finance indicate that SDG 14 sectors did not manage to raise substantial sums (Climate Bonds Initiative, 2019). Though there is a substantial private sector interest in the blue

Creativity in blue economy financing  109 economy, investors and corporates did not jump into this space quickly. As per OOF (2020) report, only 7% of the companies had included SDG 14 related activities in their sustainability reports. As per a survey conducted by RI & Credit Suisse, only 21% of investors had investments in SDG 14 (RI & Credit Suisse, 2020). Most of the blue economy sector projects, when implemented successfully, have substantial economic benefits but might not have the expected financial returns for the private sector. Addressing these challenges requires an ecosystem wide transformation and creative use of systems and processes aligned with the expectations of different stakeholders. There have been innovative changes in the various elements of the blue finance ecosystem, namely (i) stronger articulation of the blue themes in the mandate of the financial institutions, (ii) development of various taxonomies that state how the instruments, particularly the bonds, need to be issued, how the proceeds are used, the monitoring, verification, and reporting of the proceeds of the issuance, (iii) the instruments that have been developed and launched, and (iv) the institutional mechanisms to augment the capacity of the stakeholders and to channel a wide range of investors to the blue economy projects. Blue themes in financial Institutions

The discourse on the blue economy and blue finance has rapidly increased in the last five years (Credit Suisse 2020; Vanderklift et al., 2019) leading to several financial institutions articulating their strategies and changing their systems to have a dedicated window for the sector. The financial institutions can broadly be categorised as multilateral agencies, investment banks and asset management companies (AMCs), and other financial institutions as set out in Figure 9.1. Blue finance has become an integral part of each of these institutional categories.

Figure 9.1  Different categories of blue finance institutions. Source: Authors’ compilation.

110  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay Table 9.1  Blue economy strategies and principles of multilateral and bilateral development financial institutions Name

Is blue economy defined?

Strategy

Principles

ADB

✓

Green Bond Principles (ADB Bond Framework, 2021)

WB

✓

EIB

✓

UNEP

✓

WWF

✓

Action Plan for Healthy Oceans and Sustainable Blue Economies (ADB, 2021a) Blue Economy Program PROBLUE Umbrella 2.0 (World Bank, 2020) EIB Blue Sustainable Ocean Strategy (Blue SOS) (EIB, 2021) Sustainable Blue Economy Initiative (UNEP FI, 2021) Not specified

NEPAD

✓

Kfw

✓

PEMSEA

✓

The Blue Economy Programme (Karani, 2021) The Clean Oceans Initiative (EIB, 2021) Not specified

UNFCCC

✓

Not specified

Not specified The Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles (UNEP FI, 2021) The Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles (UNEP FI, 2021) The Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles (UNEP FI, 2021) Not specified The Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles (UNEP FI, 2021) Industry specific standards followed (Whisnant & Reyes, 2015) Not specified

Source: Authors compilation from the respective institution websites.

Multilateral/bilateral agencies

Multilateral and bilateral development financial institutions have been the traditional sources of financing for various environmental, social, and governance-related initiatives. Most of these agencies focus on creating sustainable economic oceans, i.e., supporting initiatives that enhance benefits generated by various activities like fisheries, transport, shipping, tourism, waste water, solid waste management, stormwater, marine pollution, and trade, etc., in a manner that does not harm the current or future generations. The increasing attention on blue economy required an articulation of their commitment, and many have responded with their strategy or investment guidelines. Table 9.1 presents the details of their blue economy-related strategies and principles. Most of the multilateral and bilateral financial institutions have defined the blue economy and have a strategy containing where they would like to reach in the future. Most of them have also stated their guiding principles for investments. While a few have declared that they would adopt the Sustainable Blue Economy Finance principles of UNEP, a few, like ADB, have drafted their own principles. These are essential for providing clarity, maintaining transparency, and better communication to the stakeholders involved in the blue economy projects or activities. Investment banks, banks and AMCs, and other non-banking financial institutions

These financial institutions (investment banks, banks and AMCs) are largely focused on sustainable fisheries, sustainable tourism, pollution reduction, renewable energy, and protection of the marine ecosystem. Some of them also support carbon offset and reduction of wastewater and solid waste management sectors. Table 9.2 presents the features of a few investment banks and AMCs.

Creativity in blue economy financing  111 Table 9.2  Blue economy strategies and principles of investment banks and AMCs Name

Is blue economy Strategy defined?

Principles

Morgan Stanley Credit Suisse Rockefeller AMC

x x

Not specified The Credit Suisse Rockefeller Ocean Engagement Fund is a listed equities (UCITS) fund, which the group said is the first impact fund to address the UN SDG 14 – Life Below Water (ESGCLARITY, 2020) The ECPI Global ESG Blue Economy index tracks 50 companies from markets worldwide that are leading in the field of sustainable use of ocean resources (BNP Paribas Product Card, 2021) Strategy of the blue fund: Invests primarily in companies which engage in the field of mitigating ocean acidification, reducing marine pollution, conserving and sustaining marine resources & ecosystems usage, sustainable fisheries (DWS Group, 2021) Not specified

BNP Paribas AMC ✓

DWS Group

✓

Development Bank ✓ of Seychelles

Not specified Not Specified

The ECPI Global ESG Blue Economy index tracks 50 companies from markets worldwide that are leading in the field of sustainable use of ocean resources (BNP Paribas Product Card, 2021) Strategy of the blue fund: Invests primarily in companies which engage in the field of mitigating ocean acidification, reducing marine pollution, conserving and sustaining marine resources & ecosystems usage, sustainable fisheries (DWS Group, 2021) Not specified

Source: Authors compilation from the respective institution websites.

The investment banks and the AMCs have also been formulating their strategies for participating in the growth of the blue economy sector. They, however, adopt the best practice guidance of the regulators or statutory authorities wherever applicable. Other institutions

The non-banking financial institutions have a higher focus on sustainable fisheries, reduction in marine pollution, and improving sustainability of port infrastructure and offshore renewable energies sectors. Some also focus on stormwater, wastewater, capacity building, ocean/sea-related policies, and R&D in ocean industries. They have similar features as banking and investment banking compatriots. Table 9.3 presents the features of a few funds and other entities. Taxonomies

A common understanding of what blue finance is and what the constituent instruments mean, along with the processes that must be adopted through its lifecycle, is very important for all stakeholders. However, there are no universally accepted definitions of the blue economy or the blue finance instruments, as each institution has been defining the term in its own context.

112  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay Table 9.3  Blue economy strategies and principles of funds, NGOs, and accelerators Name

Is blue Strategy economy defined?

Meloy Fund for Sustainable Community Fisheries

✓

Seychelles ✓ Conservation & Climate Adaptation Trust (SeyCCAT) BlueInvest ✓

The Nature Conservancy (TNC) Katapult Ocean

✓ ✓

The Meloy Fund works hand-in-hand with Rare’s global fisheries management program, Fish Forever, in a symbiotic system in which improved governance and the creation of a monetizable asset for local fishers (via exclusive access) enables new economic opportunities; this, in turn, encourages more sustainable long-term fisheries management and an increase in asset value (The Meloy Fund, 2021b)

Principles

1 Fund’s Exclusion List 2 Compliance with all applicable laws on environment, health, safety, social issues, and local company law, with a detailed focus on fisheries 3 IFC’s Environmental and Social Performance Standards 4 The World Bank Group (WBG)/ IFC Environmental Health and Safety (EHS) General Guidelines and relevant sectoral guidelines such as WBG/IFC EHS Guidelines for Aquaculture and for Fish Processing, as applicable 5 Meloy Fund Sustainable Fishery and Aquaculture Standards 6 Corporate Governance practices (ImpactAssets, 2021) Follows its own social and environmental safeguards policy (SeyCCAT, 2021)

SeyCCAT Strategic Plan, as per website, was planned to be completed by the end of 2020 (SeyCCAT, 2021) Not specified Aims to improve access to finance and investment readiness for startups, early-stage businesses, and small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) active in the blue economy (EIB, 2021) Blue Bonds for Conservation Differs from bonds to bonds – (TNC Blue Bonds, 2021) website does not specify any common principles followed Not specified Not specified

Source: Authors compilation from the respective institution websites.

Taxonomies (and associated guidelines) are needed to improve the ability of various blue economy stakeholders to configure more sustainable financing instruments. These can provide a ­basis for using public and private capital to bridge the investment gap and strengthen the transition to a sustainable blue economy (Tirumala & Tiwari, 2020). In general, the taxonomies address four key elements, namely the use of proceeds, process of project evaluation and selection, management of proceeds, and reporting. Different multilateral/bilateral agencies have attempted to develop relevant, innovative guidelines which can support the growth of the blue economy. Initially, the Green Bond Principles (GBP) of the International Capital Markets Association and the Green Bond Standards of the Climate Bonds Initiative were thought to be adequate for the blue economy. However, these principles do not completely address the blue economy characteristics. The Sustainable Blue

Creativity in blue economy financing  113 Economy Finance Principles of the United Nations Environment Program and the guidelines developed by the Asian Development Bank and the International Finance Corporation are some of the taxonomies under development and are being experimented with (UNEP FI, 2021). The multilateral agencies like UNEP and NEPAD have attempted to highlight the importance of innovative new financial instruments by including them in their sector list of blue economy. The detailing of the taxonomies and the processes can lead to enhanced investor confidence in the sector, and thus, such guidance helps not only catalyse financial resources but also provides a categorisation of the blue projects for guiding institutional support towards the blue economy (IFC, 2022). The standards are required to address the challenge of blue washing. ‘Blue washing’ refers to instances where bonds issued were not actually delivering the required environmental benefits but still were promoted as ‘blue’. Introducing well-accepted standards and taxonomies will create more transparency to bolster investor confidence (Mathew & Robertson, 2021). Innovative instruments

The increased attention to the sector in the last few years has resulted in a range of creative financial instruments and financing mechanisms being configured to support the blue economy (Credit Suisse 2020; Tirumala & Tiwari, 2020). Many multilateral/bilateral development banks have been offering concessional finance to their developing country members. Often, these are blended with private financing sources and come with credit guarantees (Credit Suisse, 2020). The ‘blue bonds’ launched by a few entities in the last few years have garnered much attention due to their creative structures. The proceeds of such bonds aim to help achieve SDG 14 and attract new investor classes such as private and institutional investors, including pension and insurance funds, accelerators, incubators, and governments of landlocked countries as well (Mathew & Robertson, 2021). Blue bonds (labelled as thematic bonds) have been issued by the Government of Seychelles, Nordic Investment Bank, and Bank of China. Table 9.4 provides details on various activities and programs launched by different multilateral/bilateral agencies. They have taken the lead in setting guidelines and providing muchneeded financial support in terms of credit guarantees, technical assistance, or grants. Apart from multilateral/bilateral agencies other financial institutions such as AMCs and Investment banks have contributed to structuring different instruments and mechanisms. DWS group has established a fund that invests in the companies that are working in the blue economy sectors. This fund has an assets under management (AUM) of EUR 309.55 million as of May 2022 (DWS Group, 2022). BNP Paribas AMC introduced BNP Paribas Easy ECPI Global ESG Blue Economy fund in July 2020, which has EUR 218.948 million AUM as of May 2022. This fund selects the securities which are most involved in the sustainable use of ocean resources and have a positive ESG rating as per ECPI’s research (BNP Paribas, 2021) Credit Suisse ­Rockefeller Asset Management (RAM) launched an impact fund focused on SDG 14 – ‘Life Below ­Water’ specifically. This fund has raised USD212 million (ESGCLARITY, 2020). Morgan Stanley has set the target to help to make oceans healthy by working on the prevention, reduction, and removal of 50 million metric tons of plastic waste entering the rivers, oceans, and landfills by 2030. Apart from this, Morgan Stanley has also worked with the World Bank on many occasions to launch blue bonds (Katugampola & Slovik, 2019). The Meloy Fund for Sustainable Community Fisheries is an impact investment fund that focuses on investing in enterprises working in the fisheries and seafood sector to incentivise sustainable fishing practices. This fund has provided grants and technical assistance as well to achieve its objective. This fund has an AUM of USD20 million. (Crunchbase, 2022b; The

114  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay Table 9.4  Illustrative multilateral agencies’ initiatives Name

Year

Activity/initiative

Amount

ADB

2019

USD5,000 million

WB EIB

2018 2016 2016–2020

Action Plan for Healthy Oceans and Sustainable Blue Economies PROBLUE Sustainable Ocean Fund Sustainable seafood production in the European Union Lending to sustainable ocean projects over the period 2019–2023 The BlueInvest Fund

2019–2023 2020

USD29 million as of fiscal 2019 USD20 million Around USD258.484 million USD3,000 million EUR75 million

Source: Authors compilation based on ADB (2021a, 2021b); ADB Blue Bond (2021); World Bank (2020); and EIB (2021).

Meloy Fund, 2021a). BlueInvest fund was launched in 2020 by the European Commission and European Investment Bank. This fund was launched to help start-ups, early-stage businesses, and SMEs working in blue economy sectors to improve their access to finance and investment readiness. This fund is managed by the European Investment Fund (EC, 2020; EIB, 2021). ­Katapult Ocean, launched in 2018, invests in impact-tech start-ups focusing on the blue economy. They have structured their instruments as impact investment funds and accelerators and have invested in 138 companies from 35 countries. They had raised USD436 million in 7 rounds, including one post-IPO equity round (Crunchbase, 2022a; Katapult Ocean, 2022). A wide array of creative structures like these give a fillip to the investments in the blue economy while allowing the geographically spread investors and in different subsectors to contribute towards ocean sustainability. Table 9.5 lists the blue bond issuances by various agencies. Institutional financing mechanisms

Apart from developing frameworks and issuing blue instruments, a few multilateral agencies have established innovative institutional initiatives focusing on the blue economy. ADB’s Blue SEA Finance Hub aims to provide innovative structuring for financing the blue economy projects. Supported by the ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility, this initiative helps South East Asian governments to access financing for eligible projects which support ocean health. This Table 9.5  Blue bonds Entity

Year

Amount

Coupon

Tenor

Seychelles government Nordic Investment Bank World Bank

2018 2019 2019

USD15 million USD200 million USD10 million

10 Years 5 Years 3 Years

Bank of China Bank of China ADB ADB Belize Government

2020 2020 2021 2021 2021

USD500 million CNY3 billion A$208 million NZ$217 million USD364 million

6.50% 0.37% 2019: 2.35%, 2020: 2.70% 2021: 3.15% 0.95% 3.15% – – Step up structure that starts 1.6 % and maximum 4.47%

Due in 2023 Due in 2022 15 Years 10 Years 9 Years

Source: Authors compilation based on World Bank (2018); Berger et al. (2019); Bos et al. (2015); Piñeiro-Antelo et al. (2019); Tsang and Yeap (2020); ADB (2021b); and West (2021).

Creativity in blue economy financing  115 initiative aims to establish a pipeline of bankable blue projects worth USD300 million supported by ADB by 2024 so as to mobilise financial resources three times the funding provided by ADB from other stakeholders such as governments, other multilateral agencies, institutional investors, and private sector participants for developing and financing blue projects (ADB, 2022a). ADB has launched ‘Blue Bonds Incubator’ in April 2022. This initiative will be supported by ADB’s Asia-Pacific Climate Finance Fund (ACliFF) to fuel the growth of blue bond issuance by sovereign and corporate issuers. This incubator is part of the ADB’s Action Plan for Healthy Oceans and Sustainable Blue Economies initiative launched in 2019 for catalysing sustainable investments in the Asia-Pacific region (ADB, 2022b). Another example of an institutional financing mechanism is the proposed ‘Blue Co’, a sustainable blue economy co-investment facility promoted by the Green Climate Fund (GCF). This facility intends to support countries, particularly the Small Island Developing States (SIDS) region, in fulfilling the targets of SDG 14 and climate change. This facility is expected to provide innovative, flexible instruments by combining concessional debt, grants, equity, and guarantees. This will also help leverage and crowd in more financial resources from private investors. Seychelles blue bond: Creativity in structuring

The USD15 million blue bond issued by The Republic of Seychelles in October 2018, the world’s first, was a prime example of creativity in blue finance (Silver & Campbell, 2018). The bond was issued to finance projects which can contribute to protecting marine resources and bolster the thriving fishing sector of the country (WB, 2018). The bond was issued with a coupon rate of 6.5% and will be redeemed in an equal amount of USD5 million each in three consecutive years starting from 2026 (Tirumala & Tiwari, 2020). As Seychelles has a very small base of taxpayers, there might be liquidity-related challenges arising due to large interest payments. Therefore, this bond issuance was supported by a partial guarantee from the World Bank, and further support was provided by a concessional loan from Global Environment Fund (SeyCCAT-WB-GEF, 2019). Figure 9.2 shows the structure of the Seychelles initiative. The innovation in the bond structure includes the mechanism itself, the partial guarantee by the World Bank, the system changes to ensure that the ‘know your customer’ guidelines are followed and merging a debt-for-nature swap. Seychelle blue bonds can be traded through electronic clearing systems. As per the World Bank policy/covenants, it is required that World Bank knows about of loan transferee’s identity, and in some cases, it may require its approval. This is a requirement to ensure that there are no sanctions on the transferee and to mitigate any illegal activities. However, as the bonds could be traded on electronic clearing systems means that the World Bank is unaware of the background of the bond purchasers and cannot honour its guarantee if called upon. To address this challenge, the World Bank created a ‘Good Actor Regime’, which stipulates that transferee bondholders certify that they meet all the requirements of being a good actor before the guarantee is valid. This creative mechanism allowed the World Bank to maintain its safeguard standards and thus protected it from making guarantee payments to any nonqualifying transferee as per Good Actor Regime (IFLR Correspondent, 2019). Such an innovative guarantee mechanism used by a multilateral agency can be considered as a reference model for providing credit support in facilitating similar transactions (IFLR Correspondent, 2019). The Seychelles government has launched another innovative instrument at the same time (debt for nature swap) and combined the proceeds with the blue bond to support the underlying projects. This swap, implemented with the help of The Nature Conservancy, involves replacing the government debt with gains from the marine conservation efforts. If the government

116  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay

Figure 9.2  Seychelles Blue bonds. Source: Authors based on Bolliger and John (2020); Pouponneau (2015); and World Bank (2017).

sustainably manages its marine exclusive economic zone, its debt will reduce, freeing funds. The government established a trust fund, the Seychelles Conservation and Climate Adaptation Trust (SeyCCAT), jointly managed with the Development Bank of Seychelles (DBS), which further created Grant Fund and Investment Fund to support the underlying projects. This innovative use of financing structures, collaboration of numerous partners, and the application to a niche sector that has a substantial contribution to the SDGs bode well for further creative endeavours in the built environment industry. Conclusions Blue economy as a research area has become prominent in the recent past. It is of immense policy, funding, and academic interest of the governments, multilateral and bilateral development agencies, non-government, private sector, and universities. It is a cross-disciplinary theme emanating from the choices made for providing land, real estate, water, and waste management, which are key elements of the built environment. It is a new asset class with growing interest from real estate portfolio investors (Credit Suisse, 2020) similar to other asset classes such as student accommodation, hotels, service stations, data centres, schools, and hospitals. Academic research in understanding these asset classes is in its early stages and provides immense potential to lead pathbreaking and impactful research. The creativity in structuring the financing mechanisms, instruments (Wees, 2019), project implementation models (Claes et al., 2022; ­Shiiba et al., 2022), and partnerships provide pointers for other more prominent built

Creativity in blue economy financing  117 environment sectors. The transparency ushered by the taxonomies, principles, and use of proceeds can enhance the level of trust, and blue finance instruments may attract more attention from investors, thus transitioning to the ‘future we want’ (United Nations, 2012). Funding The funding support of the University of Melbourne through the Early Career Researcher Grant Scheme for this research is gratefully acknowledged. References ADB Blue Bond. (2021). ADB Blue Bonds. www.adb.org/investors ADB Bond Framework. (2021, September). Green and Blue Bond Framework. Asian Development Bank. https://www.adb.org/sites/default/files/publication/731026/adb-green-blue-bond-framework.pdf ADB. (2021a). Our Approach Focus Areas Investing in Sustainable Marine Economies for Poverty ­Alleviation in Asia and the Pacific Action Plan for Healthy Oceans Financing Initiative Blue Economy Pollution Control Sustainable Infrastructure Ecosystem Management. Asian Development Bank. https:// www.adb.org/sites/default/files/related/145036/Action%20Plan%20for%20Healthy%20Oceans%20 and%20Sustainable%20Blue%20Economies.pdf ADB. (2021b, September 10). ADB Issues First Blue Bond for Ocean Investments. Asian Development Bank. https://www.adb.org/news/adb-issues-first-blue-bond-ocean-investments ADB. (2022a). Blue Southeast Asia Finance Hub. Asian Development Bank. https://www.adb.org/whatwe-do/themes/environment/bluesea ADB. (2022b, April 13). ADB Launches First Blue Bond Incubator to Boost Ocean Investment | Asian ­Development Bank. Asian Development Bank. https://www.adb.org/news/adb-launches-first-blue-bondincubator-boost-ocean-investment Berger, M. F., Caruso, V., & Peterson, E. (2019). An updated orientation to marine conservation funding flows. Marine Policy, 107, 103497. https://doi.org/10.1016/J.MARPOL.2019.04.001 BNP Paribas. (2021, March 29). BNP Paribas Easy ECPI Global ESG Blue Economy Full Prospectus. BNP Paribas Asset Management. https://www.easy.bnpparibas.fr/professional-professional/fundsheet/ na/bnp-paribas-easy-ecpi-global-esg-blue-economy-ucits-etf-c-lu2194447293/?tab=documents BNP Paribas Product Card. (2021). BNP Paribas Easy ECPI Global ESG Blue Economy UCITS ETF Product Card. https://docfinder.bnpparibas-am.com/api/files/ccec5f18-5ab4-4386-90cf-54d7d44abca2/ 1536 Bolliger, A., & John, P. (2020). Seychelles: Beyond Dramatic Imagery. International Collective in Support of Fishworkers (ICSF) Trust. http://hdl.handle.net/1834/41223 Bos, M., Pressey, R. L., & Stoeckl, N. (2015). Marine Conservation Finance: The Need for and Scope of an Emerging Field. Ocean and Coastal Management. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ocecoaman.2015.06.021 Claes, J., Hopman, D., Jaeger, G., & Rogers, M. (2022). Blue Carbon: The Potential of Coastal and Oceanic Climate Action. In McKinsey & Company. https://www.mckinsey.com/business-functions/ sustainability/our-insights/blue-carbon-the-potential-of-coastal-and-oceanic-climate-action# Climate Bonds Initiative. (2019). Green Bonds the State of the Market 2018. https://www.climatebonds. net/ Credit Suisse. (2020). Investors and the Blue Economy. https://www.esg-data.com/blue-economy Crunchbase. (2022a). Katapult – Funding, Financials, Valuation & Investors. Crunchbase. https://www. crunchbase.com/organization/cognical/company_financials Crunchbase. (2022b). The Meloy Fund – Crunchbase Investor Profile & Investments. Crunchbase. https:// www.crunchbase.com/organization/the-meloy-fund Davies, R., Engel, H., Käppeli, J., & Wintner, T. (2016). Taking Conservation Finance to Scale. https:// www.mckinsey.com/~/media/McKinsey/Business Functions/Sustainability/Our Insights/Taking conservation finance to scale/Taking-conservation-finance-to-scale.ashx

118  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay Deltares, ECORYS, European Climate, Infrastructure and Environment Executive Agency (European Commission), & Pescares Italia (2021). Sustainability criteria for the blue economy – Publications ­Office of the EU. EU Publications. https://doi.org/10.2826/399476 DWS Group. (2021, June 2). DWS Concept ESG Blue Economy: Equity Fund Focuses on Ocean Protection. DWS Group. https://www.dws.com/Our-Profile/media/media-releases/dws-concept-esg-blueeconomy-equity-fund-focuses-on-ocean-protection/ DWS Group. (2022). DWS Concept ESG Blue Economy TFC. DWS Group. https://funds.dws.com/en-ch/ equity-funds/lu2306921573-dws-concept-esg-blue-economy-tfc/ EC. (2020, February 4). EC and EIF Launch €75 Million BlueInvest Fund. European Commission. https:// ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/IP_20_167 EIB. (2021). Clean Oceans Initiative. https://www.eib.org/attachments/thematic/clean_oceans_and_the_ blue_economy_overview_2021_en.pdf ESGCLARITY. (2020, September 30). Latest Launches: Xtrackers and Lyxor Add ESG ETFs – ESG ­Clarity. ESGCLARITY. https://esgclarity.com/latest-launches/ GEF, UNDP, & PEMSEA. (2019). Blue Economy Growth in the East Asian Seas Region. State of Oceans and Coasts 2018. http://pemsea.org/sites/default/files/Regional_SOC_20190611.pdf Guggisberg, S. (2018). Funding coastal and marine fisheries projects under the climate change regime. Marine Policy. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2018.11.015 IFC. (2022). Guidelines for Blue Finance. https://www.ifc.org/wps/wcm/connect/cdbfb6c5-2726-47a69374-6a6f86032dd4/IFC-guidelines-for-blue-finance.pdf?MOD=AJPERES&CVID=nWxsyxN IFLR Correspondent. (2019). Behind the Deal: Seychelles’ Landmark Blue Bond. International Financial Law Review; London. https://www.proquest.com/docview/2193076275 ImpactAssets. (2021). ImpactAssets 50: Deliberate Capital, LLC. ImpactAssets. https://www.impactassets. org/ia50_new/fund.php?id=a012R000019mo97QAA Karani, P. (2021). Implementation Plan 2021–2025 (Issue December 2020). https://doi.org/10.13140/RG. 2.2.32179.66084 Katapult Ocean. (2022). Katapult Ocean – Investment Thesis – Katapult. Katapult Ocean. https://katapult. vc/ocean/for-investors/ Katugampola, N., & Slovik, M. (2019). Blue Bonds: The Next Wave of Sustainable Bonds. Morgan Stanley Institute for Sustainable Investing. https://www.morganstanley.com/content/dam/msdotcom/ideas/ blue-bonds/2583076-FINAL-MS_GSF_Blue_Bonds.pdf Mallin, M. F., Stolz, D. C., Thompson, B. S., & Barbesgaard, M. (2019). In oceans we trust: Conservation, philanthropy, and the political economy of the Phoenix Islands protected area. Marine Policy. https:// doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2019.01.010 Mathew, J., & Robertson, C. (2021, January 12). Shades of Blue in Financing: Transforming the Ocean Economy with Blue Bonds. DLA Piper. https://www.dlapiper.com/en/us/insights/publications/2021/01/ shades-of-blue-in-financing/ McManus, E., Collins, M., Yates, O., Sanders, M., Townhill, B., Mangi, S., & Tyllianakis, E. (2019). Commonwealth SIDS and UK overseas territories sustainable fisheries programmes: An overview of projects and benefits of official development assistance funding. Marine Policy. https://doi.org/10.1016/j. marpol.2019.02.009 OOF. (2020). Business for Ocean Sustainability – Second Edition – A Global Perspective. One Ocean Foundation. https://www.1ocean.org/business_for_ocean_sustainability_second_edition/ PEMSEA. (2012). Changwon Declaration. Fourth Ministerial Forum on the Sustainable Development Strategy for the Seas of East Asia. 2012. Changwon Declaration Toward an Ocean Based Blue Economy: Moving Ahead with the Sustainable Development Strategy. Changwon, Republic of Korea. 12 July. Piñeiro-Antelo, M., de los, Á, Durán Villa, F. R., & Santos, X. M. (2019). ODA in Galicia (Spain). The importance of the fisheries sector and the cultural priority. Marine Policy, 107, 103455. https://doi. org/10.1016/J.MARPOL.2019.02.027 Pouponneau, A. (2015). Blue Economy and Finance in Practice: An Example from the Seychelles. ­Division for Oceans Affairs and the Law of the Sea. https://www.un.org/Depts/los/nippon/Sustainable OceanEconomies_final.pdf

Creativity in blue economy financing  119 RI & Credit Suisse. (2020). Investors and the Blue Economy. https://www.esg-data.com/blue-economy Schutter, M. S., & Hicks, C. C. (2019). Networking the blue economy in Seychelles: Pioneers, resistance, and the power of influence. Journal of Political Ecology, 26(1), 425–447. https://doi.org/10.2458/ V26I1.23102 SeyCCAT. (2021). Our Evolution – SeyCCAT – The Seychelles Conservation and Climate Adaptation Trust. SeyCCAT. https://seyccat.org/our-evolution/ SeyCCAT-WB-GEF. (2019). Innovative Financing for Healthy Oceans. SeyCCAT. https://seyccat.org/wpcontent/uploads/2019/03/The-Seychelles-Model-The-Worlds-First-Sovereign-Blue-Bond.pdf Shiiba, N., Wu, H. H., Huang, M. C., & Tanaka, H. (2022). How blue financing can sustain ocean conservation and development: A proposed conceptual framework for blue financing mechanism. Marine Policy, 139, 1–8. https://doi.org/10.1016/J.MARPOL.2021.104575 Silver, J., & Campbell, L. (2018). Conservation, development and the blue frontier: The Republic of ­Seychelles’ debt restructuring for marine conservation and climate adaptation program. International Social Science Journal. https://doi.org/10.1111/issj.12156 Sumaila, U. R., Walsh, M., Hoareau, K., Cox, A., Teh, L., Abdallah, P., Akpalu, W., Anna, Z., Benzaken, D., Crona, B., Fitzgerald, T., Heaps, L., Issifu, I., Karousakis, K., Lange, G. M., Leland, A., Miller, D., Sack, K., Shahnaz, D., & Zhang, J. (2021). Financing a sustainable ocean economy. Nature Communications, 12(1). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41467-021-23168-y The Meloy Fund. (2021a). The Meloy Fund – About. The Meloy Fund. https://www.meloyfund.com/about The Meloy Fund. (2021b). Why Invest in Coastal Fisheries? The Meloy Fund. https://www.meloyfund. com/ Thiele, T., & Gerber, L. R. (2017). Innovative financing for the high seas. Aquatic Conservation: Marine and Freshwater Ecosystems, 27(April), 89–99. https://doi.org/10.1002/aqc.2794 Tirumala, R. D., & Tiwari, P. (2020). Innovative financing mechanism for blue economy projects. Marine Policy. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2020.104194 TNC Blue Bonds. (2021, April 4). An Audacious Plan to Save the World’s Ocean | TNC. The Nature Conservancy. https://www.nature.org/en-us/what-we-do/our-insights/perspectives/an-audacious-plan-tosave-the-worlds-oceans/ Trucost. (2013). Natural capital at risk: The top 100 externalities of business (London, UK: Trucost). Tsang, A., & Yeap, J. (2020, September 22). Bank of China Issues its First Blue Bond in Offshore ­Markets – Allen & Overy. Allen & Overy. https://www.allenovery.com/en-gb/global/news-and-insights/ news/bank-of-china-issues-its-first-blue-bond-in-offshore-markets UN. (2012, June 22). United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development Concludes with World Leaders Renewing Commitments to Save Planet | UN Press. United Nations. https://press.un.org/en/ 2012/envdev1310.doc.htm UNEP FI. (2021). Sustainable Blue Finance – United Nations Environment – Finance Initiative. UNEP Finance Initiative. https://www.unepfi.org/blue-finance/ UNFCCC. (2021). Healthy Oceans Vital to Achieving a Low-Carbon and Resilient World. UN Climate Change News. https://unfccc.int/news/healthy-oceans-vital-to-achieving-a-low-carbon-and-resilientworld United Nations. (2012). Outcome Document of the United Nations Conference on Sustainable Development. United Nations. https://sustainabledevelopment.un.org/content/documents/733FutureWeWant. pdf United Nations. (2015). Sustainable development goals and targets. https://www.un.org/sustainable development/sustainable-development-goals/ United Nations. (2021). Inter-agency Task Force on Financing for Development, Financing for Sustainable Development Report 2021. https://financing.desa.un.org/iatf/report/financing-sustainable-developmentreport-2022 Vanderklift, M. A., Marcos-Martinez, R., Butler, J. R. A., Coleman, M., Lawrence, A., Prislan, H., ­Steven, A. D. L., & Thomas, S. (2019). Constraints and opportunities for market-based finance for the restoration and protection of blue carbon ecosystems. Marine Policy. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2019. 02.001

120  R. D. Tirumala and K. Upadhyay Wabnitz, C., & Blasiak, R. (2019). The rapidly changing world of ocean finance. Marine Policy. https:// doi.org/10.1016/j.marpol.2019.103526 WB. (2018, October 29). Seychelles Launches World’s First Sovereign Blue Bond. World Bank. https:// www.worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2018/10/29/seychelles-launches-worlds-first-sovereign-bluebond Wees, I. van. (2019). We Need to Deep Clean the Oceans. Here’s How to Pay for It | World Economic Forum. World Economic Forum. https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2019/05/deep-clean-oceans-howto-pay-for-it West, O. (2021, November 9). Belize Blue Bond Naysayers Miss the Point. Global Capital. https:// www.globalcapital.com/article/29aqy2irktj8bh1ptraps/comment/gc-view/belize-blue-bond-naysayersmiss-the-point Whisnant, R., & Reyes, A. (2015). Blue Economy for Business in East Asia Towards an Integrated Understanding of Blue Economy. Partnerships in Environmental Management for the Seas of East Asia (PEMSEA). http://www.pemsea.org/sites/default/files/PEMSEA%20Blue%20Economy%20Report %2011.10.15.pdf World Bank. (2017). Project Appraisal Document. https://documents1.worldbank.org/curated/en/ 394051505478217219/pdf/SEYCHELLES-PAD-09122017.pdf World Bank. (2018). Seychelles launches world’s first sovereign blue bond. World Bank. https://www. worldbank.org/en/news/press-release/2018/10/29/seychelles-launches-worlds-first-sovereign-blue-bond World Bank. (2020). PROBLUE 2020 Annual Report. https://documents1.worldbank.org/curated/en/ 564401603456030829/pdf/PROBLUE-2020-Annual-Report.pdf WWF. (2014). The Principles of the Blue Economy. https://wwfint.awsassets.panda.org/downloads/15_ 1471_blue_economy_6_pages_final.pdf

Section II

Society and Culture

10

Creativity and the city New forms of work and life Dan Eugen Ratiu

Introduction The relations between creativity and the city have risen as a major topic of investigation in recent decades. The social sciences and urban studies have witnessed an increased interest in the spatial embedding of creativity, particularly in urban space, epitomised by the associated and praised notions of “creative city” (Landry 2000) and “creative class” (Florida 2002, 2005). Other authors refer more critically to the “creative turn” in economy (Pratt 2009) and highlight not only positive but also “darker” dimensions of the creative cities’ developmental dialectic, emphasising instead the demands of sustainability (Scott 2006). The concept of sustainability represents a broader understanding and critical discourse and practice of urban development, focusing in particular on the role of artists in achieving urban creativity and sustainable development (Kirchberg and Kagan 2013; Ratiu 2013), and re-envisioning the whole city as a “space of cultural possibilities” that can lead to sustainable and resilient urban spaces (Kagan 2022). The importance of urban agglomeration – that is, the spatial concentration of talents –, as a booster for innovativeness and especially artistic creation has been extensively investigated since the 1990s (Glaeser 2008; Menger 1994). Menger (2013) has also noted a shift from a state to a city-centred perspective on cultural generativity, which challenges the state-centred doctrine of cultural policy in favour of a bottom-up approach of spatial agglomeration-driven generation and exchange of ideas and creative undertakings. Dilemmas and tensions still arise similarly to the creative city: spatial concentration may boost creativity and cultural generativity in cities but at the price of potentially increasing social costs such as social polarisation and segregation (Menger 2013, 479, 492). There is a need to approach creative cities “off the beaten path”, as a Special Issue of the Journal of Cultural Management and Cultural Policy (2020) reassessed recently. Moreover, the question of what we (also) mean by “city” received an unusual answer in the seminal work of French sociologists Luc Boltanski and Ève Chiapello, The New Spirit of Capitalism (2005, originally published in 1999). There, the concept of city refers to a model of “justificatory regime” or “order of worth”, an externally normative holding point of capitalism based on specific principles of evaluation, and is used to explain the dynamics of changes in capitalism and its spirit in the last 30–40 years. The conceptual framework established by Boltanski and Chiapello (2005) is useful in reflecting on the current normative changes in the worlds of creative production as well as in the urban lifeworld, which follows the changes in the art world, and it provides a critical standpoint on these changes. The relations between artists/artistic creation and cities work both ways. For example, from an inverted perspective, Kaddar et al. (2022) introduce the notion of the “artistic spirit of cities” to capture how cities influence urban artistic practices, particularly artists’ critical engagement. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-12

124  D. E. Ratiu Based on qualitative fieldwork, they find that artists’ self-perception, motivation, and practice are highly influenced by the particular socio-political and spatial structures of the city in which they live and work (Kaddar et al. 2022). Likewise, urban aesthetics (UA) is currently advancing at the junction between everyday aesthetics and philosophy of the city, endorsing a new, larger vantage point that focuses on the experience of city life. Sanna Lehtinen (2020a, 2020b) provides an informative overview of UA’s conceptual and methodological shifts towards the study of the entire urban life forms and lifeworld, with their aesthetic and social dimensions/values and ethical concerns as well. Within this new framework, the aesthetic interest in cities encompasses the whole range of urban aesthetic phenomena. From a macro perspective, or “the broad visually oriented approach” of UA, it concerns the look of a city, the style and size of the building stock, the cityscape. A complementary micro perspective approaches the city as “a vibrant locus of different types of experience” with regard to its aesthetic dynamics and the more subjective everyday aesthetics, notably the experienced quality of the everyday urban life. The aims are to study “how the urban lifeworld is processed in the human experience” and “how cities are envisioned, experienced and assessed” (Lehtinen 2020a). This new, “more comprehensive idea of urban aesthetics”, which combines macro and micro perspectives, is indeed useful in rendering the city (life) its full spectrum of colours. This chapter1 addresses the reciprocal relations between creativity and the city from the perspective of this more specific, intersectional area of urban aesthetics, allied with that of sociology where the “city” also refers to a normative world, i.e., a regime of values and ways of working and living (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005). The approach is in line with new paradigms in aesthetics/urban studies, philosophy of the city (Meagher et al. 2020) and sociology, which revive the classic idea of “urbanism as a way of life” (Wirth 1938) and focus on the “urban lifeworld” (Madsen and Plunz 2002) and the “urban experience” as complex dimension that constitutes the city (Berleant 2012). Therefore, this chapter does not address directly the city’s built environment, architectural formations, or other significant forms of urban creativity, although all these are important topics for urban aesthetics as well (Berleant 2002; Carlson 2005; von Bonsdorff 2002). Rather, the interest here lies in the experience of city life, particularly in the artistic features of the new creative urban life forms and lifeworld, articulated with social issues, including their sustainability. The main aim is to show how artistic creation, lifestyle, and values inspired new norms of excellence, especially new forms of creative work and urban lifestyles, which in turn reshaped the condition of all (creative) people, and to assess their benefits, side effects, and sustainability. To this end, the chapter examines two figures of the city. The first is the “project-oriented city” defined by Boltanski and Chiapello (2005) as a new model of “order of worth”, which is isomorphic with the (third) form of a globalised, “network capitalism”. Their concept of the city as normative world allows us to discuss the role of artistic creativity/lifestyle in the emergence of new ways of working and living and a new regime of values, such as autonomy, adaptability, flexibility, and hyper-mobility. The first section specifically discusses their view that artistic critique since Baudelaire has contributed to this new regime of values by promoting, alongside with creativity, a “culture of uncertainty” that has at its core the opposition between stability and mobility. The second is the “creative city” as a stage for everyday creativity/creative lifestyles, analysed by Richard Florida in The Rise of the Creative Class (2002) and Cities and the Creative Class (2005). In this type of city, today’s “creative people” (including artists) with their experiential, creative lifestyle are the new mainstream that sets the norms for society: values such as individuality, diversity, and openness, but also impermanent relationships, loose ties, and quasi-anonymous lives.

Creativity and the city  125 At the intersection of these topics, a question arises as to the side effects those new norms of excellence and values that fuse cultures of creativity and uncertainty have on the sustainability of new artistic-like ways of living and working of the (creative) people. These effects pose serious challenges to creativity-led urban development policies, which need to address their inherent dilemmas or tensions and sustainability. Boltanski and Chiapello:“The project-oriented city” as a new normative world In The New Spirit of Capitalism, Boltanski and Chiapello (2005) assess the recent normative change in capitalism, described as a passage to a new “third spirit of capitalism”.2 That is, a distinct set of norms or a legitimising value system associated with the capitalist order and strongly related to certain forms of action and lifestyle conducive to that order (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 8–11). In short, two important items of their “axiomatic of change” concern the central role of critique – social and artistic – as a catalyst for changing the spirit of capitalism and possibly the capitalism itself, by providing justifications that it takes up and absorbs through its spirit (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 489–490). These justifications appeal to externally normative hold points of capitalism, which are the “cities”(Cités in French). A new type of “city”, the “projective” or “project-oriented city” (Cité par projet), epitomises the change towards this new normative world that includes new forms of work and life. In their view, this change refers to a major reorganisation of the dominant value system or sets of norms that are considered relevant and legitimate for the assessment of people, things, and situations. This new “project-oriented city” is organised by networks and emphasises activity, autonomy, adaptability, flexibility, and mobility as a “state of greatness” or worth. Moreover, it conceives of life itself as a series of different short-lived projects and poses the ability to move quickly from one project to another as a paradigmatic test of worth (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 103–138). A particular focus of their analysis on the interactions between the arts and other worlds of production is significant in this context. They noted the increased influence and expansion of the new exigencies of the artistic and intellectual professions – creativity, inventiveness, self-­expression, flexibility, adaptability – until they became the “new models of excellence” or “worth” for all working people (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 8–19, 419–420). This type of analysis is obviously not unique. Other authors have also pointed out that, since the 1980s, work norms have changed following an internalisation of the values associated with artistic creativity: autonomy, flexibility, non-hierarchical environment, continuous innovation, risk-taking, and so on (Menger 2002, 6–7; Zukin 2001, 263). However, Boltanski and Chiapello’s account is distinct in that they strongly link this normative change to the “new spirit of capitalism”, the related “project-oriented city”, and the effects of the artistic critique thereof. Next, we explore these complex interrelations and the contribution of artistic practice/life to these new norms and ways of working and living. Artistic practice and life as a new conception of human excellence and lifestyle

One of Boltanski and Chiapello’s viewpoints of major interest here is that artistic critique since Baudelaire contributed to constitute the new regime of values typified in the current projectoriented city, including a new conception of human excellence and a new (urban) lifestyle. They note the importance that artistic critique has attached to creativity, pleasure, imagination, and innovation, as well as the loss of the sense of what is beautiful and valuable. However, at the core of artistic critique stands the opposition between the detachment and mobility of

126  D. E. Ratiu intellectuals/artists and the attachment and stability of bourgeoisie. They found its paradigmatic formulation in Charles Baudelaire’s Painter of Modern Life (1995; originally published in 1863), specifically in his model of “the artist free of all attachments – the dandy – [who] made the absence of production (unless it was self-production) and a culture of uncertainty into untranscendable ideals”. Mainly, the absence of ties and the mobility of an artist-dandy “passerby” contribute, in their view, to this particular fusion of creativity and uncertainty (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 38–40, 52). Along with Baudelaire, they list as contributors to this new value system the later trends in artistic critique, which in their own ways promoted such a fusion of creativity and “culture of uncertainty”. That type of culture spread particularly through Surrealism and the movements arising from it, such as Situationism, as well as through some trends in contemporary art that promote the “project culture” (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, xxii, 38; Boltanski 2008, 56, 66–67). Boltanski and Chiapello further explain the ways in which artistic critique has contributed to the current normative change. In short, the third spirit of capitalism has recuperated and appropriated many components of the artistic critique: the demands for liberation, individual autonomy, creativity, self-fulfilment, and authenticity. Nowadays, these seem to be not only widely recognised as essential values of artistic modernity but also integrated into managerial rhetoric and then extended to all types of employment, transforming the organisational ethos and practices. Hence, their thesis is that artistic critique in the last 20–30 years has rather played into the hands of capitalism and been instrumental in its ability to last (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 419–420). Boltanski and Chiapello (2005) and later Boltanski (2008) also emphasise the contribution of artistic practice to the coupling of references to “authenticity” and “networks”, assembled in a new ideological figure, that of the “project”, flexible and transitory. This constitutes the core of the new conception of human excellence, the new societal arrangement seeking to make the network with its “project culture” a pervasive normative model. In a further debate on this topic, Under Pressure: Pictures, Subjects and the New Spirit of Capitalism, Isabelle Graw (2008a, 2008b) confirms that it is precisely the project-oriented city described by Boltanski and Chiapello who sets up the limits and guidelines of the “project culture” that emerged in some segments of the art world in the early 1990s. Most activities in this new normative world present themselves as short-term projects, the distinction between “work” and “non-work” becoming obsolete: “Life turns into a succession of projects of limited duration, and subjects are expected to quickly and flexibly adapt themselves to constantly changing conditions and unexpected developments”. A relevant example is Conceptual Art with its emphasis on projects, communication, networking, self-management, and the staging of one’s personality (Graw 2008a, 11–12; 2008b, 76–77). The artistic-driven normative changes: Benefits and side effects

All of this raises serious questions about the effects of the new norms of excellence and values on the current artistic-like ways of working and living, and their sustainability. Certainly, there are benefits of the normative change triggered by the artistic critique. In the Postscript of The New Spirit of Capitalism, “Sociology contra fatalism”, Boltanski and Chiapello emphasise the new liberties – autonomy, self-expression, self-realisation – that have emerged in the stage of the “network capitalism” and accompany its constraints (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 535–536). As Graw (2008b, 78) argues, it is a better solution to avoid the scenario of “total co-optation” and to recognise the valuable accomplishments made by the artistic critique and emancipatory movements of the 1960s and 1970s in terms of “autonomy” and “self-realisation”.

Creativity and the city  127 However, Boltanski and Chiapello also report and criticise some paradoxical effects of the demands of liberation, autonomy, and authenticity that the artistic critique has formulated and then capitalism has incorporated into its new, third spirit, and eventually into its displacements. Their critical position is primarily concerned with the “anxiety” (inquiétude) and the “uncertainty” (in a sense that contrasts it with calculable risk) related to the type of liberation associated with the redeployment of capitalism. They argue that this affects all relations that connect a person to the world and to others, and by closely tying autonomy to job insecurity or precariousness, undoubtedly makes more difficult to “project oneself into the future”. They draw attention to the fact that the introduction into the capitalist universe of the arts’ modes of operation has helped to disrupt the reference-points for the ways of evaluating people, actions, or things. In particular, it is about the lack of any distinction between time at work and time outside work, between personal friendship and professional relationships, between work and the person who performs it – which, since the 19th century, constituted typical characteristics of the artistic condition and particular markers of the artist’s “authenticity” (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 422–424). The main target of their critical stance is what they call the “culture of uncertainty” that appeared in Baudelaire’s work (notably The Painter of Modern Life) along with the emphasis on creativity, and was promoted by that trend of artistic critique having at its core the opposition between stability and mobility, mentioned above. In their view, mobility has nowadays become a hyper-mobility, and its overvaluation has led to insecurity and precariousness in work and life. Therefore, a revived artistic critique would fulfil its genuine task only if it undid the link that has hitherto associated liberation with mobility (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 38, 535–536; Boltanski 2008, 56). On the one hand, it is true that for Baudelaire’s Painter of Modern Life the path to modernity is uncertain and risky. However, the uncertainty is largely due to the imaginative and contingent nature of creativity that tackles modern life and self (Ratiu 2021, 196). Understood as a condition of (self) creation, uncertainty is therefore inevitable in modern art world. From the moment when originality, innovation, and the irreducibility to canons became, in principle, the requisites of artistic quality, the creator’s uncertainty about his/her own creative talent and the chances of being recognised becomes constitutive of artist’s status in the modern “regime of singularity” (Heinich 2005, 124–127). On the other hand, the emergence of this opposition and new lifestyle also relates to a certain type of city life explored by Baudelaire – the life in modern metropolises such as Paris, London, and Berlin. Georg Simmel (1950, originally published in 1903) has already uncovered a connection between the metropolis and specific forms of contemporary (mental) life, such as a “deep contrast with the slower, more habitual, more smoothly flowing rhythm of the sensory-mental phase of small town and rural existence” (Simmel 1950, 409–410). As Iwona Blazwick later points out in Century City: Art and Culture in the Modern Metropolis (2001), by contrast with the stability of small-city life, the metropolis offers a ceaseless encounter with the new. Thus, along with the opposition between stability and mobility, the modern urban life entails another opposition between the familiar and the sense of the loss of identity and past, in many ways in accordance with the figure of the modern artist: Within the metropolis, assumptions of a shared history, language and culture may not apply […] It is a paradox of the metropolis that its scale and heterogeneity can generate an experience both of unbearable invisibility and liberating anonymity; and of the possibility of unbounded creativity. (Blazwick 2001, 8–9)

128  D. E. Ratiu To conclude, the link between uncertainty and creativity is bound to the very fabric of life in modern metropolis and, in this kind of urban setting/lifeworld, seems inevitable. This link is also bound to the structure of the art world itself – where creative work is governed by uncertainty, without which neither self-realisation nor creative innovation is possible (Menger 2014)  –, or at least to the “regime of singularity” characterising the status of modern/­contemporary artist ­(Heinich 2005). The issue at stake is how to tame the connection between uncertainty and creativity and channel it in ways that enable an urban life both creative and sustainable. The next question is whether Florida’s model of “creative city”, with its prescriptions for urban policies and creative lifestyles, does provide a sound solution to this problem or still faces similar side effects. Richard Florida: The creative lifestyle in the “creative city” This section further explores the role of artistic work and life as a model for everyday life and work in relation to the current imperative to creativity or what Florida calls the “creative ethos”. This leads to a social figure not exempt of controversy: the artist as model of creative lifestyle and work not only for “creative people” but also for ordinary people’s daily life in the “creative communities” of the “creative city” and their work in the “creative economy”. Due to their impact on the everyday city life as well as the creative people’s condition, all these social figures and urban formations prove to be a challenge of great significance. We address this challenge by analysing their use in Richard Florida’s theory of the “creative class” in the “creative city”.3 Creativity as a virtually universal capacity and limitless resource

In The Rise of the Creative Class and How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life, Florida (2002) holds that creativity – “the ability to create meaningful new forms” – is now more valued and cultivated than ever before. Moreover, after analysing the current “Transformation of Everyday Life”, he asserts that creativity “is not the province of a few selected geniuses who can get away with breaking the mould because they possess superhuman talents. It is a capacity inherent to varying degrees in virtually all people” (Florida 2002, 32). Thus, creativity appears as an ontological capacity that, although not actual for all people, characterises at least a new class, the “creative class”. Artists have a prominent position in the “super-creative core” of the creative class, although they are not its only representatives, let alone the creative class as a whole, which also includes scientists, engineers, educators, designers, architects, and so on (Florida 2002, 5, 72–77; 2005, 34–36). In a later publication, Cities and the Creative Class, Florida (2005) attempts to defend the creative class concept against those who criticise it as elitist and exclusionary, emphasising the idea that “every human being is creative”. In this way, human creativity or talent seen as “creative capital” would be a virtually unlimited resource and the main driving force in urban development (Florida 2005, 3–5, 22). Consequently, “creativity” in everyday life/work surpasses “creation” in the field of arts, as an extended potential capacity of all people (although not actualised in all cases) versus a rare (yet actual) capacity of an individual artist. Creative people in creative cities: The shared values of an experiential lifestyle

Florida identifies the “creative ethos” as “the fundamental spirit or character of [today] culture”, that is, the emerging “Creative Age”. Through this notion, he offers an alternative ontology of present reality and of ourselves: “The creative ethos pervades everything from our workplace culture to our values and communities, reshaping the way we see ourselves as economic and social actors – our very identities” (Florida 2002, 21–22). The creative ethos also comprises an

Creativity and the city  129 overall commitment to creativity in its varied dimensions. In his view, the rising of the “creative economy” in the Creative Age is not only drawing the spheres of innovation, entrepreneurship, and culture into one another, in intimate combinations, but it is also blending the varied forms of creativity – technological, economic, artistic and cultural –, which are now deeply interrelated (Florida 2002, 33, 201). Another key assumption of Florida’s theory is that the “creative people” gathered in “creative communities” in “creative cities” share values, norms, and attitudes, and these have changed significantly due to the shift from the (declining) social capital to the (increasing) creative capital and the process of global talent migration. Supposedly, the members of these creative communities or the Creative Class share values such as: individuality and self-statement; meritocracy, hard work, challenge and stimulation; diversity and openness. As many of them are “migratory talents”, they prefer weak ties to strong ones and desire “quasi-anonymity” and “experiential lifestyles”. Therefore, the impermanent relations and loose ties that allow creative people to live the quasi-anonymous lives they want define creative communities. Florida correlates overtly these values and loose social relations of today creative people in creative cities with those aspects of the city life that Baudelaire loved: its freedom and opportunities for “anonymity” and “curious observation” that were reflected in the flâneur’s quasi-anonymity and free enjoyment of the diversity of the city’s experience (Florida 2002, 15, 77–80, 267–282; 2005, 30–33; Baudelaire 1995, 5–12). Furthermore, these values and social relations have nowadays become the pattern of an experiential lifestyle and a model of existence. Florida admits, indeed, that today’s creative people are not Baudelaire. Still, these creative people – with their creative values, creative workplaces, and creative lifestyles – “represent a new mainstream setting the norms and pace for much of society” (Florida 2002, 211). Despite this, Florida ultimately posits an instrumental view on creative peoples, the artists in particular, as he sees them as dispensable tools of urban economic growth or regeneration. In his view, creative capital is a highly mobile factor, like technology: both are “not fixed stocks, but transient flows”, “flowing into and out of places” (Florida 2005, 7). This situation may look like that in “the city of passing encounters, fragmentary exchanges, strangers and crowds” portrayed by Baudelaire in his musings on 19th-century Parisian life, as Florida suggests (2002, 278). Indeed, the theme of the passer-by who only passes through from one place/situation to another is present in Baudelaire’s essays, including The Painter of Modern Life (1995). However, the passer-by Florida alludes to should be identified with the figure of the “mere flâneur”, not the artist as a “perfect flâneur” whose ambulant aesthetic practice and aims are different and freely assumed (Baudelaire 1995, 5–12, 26–29; Ratiu 2021, 188–189).4 Today, the transient flows or hyper-mobility of creative people/artists in the creative city are rather forced: increasing wealth for a city also means increasing gentrification that triggers an out-migration of artists (Florida 2005, 24–25, 278). Ultimately, Florida’s theory of creative class approaches the urban community primarily as a social structure able or unable to generate economic prosperity and a supportive context in attracting and retaining migratory talents; the concern for sustainable patterns of urban development and city lifeforms is lacking (Scott 2006, 15). Towards a creative yet sustainable urban life All this raises, again, questions about the effects of extending such a hyper-mobile and flexible creative lifestyle from the exceptional figure of the artist to ordinary people, up to becoming an ordinary lifestyle in a creative city. Would this creative-yet-uncertain way of life be sustainable? There are indeed clear benefits of the ongoing expansion of creativity into everyday life and the presence of creative communities in cities. Florida’s account of Cities and the Creative Class suggests that there is a significant positive correlation between the incidence of creative

130  D. E. Ratiu class in various cities and local economic development. He also emphasises the growing importance of the immaterial economic dimensions of urban space – creativity associated with human capital – since the decline of physical constraints on cities and communities in recent decades (Florida 2005, 1). Consequently, his prescriptions for urban policies aimed at “building creative communities” and accelerating the dynamism of the local economy are mainly oriented towards the deployment of packages of selected amenities as a way to attract elite workers, the “creative class”, into given urban areas. Florida’s strategy for developing a creative city revolves around a simple formula – “the 3 T’s of economic development: Technology, Talent, and Tolerance”. It stipulates, first, the development of urban amenities that are valued by the creative class desiring a high-quality experiential life. These amenities include: “street-level culture” venues  – cafes, bistros and restaurants, street musicians, art galleries, and hybrid spaces like bookstore-teahouse-little theatre-live music space – as well as fitness clubs (“the body as art”), jogging and cycling tracks for active recreation, and so on. It further instructs to ensure a prevailing atmosphere of tolerance, openness, and diversity that will incite the migration of other members of the creative class. Finally, to further upgrade the urban fabric and thus to enhance the prestige and attractiveness of the city as a whole. Thus, “quality of place”, measured by various indicators of urban amenities and lifestyle, would be a key ingredient of viable creative cities (Florida 2002, 165–189, 249–266, 283–313; 2005, 5–7, 37–42). Florida’s model of “creative city” and his prescriptions for urban policies aiming to boost its development have had a visible impact on today’s urban landscapes and provided valuable insights into creative urban lifestyles. However, this model faces side effects similar to those detected in lifestyles adjusted to the “project-oriented city”, organised around short-lived projects, discussed above: increased anxiety, instability, insecurity, and precariousness (Boltanski and Chiapello 2005, 16–18, 466–468; Ratiu 2018, 183–185). Such “extraordinary” styles of work and life, because of their characteristics of flexibility, hyper-mobility, and uncertainty, are unsustainable for most creative peoples, let alone ordinary people. There is still a need to find satisfactory answers in terms of creativity-led policies for sustainable patterns of urban development and city lifeforms. On the one hand, an argument advanced by Simon Roodhouse (2006) for cultural districts also applies to the creative city as a whole. He argues that we can measure the success or viability of an urban space by examining not only its activity – economic, social, cultural – and its form – the relationship between buildings and space; its meaning – the sense of place, both historical and cultural –, and its human dimensions are also very important. As Roodhouse concludes, these urban spaces are viable as long as they nurture and sustain those within and around it, and should be organised with this goal in mind (Galligan 2008, 138; Roodhouse 2006, 22–26). On the other hand, Florida’s theory of creative city lacks to mention what Allen Scott (2006) calls sustainability qualities – such as sociability, solidarity, and democratic participation. Through these, cities or urban communities could cope with what Florida himself recognises as “negative externalities” of the global creative economy, including the mounting stress and anxiety, and political and social polarisation (Florida 2005, 171–172; Scott 2006, 11). Instead, Scott contrasts Florida’s view on urban community and values, emphasising the complex interweaving of relations of production, work, and social life, as well as the strong communal ties and forms of affectivity and trust as conditions for a sustainable urban existence (Scott 2006, 9–15; for the cultural-and-social approach of creative cities’ sustainability, see Ratiu 2013, 127–132). Therefore, a creative city would be viable and sustainable as long as it is about shaping both viable urban places and communities. From this point of view, the continued extension of creativity into the everyday world of work and life would show its benefits when all people in the

Creativity and the city  131 city actually play a role in fostering a broader and more sustainable sense of place and creative community, and can enjoy a daily life that is both creative and sustainable. Conclusion The chapter proposes a new direction in approaching the reciprocal relations between creativity and the city. It consists of a novel interdisciplinary perspective that combines urban aesthetics’ interest in the experienced quality of everyday life in urban environments with a sharp sociological analysis of recent normative changes in the worlds of creative production and urban life under the influence of artistic practice, lifestyle, and values. These changes are instantiated by the “project-oriented city” as a new normative world (Boltanski and Chiapello) and the “creative city” as a stage of everyday creativity/creative lifestyles (Florida). Such an analytical framework is useful for understanding how the fusion of cultures of creativity and uncertainty, which has emerged in modern artistic practice/life and characterises life in certain urban settings (big cities and metropolis), inspired new norms of excellence and forms of creative work and life, especially in today’s creative cities. In turn, these reshape work practices, social relations, and urban structures and thus affect the condition of all people, including creatives/artists. This interdisciplinary approach is thus useful for shedding light on often-neglected aspects of the creative urban life forms and lifeworld, especially their aesthetic and social dimensions and values, including their sustainability. The analysis showed that the extension of the hyper-mobile and flexible creative lifestyle from the extraordinary figure of the artist to ordinary people, as a form of everyday urban life, triggers not only existential benefits but also risks: increased anxiety, insecurity, and precariousness in work and life. All these paradoxical effects pose serious challenges for creativity-led urban development policies and their sustainability. Such policies need to address the major tensions and potentially increasing social costs, such as social polarisation and segregation, generated by the expansion and imposition of creativity or the “creative ethos” as the norm for assessing human excellence of all working people and their everyday life. Thus, issues of sustainability and resilience of new creative forms of work and life remain an important future direction in examining the interrelationships between creativity and the city. In particular, the question is how to tame the connection between uncertainty and creativity and how to channel it in ways that enable an urban lifestyle both creative and sustainable. Notes 1 For a previous extensive account of this topic, including an analysis of Baudelaire’s figure of the city as “poetic object”, see Dan Eugen Ratiu. 2021. “Art and Everyday Life in the City: From Modern Metropolis to Creative City.” ESPES-The Slovak Journal of Aesthetics 10, no. 2: 183–204. 2 For a previous detailed account on the topics in this section, see Ratiu (2018, 175–189). 3 For a previous detailed account on the topics in this section, see Ratiu (2013, 125–133). 4 For Baudelaire’s view on how beauty and life change when experienced in the urban context of modern metropolis, see Ratiu (2021, 186–192).

References Baudelaire, Charles. 1995. “The Painter of Modern Life.” In The Painter of Modern Life and Other Essays, translated and edited by J. Mayne. Second edition. London; New York: Phaidon Press, 1–41. Berleant, Arnold ed. 2002. Environments and the Arts. Perspectives on Environmental Aesthetics. ­Burlington, VT: Ashgate.

132  D. E. Ratiu Berleant, Arnold. 2012. “Distant Cities: Thoughts on an Aesthetics of Urbanism.” In Aesthetics beyond the Arts: New and Recent Essays, ed. A. Berleant. Farnham, UK; Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 105–115. Blazwick, Iwona. 2001. “Century City.” In Century City: Art and Culture in the Modern Metropolis, ed. I. Blazwick. London: Tate Gallery Publishing, 8–15. Boltanski, Luc. 2008. “The Present Left and the Longing for Revolution.” In Under Pressure: Pictures, Subjects and the New Spirit of Capitalism, eds. D. Birnbaum and I. Graw. Berlin: Sternberg Press, 53–71. Boltanski, Luc and Chiapello, Ève. 2005. The New Spirit of Capitalism. Orig. Le nouvel esprit du capitalisme. Translated by Gregory Elliott. London; New York: Verso. Carlson, Allen. 2005. Aesthetics and the Environment: The Appreciation of Nature, Art and Architecture. London; New York: Routledge. Florida, Richard. 2002. The Rise of the Creative Class and How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. New York: Basic Books. Florida, Richard. 2005. Cities and the Creative Class. London; New York: Routledge. Galligan, Ann M. 2008. “The Evolution of Arts and Cultural Districts.” In Understanding the Arts and the Creative Sector in the US, eds. J.M. Cherbo, R.A. Stewart and M.J. Wyszomirski. New Brunswick, NJ; London: Rutgers University Press, 129–142. Glaeser, Edward. 2008. Cities, Agglomeration and Spatial Equilibrium. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Graw, Isabelle. 2008a. “Introduction.” In Under Pressure: Pictures, Subjects and the New Spirit of Capitalism, eds. D. Birnbaum and I. Graw. Berlin: Sternberg Press, 10–13. Graw, Isabelle. 2008b. “Response to Luc Boltanski.” In Under Pressure: Pictures, Subjects and the New Spirit of Capitalism, eds. D. Birnbaum and I. Graw. Berlin: Sternberg Press, 75–80. Heinich, Nathalie. 2005. L’Elite artiste. Excellence et singularité en régime démocratique. Paris: Gallimard. Journal of Cultural Management and Cultural Policy. 2020. Special Issue “Creative Cities off the Beaten Path” 6, 1: 1–234. https://www.transcript-publishing.com/978-3-8376-4957-4/journal-of-cultural-­ management-and-cultural-policy/zeitschrift-fuer-kulturmanagement-und-kulturpolitik/?c=412000268 (Accessed: 14 September 2020). Kaddar, M., Barak, N., Hoop, M., et al. 2022. “The Artistic Spirit of Cities: How Cities Influence Artists’ Agency.” Cities 130: 103843. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cities.2022.103843 Kagan, Sacha ed. 2022. Culture and Sustainable Development in the City. Urban Spaces of Possibilities. London; New York: Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003230496 Kirchberg, Volker and Kagan, Sacha. 2013. “The Roles of Artists in the Emergence of Creative Sustainable Cities: Theoretical Clues and Empirical Illustrations.” City, Culture and Society 4, no. 3: 137–152. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ccs.2013.04.001 Landry, Charles. 2000. The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. London: Earthscan. Lehtinen, Sanna. 2020a. “Editorial Introduction to the Special Volume on Urban Aesthetics.” Contemporary Aesthetics 8: 1–9. https://contempaesthetics.org/2020/07/16/editorial-introduction-to-the-specialvolume-on-urban-aesthetics (Accessed: 11 August 2020). Lehtinen, Sanna. 2020b. “Shifting Sensibilities: Architecture and Aesthetics of the City.” Scenari 12: 89–106. http://mimesisedizioni.it/riviste/scenari/scenari-12.html (Accessed: 22 May 2021). Madsen, Peter and Plunz, Richard eds. 2002. The Urban Lifeworld: Formation, Perception, Representation. London; New York: Routledge. Meagher, Sharon M., Noll, Samantha and Biehl, Joseph S. eds. 2020. The Routledge Handbook of Philosophy of the City. London; New York: Routledge. Menger, Pierre-Michel. 1994. “Artistic Concentration in Paris and Its Dilemmas.” Villes en Parallèle 20–21: 184–207. https://doi.org/10.3406/vilpa.1994.1179 Menger, Pierre-Michel. 2002. Portrait de l’Artiste en Travailleur. Métamorphoses du Capitalisme. Paris: Seuil; La République des Idées. Menger, Pierre-Michel. 2013. “European Cultural Policies and the ‘Creative Industries’ Turn.” In Handbook of Research on Creativity, eds. K. Thomas, and J. Chan. Cheltenham, UK; Northampton, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing, 479–492. https://doi.org/10.4337/9780857939814.00047

Creativity and the city  133 Menger, Pierre-Michel. 2014. The Economics of Creativity. Art and Achievement under Uncertainty. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press. Pratt, Andy C. 2009. “Policy Transfer and the Field of the Cultural and Creative Industries: What Can Be Learned from Europe?” In Creative Economies, Creative Cities: Asian-European Perspectives, eds. L. Kong and J. O’Connor. Dordrecht; New York: Springer, 9–23. Ratiu, Dan Eugen. 2013. “Creative Cities and/or Sustainable Cities: Discourses and Practices.” City, Culture and Society 4, no. 3: 125–135. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.ccs.2013.04.002 Ratiu, Dan Eugen. 2018. “Artistic Critique on Capitalism as a Practical and Theoretical Problem.” In Art and the Challenge of Markets. Volume 2: From Commodification of Art to Artistic Critiques of Capitalism, eds. V.D. Alexander, S. Hägg, S. Häyrynen, and E. Sevänen. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 173–211. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-64644-2_7 Ratiu, Dan Eugen. 2021. “Art and Everyday Life in the City: From Modern Metropolis to Creative City.” ESPES-The Slovak Journal of Aesthetics 10, no. 2: 183–204. Roodhouse, Simon. 2006. Cultural Quarters: Principles and Practices. Bristol, UK: Intellect. Scott, Allen J. 2006. “Creative Cities: Conceptual Issues and Policy Problems.” Journal of Urban Affairs 28, no. 1: 1–17. Simmel, Georg. 1950. “The Metropolis and Mental Life.” In The Sociology of Georg Simmel, ed. Kurt H. Wolff. New York; London: The Free Press, Collier-Macmillan, 409–424. von Bonsdorff, Pauline. 2002. “Urban Richness and the Art of Building.” In Environments and the Arts. Perspectives on Environmental Aesthetics, ed. A. Berleant. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 89–101. Wirth, Louis. 1938. “Urbanism as a Way of Life.” American Journal of Sociology 44, no. 1: 1–24. Zukin, Sharon. 2001. “How to Create a Cultural Capital: Reflections on Urban Markets and Places.” In Century City: Art and Culture in the Modern Metropolis, ed. I. Blazwick. London: Tate Gallery Publishing, 259–264.

11

Between performativity and spectacle Provocations of street-based public art festivals Rishika Mukhopadhyay

Introduction: Public art in urban spaces Public art has been an instrumental element in restructuring and re-aestheticising urban spaces in Euro-American cities. Since the late 20th century, urban local government has brought culture and art to the forefront of urban regeneration and redevelopment (Zukin 1989). Urban governance has consciously harnessed the power of art and culture to regenerate cities by developing stronger cultural policies (Miles 2005b). On the other hand, street-based public art has gone against the grain of sanctioned art practice and expressed itself through rebellious defiance towards normative visual aesthetics (Irvine 2012). Within geographical literature, scholars have noticed three emerging trends that pay close attention to artistic intervention and the city (Guinard and Molina 2018). The first trend normalises and reduces art as an aesthetic tool to transform urban places. A closer integration of art in urban planning policy has been emphasised within this trend (Miles 2005a). These efforts have often been manipulated by neoliberal urban governance and led to gentrification in the old core of the cities (Harris 2012; Ley 2003). Secondly, artists creatively intervened in an existing urban landscape to disrupt and resist the norm of public art with an intention to bring social change emerging from their commitment to social justice (Pinder 2008; Sharp, Pollock, and Paddison 2005). Countermapping initiatives, performances, and graffiti can be considered expressions of such art. Finally, art can seek to propose an alternative imagination of urban space to elicit the experimental potential of distressed neighbourhoods. Thus, geographers offer a unique insight into analysing the relationship between art practice, spatial change, polity, and society (Hawkins 2011, 2013). In India, long trend of public-facing art practice has been an inherent part of the urban public sphere, though neglected in scholarly literature. Walls have a history of being the face of anti-colonial expression since the nationalist movement. Chattopadhyay (2012, 2009) engages deeply with vernacular political wall writing, texts mixed with religious-patriotic-instructional iconographic symbols and motifs on buses and trucks and argues that they are part of the larger optical infrastructures, spaces of resistance as well as thriving popular culture in the public sphere of Indian cities. Jha (2022) points out that they need to be separated from public wall art that attends to civic causes and seeks to raise public awareness around particular social issues as noticed by Varughese (2018) in Mumbai. Public art encompasses not only these modes of expression but also art festivals community-centric and socially engaged art events that engage the audience in the art making process and usher them to interact with the art piece beyond its visuality. For instance, the Khoj International Artist organisation has been a long-term supporter of unconventional art practice (Sehgal, 2019). Their artist fellowship has facilitated powerful socially engaged art practices across the country. Among them, one project comments on the state of India’s urbanisation and its intersection with gendered public DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-13

Between performativity and spectacle  135 spaces (Bathla and Garg 2020; Srivastava 2020). Lauricella (2018) documents art initiatives from across four metropolitan Indian cities which not only advance artists’ commitments to social causes where artists become artist-activists but also highlight the importance of the sitespecificity and relationality of these art projects. More often than not, the ‘performative characteristics and possibilities of space’ (Shetty, Gupte, and Anagram Architects, 2010, n.p.) guide these public art initiatives. In response to the broader literature on the relationality between street-based public art and urban space, the paper anchors its argument on two street art festivals that took place in Kolkata, India. These two public art events share close spatial proximity but employ significantly different intentions and approaches in delineating the political possibilities of public art events. The word ‘event’ is consciously used here as it indicates temporary, pop-up expressions of creativity over two to three days which is closely aligned to street-based art forms but has no bearing on larger processes of urban regeneration.1 This feature makes the street-based public art in the old urban neighbourhoods of India quite unique. In both cases, the street and its immediate built environment, community relation, and existing cultural production of the space mediated the art form. The art exhibitions were grounded in the geographical and historical specificity of the area where many of the urban crafts are located. The genealogies of some of these urban crafts can be traced back to at least three generations when Kolkata, as the colonial capital, started to develop its urban features. One of them is a culturally significant community of clay idol-makers based in Kumartuli. They work under severe infrastructural constraints but have prospered in the last two decades. Their association with a faith-based craft attributes to their recognition as a heritage craft practice. Other crafts located on Chitpur Road, however, have been languishing and struggling to survive. Due to these particular socio-economic realities, the site specificity of the street art ventures is an overlapping feature of these events. Nevertheless, both events elicit different content, forms, materialities, functions, and engagement of the creative component. In the first instance, for Kumartuli, the artists recognised the creative-cultural energy of the space but there was a veiled attempt to transform the everyday mundaneness of these spatial cultural practices by infusing beautification techniques into the visual infrastructure of an ailing neighbourhood. The second street art festival shows a commitment to marshalling the creative potentiality of the vernacular-built form of Chitpur Road. The art trail, in this instance, revolved around the everyday ordinariness of the street-based craftspeople, crowded bazaars, dirt, and commotion as a commitment to blend art and life. Ultimately, the research asks a threefold question. What is the relationship between sporadic and ephemeral public art festivals and the socio-spatial environment which inspires them? How, if at all, do these events offer interpretations of these specific urbanities and accrue meaning to the spaces or is it a relational process? How art’s doing in these spaces can be enrolled into the political possibilities of artistic practices? The research was conducted during an immersive ethnographic fieldwork on Chitpur Road’s craft economy and its intersection with heritage narratives from September 2018 to May 2019 (Mukhopadhyay 2021). Both art festivals were closely observed. Kumartuli was one of the field sites where I spent a month in one of the craft workshops and interviewed several artisans and artisanal labourers. However, I had a deeper engagement in bringing together Chitpur Craft Collective and co-organised the festival, created a story map for the visitors, and curated one stop in the art trail. Spectacular veneer of art: Chronicle of colour and clay Rang Matir Panchali (A Chronicle of Colour and Clay) took place in Kumartuli, the century old cluster of religious clay idol makers of the city on 14th and 15th April, 2019. On the occasion

136  R. Mukhopadhyay of World Art Day and Bengali New Year, Asian Paints, a commercial paint company sponsored this two-day street carnival managed by its allied front, Creocraft. The event involved two genres of creative practitioners: the artisans or craftspeople, the traditional custodians of religious clay idol making with hereditary training/skills, and the professionally trained artists from the Government Art College of Kolkata. Some artisans from the community have also acquired the professional training and straddles between the role of professional sculpturer and traditional clay idol maker. The corporate front and the two genres of artists established Kumartuli Art Forum specifically for the purpose of Rang Matir Panchali. The tensions between the celebrated professional artists from and beyond the traditional craft community who led the art festival and the plight of custodians of hereditary skills, the artisans have been discussed in academic scholarship (Basak 2021). The collaboration as well as negotiations and contestations of these two kinds of creative traditions are not new in the city’s public art scene. For generations, the craftspeople with the help of a vast army of artisanal workers diligently make clay idols for the five-day annual autumnal religious festival of worshipping the goddess Durga (Durga puja), which has been accredited in UNESCO’s list of intangible cultural heritage in 2021. The religious nature of worship goes back to as far as 1757 in the city. However, it has long crossed the exclusive boundary of the aristocratic family homes and acquired the reputation of being a fiveday carnivalesque extravaganza taking over every corner of the public-private space of the city. The professionally trained artists play an important role in transforming the community puja pandals (the temporary adobe of the goddess) into magnificent art installations. Guha Thakurta’s (2015) research traces this shift in Durga puja celebration which ceases to exist solely as a religious affair and rose to a city-wide public art festival. Rang Matir Panchali took inspiration from the public art installations of Durga puja but chose to host the event in Kumartuli itself which is a cramped neighbourhood of less than a square kilometre. Three hundred makeshift workshops, shops, one-room homes, few houses of professionals, as well as remnants of crumbling houses of yesteryear aristocracy live cheek-by-jowl in this space. The event space was limited to only one narrow lane of the neighbourhood, Banamali Sarkar Street, and extended towards the workshops which are flanked on either side of this lane. The involvement of the corporate sponsor meant that this two-day exhibition quite intentionally wanted to change the visual appeal of this slum neighbourhood. For instance, a few pale and worn-out houses were painted over with bright yellow, green, and red colours. Often designs and verses enveloped the colourful front of the house and in the evening carefully placed lights gave them an additional hue of shadow and shine (Figure 11.1). The artisan workshops received minimal intervention from the corporate sponsor of the festival, but one of the female idol makers took the opportunity to give her workshop a structural upgrade. From tiled thatched roof, overnight it acquired a metal sheet covering. Instead of its bamboo unstable fence, an iron collapsible gate was installed. On the inside, the walls got a fresh paint of burgundy. The project execution echoed the sentiment of the organisers who wanted to conceal the bare bones of the neighbourhood by wrapping it with a colourful blanket of paints, ribbons, strings, installations, photographs, murals, and temporary sculptures. The event promotion poster vouched that visitors will experience ‘Malat dea Kumartuli’; malat entailing a jacket of the book (Figure 11.2). If Kumartuli with its inner substance of hereditary skill sets and spontaneous creativity can be compared with a book, then the festival intended to give the neighbourhood a cloak of glamour which would hide the everyday plight of the community. The ensemble of clay, bamboo, straw, and colour that are used to make the deity, formed the material basis of the exhibition. These materials were present from erecting the entrance gate to individual installations. However, the corporate sponsors and the organisers could not resist the temptation of installing gigantic, larger than life structure which turned each corner

Between performativity and spectacle  137

Figure 11.1 Fresh coat of paint on a neighbourhood building. Source: Photograph by the author.

Figure 11.2 The promotional poster saying ‘Malat dea Kumartuli’ ­(Kumartuli under a colourful cloak). Source: Photograph by the author.

of the narrow lane a space of spectacle. Traditional iconography of the goddess, from her body with ten spread out arms to face to eyes to the decorations were torn apart and constituted the recurring trope in most of the installations (Figure 11.3). They were hung, projected, shown in their various stages of making and in multiple materials. Experimentation with the image of the deity is frequently seen during Durga puja itself. In this instance, they confronted the visitors in every corner of the alley. Mismatched elements were thrown together and strewn all over the serpentine lane and specially carved out exhibition spaces within the inadequate workshops. For instance, in one workshop a figure of a bare bodied man with his bleeding heart against a mirror holding a paint brush and a palette in his hands stood over a pool of pyramid shaped blood. A bronze figure of a girl in a selfie pose occupied a corner of the lane (Figure 11.4). Behind her a spiralling wave of colours were merged within a vertical yet slanting bamboo cage. A tea stall was installed with a model tea seller to give an illusion of reality. History of the neighbourhood and memorial of a recently passed away elderly artisan was also part of the exhibit. Overall, the festival did celebrate the creative profusion of the artisans and artisan turned sculptors of Kumartuli and infused them with the curatorial ingenuity of the contemporary artists. The damp and musty smell of the neighbourhood and its earthiness were evaporated by the dazzling halogen lights. The festival masked the infrastructural inadequacy of the poverty ridden neighbourhood which some artisans might have wanted. Kumartuli has been at the receiving end of intense touristic gaze in the run-up to Durga puja. Its seemingly continuous tradition of idol making within inadequate infrastructure has made it city’s favourite instagramable destination. Rong Matir Panchali added another layer of visual treat within that mix. Possibly, those who could upgrade the conditions of their workshops were the beneficiaries of this process.

138  R. Mukhopadhyay

Figure 11.3 Patchwork of motifs: The image of the deity. 

Figure 11.4 A girl taking selfie: Contemporary art in the potters’ quarter

Source: Photograph by the author.

Source: Photograph by the author.

Art of everyday ordinary: Moving images of Chitpur The second event, Chitpurer Chalchitra (Moving images of Chitpur), took place from 7th to 9th February, 2019 stretched across a few neighbourhoods along Chitpur Road. Chitpur Road, now renamed as Rabindra Sarani, is one of the oldest roads in the city and the area selected for this art trail is located within a kilometre from Kumartuli. This art trail was organised by Chitpur Craft Collective as part of Kolkata Festival and financially supported by West Bengal Government’s Tourism Department. The collective assembled contemporary artists, designers, and researchers to collaborate with craftspeople of Chitpur Road. The project was spearheaded by Hamdasti, an artist collective who has been working in Battala neighbourhood of Chitpur Road since 2013, providing artist fellowships and facilitating socially engaged art projects. With Hamdasti, performance-based organisation Artsforward, Community Art Project from Chinatown, Art Rickshaw, and Sirri Saqti Foundation joined hands. The art trail had thirteen stops along the very busy Chitpur Road which meandered through various creative-cultural-trading clusters known for gold-silver jewellery making, folk theatre, book binding, stamp making, printing, iron utensil making, and wood carving. Quite a few craftspeople from these clusters joined the initiative. The trail also traversed through a traditional bazaar that hosts a plethora of businesses and trades. The artists carefully curated this trail to take the visitors walking through the buzzing Chitpur Road. The trail offered no major altercation of the existing urban fabric for the local residents but evoked curiosity in their minds. The stops showcased a mix of demonstrations and exhibitions of craft objects in the existing workshops along the road. Temporary art installations also emerged in the streets and lanes for three days. Contemporary artists collaborated with the vernacular craftspeople, became attentive to cultural history of the area, engaged with different faith and ethnic communities’ cultural expressions in

Between performativity and spectacle  139 the area to take these installations to their fruition. I will specifically focus on these installations which regarded the street itself as a canvas to tell the story of Chitpur’s diverse ethnic-religiouslinguistic craft communities. Active participation and observation of this three-day art festival leads me to argue that the road’s everyday life became an affective tool to tell the story of the community and space. The vernacular architecture of the space, popular art, and objects from the artisanal production were moulded into the contemporary artist’s aesthetic framework. For example, a reputed scenographer and designer Swarup Dutta, whose artwork illustrates body politics and gender identity through everyday objects wanted to bring his artwork to the public domain. He approached these questions through bamboo sculptures made by bamboo craftsman Binod Pakrey and iron utensils from shops of Chitpur Road’s Notun Bazaar area.2 From the sterilised white gallery space, he intended to bring his artwork amidst people and, more specifically, amidst the makers of those structures. For the bamboo craftspeople of Dompara, street is their workshop and two generations of craftspeople have worked from street. Hence, the installation was on the walls around the street where they work (Figure 11.5). For the iron utensil sellers, inside each shop, amidst heaps of iron utensils, the installation popped up (Figure 11.6). The black and white photographs of androgenous figures with their faces hidden by the iron utensils or trapped inside the bamboo cage starkly stood out from the battered walls of Chitpur Road! It raised a lot of questions about the meaning and debates of these photographs; what does the iron utensil or the bamboo cage symbolise? They often elicited appreciation among ordinary people, passers-by, and homeowners in the Dompara area for bringing a different sensibility in the sphere of wall art. It made Chitpur an alternative exhibition space where art could interact with the social world. The walls started to speak a language which was unknown yet inspired previously unspoken modes of communication and dialogue rooted in the neighbourhood’s craft tradition. The everyday objects used as props in those photographs were woven with the street/the shops from where they emerged and inspired the art. Even after the three-day art trail, Swarup’s installations were not taken down and eventually, it became part of the urban fabric where they will eventually

Figure 11.5  Walls speak the language. Source: Photograph by Hamdasti.

Figure 11.6 Installation inside an iron utensil shop. Source: Photograph by Manas Acharya.

140  R. Mukhopadhyay fade away or will be covered by another political wall writing. In other words, art’s interaction with the ordinary socio-spatial world co-produced a momentary as well as distinct urban aesthetics which encouraged ‘different and creative ways of looking at the city, enabling spontaneous and playful encounters that are concurrent with artistic practices’ (Arnold 2019, 13). Multimedia and visual artist Manas Acharya’s installation mobilised the bamboo objects that the craftspeople usually make and chose a space at a road junction right beside where the making was underway (Figure 11.7). Amidst structures of half-built Saraswati puja pandal (a temporary

Figure 11.7  Interwoven playfulness: Art and everyday bamboo craft sculpture. Source: Photograph by the author.

Between performativity and spectacle  141 marquee with a red tarpaulin cover visible at the background of the picture) and ongoing bamboo work (a bamboo dome making underway right behind the poster of the event), it was hard to distinguish art, everyday work and preparation for religious festivity separately.3 The space between the street-based workshops and exhibitions were blurred because both took place on the street. The installation did not try to interrupt the continuing work of the craftspeople, it did not invade the regular creative flow of the area to carve out a festive space. Rather, a conscious attempt to blend the art within the everydayness of object making, material practice, religious events, and overall the creative rhythm of the old city was conspicuous. Artsforward and Community Art Project’s installations also chose by-lanes and back alleys. They used aspect of the modest street furniture, the electric pole, shuttered windows, overhead wires, door frames, and porches as part of their installation (Figure 11.8). Dompara’s existing bamboo craftwork was not

Figure 11.8  Use of nondescript doors, window frames, and walls. Source: Photograph by community art project.

142  R. Mukhopadhyay interrupted by the invasion of new age artists. On the contrary, these elements and motifs of the vernacular craftwork became part of the art trail without ‘curating’ the environment. Throughout the curation process, there was an attempt to transgress the boundaries between art, craft, and everyday spaces of Chitpur. Sunderburg (2000) points out that though site-specific art installation emerged from a Eurocentric modernist notion of liberal progressiveness, it also has radical potential. The potential lies in giving meaning and expression to everyday work, objects, infrastructures, and spaces through the work of art. It pushed the boundary of where and how to do art. This type of artwork shows ‘intense engagement with the outside world and everyday life’ (Kwon 1997, 91) by including non-art spaces, such as tattered walls, bazaars, broken windows, shutters, electric poles, and street lights. In some cases, the artists also worked against the grain and worked towards de-aestheticisation by exposing some of the materials of the craftworks instead of covering them with beautifying materials. A phenomenon called ‘folly’ emerged in Europe between 1720 and 1850 who were often ‘defiantly and proudly antifunctional, existing cross-culturally beyond the well-charted eurowestern tangents’ (Sunderburg 2000, 8). In the 1960s, artistic aesthetic discourse when the distinction between high and low art was continuously questioned, follies re-emerged as alternative spaces of art display. By embracing experimentation, unsettling the normative shimmer of art festival and reinscribing the daily life-work as art, Chitpur Craft Collective inscribed a creative value in the ‘“collective” “competences” of the “practical”, “material”, and “embodied” everyday’ (Ebrey 2016, 166). Through the art trail, Chitpur Road emerged as an everyday site where ‘the line between art and life … (is) fluid, and perhaps indistinct as possible’ (Allan Kaprow, ‘The Event’ as mentioned in Sunderburg 2000, 1). The lived space of craftwork and the vernacular built environment of Chitpur was intertwined and entangled with the art trail showcasing spatial performativity (Nomeikaite 2020). Conclusion: Art’s doing in urban political The analysis of the two art festivals outlined above approaches creative intervention in the urban spaces from two modes of public art practice—a spectacular and performative practice. In both cases, the inspiration for the art festival emerged from the existing socio-spatiality of the creative cultural practice, their symbolisms, and their significance albeit in various forms and degrees in the city. The Kumartuli experience tried to transform the aesthetic-architectural signature of the space by installing larger-than-life characters, colours, paints as well as new materials beyond the traditional use of clay in the neighbourhood. The form, substance, and format of the installed art objects momentarily created a festive world where the thickness of the densely built neighbourhood could have been forgotten. Art made the despair of the crumbling infrastructure of the neighbourhood and the struggle of the artisanal labourers dissipated into the thin air for two days. Some buildings adopted a newly adorned look as they waited for the colour to fade away again as they battle with rain and dust. People thronged to the new-found destination of Kumartuli to celebrate Bengali New Year as they do before Durga puja before forgetting for the rest of the year. The only difference was that Chronicle of Colour and Clay was staged to attract the crowd and show them a taster of how Kumartuli can be reimagined and revitalised as an artist neighbourhood from its impoverished visuality of artisanal production. Whom it benefits is a complex question to attend to. At least one artisan seized the moment to improve her workshop and some received new paint on their wall. Can these be imagined as the possible political intervention of art? Or can these improvements be done by any Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) initiative without curating an art festival? The question remains:

Between performativity and spectacle  143 can the brightly lit spectacle of a festive atmosphere be the only offering of art which renders ordinary spaces inconsequential? Chitpurer Chalchitro foregrounded the intimacy and immediacy of the lanes of North Kolkata and the situatedness of the craftworld in these spaces. Art was mediated through and produced in dialogue with the vibrancy of the street (Irvine 2012). Artist-artisan collaborative installations were designed to sketch embodied interaction with the inhabited material world with a limited focus on visual transformation. The political possibility of art was more pronounced in this instance, as they resisted the temptation of aestheticisation of space and worked with the marked bodies of buildings, doors, windows, back alleys, worn out fabric of the city, rhythm of life which are usually considered as non-art spaces. The normative visual regime of art world was disrupted as the project made a conscious attempt to not make any altercation to the existing images of urban life. Art objects also appeared in places where their visibility was shared with existing visual markers on the walls and creative production on the streets. The art trail was an extended space of continuing, living yet changing traditions of Chitpur without interpreting or interrupting the everyday flow of these expressions. Rather, the visitors had to find their way in an unfamiliar public space without any guided tour.4 The art trail challenged the notion of what art can offer in a public space that itself is engaged in cultural doings albeit in a format unknown to art-loving gallery-going audiences. Art, in this instance, suggested a symbolic reconciliation of the visitor-driven festival economy with the everyday dynamism and creative processes of Chitpur’s craft economy. It reconfigured the very notion of street art festival through the absence of visual grandeur; a usual artistic inscription on city space by replacing it with the narrative of mundane everydayness. Notes 1 Deeper engagement with the word event can be found in non-representational theory where event considers the possibility of new beginnings which are intertwined ‘with the chances of invention and creativity’ (Anderson and Harrison 2010, 19). However, here the word is used to indicate the momentary temporality of the art festival without getting into a theoretical discussion. Similarly, performativity as a theoretical register and method of research has been advanced by proponents of non-representational theory in geography. Within the limited space, it has been left outside the scope of discussion in this chapter. 2 To know more about his exhibition, see https://www.indulgexpress.com/culture/art/2018/nov/04/­ scenographer-swarup-dutta-raises-questions-of-identity-at-new-solo-show-kaw-in-kolkata-10977. html (last accessed November 20, 2020). 3 Saraswati Puja: The annual worship of the goddess Saraswati who symbolises knowledge. 4 The visitor experience has remained outside the scope of discussion in this chapter.

References Anderson, B., and Harrison P. (2010). ‘The Promise of Non-Representational Theories.’ In Anderson, B. and Harrison, P. (eds.) Taking-Place: Non-Representational Theories and Geography. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing. 15–48. Arnold, E. (2019). ‘Aesthetic practices of psychogeography and photography’, Geography Compass, 13(2), p. e12419. https://doi.org/10.1111/gec3.12419. Basak, B. (2021). ‘The Staging of a “Carnival”—“Art”, Power and a Contested Space in Kumartuli.’ In Das, S.K. and Basak, B. (eds.) The Making of Goddess Durga in Bengal: Art, Heritage and the Public. Singapore: Springer. 203–27. Bathla, N., and Garg, S. (2020). ‘Radical Housing and Socially-Engaged Art.’ Radical Housing Journal 2 (2): 35–54.

144  R. Mukhopadhyay Chattopadhyay, S. (2009). ‘The Art of Auto-Mobility: Vehicular Art and the Space of Resistance in Calcutta.’ Journal of Material Culture 14 (1): 107–39. https://doi.org/10.1177/1359183508100010. Chattopadhyay, S. (2012). Unlearning the City: Infrastructure in a New Optical Field. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Ebrey, J. (2016). ‘The mundane and insignificant, the ordinary and the extraordinary: Understanding Everyday Participation and theories of everyday life’, Cultural Trends, 25(3), pp. 158–168. https://doi.org/ 10.1080/09548963.2016.1204044. Guha Thakurta, T. (2015). In the Name of the Goddess: The Durga Pujas of Contemporary Kolkata. Delhi: Primus Books. Guinard, P., and Molina, G. (2018). ‘Urban Geography of Arts: The Co-Production of Arts and Cities.’ Cities 77 (July): 1–3. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cities.2018.02.004 Harris, A. (2012). ‘Art and Gentrification: Pursuing the Urban Pastoral in Hoxton, London.’ Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 37 (2): 226–41. Hawkins, H. (2011). ‘Dialogues and Doings: Sketching the Relationships between Geography and Art.’ Geography Compass 5 (7): 464–78. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1749-8198.2011.00429.x Hawkins, H. (2013). ‘Geography and Art. An Expanding Field: Site, the Body and Practice.’ Progress in Human Geography 37 (1): 52–71. https://doi.org/10.1177/0309132512442865 Irvine, M. (2012). ‘The Work on the Street: Street Art and Visual Culture.’ In Heywood, I., Sandywell, B., Gardiner, M., Nadarajan, G., and Soussloff, C. (eds.) The Handbook of Visual Culture. London, New York: Bloomsbury Academic. Jha, S. (2022). ‘Floating Words and the Aesthetics of the Visual Vernacular: Political Culture in Contemporary India.’ Journal of Human Values 28 (2): 143–60. https://doi.org/10.1177/09716858221079005 Kwon, M. (1997). ‘One Place After Another: Notes on Site Specificity.’ October 80: 85–110. Lauricella, V. (2018). ‘Public Art in Urban India: From the People to the People.’ Presented in Royal Anthropological Institute, British Museum & SOAS, London. Ley, D. (2003). ‘Artists, Aestheticisation and the Field of Gentrification.’ Urban Studies 40 (12): 2527–44. https://doi.org/10.1080/0042098032000136192 Miles, M. (2005a). ‘Interruptions: Testing the Rhetoric of Culturally Led Urban Development.’ Urban Studies 42(5–6): 889–911. https://doi.org/10.1080/00420980500107375 Miles, M. (2005b). Art, Space and the City. London: Routledge. Mukhopadhyay, R. (2021). ‘Heritagising Urban Craft Economy: Thinking with Chitpur Road, Kolkata.’ Thesis submitted Exeter, UK: University of Exeter. https://ore.exeter.ac.uk/repository/handle/10871/ 128111 Nomeikaite, L. (2020). ‘Street Art and Heritage Conservation: From Values to Performativity.’ SAUCStreet Art and Urban Creativity 5 (1): 6–19. https://doi.org/10.25765/sauc.v5i1.181 Pinder, D. (2008). ‘Urban Interventions: Art, Politics and Pedagogy.’ International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 32 (3): 730–36. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1468-2427.2008.00810.x Sehgal, S. (2019). ‘Art meets social change at Khoj’. Civil Society Magazine. Available at: https://www. civilsocietyonline.com/lifestyle/art-meets-social-change-at-khoj/ (Accessed: 26 September 2022). Sharp, J., Pollock, V., and Paddison, R. (2005). ‘Just Art for a Just City: Public Art and Social Inclusion in Urban Regeneration.’ Urban Studies 42 (5–6): 1001–23. https://doi.org/10.1080/00420980500106963 Shetty, P., Gupte, R., and Anagram Architects. (2010). ‘Art and Architecture.’ Khoj (blog). https:// khojstudios.org/programme/art-and-architecture/edition-2010/ Srivastava, M. (2020). ‘The Urban Artists.’ The Patriot (blog). February 16, 2020. https://thepatriot.in/ reports/the-urban-artists-15037 Sunderburg, E. (ed.) (2000). Space, Site, Intervention: Situating Installation Art. Minneapolis; London: University of Minnesota Press. Varughese, D.E. (2018). ‘(Social) Memory, Movements and Messaging on Tulsi Pipe Road: “Seeing” Public Wall Art in Mumbai.’ South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies 41 (1): 173–93. https://doi.org/ 10.1080/00856401.2018.1385671 Zukin, S. (1989). Loft Living: Culture and Capital in Urban Change. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

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The role of community arts organisations in heritage-led regeneration and placemaking The case of LAMO and Old Town, Leh Michael Buser and Monisha Ahmed

Introduction Arts and cultural organisations can be key change agents in community and city regeneration, revitalisation, and placemaking efforts (Markusen and Gadwa 2010; Buser et al 2013; Foster et al 2016; Ryberg-Webster and Ashley 2018). In recent years, policies supporting the ‘creative city’ have become popularised as a way for communities to address disinvestment and decline (Landry 2000; Florida 2002; Evans 2009). Scholarship has done a good job detailing the ways in which policies and practices focused on supporting creative activity can stimulate economic growth and the conservation or reuse of historic resources. It has also exposed some of the associated difficulties including, most notably, gentrification, inequality, and displacement. This literature was initially very ‘Western’ focused, targeting policy and practice in de-industrialising global cities. However, in recent years, more has been written about the role and relationship between arts, culture, and the built environment in the Global South (e.g., Seo 2020). Yet, there remains relatively little related scholarship centring on Indian examples and the relationships between creativity and the built environment in this context. This chapter begins to address this gap by examining the role of the Ladakh Arts and Media Organisation (LAMO) in the placemaking and regeneration efforts of the Old Town area in the Indian city of Leh.1 The arts have long been heralded as drivers for city and neighbourhood revitalisation. Since at least the 1980s, scholars have noted the impact artists and creatives can have on declining areas. Sharon Zukin’s ground-breaking book Loft Living (1982) was one of the earliest to detail how New York City artists were well-positioned to take advantage of the physical remains of the post-industrial city. Her Artistic Mode of Production described how artists, through risktaking and sweat equity, paved the way for property investment by developers and the real estate community. In many post-industrial cities, the image and mythology of the urban artist became a powerful force of consumption as middle- and upper-class urbanites sought to mimic the aesthetics and lifestyle of loft living; consequentially, increasing property values and contributing to neighbourhood gentrification (Ley 2003; Ning and Chang 2022). In subsequent decades, creative city policies and urban cultural regeneration efforts have become globally ubiquitous, particularly (but not exclusively) in cities where the decline of industrial activity led to a surplus of infrastructure and structures such as warehouses and factories. The role of artists and creatives as engines of economic growth was detailed by Florida (2002), who claimed they could be lured to cool cities through socially progressive policies and support for the arts and culture. The most widespread critiques of creative city approaches centre on their embeddedness in entrepreneurialism and neoliberal dogma (Peck 2005; Zimmerman 2008). Some have suggested that artists act as neoliberal shock troops, trailblazers who help steer capital to undesirable areas (Makagon 2010). Furthermore, researchers have found a tendency among these efforts to lead DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-14

146  M. Buser and M. Ahmed to higher property values, gentrification, and displacement (Ley 2003; Chapple and Jackson 2010; Mathews 2010). Creative city policies have also been criticised as elitist and disconnected to the needs of local populations (Delconte et al 2016); supportive of employment in sectors associated with precarity (d’Ovidio and Morató, 2017); and framed by a homogeneous understanding of the city based on consumption and global city competition that simultaneously takes advantage of and de-values or even destroys ‘local authenticity’ (Long 2010). Nevertheless, others have found that investment in arts activity – particularly those programmes involving neighbourhood groups – does not necessarily result in displacement or gentrification (Stern & Seifert, 2010; Noonan 2013). Research on heritage-led regeneration, a related set of literature, narrates the ways in which cities often exploit historic resources and heritage programming to support economic development, regeneration, and renewal (Reeve and Shipley 2014; Kapp 2017; Ryberg-Webster and Ashley 2018). Much of this activity draws on local history to spur investment, renewal, and tourism. As such, heritage-led regeneration often involves the protection and enhancement of cultural attractions, creation and conservation of historic sites and districts, and the preservation and rehabilitation of structures. In this context, the historical-physical fabric of place is a critical resource for investment. These features range from the monumental (e.g., castles, bridges, and aqueducts) to the mundane (e.g., warehouses, homes, barns, and taverns). Through careful storytelling and aesthetic presentation, these sites and features of the built environment become physical mnemonics, commemorating ‘important’ moments in time (Delconte et al 2016). In this way, heritage-led regeneration can be seen as a spatially situated tactic that draws on the built environment to remember and celebrate the uniqueness of place. These regeneration efforts are often situated in wider programmes to attract external investment and tourism. As Lak et al (2020, 387–388) note, ‘places with unique marketable cultural heritages have long held a competitive advantage in the tourism marketplace’. In cities shifting towards culture and service economies, the potential for heritage tourism to fill investment gaps can be particularly attractive. As with the more general creative city critique, researchers have noted that while these efforts can stimulate a range of community-oriented and economic benefits, heritage-led regeneration and related tourism activities can also lead to overcrowding, congestion, commoditisation of culture, gentrification, and displacement (Skoll and Korstanje 2014; Lak et al 2020). In this chapter, we are particularly interested in the role of local, community-based organisations. Within this framing, Delconte et al (2016) found that local arts agencies involved in heritage tourism can support local economic development, the expansion of social networks and social capital, public participation and collaboration, and structural reuse and conservation of historic assets and resources (among other benefits). The connection to place and specific physical structures is particularly relevant here as many organisations involved in heritage-led regeneration are located in structures of cultural and historic importance. This spearheading activity mirrors Zukin’s (1982) risk-taking artists who paved the way for later investment in the declining districts of post-industrial cities. Our discussion on the Old Town, Leh provides an example of this kind of change in a relatively isolated part of the world. In the following sections, we provide contextual background and then narrate some of the heritage-led regeneration efforts of LAMO centring on the ways in which the organisation has interacted with the built environment through conservation efforts and arts and media work in the community. Our place in the city – arts and culture in the Old Town The city of Leh is located at the western edge of the Himalayan Plateau. It is the capital city of Ladakh, a dry and harsh mountainous region with warm summers and extremely cold

Role of community arts organisations   147 winters. The focus of this case study is the ‘Old Town’ area of the city of Leh. Until the late 19th century, as the historic seat of the Kingdom of Ladakh and an important stop in the transHimalayan trade network, the Old Town was an important centre of social, cultural, political, and economic life. Leh was an active area with lively markets, affluent residences, religious buildings, and other notable monuments. Dominating the Old Town from Tsemo Hill is the 17th-century Leh Palace. The Old Town tumbles down the slope in front of the palace and includes about 160 mud, stone, and timber structures, many of which were built in traditional Tibetan-Himalayan vernacular architecture. Historically, this area was home to aristocrats and merchants who benefited from protection of the king and the city’s walls and fortifications. Many worked in some capacity for the royal family (e.g., as tailors or performers) and lived in the vicinity below the palace. After Ladakh came under control of the Dogra Kingdom in the 1840s and the royal family was forced to move from Leh, the Old Town began to lose influence and importance, initiating an extended period of decline and neglect. Further as the need for protection from invaders waned, wealthy residents began to move outside the city walls. Moreover, as the densely built Old Town area did not have water, sewage, or easily accessible roads, development and investment shifted to less congested areas. In 1947, with Indian independence, Ladakh and the city of Leh became part of the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. New, hardened national borders with Pakistan and China isolated the area, effectively cutting it off the trans-Himalayan trade. The isolation lasted several decades until the 1970s when the Indian army began constructing roads and other infrastructure in Ladakh and travel restrictions were eased that opened the area to tourism. However, the Old Town, even with its rich cultural and built environment heritage, did not benefit significantly from these events. Rather, during this time, the area received little investment and infrastructure challenges remained. Eventually, it became home to migrant workers and has been associated with poverty and disadvantage (Kimura 2014). By the early 2000s, many historic structures had deteriorated or have been completely lost. In 2008, the Old Town was listed as one of the 100 most endangered sites by the World Monuments Fund (WMF).2 Nevertheless, the Old Town remains one of the most important and well-preserved ­Himalayan settlements. At the centre is the recently restored Leh Palace, a nine-storey structure built in the traditional Tibetan style. Palace restoration began in 1995 after it was purchased from the royal family by Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), who now manage the building as a tourist attraction for the city. While the walls surrounding the Old Town are unfortunately no longer visible, some of the ancient Buddhist gateways – called ‘kagan stupas’ – are still identifiable. And, as we will discuss, many of the historic homes and structures have been rehabilitated through careful renovation. Conservation momentum accelerated after Andre Alexander, founder of the Tibet Heritage Fund, visited Ladakh in 2003 (Azevedo 2018). Later, the Leh Old Town Initiative, a collaboration between the Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council and the Tibet Heritage Fund, surveyed and documented buildings and set out a strategy to preserve historic structures, upgrade infrastructure, and improve quality of life in the area (THF 2005). Since this time, local groups have been renovating structures and conducting public works projects in the Old Town area, including Munshi house and Gyaoo house – rehabilitated by LAMO in collaboration with architect John Harrison. In summary, the Old Town of Leh, once the centre of politics, culture, and commerce, experienced several decades of decline, disinvestment, and neglect. In the late 20th century, lacking modern spatial requirements and infrastructure, it was no longer identified as an area of prosperity and became an important home to migrant workers. In the last two decades, a range of efforts have been initiated to improve the area which has led to conservation of many structures, including the Leh Palace and several traditional residences.

148  M. Buser and M. Ahmed Conserving and promoting architectural heritage in the Old Town

The Ladakh Arts and Media Organisation (LAMO) is a charitable, non-governmental organisation, established in 1996 that centres on promoting the creative heritage of the region and supporting ‘diversity and pluralism through the arts and media’ (LAMO 2022). During the early 2000s, LAMO was seeking to expand its contribution to the community beyond educational and arts activities through the conservation and rehabilitation of a historic structure. It was hoped that the structure could serve as a social and cultural hub for the community as well as a model and impetus for historic-sensitive investment into the Old Town. At the same time, John Harrison, a British conservation architect, had been working in Leh (and previously in Lhasa), helping to restore the Old Town structures and advocating heritage conservation. He brought LAMO together with the owners of the Munshi House, a historically important structure in need of emergency repairs. Later, the owners of the neighbouring Gyaoo House approached the team to encourage the expansion of the conservation project to include this additional building. Eventually, agreements were made to restore both houses as part of LAMO’s future community arts and media centre (LAMO now holds a 35-year lease to operate and maintain the structures). Hoping to be a model for future investment and rehabilitation, three significant conservation goals were set out. Firstly, LAMO and the design team hoped to keep intact as much of the traditional architecture and building integrity as possible. No permissions or consents were required from local, regional, or national government agencies. However, as the site was within 100 m of the palace, the ASI was notified of the project and the architect, Mr Harrison, gave verbal reports and updates to the Hill Council (local authority) each year. Secondly, as much as possible, the project sought to re-use what was onsite or source construction materials locally. Thirdly, the team sought to raise awareness of the viability of rehabilitation in the Old Town, centring on heritage and local identity. The style of building in the Old Town is generally vernacular Ladakhi, employing a frame of timber columns and beams surrounded by masonry with a flat roof. Somewhat unique to the Ladakhi style is the incorporation of a balcony, or ‘rabsal’, enclosed by intricate wooden lattices. These south facing balconies are prominent features on both Munshi and Gyaoo Houses and provide a cosy spot for enjoying the winter sun. They are also sign of status and a family’s prosperity as wood is a scarce resource in Ladakh. Moreover, the houses are set in a site of prominence and cultural significance, clearly visible on the slope just underneath the Leh Palace (see Figure 12.1).

Figure 12.1  Tsemo hill, the Old Town, and Leh Palace. The LAMO centre is highlighted within the box. Source: Photo by Tashi Morup.

Role of community arts organisations   149 This location shows the importance of the residents during the time of the Kingdom of Ladakh. It is understood that, at one time, the Munshi House was home to the King’s secretary, while the Gyaoo residents were artisans who may have worked or performed for royalty. Both houses were abandoned at the time of restoration. While Munshi House had been empty since 1984, no one had lived in Gyaoo House for about 75 years. As a result, there was very little remaining of this structure, as the roof and top floor had been removed and many other walls and floors had collapsed. Further, when work started both houses were filled with rubbish and human waste which needed to be collected and carefully disposed. Rehabilitation of both houses (see Figure 12.2 for before and after photographs) and conversion into the LAMO centre took four years (2006--2010). After site preparation, the team worked to make the structures safe by rebuilding walls and foundations and repairing support beams. Some of the rooms had deteriorated to the extent that they could not be saved, particularly in Gyaoo House where most of the walls and floors had collapsed. However, Munshi

Figure 12.2  The LAMO centre before and after restoration. Source: Photos by Monisha Ahmed.

150  M. Buser and M. Ahmed House was in better condition and was restored using many of the original building elements. For example, a small private Buddhist chapel (chodkhang) with decorative paintings had been built on the roof. While it had suffered from water damage and structural deformation, it was restored to its earlier condition. Pillars and beams were realigned and raised, new structural supports were put in place and the paintings were restored. Now complete, the Chapel serves as a quiet space for reading and contemplation for LAMO staff and visitors. At the front of the structures, the fragile wooden balcony lattices were recovered (some were lying in pieces in the yard surrounding the structures) and restored by Ladakhi carpenters. Throughout the project, traditional materials and construction systems were used and building elements were salvaged (e.g., broken bricks were remoulded, beams, pillars, and windows were repaired). The project is considered a great success and was recognised by UNESCO in 2018 with an award for Cultural Heritage Conservation. Restoration of Munshi House and Gyaoo House also provides insight into the unique challenges of heritage conservation in places such as Leh. The first challenge relates to labour issues in hinterland areas. Seeking economic security, many Ladakhi artisans are employed on work that provides a consistent, year-round salary. The oneoff nature of LAMO’s conservation project – which could only take place during the warmer months of the year – meant it was difficult to employ local labour. With the lack of a steady, available local workforce, migrant labourers from the surrounding region were employed. ­Labour challenges were further compounded when builders and craftsmen refused to work until they were convinced that the house was not haunted. The second challenge involved working in the confined spaces of the Old Town. The Munshi and Gyaoo Houses can only be accessed via narrow alleys and pathways. This meant it was difficult to get construction equipment and materials to the sites. This issue was compounded by local regulations which mandated that all deliveries needed to be made at night (slowing down the project and raising costs for loading and unloading labourers). In terms of the relationship to the built environment, the significance here is that some of the ‘ideals’ of heritage conservation (e.g., using traditional methods, materials, and labour) may be difficult to adhere to and some flexibility and improvisation is likely to be needed to complete such challenging projects. Since restoration of the two houses, some further conservation of the Old Town has taken place. Yet, many structures are still deteriorating and under threat of being lost forever. However, LAMO is continuing to celebrate the Old Town and its architectural heritage and working to engage local people in various cultural projects and events. These efforts will be discussed in the following section. Creativity and culture in the community

Located in the carefully restored Munshi and Gyaoo historic houses, since 2010, LAMO has been delivering its vision to provide a space for the understanding and development of the arts in Ladakh. Today, the centre includes space for art galleries, offices, a library and reading room, screening and conference rooms, a sound studio, as well as an outdoor performance site. It is a community arts hub that supports a range of arts activities including workshops, lectures, research, exhibitions, and residencies. The primary focus of these efforts revolves around showcasing Ladakh’s material and visual culture, its performing arts, and its literature. A critical component of these activities has been engaging directly with the challenges facing Leh and the Old Town. Unfortunately, the Old Town has been a long-standing site of disinvestment. While the Leh Palace was restored by the Archaeological Survey of India in the late 1990s, the area below the palace has not improved significantly. As noted above, infrastructure here is extremely poor (there is no running water or public sewage). Between 2010 and 2013,

Role of community arts organisations   151

Figure 12.3  Community mapping project organised and led by LAMO. Source: Photo by Tashi Morup.

LAMO conducted a community project to research, document, and disseminate information on the water cultures of the Old Town (see Figure 12.3). The project looked at histories and cultures of water, sanitation, and hygiene and the contemporary situation. To draw attention to the serious challenges facing people living in the area, local government officials were invited to the exhibition – some of whom had never been to the Old Town! The involvement of LAMO as a neighbourhood advocate has led to increased awareness among politicians about the quality of life and built environment challenges facing residents. The LAMO centre has also become an important space for local and regional residents to learn key skills and explore their artistic talents. For example, the organisation regularly offers workshops on media and digital literacy, exhibition curation, filmmaking, writing, photography, and other areas of the arts. Another set of workshops and activities focus on the lives and challenges facing of Ladakhi people including topics such as women’s empowerment and sexual health, water security, impacts of the outward migration of young people, heritage conservation, development and tourism, pollution, and other environmental issues. Through the years, the theme of water has remained central to LAMO’s outreach work. In 2019, the centre hosted an exhibition curated by Ladakhi artist Tsering Motup Siddho that explored the role of water in the lives of Ladakhi people ranging from the struggles of living with poor infrastructure to the consequences of climate change and melting glaciers in the Himalayas. More recently, LAMO conducted a series of participatory workshops to understand the impacts of environmental change on the water security of people living in rural areas of Ladakh, where climate change is disrupting traditional ways of life. Importantly, these creative activities and workshops provide support and visibility for regional artists. In addition to showcasing their work at exhibitions, several Ladakhi creative practitioners have benefited by having access to LAMO’s resources (e.g., visual archive, library, and exhibition spaces), while others have taken up residencies to develop their artistic skills or establish installations. Moreover, the centre situates Ladakhi culture within an international network of arts and culture. This includes exchanges with international organisations and opportunities for Ladakhi artists to reach new audiences. LAMO often hosts exhibitions and lectures

152  M. Buser and M. Ahmed from international artists and scholars as well as PhD students. They have also organised exhibitions of Ladakhi artists in other parts of India. These activities facilitate wider relevance and visibility of the region’s unique creativity and culture and forge important global connections. They also bring energy and tourist activity into the area (LAMO leads a wonderful heritage walk through the streets and alleys of the Old Town). The organisation employs a small number of staff members who organise events, conduct outreach and maintain LAMO’s archives and resources. However, in Ladakh, working at an arts organisation can be seen as taking a risk. Commonly, people in the region aspire to the assurances and security of government employment. As a small organisation, LAMO struggles to compete with some of the financial and job-security benefits of these more conventional jobs. However, this also means there is more flexibility and a closer bond and connection across the team. Tashi Morup is the LAMO Project Director and has worked with the organisation for ten years. His role involves organising and running projects and events and ensuring the centre is lively and active. A journalist by training who grew up in Leh, Mr Morup told us that he has found the job extremely rewarding. With pride, he noted how his role at LAMO allows him to work on some of the city’s most significant challenges and to support the advancement and celebration of local culture. Further, he noted that the presence of an arts and media centre in the Old Town has stimulated investment and generated enthusiasm for the area. Overall, in addition to direct contributions to the physical fabric of the neighbourhood, ­LAMO’s engagement with the Old Town community is contributing to a growing awareness of the challenges and special value the place holds. Their work signals that this isolated place is worth care and investment. The programming of diverse activities and events supports residents and artists and has contributed to improving the quality of life for many Ladakhi people. Discussion Earlier, we discussed some of the potential positive and negative impacts of arts and heritageled regeneration and creative city approaches. To date, there has not been a systematic economic study of the relationship between LAMO and other heritage projects and the wider community. However, our observations suggest that life in the Old Town remains largely as it has for the past several decades, characterised by deteriorating buildings and poor water, sanitation, and transport infrastructure. Yet, small changes are taking place. In addition to the LAMO centre, several other buildings have been rehabilitated in traditional styles. Particularly interesting and relevant, several artists who began with LAMO, or worked at the organisation for a time, have established their own studios in the Old Town. The attraction of a few artists to the area has not dramatically altered the demographic characteristics as the Old Town remains largely populated by migrant labourers in search of affordable housing. Meanwhile, LAMO continues to advocate for the Old Town, focusing on water, streetlights, sewage and drainage, and other infrastructural and quality of life improvements. In terms of infrastructure, pipes have been laid for drinking water (although the water is not yet flowing to people’s taps) and there have been some improvements to drainage. Yet, most of the recent change to the physical fabric of the Old Town has not been sensitive to the architectural heritage of the area. Indeed, with weak planning and building regulations, most construction projects use concrete and steel rather than reuse materials or replicate the historic style. By way of example, a historic monastery just beneath the Leh Palace was recently demolished and rebuilt using modern materials. In theory, as the site is within 100 metres of the palace, any reconstruction is required to maintain the traditional architectural vernacular. However, this regulation was not enforced. Indeed, there are significant challenges to rehabilitation and

Role of community arts organisations   153 revitalisation of the Old Town. Yet, many people are working towards the establishment of stronger historic building standards and designation of the area as a World Heritage Site. That LAMO is at the centre of this activity signals their continuing advocacy and awareness of the connections between creativity, creative arts organisations, and the built environment. Conclusion The LAMO case and the organisation’s engagement with the physical and cultural fabric of the Old Town provide important insights into the relations between creativity and the built environment. Leh is a beautiful, historic city, set at the western edge of the Himalayan mountains. At 3,500 m above sea level, the landscape has a barren, almost lunar quality that is both foreboding and majestic. Buildings in the Old Town are clustered below Leh Palace along a steep, southernfacing slope. Collecting warmth from the sun, the buildings provide a postcard-ready vision of the Tibetan influenced architecture and life in the city of Leh. Working for over 20 years in the area and campaigning for recognition of its architectural heritage, LAMO has established itself as a key stakeholder in revitalisation and conservation of the Old Town. Initially, this centred on conservation of two historic residences. These structures, now home to the LAMO centre, serve as a demonstration of the value and potential of this unique, but threatened, built form. In subsequent years, the organisation has also established an active programme of cultural activities and community outreach that supports the engagement of artists, stakeholders, and residents to explore the critical challenges facing the city and region. The case provides a unique perspective into the role of community arts organisations in the Global South working in areas of heritageled regeneration and placemaking. Further, it amplifies and widens the existing evidence that shows how creative activity can be an important contributor to revitalisation and improvements in the built environment. Notes 1 This chapter is based on the observations and reflections of the LAMO founder and director (one of the authors), qualitative interviews and informal discussions with stakeholders and a review of project documentation and reports. 2 https://www.wmf.org/project/leh-old-townleh-palace

References Azadeh Lak, Mahdi Gheitasi and Timothy, Dallen J., 2020. Urban regeneration through heritage tourism: Cultural policies and strategic management. Journal of Tourism and Cultural Change, 18(4), pp. 386–403. Azevedo, Pimpim de, 2018. The transformation of Leh, Old Town: An update. Orientations, 49(6), pp. 110–113. Buser, M., Bonura, C., Fannin, M. and Boyer, K., 2013. Cultural activism and the politics of place-making. City, 17(5), pp. 606–627. Chapple, K. and Jackson, S., 2010. Commentary: Arts, neighborhoods, and social practices: Towards an integrated epistemology of community arts. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 29(4), pp. 478–490. Delconte, J., Kline, C.S. and Scavo, C., 2016. The impacts of local arts agencies on community placemaking and heritage tourism. Journal of Heritage Tourism, 11(4), pp. 324–335. Evans, G., 2009. Creative cities, creative spaces and urban policy. Urban Studies, 46(5–6), pp. 1003–1040. Florida, R., 2002. The rise of the creative class: And how it’s transforming work, leisure, community and everyday life, New York, Basic Books.

154  M. Buser and M. Ahmed Foster, N., Grodach, C. and Murdoch, J. III, 2016. Neighborhood diversity, economic health, and the role of the arts. Journal of Urban Affairs, 38(5), pp. 623–642. Kapp, P.H., 2017. The artisan economy and post-industrial regeneration in the US. Journal of Urban ­Design, 22(4), pp. 477–493. Kimura, M., 2014. Past forward: understanding change in Old Leh Town, Ladakh, North India (Master’s thesis, Norwegian University of Life Sciences, Ås). LAMO, 2022. Ladakh Arts and Media Organisation: An Alternative Vision for the Arts and Media. ­[online] https://lamo.org.in/. Accessed 26 September 2022. Landry, C., 2000. The creative city: A toolkit for urban innovators, London, Earthscan. Ley, D., 2003. Artists, aestheticisation and the field of gentrification. Urban Studies, 40(12), pp. 2527–2544. Long, J., 2010. Weird city: Sense of place and creative resistance in Austin, Texas, Austin, University of Texas Press. Makagon, Daniel, 2010. Bring on the shock troops: Artists and gentrification in the popular press. Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies, 7(1), pp. 26–52. Marianna d’Ovidio, Arturo Rodríguez Morató, 2017. Introduction to SI: Against the creative city: Activism in the creative city: When cultural workers fight against creative city policy. City, Culture and Society, 8, pp. 3–6. Markusen, A. and Gadwa, A., 2010. Arts and culture in urban or regional planning: A review and research agenda. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 29(3), pp. 379–391. Mathews, V., 2010. Aestheticizing space: Art, gentrification and the city. Geography Compass, 4(6), pp. 660–675. Ning, Y. and Chang, T.C., 2022. Production and consumption of gentrification aesthetics in Shanghai’s M50. Transactions – Institute of British Geographers (1965), 47(1), pp. 184–199. Noonan, D., 2013. How US cultural districts reshape neighborhoods. Cultural Trends, 22(3–4), pp. 203–212. Peck, J., 2005. Struggling with the creative class. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 29(4), pp. 740–770. Reeve, A. and Shipley, R., 2014. Heritage-based regeneration in an age of austerity: Lessons from the townscape heritage initiative. Journal of Urban Regeneration & Renewal, 7(2), pp. 122–135. Ryberg-Webster, S. and Ashley, A.J., 2018. The nexus of arts and preservation: A case study of ­Cleveland’s Detroit Shoreway Community Development Organization. Change Over Time, 8(1), pp. 32–52, 131–133. Seo, U.S., 2020. Urban regeneration governance, community organizing, and artists’ commitment: A case study of Seongbuk-dong in Seoul. City, Culture and Society, 21, p. 100328. Skoll, G. R. and Korstanje, M., 2014. Urban heritage, gentrification, and tourism in Riverwest and El Abasto. Journal of Heritage Tourism, 9(4), pp. 349–359. Stern, M. and Seifert, S., 2010. Cultural clusters: The implications of cultural assets agglomeration for neighborhood revitalization. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 29(3), pp. 262–279. Tibet Heritage Fund, 2005. Leh Old Town, Ladakh – A participatory approach to urban conservation, community-based upgrading and capacity-building. A report by Andre Alexander, Ladakh, India, International Tibet Heritage Fund. Zimmerman, J., 2008. From brew town to cool town: Neoliberalism and the creative city development strategy in Milwaukee. Cities, 25(4), pp. 230–242. Zukin, S., 1982. Loft living: Culture and capital in urban change, Baltimore, MD, Johns Hopkins University Press.

13

Learning by failing better Coproducing creativity in the informal city of Los Arenales, Chile Martin Arias-Loyola and Francisco Vergara-Perucich

Framing creative endeavours within informal urban territories As this volume shows, several ideas and definitions come to mind when discussing the broad relationship between creativity and the built environment. Even more so when we look at how the mix of such abstract and concrete territorial specificities interact within informal urban spaces such as slums. This chapter aims to contribute to these crucial topics by focusing on a vertical slide of such a great empirical and conceptual cake: how the (sometimes painful) lessons left by several experimental attempts to establish the rights to the [formal] city and to live with dignity, might lead to failing better towards those objectives. Especially when multidimensional and dynamic efforts are coproduced by – somehow historically disconnected under neoliberalism – actors such as informal grassroot communities, state institutions, NGOs, and academia. This chapter briefly summarises three experiences coproduced between the inhabitants of the macro-slum Los Arenales (Sandy Place), local and international NGOs, state institutions, and academia. These took place in the city of Antofagasta, where several of the minerals needed for decarbonisation processes – such as lithium for batteries and copper for solar panels ­(Barandiarán, 2019) – are exploited and exported by the Chilean ultra-neoliberal economy ­(Boano & Vergara-Perucich, 2017; Harvey, 2005). The chapter focuses on three experiences where multi-actor creativity fuelled a praxis aimed to the concretisation of imagined utopias in the here and now, using the concrete utopia approach of the right to the city agenda (VergaraPerucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). This, by coproducing: (i) the social innovation of the first cooperative bakery in a Chilean slum; (ii) a service-learning to reinvigorate the social heart of Los Arenales; and (iii) a public participation geographic information systems (PPGIS). The latter two were part of the project Know Your City (KYC) awarded to Los Arenales, funded by the international NGO Slum Dwellers International (SDI) for the first time in Latin America. These experiences were inspired by processes similar to, what Ince (2012) and Springer (2014) call, prefigurative politics. This implies the configuration of horizontal modes of social organisation, with relationships built through cooperation, solidarity, and mutual aid. In the experiences detailed here, those were the main normative pillars of flawed but beautiful, emancipatory projects aimed to proactively bring Los Arenales’ desired world/utopia into concrete existence (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). Before diving into these examples, it is essential to establish a conceptual baseline for the main elements present in the framing and critical evaluation of those creative endeavours. This means, sharing what we – as academics and part of the coproducing group – understood as: social innovations, coproduction, right to the city agenda; as well as the methodologies used in engaged research, such as service-learning in higher education and PPGIS. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-15

156  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich Establishing the conceptual baseline

To promote sustainable forms of social justice for informal urban spaces, scholars have highlighted the strengths of experimental social innovations (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021; Heiskala, 2007; Pol & Ville, 2009). Innovations of this kind might prove useful for implementing ‘new ideas with the capacity to spark cultural, normative or regulative changes’ (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021), especially when led by impoverished grassroots communities inhabiting such territories. This means reinforcing their political and economic autonomy while also improving their socio-economic performance and resilience. Social innovations consider planning and engaging in direct actions, to make the imagined non-place (utopia) an inhabitable reality (Heiskala, 2007; Pol & Ville, 2009). Furthermore, social innovations are considered beneficial when they are: (i) an authentic and socially realised idea; (ii) able to produce credible evidence about improving the quality and/or quantity of human and nonhuman life; and (iii) in a sustainable manner. By doing this, they augment the available options for a particular society, facilitated through market and/or non-market mechanisms. Noticeably, social innovations fit better with collective forms of [diverse] coproduction of goods, services, and/or knowledges, such as under cooperativism (Gibson-Graham, 2008; Pol & Ville, 2009). Moreover, multi-actor coproduced processes have proved to be a fruitful strategy to challenge and overcome the multidimensional discriminations and exclusions faced by informal urban dwellers (Davis, 2006; Mitlin, 2018; Mitlin & Bartlett, 2018). Here, coproduction is understood as an explicit political strategy through which grassroots organisations and other actors might jointly ensure that basic needs will be satisfied while simultaneously strengthening civil society’s bargaining position and direct participation (Mitlin, 2018; Mitlin & Bartlett, 2018; Whitaker, 1980). Thus, coproduction involves the ‘processes of material and knowledge improvement, as well as capacity and relationship creation’ (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021). Certainly, as Mitlin et al (2020) explain, coproduction is also dialectically related to critical knowledge production and dissemination, creative problem-solving, and epistemic autonomy related to urban practices and research. Still, to encourage multi-actor actions that might desired spark processes of radical change, coproduction must be based on collaborative and horizontal power relations, especially between grassroot movements and academia, state institutions, and NGOs (Mitlin & Bartlett, 2018; ­Mitlin et al, 2020). Likewise, coproduction efforts cannot be embraced uncritically since they may be disempowering if: (i) local elites capture the benefits; (ii) new and/or complex responsibilities are delegated to vulnerable groups (Castán Broto & Neves Alves, 2018); and (iii) ends up reinforcing market-oriented behaviour due to a failure in implementing democratic, participative and horizontally networked interdependencies (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021; Swyngedouw, 2005). Coproducing an agenda for social innovations and change can be extremely daunting and challenging for any (in)formal urban group. That is why the work done with and for Los ­Arenales’ inhabitants were done under the right to the city agenda. Developed by Lefebvre (1968), the concept of the right to the city is based on organising autonomous communities to create their own spaces and environments while – simultaneously – establishing democratic relations of (co)production aimed to ensure a good and dignified life (Purcell, 2013). This starkly contrasts with capitalistic socio-economic structures – especially within intense neoliberal contexts – where the urban poor are expelled from the formal to the informal spaces (Boano & Vergara-Perucich, 2017; Harvey, 2008; Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). Recently, a plethora of authors have advanced the implementation of the right to the city by fostering closer social and horizontal relationships between civil society (especially grassroot

Learning by failing better  157 movements) and academia based on cooperation and mutual aid (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-­ Perucich, 2020; Garnier, 2012; Harvey, 2008; Purcell, 2013). They posit that academia should proactively coproduce and perform ‘the worlds we would like to inhabit’ (Gibson-Graham, 2008) by implementing the right to the city agenda. As Lefebvre (1968) explained, such agenda rises from the communal thinking of the concrete utopia, meaning the multi-actor efforts and plans, to move from solidary proposals to their actual realisation within the built environment. This could be achieved by recovering and/or establishing modes of (co)production of the urban habitat, which would be inconceivable under orthodox capitalism and neoliberal-based ideologies (Vergara-Perucich & Boano, 2021). Consequently, to achieve the right to the [formal] city, it is crucial that academics work for and with local communities, developing autonomous socio-economic and political modes of habitat (co and re)production (Arias-Loyola, VergaraPerucich & Vega-Rojas, 2023). Methodologies for failing better

After summarising the main conceptual underpinnings of the experiences we took part in, it is now time to briefly detail the methodologies used to coproduce the three experiences mentioned before (cooperative bakery, service-learning, and PPGIS). In terms of knowledge coproduction, all of them were framed as case studies, following an explanation building (Yin, 2009) logic produced cooperatively with key actors involved in the projects. The data collection, description, and analysis of each case took place through an engaged research stance. Engaged research entails an approach to rigorously producing a collaborative interaction with and for (and not at the cost of) a community. Its objectives are understanding and correcting problems and obstacles faced by the engaged community (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021). The main moral imperative is, then, that researched subjects are active actors in examining social issues instead of bystanders without any agency (Blake, 2007). Engaged researchers work in a tight multi-actor partnership but keep a negotiated distance of intellectual autonomy to critically evaluate the process (Ang, 2006). This way of coproducing knowledge rests on establishing mutual reciprocity, long-term relationships, critical assessments of human and non-human ecosystemic issues, acknowledging and embracing diversity, discrepancies, conflicts, and the ethical/practical effects of methodological decisions (Ang, 2006; Arvanitakis & Hodge, 2012). When directly engaged, researchers might play a part as another key actor in a horizontal relational team or network. Likewise, they are ethically co-responsible for the accomplishments and defeats of the experiences, and are directly involved in coproducing and disseminating useful and critical knowledge (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021; Mitlin et al, 2020). One way academics engaged with Los Arenales’ struggle for its right to the [formal] city was through the implementation of a service-learning methodology, where several local and international actors were involved (Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). Service-learning is a pedagogical methodology with many definitions, but Deeley (2016) identifies its roots in the political, philosophical, and educational work of authors such as John Dewey (1933, 1938) and Paulo Freire (1970): they both promote critical pedagogy through dialogical education and praxis in and with the world, to generate a more just society. These ideas framed the latter formalisation of service-learning by Sigmon (1979) as a practice representing ‘the coming together of many hearts and minds seeking to express compassion with others [allowing] a learning style to grow out of service’ (Sigmon, 1979). When also considering more current definitions, service-learning can be understood as an educational and political methodology where: (i) real community needs are detected, whose solution will improve the lives of those participating (contact with reality); (ii) the service is defined and agreed jointly and cooperatively with the community (reciprocity); and (iii) critical

158  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich reflection is constantly carried out, linking the experience with academic reflection, while also assessing the incorporation and/or strengthening of personal values around empathy, solidarity, and civil responsibility (reflection) (Felten & Clayton, 2011; Francisco & Moliner, 2010; Páez Sánchez & Puig Rovira, 2013; Salam et al, 2019). Furthermore, the knowledge coproduced critically and reflectively during the experience is compulsorily evaluated, differentiating service-learning from volunteering and activism (Gerholz et al, 2018; Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). Service-learning has proven to deliver valuable tools for all actors involved, which can only be acquired through such an educational reflective experience, enhancing education for active and critical citizenship (Francisco & Moliner, 2010; Puig Rovira et al, 2011). In this way, citizenship means that we cannot exist and live in solitude – being in the world in an individualistic way – but we must do so with other people and in harmony with the environment – being with the world in solidarity (Freire, 1997; Puig Rovira et al, 2011). Thus, the service performed seeks to empower all those who participate in it, intending to change the world for the better (Puig ­Rovira et al, 2011). Nonetheless, service-learning might also have negative effects on uninterested and/ or uncollaborative students, teachers or other participating actors, such as mental stress, emotional disturbances, and unrealised expectations (Deeley, 2016; Felten & Clayton, 2011). Another method to achieve of the right to the [formal] city required practices where the urban poor control certain primary data-generating processes – such as surveying, mapping, and classifying – within their own communities. Such processes can facilitate the development of new capacities among slum-dwellers while also collecting critical information that could positively inform, influence, and hasten their decisions about their desired urban future (Bryan, 2011; de Vries, 2016). Yet, since the process of territorial data gathering is mostly done by the state, it has facilitated actions against the slum-dwellers’ interests. Gladly, and since such data is public, the state can (and it probably will) be challenged when the information is perceived as substandard and/or inconsistent. Informal urban communities can use said data too, to develop spatial information about their settlements based on Geographic Information Systems (GIS). GIS makes complex spatial information more accessible, comprehensible, and useful to broader audiences that might lack technical knowledge. This strengthens the decision-making processes related to structural urban transformations and collective projects aimed to upgrade a territory and ensure spatial justice (Jankowski & Nyerges, 2001; Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2021). The collective engagement of communities in coproducing GIS layers has been referred to as the public participation geographic information systems (PPGIS) approach (Sieber, 2006). ­PPGIS encompass grassroots communities using GIS to strengthen their bargaining position in the public debate about the built urban – formal and informal – spaces. Although PPGIS have been criticised for lacking positional accuracy (Brown et al, 2015), their use among dispossessed communities has rich qualitative outcomes, allowing the collective construction of analytical maps (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2021). This practice has proven to be extremely useful for making consensual decisions, empowering the participants, and fostering a stronger and deeper sense of belonging. PPGIS could engage communities in recognising and mapping their own urban life and to perceive themselves as active political actors, struggling for their right to a dignified and formal urban life. In this way, PPGIS are useful tool for fostering the struggle for the right to the city by bridging gaps in technical knowledge through multi-actor coproduction of information (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2021). Coproducing three experiences in the (in)formal Latin American city of Los Arenales Los Arenales is a macro-slum located in the city of Antofagasta, within the Region of ­Antofagasta, Chile (see Figures 13.1 and 13.2). This region expands through the Atacama Desert – the driest

Learning by failing better  159

Figure 13.1 Map Chile indicating the location of the city of Antofagasta and the location of Los Arenales within this city. Source: Vergara-Perucich and Arias-Loyola (2021).

160  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich

Figure 13.2  Macrocampamento Los Arenales. Source: Authors.

worldwide – and holds the largest deposits of copper and molybdenum and the second largest of lithium worldwide. Los Arenales is considered a macrocampamento, since it is comprised by around 16 campamentos,1 where almost 2,400 households live and are politically organised under the association Los Arenales, Rompiendo Barreras (The Sandy Place, Breaking Barriers) (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). The ultra-neoliberal Chilean context has made Los Arenales’ growth both easier – by displacing workers from the formal to the informal city due to the high cost of living and relative low wages2 – as well as difficult – by regularly using the state’s control of political institutions that could make several of Los Arenales’ demands possible (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2020, 2021). Paradoxically, the Chilean case was long promoted as an example of stable macroeconomic development through extractive exports, such as mining, forestry, and fishing-related primary products (Arias-Loyola et al, 2022; Foxley, 2004; Friedman, 1994). Still, the country has recently shown how its extreme – and internationally overlooked – territorial inequalities led to one of the largest social outburst to date (Arias-Loyola, 2021; Mayol, 2019). Moreover, the deepening of an extractivist model, which can only flourish at the cost of the resource peripheries, has also led to the establishment of several ‘sacrifice zones’,3 especially within extractive regions such as Antofagasta (Weinberg, 2021). It is amidst this challenging context where Los Arenales managed to articulate a robust network of multi-actor social relationships that have proven crucial in defining their urban utopia and the strategies and mechanisms to make such dynamic project a reality. This has implied the political articulation between Los Arenales’

Learning by failing better  161 grassroot community, local and international NGOs, academia, planners and other professionals, and the state (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2020, 2021; Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). Thus, what started as a couple of families informally ‘taking’ a piece of land in 2012 has led to the implementation of several projects. Today, Los Arenales is regionally, nationally and internationally recognised by grassroot urban activists and communities as an example of resilience, solidarity, and clarity in their struggle to implement both the right to the [formal] city and their right to dignified housing. Los Arenales is also home of the feminist, immigrant activist, cooperativist, community leader, and National Awarded of Human Rights of 2022, ­Elizabeth Andrade, as well as several other strong female leaderships thriving amidst an extremely rich mix of Latin American immigrant families. During the last decade, they have managed to greatly advance in concretising their urban utopia of – what they call – the ‘Los Arenales, the First [and formal] Latin American City’. To get there, multiple actors coproduced several social innovations, which, despite their flaws, contributed to the consolidation of this process. Among these, we will briefly summarise the coproduction of three processes that we – as engaged ­academics – took part in: (i) the first cooperative bakery in a Chilean slum; (ii) a service-learning; and (iii) a PPGIS. Cooperative bread and the right to the city

As Gibson-Graham et al (2013) recognise, in capitalistic free market contexts, such as the ultraneoliberal Chile, informal economic activities based on principles of solidarity and cooperation might turn into social innovations. This was the case when, in 2017, the community leaders of Los Arenales (Elizabeth Andrade, among them) met with two academics from the Observatorio Regional de Desarrollo Humano4 (ORDHUM) of the Universidad Católica del Norte (UCN), through the local NGO ATTAS-FRACTAL (FRACTAL, from now on). The conversation revolved around how to address the macrocampamento’s vulnerabilities regarding to their informal urban situation. This materialised as a workshop in Los Arenales about the right to the city and the concrete utopia, where the collective thinking about possible urban futures and the political actions required to activate these possibilities, materialised in an urban manifesto (still used by Los Arenales’ inhabitants to this day). One of its core principles was to promote economic and political autonomy by controlling the means of production to coproduce their right to the formal city in the here and now (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2020, 2021; VergaraPerucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). This, as well as the visit of the UN housing speaker to Los Arenales and the seminars carried out by FRACTAL and other activists about cooperativism, created a unique alignment of interests to create a cooperative. Still, the actors lacked funding, so they reached to the Social Development Ministry’s Social Innovation Program (FOSIS). FOSIS approved around £10,000 as the initial capital for setting up a cooperative as long as it was coproduced between Los Arenales Rompiendo Barreras, FRACTAL, and university academics (Arias-Loyola & VergaraPerucich, 2020). To symbolically represent the rich intercultural background of Los Arenales’ ­inhabitants – since around 80% of them are Latin American immigrants – a cooperative bakery was the chosen endeavour. Bread, particularly, was considered to represent the sharing of a meal under the warmth of a dignified inhabited space while also reflecting the diversity of its preparations in each Latin American country (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). It took several months of training in business management of a cooperative and baking by two local universities and FRACTAL, the implementation of the physical space and the consolidation of the initial group of 12 members of the cooperative to finally start production under the name of CINTRA5 Los Arenales (as Figure 13.3 depicts). Noticeably, 11 of them were women,

162  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich

Figure 13.3  Production of bread by female cooperativists in the cooperative bakery CINTRA Los Arenales. Source: Vergara-Perucich and Arias-loyola (2019).

but they still assigned the role of main administrator to the only man. However, since everything took place in less than a year, several issues turn fissures into cracks, leading to the confrontation of two groups of workers: the ones following a capitalistic and hierarchical logic, and others defending the cooperativist values of the project. Simultaneously, the academics involved faced several pressures from both within and outside their universities, such as firing threats, defamation, and censorship; FRACTAL was focused on securing the installation of the bakery; and FOSIS reduced its participation to providing the funds (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021; Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019). Cracks created a rift, and after a few months of production, the first cooperative bakery coproduced in a Chilean slum stopped its production. However, after a medium break and a deep critical reflection, some of the cooperativist women opened their doors again, even incorporating new services (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2020). The time spent on critical reflection allowed the cooperativists, academics, and FRACTAL to learn from past mistakes and aim to fail better. This is what the group involved in this project recognised as the ‘coproduction of the right to fail’ (Arias-Loyola & Vergara-Perucich, 2021), something to be fostered due to its crucial role in ensuring creative experimentation and social innovations. A service-learning to depict the colours of a struggle

When the group comprised by Los Arenales Rompiendo Barreras, FRACTAL, and ORDHUM academics was critically evaluating the cooperative bakery project, a new opportunity arose.

Learning by failing better  163 The bakery was noticed by activist of the international NGO SDI, who suggested that Los Arenales could apply for their KYC funding. Since the cooperative bakery experience cemented the mutual trust and friendship among the three actors, they agreed to planning, applying, and implementing the first KYC project funded in Latin America. The project included different coproduced activities aimed at empowering and generating political and economic autonomy among the inhabitants of Los Arenales such as a course to strengthen informal community leaders, topographic and participatory mapping of the slum, and the implementation of a service-learning activity between students from UCN, Fractal, and Los Arenales, aimed at raising internal and external awareness of Los Arenales’ right to the city (Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). Thus, during early 2018, the three actors decided to experiment with the service-learning methodology, since it facilitates the teaching-learning-research political praxis, promoting awareness and improvement of the world through experiential work and critical reflection as detailed in Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023. The project involved the students of Architecture, Commercial Engineering, and Management Control Engineering in a service-learning project aimed at the coproduction of a public and symbolic space within Los Arenales. This took place as the painting of facades in a space of symbolic, political, and geographical importance for the slum: the football field, which is where sports, social events, and meetings took place. The service-learning did not receive KYC funding, though, since that was tasked to the Commercial Engineering and Management Control Engineering students as a challenge to their professional creativity. The design was coproduced and agreed between the future Architects and Los Arenales’ inhabitants and represented the diverse multi-national composition of Los Arenales and its struggle to generate – in the words of one leader – ‘the Latin American city of Los Arenales’. This was represented in the colours of the different flags, intertwined in shapes that depict the hills where Los Arenales is located, as well as the strong community links among its inhabitants. Hence, the slum was made visible to its formal neighbours, by colouring one of its most important facades (see Figure 13.4). The project involved 123 students, the participation of FRACTAL, professionals, and ORDHUM’s academics in every stage (from providing tools to work for and with slum dwellers to helping in the painting itself). All this resulted in the creative coproduction of the painting of ten facades and a final – compulsory and evaluated – critical academic reflection (Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). During the painting, the general atmosphere was one of joy and cordiality among students, teachers, inhabitants, and collaborators. Such mood was reinforced when lunch was spontaneously offered by some inhabitants to everyone participating in the painting. In Los Arenales, food represents gratitude, solidarity, trust, and mutual aid (Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). The painting went smoothly, and the work was completed by the end of the second day. On this occasion, some of Los Arenales’s inhabitants asked to form a circular embrace with all the participants, thanking everyone present. The students and teachers also shared some words, making the closing a highly emotional and symbolic moment. The activity was enthusiastically received by local media, which highlighted the initiative as an experiential, experimental, horizontal, and sensitive training space for the incorporation of slum dwellers into the formal city of Antofagasta (El Regionalista, 2018; UCN, 2018). The initiative was also positively valued by students, both in terms of their professional and personal development, and local authorities and politicians (Arias-Loyola, et al., 2023). PPGIS to coproduce knowledge leading to a dignified life

The third experience we want to portray here was the implementation of community mapping by PPGIS. This was part of a four-way partnership between slum-dwellers, NGOs, local

164  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich

Figure 13.4  Service-learning activity finished. Source: Authors.

professionals, and academia (ORDHUM) formed during the KYC project. The PPGIS took place after several other activities of the KYC project finished or were being implemented, meaning that Los Arenales’ inhabitants already had developed a strong commitment to upgrading their slums and achieving dignifying living conditions (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2019, 2021). Hence, the shift to long-term strategies related to planning the concrete urban utopia led to the need of creating a participatory map of the territory. Such input would allow to recognise the conflicts, opportunities, and meanings of Los Arenales’ inhabited spaces while also underpinning other aspects of the KYC project. For example, mapping the macrocampamento is a reglementary request for applying to the state’s Solidary Fund Program for Housing in Chile, which was an implicit aim of the KYC. The team that organised the PPGIS was interdisciplinary, including an urban planner, an architect, three psychologists, an economic geographer, and well-established residents of Los Arenales, whose role was to put the spatial history of this informal settlement into the map. The team recruited the 12 slum-dwellers who had been living in the macrocampamento the longest (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2021). The focus was to register on a projected map how Los Arenales’ residents interpreted the spatial evolution of the different settlements, the main conflicts, and the key moments leading to the macrocampamento’s expansion from 2012 to 2018. The activity was designed in four stages: (i) debating the origins of Los Arenales, meaning to reveal the hidden history of the settlement; (ii) reconstructing the spatial history of Los Arenales, centred on the mapping

Learning by failing better  165 process to spatialise the discussion held in the previous stage; (iii) mapping points of interest in the settlement, where each participant received a current printed map of the macrocampamento and coloured pens to represent certain concepts in space (conflict, evictions, best and worst areas, water sources, vehicle accesses, favourite places, dangerous areas, spaces with landslide risks and spaces where fires are likely to happen); and (iv) a posteriori socialisation of the principal outcomes, where academics shared the maps and analyses with Los Arenales’ dwellers (Vergara-­Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2021). This experience of PPGIS allowed to elaborate cartographies of the unique life history of Los Arenales. Mapping how each campamento was formed and strengthened the narrative of their shared history, a sense of resilience, pride, autonomy, and belonging. Moreover, the PPGIS allowed Los Arenales’ inhabitants to further convince themselves of their right of being seen, heard, recognised, and incorporated to the formal city. From a practical perspective, the experience provided a useful and novel cartography relevant for bargaining with authorities and public servants about the possibilities urbanising this space based on the priorities, meanings, and expectations of the community. It also allowed better organising the relational and lived spaces. Specifically, regarding to the macrocampamento’s decisionmaking processes, by prioritising local improvements and future political actions, considering the specific features and needs of each sector of the settlement (Vergara-Perucich & Arias-Loyola, 2021). Concluding remarks This chapter offers valuable lessons regarding to the complex, dynamic, and multifaceted relationship between creativity and the [informal] built environment. This, by focusing on the urban political praxis, meaning concepts, and their empirical applications, of three experiences coproduced by actors usually disengaged under strong neoliberal contexts. The actors were the informal grassroot community of the macrocampamento Los Arenales, Chilean state institutions, local and international NGOs, and academics. The experiences were: (i) the social innovation of the first cooperative bakery in a Chilean slum; (ii) a service-learning to paint the social heart of Los Arenales; and (iii) a PPGIS. The objective was to explore what the urban utopia would look like, to plan how to make it happen in the concrete here and now, and to provide resources to demand Los Arenales’ right to the [formal] city. The struggles were many, as well as the failures, but what was created, learned, and lived still shapes the lives of everyone directly and/or indirectly involved in these processes. The above highlights the fundamental relevance of the processes involved in the emancipation of the urban poor of their conditions as second class (if they live in informal territories) or third class (if they are also immigrants) citizens. By this, we propose that what allowed the consolidation of a multi-actor and multi-territorial group to grow and increasingly materialise the urban manifesto dreamed by Los Arenales’ inhabitants were: (i) horizontal and honest relationships between grassroot communities, local and international NGOs, academia and the state; (ii) defending ‘the right to fail’ when creating social innovations and critical knowledge; (iii) fully embracing the explicit political nature of the struggle for the right to the city and a dignified life and every project/action related to it; (iv) the continuous critical assessment of every stage of the process; (v) adopting a prefigurative politics stance, where the inexistent place (utopia) is gradually constructed in the here and now through direct action and planification; and (vi) work aimed at empowering and producing more (economic and politically) autonomous communities, so changes achieved are consolidated and keep happening under new coproduction of inhabited spaces.

166  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich Notes 1 Chilean denomination for informal housing. 2 According to official reports Gobierno Regional de Antofagasta (2016) Catastro y encuesta a familias de campamentos. Plan de Superación de Campamentos 2015–2018 Antofagasta, Chile, there were 375 households inhabiting Los Arenales in 2016, meaning that such number has increased in around 616% in just seven years. 3 Both in socioeconomic and environmental terms. 4 Regional Observatory for Human Development. 5 In English: International Work Cooperative Community of Workers (female and men) CINTRA Los Arenales.

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168  M. Arias-Loyola and F. Vergara-Perucich Swyngedouw, E. (2005) Governance innovation and the citizen: The Janus face of governance-beyondthe-state. Urban studies, 42(11), 1991–2006. UCN (2018) Con vivos colores estudiantes de la UCN pintaron fachadas de viviendas en Macro Campamento Los Arenales. Noticias UCN al día. Available online: https://www.noticias.ucn.cl/destacado/ con-vivos-colores-estudiantes-de-la-ucn-pintaron-fachadas-de-viviendas-en-macro-campamento-losarenales/ [Accessed 12/11/2021]. Vergara-Perucich, F. & Arias-Loyola, M. (2019) Bread for advancing the right to the city: Academia, grassroots groups and the first cooperative bakery in a Chilean informal settlement. Environment and Urbanization, 31(2), 533–551. Vergara-Perucich, F. & Arias-Loyola, M. (2021) Community mapping with a public participation geographic information system in informal settlements. Geographical Research, 59(2), 268–284. Vergara-Perucich, F. & Boano, C. (2021) The big bang of neoliberal urbanism: The Gigantomachy of ­Santiago’s urban development. Environment Planning C: Politics, 39(1), 184–203. Weinberg, M. (2021) Cuerpos de cobre: Extractivismo en Chuquicamata, Chile. The Journal of Latin American Caribbean Anthropology, 26(2), 200–218. Whitaker, G. P. (1980) Coproduction: Citizen participation in service delivery. Public Administration ­Review, 40(3), 240–246. Yin, R. (2009) Case study research: Design and methods, 4th edition. Thousand Oaks, California: Sage.

14

The circuit of memory, creativity, and built environment in the making in Gwangju, South Korea HaeRan Shin

Introduction This chapter focuses on the interconnectedness of memory, creativity, and the built environment in the case the May 18 Democratic Uprising in Gwangju, South Korea. The nexus between creativity and the built environment has received increasing attention from human geographers and urban scholars, but these discussions have treated creativity in the most general terms and neglected to recognise the challenges in framing different creativities and the role of the built environment in these negotiations. Based on the findings of this case study of Gwangju, South Korea, this research suggests the addition of history and memory to the intersections between creativity and the built environment. This longitudinal study of Gwangju demonstrates that conflicting creativities encounter, negotiate, and renegotiate to produce an outcome that can be significantly different from the original plan. This study asks: how do different creativities that reimagine relevant built environments engage and clash in city strategies for marketing the city of Gwangju? Events during and following the May 18 Democratic Uprising in 1980 set Gwangju apart from other cities in South Korea and require innovative creativities. The site of the greatest armed civilian resistance in the country’s modern history and the first step to a democratic South Korea, the city came to be associated with violent activism. Struggling to attract investors due to the misinformation and negative regionalism disseminated by the military government and the media, the city sought to change its political image. However, a creative city strategy that focused on high art rather than the city’s political history and historical built environments conflicted with those creativities intent on commemorating events. This chapter argues that different creativities relating to the specific memory of a built environment can eventually align and combine to become an asset to urban resilience. Gwangju’s creative city strategies spanning from 1990s to 2022 that competed and renegotiated the nature of the built environment to reform the city’s identity can be divided into three phases. While each phase saw conflicts erupt around the integration, re-found, renovated, and re-created built environment, the development of urban governance in creative place-making has evolved despite necessary reliance on the state’s financial assistance. For the above argument, the rest of the chapter is organised as follows. The next section briefly discusses how previous studies explored the intersections between creativity and the built environment and suggests looking at the interdependent relationship between history, creativity, and the built environment. This is followed by a brief discussion of research ­methods. The findings of the case study are divided into three parts to address each stage. The first stage (1995–2003) is represented by the Gwangju Biennale, which still goes on. The second stage (2004–2013) is an ongoing culture-led urban regeneration through the Asian Culture Hub DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-16

170  H. Shin program (2004–2031). The third stage (2014–present) involves the Media Art Creative City (MACC) designation awarded by UNESCO in 2014. The conclusion discusses the implications of the findings. Creativity, the built environment, and memory Since the early 2000s, debates on the cultural economy of cities (Scott, 1997, 2000) and creativity and the city have been increasing in response to emerging academic and policy agendas. These policy agendas have included creative cities (Scott, 2006), cultural policies (Gibson and Klocker, 2005; Porter, 1996), cultural and creative industry (Cunningham, 2002; Currid & Williams, 2010; Flew, 2010; Pratt, 2008; Rogerson, 2006; van Heur, 2010; Vorley et al, 2016), creative industry clusters (O’Connor and Gu, 2014), cultural production (Mayes, 2010), creative class (Florida, 2014; Pratt, 2008), and the impact of creativity on economic development (Markusen & Schrock, 2006). Human geographers and urban scholars have focused on the interplay between people and their environment (Amundsen, 2012; Ball, 1986; ClementsCroome, 2015; Crouch, 2010; Rapoport, 1976; Törnqvist, 2011) and delved into how society constructs the built environment (Knox, 1987) and how in turn that built environment impacts people’s lives and activities (Clements-Croome, 2015; Ewing et al, 2015; Soares et al, 2021; Wu et al, 2021). A built environment with a collaborative and interdisciplinary nature (McClure & Bartuska, 2007) could conceivably provide the urban infrastructure for creative industries and tourism and a creative environment for artists, workers, residents, and tourists. A number of cities have embraced urban branding that aimed to transform intocreative cities (Ponzini & Rossi, 2010), or even just creative-friendly communities (Granpayehvaghei & Bonakdar, 2021). Contributions of artists and the creative class have been examined (Boschma & Fritsch, 2009; Markusen, 2006) in relation to creative place-making. To determine whether creative place-making was successful (O’Connor & Gu, 2014) and met the policy goals of creative place-making (Gilmore, 2013), assessments were conducted to ascertain if creativity improved urban competitiveness (Hansen et al, 2010). Creativity has come to be regarded as essential to attracting the creative class, improving the quality of life (Rantisi & Leslie, 2010), adding imaginative practice ­(Scoffham, 2013), and providing proper environments to develop creativity (Törnqvist, 2004). This is evidenced by more recent studies’ focus on the spatiality of creativity (He, 2019), creative industry in the inner city (Hutton, 2016), public space (Onesti, 2017), high-tech start-ups concentrated in leading cities (Adler et al., 2019), and the precarity of the creative economy (Comunian & England, 2020). A strategic approach to developing a spatiality of creativity including high culture such as art, architecture, music (Gibson, 2005; Watson et al, 2009), and literature, as well as science and technology and has long been considered desirable. There has been a critical approach. Hall (2004) has criticised this instrumental approach that gives a city a face-lift from an undesirable image to a creative one as superficial plastic surgery. Issues of culture, power, and politics were explored in studies of landscape art and architecture (Johnson, 2009; Marston & De Leeuw, 2013) and competing interests (Chapman, 2005). In addition, case studies concentrated on the northern hemisphere (Gibson, 2010). Asian cities swept up in rapid economic and political transformations (Chang, 2005) had little time to process their history, memory, colonialism (Yeoh, 2003), and oppressive environment (Laws, 1994). This research suggests the addition of memory to the cycle where creativity and the built environment concatenate and build on each other. When certain agents seek to supplant memory with nonspecific creativity (Chang & Huang, 2005; Shin, 2016) and a mainstream approach

Circuit of memory, creativity, and built environment  171 toward creative cities and communities, conflict can arise with agents for memory-focused creativity. Though memory is about the past, memorialisation reflects the present actor’s intention for the future (Muzaini & Yeoh, 2005; Rose-Redwood, 2008). To understand place-making in regards to exploring, creating, and renovating relevant built environments, it is necessary to consider the key actors who are involved. In the Korean context, the circuit of memory, creativity, and the built environment is especially important in those cities adversely affected by the military state dictatorship such as Gwangju. Research design This study employs qualitative data collection including in-depth interviews, participant observations, and document analyses of newspapers, public reports, and organisations’ records to document the changes in Gwangju from 1997 to 2021. Interviewees included key actors who worked in the city government, semi-governmental organisations, civic organisations, May 18 organisations and artists and academics. The interviews were conducted in Korean and were audio-­recorded or transcribed with the interview subjects’ permission, with discourse later translated into English if quoted. Participant observations were compiled from the Gwangju Biennale exhibitions, public events, symposiums, and media art performances. The analysis method was interpretative and focused on discovering the dynamics and the evolving nature of creativity, the built environment, and memory. Gwangju, the focal point of this study, has not been selected for its significance as the sixth largest South Korean metropolitan city with approximately 1.5 million inhabitants but for its history. On May 18, 1980, university students staged a peaceful anti-dictatorship protest in Gwangju, and in response, the national government sent in troops that brutally beat protestors, some to death. Citizens joined the students, organising their own army and fighting off national forces. The citizen army held the city for six days. However, on May 27 heavily armed troops attacked the city, and a few hours later, the last protesters took a final stand and died in South Jeolla Provincial Hall. The families and friends of the victims were forced to transport the bodies to Mangwol-dong Cemetery where they had to dig the graves and bury their loved ones. Chun Doo Hwan banned Korean media, eventually releasing a version of events that distorted the truth. Since succeeding military regimes continued the coverup, a survey revealed outsiders still identified Gwangju as ‘the City of Blood’ even after the first non-military president elected in 1993 revealed the truth. Gwangju’s elites considered what cultural and creative city strategies with the national government’s institutional and financial support might convince outsiders that Gwangju was indeed ‘the city of democratisation’ and ‘the city of art’. Creativity and built environment in Gwangju From the Gwangju Biennale to MACC, creativity, and the built environment have been pursued not only as traditional high-art creativity in conventional urban spaces but also as alternative creativity in unconventional spaces associated with the May 18 memory. Alternative creativity on May 18---related places, such as the Mangwol-dong cemetery that formerly were only secretly honoured now openly play an important role in the city’s creative strategies. The success of alternative creativity in one unconventional space in Gwangju would support the development of the next stage of the city’s creative strategy. Each stage, however, encountered conflict surrounding the nature of creativity, the selection of the key built environment, and governance, but through concessions and renegotiation, these projects developed.

172  H. Shin Emerging built environment for different creativity and conflicts – Anti-Biennale and May 18 places

The first stage in the city’s creative strategy was the Gwangju Biennale that at least initially intended to diminish the memory of May 18 and replace it with reminders of a contemporary art festival. The newly and quickly constructed the Gwangju Biennale Hall was the built environment that housed the official exhibition. The generic venue itself might have caused issues if local community groups and popular artists had not been preoccupied with the aggressive top-down decision-making for the exhibition that dismissed their history and identity. When these groups’ concerns went unheeded, they organised an alternative exhibition, ‘the Anti-Biennale’.1 The main exhibition site of the Anti-Biennale for memory-related creativity was the built environment of Mangwol-dong cemetery. The resting place of 137 protesters transported in handcarts and garbage trucks and buried by friends and family in 1980 had become akin to a place of pilgrimage for political activists. Along the 4-km road leading to this cemetery, the Anti-Biennale’s open-air exhibition displayed 1,200 artworks on cloth (3.5 m by 0.5 m) that were critical of dictatorship and demanded social justice and Korean reunification. The exhibition ushering visitors along the road to the cemetery (Hankyoreh 14 October 1995) combined memory with art. One organiser said, Exhibiting art works here [Mangwol-dong cemetery] is more like us [Gwangju people] than the official Gwangju Biennale. Mangwol-dong symbolises our history, and we have expressed this spirit in art. (An interviewee, 2 October 1997) This interviewee felt that Gwangju’s spirit was better represented by the Mangwol-dong exhibition than the official Biennale. The Anti-Biennale attracted more than 200,000 visitors (Dong-A, 11 October 1995), proving that the city’s history could be an asset to creativity as dark tourism. By the time of the second Gwangju Biennale, the Anti-Biennale, and the official Biennale were integrated as the Unification Art Exhibition. While the first encounter between opposing creativities caused conflict and resistance, the artworks, literature, and exhibition locations dedicated to the memory of the May 18 have over time become a greater part of Gwangju Biennale. Built environments were also expanded to include May 18---specific locations. For example, in the fourth Biennale, the May 18 Liberty Park, the May 18 Memorial Park, former South Gwangju station, and the Mangwol-dong cemetery were developed as exhibition places (Figure 14.1). While many people in Gwangju could remember the events of 1980 by including memorial sites in the Gwangju Biennale, this creative interpretation gave them an added dimension as the combination of art and memory. The creative differences that arise from so many different actors were challenging for the formation of a cohesive creative governance. During the first Gwangju Biennale, organisers include bureaucrats from Seoul and the art directors either from other countries or Seoul. Following the integration of the biennales; however, the staff was divided: half national governmental actors and the other half local actors and artists. Local actors such as artists, community members, and academics were unused to governmental administration, and bureaucrats were not accustomed to local actors’ more relaxed approach to work. This often caused complaints about each other’s work styles, but over time, they developed an acceptance of each other so they could collaborate, enabling the next stage.

Circuit of memory, creativity, and built environment  173

Figure 14.1  May 18 specific locations developed as exhibition places in the fourth Gwangju Biennale. A conflict in a building renovation. Alternative built environments encompassing the history

The second stage of urban branding involved the national government’s designation of Gwangju as the Asian Culture Hub (ACH). The key built environment for this project was the former South Jeolla Provincial Hall that would be renovated to become the Asia Culture Centre (ACC) (Figure 14.2). The lot is 128,621 m2 in size, with a total floor space of 178,199 m2, and the cost

Figure 14.2 Asia culture centre, which was renovated of the former South Jeolla Provincial Hall. A part of the Byeolgwan behind ‘ACC’ was preserved as a result of renegotiations. Source: Photo taken by the author.

174  H. Shin of the renovations was a projected $680 million.2 As part of the city’s urban regeneration, the ACC was to be a hub for history, literature, archives, performances, and exhibitions. The hall, however, was where troops killed the last protesters that ended the uprising, and conflict around the building’s redesign arose between two creativities: locals’ creative vision and the ACH group supported by the national government’s final choice. Locals including many business people, politicians, and the city’s citizens expected a building that would be an instantly recognisable landmark, a monument to May 18, and a tourist attraction to stimulate the economy. The winning redesign put most of the building underground so that Moodeung Mountain, the genuine landmark according to the architect, would be the focal point. Despite protests, the ACH group and the national government supported the design. Further conflict arose with the intended demolition of the Byeolgwan (an annexe in Korean), the precise location where the last protesters died. Even though the civil society committee had examined the design and approved the apparent destruction of the Byeolgwan, they had not fully understood the implications. The building had been inaccessible for some time, and many people were unaware of the exact nature or even location of the Byeolgwan in the hall. After the ground-breaking ceremony in 2008 with the president in attendance, it became widely known the Byeolgwan would be destroyed. Protesters wrapped the annexe with black fabric that read, ‘This is our sons’ graves. They say that this part is going to be removed’. The demonstrations protesting the demolition attracted media attention, forcing several renegotiations until a compromise was reached for the partial conservation of the Byeolgwan. Later, the national government announced the hall would be restored to its original specifications. That this attempt to dismiss the tragic memory provoked another conflict is noteworthy for the fact that it ensured that the May 18 memory would be incorporated into the city’s creativity and the key built environment. The addition of memory to the nexus between creativity and the built environment changed the dynamics in regards to governance. Previously, the process of conflicts and renegotiation around the demolition of Byeolgwan involved Seoul actors who worked in the ACH office and local civil society members, academics, bureaucrats, artists, and May 18 organisations. Now May 18, survivors and families emerged as actors in the city’s creativity and built environment. Comprehensive place-making for media art

The third stage involves the city’s creativity strategies and built environment in relation to an application for UNESCO’s Media Art Creative City (MACC) designation. Once the national government decided that Gwangju would apply, a media art festival was planned and urban spaces were prepared. The culture-led urban regeneration of built environment that started in the second stage has continued through the Media Art Creative City master plan (2015), with an emphasis on the integrative use of space. For example, the city government proposed converting a vacant warehouse that once stored medicine into a mixed-use building housing a media art studio, coffee shop, and exhibition places. Through the application process and even after being awarded the designation as a media art city, as a requirement of retaining the title, several built environments were either constructed or restyled as creative belts. The key built environment includes the creation of Six Belts over four years from 2019 to 2023. The plan is to invest 13 million USD to construct creative belts in five neighbourhoods in the city. These belts are based on one of two themes, ‘Gwangju spirit’, or ‘Gwangju healing’. Belts dedicated to ‘Gwangju spirit’ include the Media Art Hall, with installation of media art in May 18 Democracy Square and the former South Jeolla Provincial Hall.

Circuit of memory, creativity, and built environment  175

Figure 14.3  Four creative belts with media art works. Source: Gwangju City Government Homepage (1–4), News 1 (5th,6th and 23rd February 2021).

The fountains, where so many Gwangju citizens gathered to demonstrate and where later people congregated worried about their family and friends trapped in the provincial hall, became a ‘Fountain of Light’ for the spirit of Gwangju. Belts that focus on ‘Gwangju healing’, include the Media Art Gallery in Geumnam-ro, where the May 18 demonstration started (see Figure 14.3). Since its designation in 2014, Gwangju began creating LED industry cluster. The city’s light industry and the experiences of contemporary art played a role identifying the city with media art. This encounter between art and technology and the integration of democracy, art, and urban development required a necessary collaboration between artists, light businesses, and bureaucrats. To bring industry to Gwangju, the national government and the city government3 supported the creation of a technopark with districts for R&D, high-tech hotspot for science technology research, photonics technology industry, media-content industry, and LED industry and design industry. However, collaboration with artists is not a priority for many science-based businesses so mediators are required to connect artists to the lighting manufacturers. While the COVID-19 pandemic negatively impacted cultural events and artists’ strategies in Gwangju, media art based on technology and cyberculture helped local actors continue to exhibit art and exhibitions through restrictions. For example, the 2020 Gwangju Biennale was postponed to 2021 saw a reduced number of only 85,000 visitors to its offline exhibition, but the online exhibition posted on the Biennale homepage and YouTube received 165,000 visitors.

176  H. Shin A special exhibition called ‘May Today’ that was a cornerstone of the 13th biennale, exhibiting artworks on May 18 and the Gwangju spirit, reached a wider audience through this technology. The light festivals commemorating the May 18 spirit provided much-needed urban spaces for creativity that was especially suited to media art. Local artists played a central role in introducing media arts to significant places of memory for the Gwangju Biennale. Conclusion and implications This chapter illustrated how the memory of the May 18 Democratic Uprising challenged generic creativity and suggested an alternative creativity that incorporated the city’s history. The case of Gwangju demonstrates that especially in the context where tragic memories were part of the urban identity, extricating memory from creativity and the built environment can lead to conflict. This study focused on how different actors could influence and rearrange creativity and the built environment to include memory. Especially in the first two stages, the initiatives launched by the national government stripped memory from the creativity and built environment until Gwangju’s citizens fought to have it back. By the time the MACC designation was in place, some lessons had been learned and the inclusion of May 18 history as important content for creativity was readily accomplished. This demonstrates that conflicts and resistance that can redirect the cultural governance of the city can also transform a city’s particular history into important content for creativity. The practical lessons from this case study are as follows. First, a city’s unique history and places of memory, even unpleasant ones, can be developed as important resources because there is value in stories. Second, in examining the reciprocal relations between creativity and the built environment, the flexible use of urban spaces sets an example for adaptable urban spaces in the future. Third, open communications among various actors and inclusive cultural governances are essential for sustainable circuits among memory, creativity, and the built environment. For example, successful creative city strategies require the collaboration of government, business, and the community in a balanced approach to governance to maximise the external opportunities and transition external resources to internal assets. Notes 1 https://www.mediatoday.co.kr/news/articleView.html?idxno=9248 2 http://www.cct.go.kr/english/complex/outline.jsp 3 Song, S. B., J. S. Seo., and T. J. Kim (2011). The development strategy of the Gwangju light industry responding new environment [saeroun hwangyeongbyeonhwae daeeunghan gwangju gwangsaneop baljeonbangan]

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15

Artists, arts and culture-based city revitalization, and the built environment Meghan Ashlin Rich

Introduction: Artists, city revitalization, and the built environment There is a large body of work seeking to understand the relationship between individuals engaged in creative work (including visual artists, writers, designers, actors, performance artists, and musicians) and the spaces that they inhabit and engage with, such as neighborhoods, studios, galleries, museums, and housing (Cameron and Coaffee, 2005; Currid, 2007, 2009; Ley, 1996, 2003; Rich, 2019; Rich and Tsitsos, 2016, 2018; Smith, 1979; Smith, 1996; Zukin, 1982). The interest in artists from the perspective of urban sociology stems from an investigation of market forces, human migration, and neighborhood change—specifically, the gentrification effects that artist settlement patterns may produce in neighborhoods. While so-called creatives can complete work anywhere, artists tend to cluster in particular locales where social networks within art scenes are strong and amenities exist, such as affordable studio spaces (Markusen, 2006; Ryberg, Salling, and Soltis, 2013; Stern and Seifert, 2010; Teresa and Zitcer, 2020). The built environment transforms as artists put “sweat-equity” into previously abandoned industrial buildings and patronize galleries, bars, cafes, and other artist-friendly businesses. The clustering of artists lend a habitus of creativity and hipness to previously undesirable and undervalued neighborhoods, leading to middle-class residential and real estate development interest and investment (Ley, 1996; Lloyd, 2006). An upscaling of businesses and housing occurs, with previously industrial spaces transforming from grungy artists’ live/work studios to luxury condominiums (Mele, 2000; Smith, 1996; Zukin, 1982). With increased development and housing costs in artist-heavy neighborhoods, artists themselves are eventually priced out. This is a classic arts-gentrification process as examined by Sharon Zukin in Loft Living (1982) and Neil Smith in The New Urban Frontier (1996), both set in former artist/bohemian settlements in Manhattan (New York City). While artists are often blamed for gentrification, both Zukin and Smith make clear that the true gentrifier is capital, not people. Smith’s theory of gentrification explains how the ebbs and flows of capital accumulation devalorizes then revalorizes urban space to maximize land profitability. Part of revalorizing space is “taming the frontier” by controlling residents’ unseemly behavior and removing homeless and other people considered undesirable by the middle class (Smith, 1996). Artists and the arts scene bridge the gap between the visiting middle class and an edgy neighborhood that still has undesirable elements, such as crime, public drug use, and signs of physical decay. Artists generally lack capital to avoid being displaced when the built environment is reinvested in (Markusen, 2006). They are often at the mercy of the real estate market and city policies that prioritize development interests over lower-income residents. Space is finite—and a particularly rare commodity in New York, which has been visibly, radically transformed in the past few decades by skyscraper construction and redevelopment of older buildings (Hackworth DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-17

City revitalization and the built environment  181 and Smith, 2001; Halasz, 2018; Mele, 2000). Much of the research on gentrification has centered on this global city, which has been extraordinarily important as an epicenter of arts and cultural production and art markets in the United States. Only a handful of cities throughout the world are considered global cities, such as London, Tokyo, and Paris, which serve as circulatory centers of international finance capital, creative industries, and immigration gateways (Sassen, 1991). Arts and culture also affects the built environment in peripheral, smaller cities, of which there are many more of than global cities, much in need of economic revitalization and population regrowth (Cameron and Coaffee, 2005; Rich, 2013). This essay considers the impact of the creative city thesis on small and large cities, the role of arts-themed development and branding in city revitalization plans, and important areas of research regarding artists’ relationship to city revitalization and the built environment. The creative city thesis and revitalization With the immense influence of Richard Florida’s creative city thesis (Florida, 2002), shrinking cities have seized on the arts as a way to attract “creatives”—including artists. Florida argues that the most economically thriving cities are those with amenities, population diversity, and an openness to innovation, such as Austin, Texas. Austin has had an explosion of population and development in the past 20 years, which can be traced back to its cultural offerings and highly educated residential base, including a world-renown music scene (Grodach, 2013; McCann, 2007). Cities that lack Austin’s cultural amenities continue to depopulate and economically decline, many of which are in the “Rustbelt” of the global north, such as Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. “Losing” cities tend to have legacy economies based in manufacturing or older fossil fuel extraction, such as coal mining, sectors that have been declining since the 1960s. According to the “creative class” thesis, such cities generally don’t appeal to a young, educated workforce because they lack the cultural vibrancy of more open, tolerant, and diverse cities (Florida, 2002). When cities lose population, the built environment is transformed. Without government and residential financial resources, housing and other buildings decay without upkeep or use and infrastructure is not repaired or improved (Logan and Molotch, 1987). In some extreme cases, whole blocks are razed because of abandonment, leaving large sections of cities seemingly uninhabited. Vacancy of land and buildings isn’t just a symptom of urban decline but expands it, creating geographical constraints on basic services, community networks, institutional supports, and opportunities for residents (Accordino and Johnson, 2000). Interestingly, some of the most distressed post-industrial cities, such as Detroit, Baltimore, and New Orleans, have some of the most vibrant grassroots arts scenes, attracting artists who are priced out of the so-called “superstar cities.” How and why would depopulating cities attract the core of the creative class—the creative producers? This trend points to at least two conceptual problems with the “creative class” thesis: First, Florida’s occupational groupings of “creative” and “uncreative” seem arbitrary and overly broad in practice. Finance workers would be considered creatives, while tailors would not (Markusen, 2006). What about the core of the artistic class: artists, writers, musicians, and performers? Are they also attracted to the same cities as high tech workers or engineers, of whom often have much higher salaries and settle in dispersed suburbs? Waitt and Gibson (2009) have found evidence in their case study of Wollongong, New South Wales, that creativity can thrive in smaller, less dazzling cities, where creatives may choose to live and work because of affordability, strong social networks, and civic support. Another common criticism of the creative class theory is that social justice and redistribution efforts of many regions are ignored. In practice, this has ushered in a new era of neoliberal urban policies, new commercial and housing developments aimed at the affluent,

182  M. A. Rich and a lack of attention to attracting a diversity of residents through strategies such as affordable housing and strong public schools (Scott, 2006). Furthermore, as Florida himself has pointed out, creative city-influenced planning encourages city competition, exacerbating inequality between and within cities as housing becomes prohibitively expensive for artists, service workers, and others without upper-tier incomes (Peck, 2005). Numerous urban studies scholars have debated and rejected many of Florida’s assertions, yet his work has had an undeniable influence on urban regeneration policies throughout the world, from small cities to global centers (Glaeser, 2005; Grodach, 2013; Markusen, 2006; ­McCann, 2007; Peck, 2005; Rich, 2013; Scott, 2006). Since the 2000s, politicians have included arts and culture in government revitalization strategies as to encourage international, national, and regional tourism, adding to local economies (Evans, 2003; Markusen and Gadwa, 2010). This phenomenon comprises city promotion of the arts and arts-based developments, including large projects like museums, opera houses, symphony halls, and theaters (Miles, 2005; Miles and Paddison, 2005; Strom, 2002, 2003). Moreover, there has been a proliferation of statesanctioned arts and cultural districts in cities, branding an existing neighborhoods as hubs for arts-based amenities and often offering tax-incentives for artists and arts businesses within their boundaries (Rich and Tsitsos, 2016; Stern and Seifert, 2010). The proliferation and promotion of public art—including sculptures and murals created by local communities or internationally known artists—is another strategy used by cities to attract interest in particular neighborhoods (Miles, 1997). The rather “fuzzy concept” of creative placemaking has been embraced by many policymakers, encouraging “arts-centered initiatives with place-based physical, economic, and/ or social outcomes” in distressed neighborhoods (Nicodemus, 2013, p. 213). Beyond its relatively loose conceptualization and array of real-world implementations, creative placemaking has been criticized as not truly participatory and overly focused on neighborhood economic revalorization, rather than racial justice or economic redistribution (Bedoya, 2013). As we will review in this case study, creative-based revitalization efforts can only serve community needs when plans are designed and implemented in a cooperative process with neighborhood stakeholders. Researching arts and culture-based revitalization and the built environment Leaving behind the debates regarding the creative class thesis, we will consider how urban scholars conceptualize and research the relationship between artists, arts and culture-based revitalization strategies, and the built environment. As reviewed above, artists and arts communities have always had an effect on the built environment, choosing to live in close proximity to other artists within a bohemian milieu of cafes, bars, grassroots arts spaces, and studios (Lloyd, 2006). These settlement patterns may have unintended gentrification effects. Because of this implied causal connection between artists, neighborhood gentrification, and the overall turn toward creative city-informed government policies, policymakers and developers have refocused their revitalization efforts around the arts and artists themselves. As Currid has pointed out, “Artists have historically sought out less expensive neighborhoods with ample space such that they can afford to pay the rent along with having enough space to do their work. The active cultivation of art as a part of the development process is, however, something new” (2009, p. 368). There are many ways urban scholars have connected the arts and development, including viewing the arts as a regional growth machine (Strom, 2010); as an “artistic dividend” adding to a city’s economic development (Markusen and Schrock, 2006); as a city branding strategy to encourage visitors to consume art and cultural experiences (Evans, 2003); and as a way to maintain artist communities and artist-run spaces (Grodach, 2011; Markusen, 2006).

City revitalization and the built environment  183 Researchers have had some trouble in assessing the impact of artists and arts-based developments on cities and neighborhoods and developments’ impact on artists themselves. The economic impacts of large arts developments on regions can be measured through data on ticket sales and tourist spending. The impact of arts industries on local economies can also be assessed by the number of jobs, firms, and revenue generated per industry. Yet it is very difficult to empirically link a region’s economic viability to the presence of artists, arts districts, or art-based developments, which is an area Markusen and Gadwa (2010) have called for methodological improvement by researchers. They state: “Failure to specify goals, reliance on fuzzy theories, underdeveloped public participation, and unwillingness to require and evaluate performance outcomes make it difficult for decision makers to proceed with confidence. Without access to studies that clarify the impacts, risks, and opportunity costs of various strategies, investments, and revenue and expenditure patterns, communities and governments are in danger of squandering opportunities to guide cultural development.” (Markusen and Gadwa, 2010, p. 379) Much of the work done in this area relies on qualitative interviews with key informants, surveys of city policymakers and planning documents, descriptive statistics, and/or asset mapping rather than multivariate statistical analysis, making causal relationships difficult to discern. However, many cultural economy scholars have pointed out that even though there is little proof that the concentrated presence of artists or large arts developments lead to revitalized urban economies, policymakers continue to make that connection in their community plans, often without actual support systems for artists or artistic production (Grodach, 2013; Markusen, 2006; Strom, 2010). Scholars have also sought to understand the effects of super-gentrification on artists, lower income residents, and “early pioneers” of gentrifying neighborhoods. Hackworth and Smith’s (2001) theory of “third wave” gentrification updates previous gentrification theories to consider the contemporary effects of hyper-development on neighborhoods, where artists, other lower and middle-income residents, and small businesses are displaced by capital investments in large-scale developments and corporate real estate ownership. Because of these trends—most markedly in “superstar” cities like San Francisco, Los Angeles, and London—artists are considered a vulnerable population. Within the study of arts and culture-based revitalization development, there had been a lack of artist-centered research, providing the artists’ perspective and experiences of the impact of development on them as actors within communities. Sociological research based in Baltimore and Philadelphia refocuses the perspective of creativity and space through the lens of artists themselves, many of whom live precariously due to the rising costs of housing and studio space, even within relatively “affordable” cities (Rich, 2019; Teresa and Zitcer, 2020). Artists are well-aware that their presence may spur gentrification but also that artists are used by elites to brand neighborhoods and cities, encouraging redevelopment and capital investment. Some artists are quite successful financially, but most live on meager incomes, making affordable housing a key concern (Strom, 2010; Teresa and Zitcer, 2020) Moreover, artists need physical spaces to create and collaborate—large structures and/or locales that do not have noise restrictions. Subsidies and other affordable housing programs that can accommodate the unique needs of artists are becoming more typical in city development plans. Even small Rustbelt cities, such as Scranton, Pennsylvania (with a population of approximately 76,000), have sought to develop artist housing to attract new residents and revitalize their cities (Rich, 2013; Strom, 2010). These artist-dedicated developments are often built through public-private partnerships and a mixture of city, state, and Federal tax subsidies, such

184  M. A. Rich as the City Arts I and II buildings in Baltimore, which offer 60 units of live/work apartments at below-market rents for people involved in creative production who are income qualified. However, artists who live in artist-dedicated housing may find the apartments not functional for their living arrangements, family form, or accommodating of their creative projects, requiring extra studio space or a move out of the development (Rich, 2019). Beyond housing and studio spaces for artists, robust art scenes also rely on a constellation of arts spaces for artists to convene, network, collaborate, and show their work. Grodach defines art spaces as “[spaces] that focus on the presentation and support of regional art work, are publicly accessible, do not contain a permanent collection or resident company, and do not consider art sales their primary function” (2011, p. 77). His analysis of 12 arts spaces in the Dallas-Fort Worth, Texas, region points to the importance of these spaces to the revitalization of derelict buildings, tourism, and local community engagement. Arts spaces are multifunctional building spaces, serving as places for performances, rehearsals, exhibits, meetings, offices for non-arts related tenants, cafes, and other community uses. Many art spaces are also arts incubators, serving artists through professional development programs, workshops, and providing spaces to create, show work, and network with other artists. Markusen and Johnson’s (2006) research on arts centers in Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minnesota, demonstrates the importance of dedicated arts spaces for community development and artists’ career trajectories. Funding is imperative for arts centers—they thrive in places that have dedicated funding for cultural programs and centers from government, private foundations, and nonprofit organizations. Because arts centers serve multiple functions for artists and the public, including education, employment, mentoring, and other community engagements, there is public interest in supporting their growth and stability (Markusen and Johnson, 2006). When neighborhoods have a clustering of artists, artists’ studios, arts centers, and other cultural amenities, the neighborhoods may be perceived as an arts and cultural district by stakeholders, city leaders, and visitors (Stern and Seifert, 2010). This branding of neighborhoods as cultural districts can be formalized through state-sanctioned programs that seek to revitalize, promote, or maintain an area of the city. Cultural districts often offer benefits for individual artists and cultural centers, such as tax subsidies for creative products and ticket sales. Stern and Seifert (2010) warn that cultural districts should not be planned top--down by policymakers and developers, such as the case of many flagship museum projects in cities’ downtowns (Strom, 2002). Rather, dedicated arts districts should be where there are preexisting cultural amenities and arts-based organizations. Stern and Seifert (2005, 2010) also caution against over-planning such districts since the most successful cultural districts are “natural,” meaning that neighborhood’s cultural clustering was the result of neighborhood stakeholder interest, existing arts and culture entities, and organization at the grassroots level. There is some concern that arts and cultural district programs have a negative effect on a neighborhood’s race and class diversity, spurring the displacement of longtime residents and businesses. The research on this has been spotty, given the difficulty in determining if neighborhoods gentrify because of their status as arts and cultural districts, or because of larger market forces at work previous to the designations. In the following section, we will consider a case study of an arts and cultural district in Baltimore, Maryland, to understand how redevelopment affects the built environment and communities in arts-themed neighborhoods. Case study: Station North Station North is the first state-designated Arts and Entertainment (A&E) District in Baltimore, located in the geographic center of the city. Baltimore is a shrinking post-industrial port city

City revitalization and the built environment  185 within the Mid-Atlantic metropolitan corridor of the United States (population of 585,708 in 2020). Station North encompasses the main national and regional rail service station, Penn ­Station, and three historic neighborhoods—Penn North, Greenmount West, and a small portion of the mostly residential Barclay. The A&E District designation was granted in 2002 through an inter-neighborhood stakeholder collaboration to combine multiple neighborhoods within the arts district’s boundaries. The two main neighborhoods in Station North are quite distinct. Penn North is immediately north of Penn Station and contains commercial businesses, theaters, and performance venues on its major thoroughfares. Greenmount West is more residential, mixing row house blocks and massive 19th-century post-industrial buildings, most having been converted to other uses, such as artists’ live/work lofts. Since the 1960s, both neighborhoods have declined in population and were subject to white flight and job loss through deindustrialization. Many buildings were decayed and abandoned, including former factories, schools, warehouses, theaters, and an indoor market that spans a whole city block on North Avenue. Because of ­Station North’s geographic locale as the literal center and crossroads between the city’s north, east, south, and west streets and the existing buildings that allowed for commercial use conversion, the area had served for decades as important locales for artist spaces and bohemian culture in the city. Due to the commercial strength of Charles North, with its many bars, restaurants, theaters, and other places to socialize, and the DIY sweat equity put into various residential spaces in Greenmount West, the area was a “natural” fit for the A&E District designation. The A&E District designation application was a cooperative process involving multiple interests. There were a significant number of artists that owned their own spaces in two artists’ cooperative buildings, the Cork Factory and Area 405, who were very influential in the state application process. In addition, many of the prominent community development organizations and anchor institutions, such as Central Baltimore Partnership, a nonprofit community development organization, and Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), a private arts and design college, had long been interested in working with stakeholders—artists and non-artist—and financial partners to revitalize the neighborhood. It was obvious to many city leaders and the Penn North and Greenmount West neighborhood associations that the neighborhoods needed intervention to revitalize; it was not clear at all what effect the A&E District designation would have. There were fears that the very people who give the neighborhood its flavor could be displaced because of gentrification, making Station North an “arts district without artists” (Rich, 2015). One of the major effects of the A&E District designation was the creation of the Station North Arts & Entertainment District (SNAED), a nonprofit that maintains a small staff to run programs in the district, such as art walks, outdoor events, artist networking and support, and public arts projects. Interviews with those involved in the creation of the A&E District have described that the main benefit of the state designation was branding and advertising the neighborhood, which had long enjoyed an “artsy” reputation without a well-known, marketable name before 2002. The Open Walls mural project assisted in the branding of Station North in 2012–2014, when murals were painted by internationally prominent artists on commercial and residential buildings all over the neighborhood. Some stakeholders derided the mural project as a “developer’s dream,” adding capital and tourist interest in an area that had long been abandoned by the middle class. Others complained that most of the artists and their murals’ subject matter are not local to the neighborhoods or Baltimore. In any case, the physical transformation of bright murals on buildings all throughout the area furthers arts neighborhood branding and encourages locals and visitors to walk throughout Station North on self-guided mural tours (from maps which SNAED provides) (Rich, 2019; Rich and Tsitsos, 2016, 2018). Since 2002, Penn North and Greenmount West have been visibly altered by major development projects. Many longstanding arts spaces have also closed. The loss of arts spaces, an

186  M. A. Rich influx of white residents with higher incomes replacing lower-income Black “legacy” and artist residents, and the rise in real estate values do provide some evidence of gentrification. However, many of the completed development projects are arts-themed and offer below-market rents to artists and other creative workers for work and/or living space. Through public-private partnerships, many new developments were completed in Penn North, including the rehabilitation of two historic theaters, a former London Fog coat factory turned graduate center building for MICA, and an early 20th-century automobile dealership turned nonprofit arts studio and performance space on North Avenue. In Greenmount West, a former factory was transformed into the first public design middle/high school in the city, whole blocks of housing were razed and rebuilt, and a former industrial building was turned into the largest nonprofit “maker space” in the city (Rich, 2019). What can we learn from the case of Station North (as it celebrates its 20th anniversary as an A&E District in 2022)? A major lesson is that it may be possible to “strike a balance” between revitalization and gentrification in arts districts when development occurs through careful consideration of various neighborhood stakeholders’ interests. Theming the neighborhood as an arts district through signature arts-related projects can be viewed cynically as a development scheme, with the goal of upscaling the neighborhood to bring in more affluent residents and visitors to the area (Ponzini and Rossi, 2010). However, more recent research on Station North shows that the major partners in this arts-related development were wide ranging and included philanthropic private foundations, universities, city and state government, arts promotion nonprofits, neighborhood associations, and community development organizations (Rich and ­Tsitsos, 2016, 2018). Having equal community representation and input in the development process is key. Both Penn North and Greenmount West have active community organizations that represent residential interests and have strong ties to government officials, such as their district representative in city council. Community development and financial partners have had to balance the needs of community members and their own interests in further theming the neighborhood through arts-based building development and public art. In comparison to most of the artist community, community associations and non-artist residents are often more “development friendly” and concerned about quality-of-life issues, such as crime, parks, and schools (although these two communities overlap—artists are also involved in community associations). Much of the development that has come to fruition since 2002 is designed to serve all of the community in some way, which is by design. These developments are either open to the public, such as a public school, a movie theater, or a building with street-level businesses, or subsidize artist and community use, such as below-market rents for housing, event spaces, and studios. For instance, anyone can take classes, rent a studio or equipment, or become a member at Open Works, a nonprofit “maker space” in Greenmount West that also offers classes and scholarships in fabrication of wood and metal, sewing, and other types of hands-on skills for the community. This development was the direct result of private foundations partnering with artists and community development nonprofits to rehabilitate an industrial warehouse designed to serve and employ the greater community. Yet even with all the careful planning to “avoid the SoHo effect” in ­Station North, referring to the same process of gentrification and artist displacement as in Zukin’s study (1982) in New York, artists may have little choice but to leave the neighborhood if they cannot find affordable housing, “grow out” of the warehouse loft lifestyle, or are pushed out by building code violation enforcement (Rich, 2019; Rich and Tsitsos, 2016). The CopyCat Building in Greenmount West, the last of the huge rental “artist warehouses” in Baltimore, is emptying of artist residents as the owner works to bring the building up-to-code. Its future as a home for artists and performance spaces is unlikely, given the current real estate market. This

City revitalization and the built environment 187 displacement of artists and artistic production should be of concern to political leadership, who should maintain an arts-space city taskforce informed by partnerships between artists, community developers, and city housing officials (Rich, 2019). Future directions for studying arts-themed revitalization City leaders are very likely to include the arts and arts-based developments in their future revitalization plans, even with emerging changes to urban life and economies due to the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. Research is sorely needed on how the pandemic and other recent social changes, such as the sweeping effects the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement, have on the urban environment. Many cities that are tourist and consumer centers experienced acute financial vulnerability due to pandemic closures of businesses, entertainment venues, and major arts institutions. Artists, who are already economically vulnerable, may have found themselves unable to pivot completely to online work and sales given the importance of shared arts spaces to creative production. During the pandemic, BLM spurred mass protests in the streets, calls for racial justice and equity within the arts community, and the creation of BLM-related public art. The movement also ignited a feeling of urgency regarding inclusivity and transparency in urban development planning and equal access to and representation within arts-related institutions for BIPOC1 communities, artists, staff members, and visitors. We should also investigate how arts districts and neighborhood gentrification trends have been impacted by the pandemic and demographic change in cities. It is hoped that city planning will not go back to the status quo given the major economic, social, and cultural upheaval of the past few years. Note 1 BIPOC refers to Black, Indigenous, and people of color.

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City revitalization and the built environment  189 Sassen, S. (1991) The global city: New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Scott, A.J. (2006) ‘Creative cities: Conceptual issues and policy questions’, Journal of Urban Affairs, 28, pp. 1–17. doi: 10.1111/j.0735-2166.2006.00256.x Smith, N. (1979) ‘Toward a theory of gentrification a back to the city movement by capital, not people’, Journal of the American Planning Association, 45 (4), pp. 538–548. doi: 10.1080/01944367908977002 Smith, N. (1996) The new urban frontier: Gentrification and the revanchist city. New. York: Routledge. Stern, M. and Seifert, S. (2010) ‘Cultural clusters: The implications of cultural assets agglomeration for neighborhood revitalization’, Journal of Planning Education and Research, 29 (3), pp. 262–279. Stern, M.J. and Seifert, S.C. (2005) Natural cultural districts: Arts agglomerations in metropolitan Philadelphia and implications for cultural district planning. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, Social Impact of the Arts Project. Strom, E. (2002) ‘Converting pork into porcelain: Cultural institutions and downtown development’, ­Urban Affairs Review, 38 (3), pp. 3–21. doi: 10.1177/107808702401097763 Strom, E. (2003) ‘Cultural policy as development policy: Evidence from the United States’, International Journal of Cultural Policy, 9 (3), pp. 247–263. doi: 10.1080/1028663032000161687 Strom, E. (2010) ‘Artist garret as growth machine? Local policy and artist housing in U.S. Cities’, Journal of Planning Education and Research, 29 (3), pp. 367–378. doi: 10.1177/0739456X09358560 Teresa, B.F. and Zitcer, A. (2020) ‘The specter of the “artless city”: Locating artists in Philadelphia’s creative economy’, Journal of Urban Affairs. doi: 10.1080/07352166.2020.1779008 Waitt, G. and Gibson, C. (2009). ‘Creative small cities: Rethinking the creative economy in place’, Urban Studies, 46, pp. 1223–1246. doi: 10.1177/0042098009103862 Zukin, S. (1982) Loft living. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.

16

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance The case of South Rome Anna Laura Palazzo and Romina D’Ascanio*

In post-industrial societies, culture-led regeneration is underpinned by several theoretical assumptions focusing on the interplay among knowledge-based economies and creative industries well rooted in a proactive physical environment and a peculiar socio-institutional milieu (Glaeser et al. 1992; Amin & Thrift, 1994; Soja 2000; Hall, 2000; Florida, 2002; Miles & ­Paddison, 2005; Calafati, 2010). Altogether, these drivers shape the so-called ‘innovation ecosystems,’ regarded as evolving sets of actors, activities, artifacts, institutions and relationships allowing for innovation to occur (McCann & Ortega-Argilés, 2013; Foray, 2015). After discussing the emerging features in such ‘cultural turn’ grounded in economic geography and urban studies (A Paradigm shift – From the Factory City to the Knowledge City), this chapter aims at putting to trial the nexus between creativity and the built environment in the case of the south-western sector of Rome along the Tiber River, namely in its outpost just outside the city walls, the Ostiense district that hosted the early industrialization after the proclamation of Rome as Capital of the Kingdom of Italy in 1870 (The Ostiense District and its controversial Roadmap)1. Indeed, less affected by industrial decommissioning than its peers elsewhere, the city has been witnessing a sort of ‘unachieved modernity’: industrialization had only incepted in the second half of the XIX century – Rome by the Sea was then the slogan – and was short-lived (Avarello et al., 2004; Palazzo, 2019; Tocci, 2020)2. Ostiense developed according to the 1909 Master Plan of Rome profiting from major infrastructure, such as the railway station and the river port operating until the 1940s. After the Second World War, due to more suitable industrial locations elsewhere in the city, huge compounds of industrial archaeology lay neglected and the whole area was devoted to residential needs. In the early 1990s, it showed disaggregation and a lack of focal points. Ostiense is per se a relevant testing ground since it has been witnessing for three decades now intense transformation processes, partly spontaneous partly spurred by the Municipality. Under the flagship of the ‘Progetto urbano,’ a massive regeneration process affecting both sides of the Tiber River and their surrounding districts (Ostiense in the VIII Municipio and Marconi in the XI Municipio3) was then launched, focusing on two major drivers – culture and the environment – regarded as powerful tools to enhance social cohesion and collective identification, while providing impetus for economic growth and strategies for good governance (Figure 16.1). Authors’ elaboration Following a series of legislative measures allowing major public universities to downsize within more physiological thresholds and a special act dealing with the prerogatives of Rome as a Capital City (L. 15 dicembre 1990, n. 396. Interventi per Roma, capitale della Repubblica), the new-born Roma Tre University, in place in the area since 1992, was to participate as a main DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-18

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  191

Figure 16.1  Territorial overview. Location of the Municipi involved in the ‘Progetto urbano.’

stakeholder in the whole process interspersing its facilities in the urban fabric according to a ‘University City’ model appealing to research, art, and culture (University-driven Regeneration?). Heavy infrastructure provided satisfactory accessibility to the area from the southwestern sector of the metropolitan city: the highway and the railway connecting to Fiumicino airport, on the right bank of the Tiber, the Via Ostiense flanked by the Via del Mare (1928), the RomaLido railway (1924), and the Metro B line (1955), on the left one. Following a well-established tradition all over Europe, the City Council incepted a regeneration path with the aim to mediate between continuity and innovation. The ‘Progetto urbano,’ inherent to the planning process yet more flexible than a land use plan, accounts for a strategic vision consistent with a comprehensive idea of sustainability and addressing physical transformation along with social and economic targets according to citizens’ needs and expectations (Ingallina, 2001; Hall, 2013). The Progetto urbano Ostiense-Marconi (PUOM) was intended to shape the built environment starting from the public realm, with a main focus on Roma Tre University development as a dynamic and efficient seat of learning. Its model – the City within the City – was expected to address an overall demand for cultural, sporting, and leisure facilities open to general public, and definitely forge a new identity for the whole district, home to about 62,000 people (Figure 16.2). Gradually, the Ostiense district has been attracting different ethnic groups, mainly from the Philippines, Bangladesh, Romania, Ukraine, China, and Peru, that account now for more than 10% of the population, raising even 20% in some areas (Lelo et al. 2021). In turn, a vibrant creative class has moved in, layering the urban palimpsest with street art, exhibitions, and pop-up events deserving general appreciation from scholars and the media in Italy and abroad. Conversely, the decision-making chain has lost momentum over time, focusing mainly on heavy construction works and totally overlooking urban design issues. The last sessions

192  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio

Figure 16.2 Transformations foreseen by the Progetto urbano Ostiense-Marconi. Source: Municipality of Rome. Available online (accessed September 8th 2022) http://www.urbanistica.comune.roma. it/progetti-urbani/citta-storica-pu-ostiensemarconi.html.

(Discussion, and Conclusions) delve into the crucial topic of public space, at the core of PUOM’s assumptions yet unmet so far, trying to provide some ways forward for the urban agenda. A paradigm shift – from the factory city to the knowledge city In the early 1990s, culture-led regeneration entered the urban agenda of several European cities confronted with drastic economic changes affecting their traditional industrial base. Over time, mutually beneficial relationships between cities, culture(s), and creativity, notably creative industries, aroused a rich literature, especially deepening the socio-cultural foundations of such interplay and empirically assessing its success – or failure – at multiple spatial scales (James et al., 2006). Among others, NESTA report The geography of creativity frames creative firms as “those activities which have their origins in creativity and individual talent, and which have the potential to create work and wealth by generating and exploiting intellectual property” (De Propris et al. 2009)4. The alliance between post-industrial knowledge-based capital economy and the emerging creative sectors impacts on major dynamics in the built environment calling upon spatial planning and governance issues. As a matter of fact, metropolization processes lying upon dispersed production patterns due to globalization and information technologies co-exist with an increasing concentration of general headquarters in city core areas; on a higher level, few ‘global cities’ hold the levers of financial power all over the world (Sassen, 2001). In this frame, cultural and creative industries represent one of the most important growth and employment sectors in advanced post-industrial countries and play a major role in regenerating local economies (Scott, 2010; Lelo, 2019)5.

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  193 As the creative class gained momentum worldwide, the paradigm of what would later be known as the ‘Creative City’ (Landry, 2000) was to challenge urban behaviors covering a broad spectrum of research, bringing together methods inherited from urban economics, economic geography, and endogenous growth theory (Ishida & Isbister, 2000). In turn, a longstanding thread of investigation from the field of business management focused on enterprise innovation, arguing that cognitive processes do not lie at the organizations’ core but at their edges, drawing upon tacit or implicit skills and knowledge rooted in the socio-cultural milieu and, as such, difficult to access. The so-called ‘open innovation’ encourages companies to use external knowledge rather than insourcing as a positive way to establish links with other firms, universities, tech centers, and other knowledge sources challenging intellectual property rights (Chesbrough, 2003). Of course, in questioning traditional organizations built around stable objectives, default processes, and governance systems aimed at managing minor variances, this approach requires a radical change in institutional settings and mindsets. When it comes to cities, open innovation affects decision-making, challenging the very nature of urban governance, its ability to mold itself while shaping behaviors and values of other stakeholders and community at large. The point is to sense collective intelligence, provide new spatial arenas to facilitate exchanges, and make timely decisions. Alongside, higher education institutions are put at the core of “[…] the development of regional competitiveness as a powerful policy discourse built on the co-evolution of academic literature and policy practice around a series of influential place-based concepts such as regional innovation systems and clusters” (Martin, Kitson & Tyler, 2006). The confluence of these threads within policy-focused debates on ‘regional innovation strategies for smart specialization’ (Foray & Goenega 2013; Valdaliso & Wilson, 2015) has marked the European programming period 2014–2020. This approach combines industrial, educational, and innovation policies “to suggest that countries or regions identify and select a limited number of priority areas for knowledge-based investments, focusing on their strengths and comparative advantages” (OECD, 2013). Accordingly, the ‘entrepreneurial discovery process’ is widely conceived as an inclusive, evidence-based process of stakeholder engagement that produces information about the potential for new activities, thus enabling effective targeting of research and innovation policy (Boschma & Klosterman 2005; McCann & Ortega-Argilés, 2015). Concurrently, culture and creativity as drivers unpredictably intertwined have been embedded in the concept of ‘regional innovation ecosystems’ (Boschma & Gianelle 2014) where a main role is played by ‘anchor institutions’ (public bodies, for profit and non-profit entities) committed to mediating among urban forms and emerging patterns of urbanity in order to provide mutual benefits: “The conceptual analysis identifies an unbalanced focus on complementarities, collaboration, and actors in received definitions, and among other things proposes the additional inclusion of competition, substitutes, and artifacts in conceptualizations of innovation ecosystems” (Granstrand & Holgersson, 2020). The extensive literature on urban transformation dynamics triggered by culture and creativity conveys an array of assumptions and rationales that need to be processed in real life on a case-by-case basis. The theoretical model inherent to the ‘cultural turn’ frames the creative class as inceptor and main catalyst in upgrading obsolete industrial, residential, and commercial buildings, whereas evidence on the spot, namely in-depth interviews and life stories, points out that gentrification and displacement phenomena can only be countered through public initiative (Zukin & Braslow, 2011; Grodach et al., 2018). Recent research argues that cities constitute the very location and the ideal horizon for innovation to occur not only in the cultural sphere but also in the scientific and technological one:

194  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio they favor landing, processing, metabolizing, and disseminating ideas by mechanisms inherent to their development model (Sacco et al., 2014). The Ostiense district and its controversial roadmap University-driven regeneration?

In the mid-1980s, the Municipality of Rome was confronted to a huge regeneration need in the Ostiense district. Current planning regulations were clearly unfit to manage such transformation due to the lack of attractiveness of the area despite its location, massive presence of brownfields privately owned representing well-rooted interests, high depollution costs, and fluctuations in land market. On the backdrop of assured regeneration goals and new infrastructure provisions, the Progetto Urbano Ostiense Marconi (PUOM) was then conceived as a long-term strategy based on public-private partnerships requiring flexibility to cope with unpredictable events. Accordingly, notwithstanding the principle of an overall consistency, new locations, land use amendments, and an increase in floor area ratio may be considered in exchange for exactions in the form of development impact fees (so-called contributi straordinari), to be locally reinvested. Among all stakeholders committed to the PUOM, Roma Tre University was envisioned as an anchor institution due to its public mission and steady presence in the area. Ever since, the Tiber River has been conceived as the backbone of the huge wedge connecting Rome to the sea. Since the first sketches, a linear park along the shores would provide continuity through some major places, such as ‘Schuster’ Park next to Saint Paul’s Cathedral outside the Walls encompassing archaeological remains of Roman piers and catacombs, and minor pocket gardens and leisure areas. Over time, the Tiber would also embody biodiversity issues requiring the PUOM to embrace interdisciplinary adaptation and resilience perspectives merging urban design with landscape ecology concepts: in this frame, the Botanical Gardens entrusted to Roma Tre University at Valco San Paolo were expected to become a main focal point. At the time, infrastructure forecasts envisioned Via Ostiense as an urban promenade and a new expressway bordering the right bank of the Tiber for car mobility. In turn, the innovative idea of ‘clustering’ the main facilities in different enclosures would address manifold thematic identities while reshaping the in-between space: the ‘City of Arts’ corresponding to former Slaughterhouse (Mattatoio), would accommodate the Department of Architecture along with the Academy of Fine Arts, the MACRO Museum of Contemporary Arts, and the Testaccio Popular School of Music in place since 1975. Following negotiations with a major electricity network company, a brand new ‘City of ­Science’ – a Museum and a Library – overlooking the Tiber was expected to see the light in the premises and the skeleton of the former Gasometer, next to the Montemartini power station transformed into an exhibition space for the Capitoline Museums. In turn, the ‘City of Youth’ was to be located in the former wholesale market with new facilities for young people, a large multiplex, a shopping center, and neighborhood facilities. As seen, the PUOM was meant as a roadmap able to accommodate some minor changes occurring during the process without affecting its general philosophy. Nevertheless, such ‘planning-by-doing’ approach was hampered in its most challenging assumptions due to coordination hardships, financial constraints, and unsteady decision-making (Figures 16.3 and 16.4). On the governance grounds, feasibility studies and simulations on alternative scenarios were lacking, and the overall management was poorly adapted to the new setting prompted by urban regeneration. In terms of technical issues, several proposals were not sufficiently investigated,

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  195

Figure 16.3  How the Ostiense district looked like in the early 90s. Source: Rabazo (2018).

Figure 16.4  How the Ostiense district was expected to become. Source: Rabazo (2018).

196  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio resulting in inadequate or unfeasible arrangements that, however, would never be explicitly discarded. Among the causes for inaction and delays, high de-contamination costs of a few hectares of industrial land played a main role: this is the case for the challenging program of the ‘City of Science’ that has recently been allocated elsewhere. After a break during a decade and, subsequently, a much more market-oriented proposal, the destiny of the ‘City of Youth’ has made the subject of legal disputes. Institutional achievements

Since 2008, the city governance underwent significant changes in the hands of five mayors belonging to different political alliances and groupings. As for public space, crucial to the success of the regeneration process, the Botanical Gardens and the overall layout of the Tiber Park connecting several brownfields holding landmarks of industrial archeology in ruin are at a standstill: among the listed ones, many are under collapse risk. Here, once the damage is done, the real estate market is likely to cause rezoning and land use changes. Hence, the Science footbridge expressly built to facilitate accessibility among the riverbanks alongside a few surviving monumental hoppers turns out to be a dead end (Figure 16.5). Even though the City and University were strongly tied up within a series of partnership agreements, the time schedule was ill-defined. Some major adjustments would gradually entail different locations for Roma Tre facilities that, apart from the Department of Architecture hosted in Testaccio neighborhood, would be accommodated along the Via Ostiense in the place

Figure 16.5  The Gasometer along the Tiber River left bank. Source: Romina D’Ascanio (2022).

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  197 of demolished buildings (the Department of Law in the place of a former glass factory), and in the site of Valco San Paolo, in brownfields (Department of Science), or in the premises of the former model testing tank (Department of Engineering). Other relevant yet isolated components have been layering the PUOM: the premises of Eataly, a chain of marketplaces and restaurants of high-quality Italian food, have been accommodated in the former Ostiense Terminal, realized for the 2000 Jubilee and quite immediately dismissed. The Teatro India, hosted in the compound of the Mira Lanza soap factory and operating since 1999, is being refurbished with some proximity facilities. ENI, the global energy company committed to achieving carbon neutrality by 2050, settled its innovation hub in the Gazometer c­ ompound appealing to other companies, startups, SMEs, higher education, and research facilities. Many development sites remain on hold after several international competitions: this is the case for the new headquarters of the Municipality of Rome (so-called ‘Campidoglio 2’) with some 4,000 employees. As for Roma Tre University, it has steadily kept going implementing in the last few years the new rectorate headquarters along Via Ostiense and a student residence in the Valco area (Figures 16.6–16.8). Here, in particular, time dilation accounts for some interference between the executive project of the facility at the starting line as of 2012 and subsequent construction of the local road network overlapping the parcel assigned to the university. Some illegal settlements just next to student house are a main matter of concern for the Municipality that has not appointed a proper location as yet. Drivers of change ‘outside the box’

As the Progetto urbano was implemented, urban sprawl was impacting the south-western sector along the Tiber plain downstream of Rome, an area accounting for 13% of the population of the Metropolitan City: Ostiense-Marconi acts as the outpost location of this huge wedge – the so-called ‘Tail of the Comet’– appealing to the creative sector due to low density settlement

Figure 16.6  Via Ostiense. Department of Law, designed by Alfredo Passeri and Giuseppe Pasquali, 2000. Source: Alfredo Passeri.

198  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio

Figure 16.7  Via Ostiense. New rectorate, designed by Mario Cucinella, 2021. Source: Communication Office of Roma Tre University of Rome.

Figure 16.8  Valco San Paolo. Student house, designed by Lorenzo Dall’Olio, 2021. Source: Lorenzo Dall’Olio.

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  199

Figure 16.9 Share of creative sub-sectors in the area between Rome and the sea. The area accounting for about 6% of the surface of the Metropolitan City of Rome was home in 2009 to 12% of creative firms, and 16% of the sector’s workers. Ostiense is framed by the rectangle. Source: Lelo (2019).

patterns with single-family houses, good accessibility standards compared to other locations, nature at hand (Figure 16.9)6. These suburbs are hardly amendable, and definitely less sound than the compact city, resulting in high private mobility costs, and unsustainable soil consumption. Here, a major concentration of small enterprises, far from being a ‘cluster,’ allows for self-help behaviors: the share of individual entrepreneurs and/or self-employed professionals accounts for 70%. Such remarkable relocation phenomena have met the urban governance largely unprepared to the environmental impacts, such as the hydraulic hazard in proximity of the Tiber, groundwater contamination, flood risks, and land cover fragmentation. In the Ostiense district, heavy refurbishment has provided top class apartments, and startups have settled in co-working spaces dispersed in the urban fabric, bringing further people, both residents and city users. The market forces have obtained demolition or conversion of remarkable industrial compounds (Ex-Mulini Biondi and Ex-Consorzi Agrari) attractive to people aspiring to a ‘loft living’ style with substantial consent from public administration (Racheli 2000). Meantime, the immigrants located in the district, naturally connected to global circuits, have intensified relationships and exchanges with their home countries giving life to a food district in its own, appealing to newcomers as well. Socializing activities have accelerated urban metabolism and updated space occupation practices: gaming, partying, trading appropriating derelict sites, badly kept gardens and parking lots, and implementing routines and processes outside current functional schemes (Piccinato, 2005; ­Aureli, 2011). In turn, since 2003, some ‘invisibles’ excluded by citizenship have found accommodation in a vacant building at Porto Fluviale. Besides

200  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio the seek for emergency shelters, co-housing has proven a social experiment of utmost interest: the inner space is arranged according to households’ needs and provides a set of grassroots activities featuring sociability models and extending networks from proximity to the whole district and beyond. Over time, squatters have gained momentum becoming visible as social and political subjects countering gentrification within the powerful housing rights movements in place in Rome7 (Puccini, 2016). Thanks to a public grant, the Porto Fluviale building is currently undergoing a participatory planning program encompassing new dwellings for the 60 households already settled in, a plaza, and a market. Discussion The inherent weaknesses to urban governance

The PUOM has been conceived as an incremental procedure coupling certainty over strategy and flexibility over detail. However, unlike other European governance schemes entailing mutual trust in public-private partnerships, the City Council has not been able to ensure certain and timely implementation. All considered, aiming at reducing the uncertainty gap without sacrificing flexibility, the PUOM has lacked a steady roadmap addressing structural, functional, and temporal priorities and establishing specific rules for the negotiation process, even related to the extra fees that could be locally reinvested. Undergoing administrative turnovers, the department in charge of the PUOM (VI Dipartimento del Comune di Roma Capitale) lost its role, and implementation was performed on a case-by-case basis, making clear that public-private engagements would be only valid within the ‘enclosure’ of any single intervention by means of contractual arrangements. As seen, the City Council shares competences with the proximity institution, that is, VIII Municipio, with some 130,000 inhabitants. Despite little room for maneuver as for delegated powers and resources, the Municipio has carried out an irreplaceable listening strategy, holding a participatory process entailing annual budget proposals on the basis of citizens’ claims. Accordingly, from 2006 until its closure in 2012, the Urban Center put in place by the Municipio served as a meeting place for exchanging ideas and proposals on how to manage and transform the living environment. Thanks to regional tenders, the Municipio has dealt with security issues intended as a covenant of mutual trust between citizens and the proximity institution. An online database was updated daily with residents’ reports about poor maintenance, neglect, and vandalism, allowing the Municipality to intervene in real time. Participatory workshops with secondary school students held by the municipal technical structure concerned the temporary uses of a large parcel in decay earmarked to development: according to citizens’ requests, the contract with the construction company has envisaged a baseball field and a garden along with their maintenance and invigilation. However, as underlined, the initial momentum has cooled off, and the district is now confronted with a major change in the national and regional governing system. About 30 years have passed since the inception of the PUOM and the opening of Roma Tre, witnessing changes at the top of the administration, deadlock phenomena in the decision-making process, and explicit opposition. Tiredness and disappointment have emerged, as communication and inter-institutional coordination costs are not currently incorporated as administrative charges and seldom supported on a voluntary basis. As an example, the Tiber banks, whose destiny depends upon a series of authorities with overlapping competencies, are the main victims of such behaviors: they

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  201 still suffer from the lack of accessibility and widespread decay. Only in the last two years has a project been launched for a river park, financed by the Lazio Region, on the right bank of the Tiber in the Marconi district. Furthermore, to overcome such planning and management stalemate concerning the Tiber River and its surrounding areas, the process of the Tiber River Contract from Castel Giubileo to the mouth was launched in 2017, promoted by Agenda Tevere onlus8. Over five years, the process has activated significant participatory dynamics throughout the city collecting project proposals from around 90 public institutions, private companies, and associations. The 2022–2025 three-year Action Plan includes 49 actions for almost 80 million euros, many of which concerning environmental education and cultural enhancement activities promoted by local associations. Challenges and perspectives in socio-spatial arrangements

Despite general appreciation of Ostiense as a creative district from scholars and media, urban regeneration has fallen short of its strategic vision, renouncing to encompass the threads of multifaceted stories within an overall geography. Since the 2000s, with an acceleration due to the pandemic crisis, digital technology has somehow demonstrated that work practices and transactions no longer require physical spaces or rather claim different physical spaces. This argument, debatable and controversial as it is, is often intertwined with the assumption that the same barriers between public and private space have generally fallen. Such ‘annihilation of space’ might bring to a dangerous removal from public debates and agendas. Grassroots movements in the Ostiense district have proven otherwise, gaining momentum, and broadening the discussion agenda, while the University itself has been performing so-called ‘third mission’ hosting a full calendar of events and workshops expressly devised for citizens. Co-working spaces are thriving and networking with students and residents fully aware of their entitlements. The creative class is challenging the rigidity of the built environment with graffiti, outdoor activities, and happenings, proving that space (and place) matters more than ever. Still, all these threads find it difficult to engage within a broader dimension of ‘futureness,’ hampered by an administrative tradition rooted in the legitimacy of the public realm. The VIII Municipio, currently undergoing a devolution process, will be entrusted to the control room of such practices, embedding new meanings and insights in everyday life. Sense of place stems from experiential and expressive ways places are known, imagined, yearned for, held, remembered, voiced, lived, contested and struggled over (Feld & Basso, 1996: 11); and placemaking features an integrated approach to planning, design, and management of public spaces with the support of local knowledge (Schneekloth, 1995). Such a participative and collaborative process coupling people and places is likely to succeed whenever it overcomes a given repertoire of urban behaviors by accommodating new opportunities with the existing assets and triggering social reproduction. The ultimate challenge is to attain an idea of the built environment as the assembling ground among different competing dimensions – local vs global, experience vs form, time vs space, nature vs culture – within regeneration paths integrating people narratives and urban codes. Conclusions In general terms, it can be argued that modernity and related planning practices foreshadowing and controlling space and its uses ‘in the time domain’ have long ago accomplished their cycle (Hobsbawm, 1994). In postmodernity, the outbreak of different, unexpected temporalities in the

202  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio form of events or missed events, spurs to rethinking time itself ‘in the space domain,’ favoring multiple and concurrent uses and related socialization patterns. This proves true in the Ostiense district, where the ‘Knowledge City’ overlaps the persistent signs of the ‘Factory City,’ often at the expenses of the industrial heritage. What assumptions and values of modernity, such as heritage or landscape, could be subsumed in the ecological and digital transition era? What will be the role of open space traditionally experienced by citizens and its interface with human activities? How will big data help profile new responses to new requirements? Such issues go far beyond the scope of this contribution; however, digital transformation implies, among others, the fall of barriers based on theory and practice, and the dismission of cognitive knowledge of bureaucracy towards collective processes engaging community at large. Whatever the case, it is to be hoped that the upcoming urban governance provides sound theoretical basis by considering public space as a ‘common place’ for sharing opinions and visions between expert and local knowledge: a sort of visioning dealing with different cultures, uses, economies, and ecologies in space and over time, enhancing the extensive resources of landscape and landscaping, so little experienced and even less shared. Notes * Author Contributions: Both Authors have read and agreed to this version of the manuscript. Issues and contents of this article were largely discussed and shared. Specifically, section 1, section 3.2, section 4.1, were edited by Romina D’Ascanio, section 2, section 3.3, section 4.2, were edited by Anna Laura Palazzo. Abstract, section 3.1, and Conclusions were edited by both Authors. 1 At the time, with only 170,000 inhabitants, Rome was a medium size city compared to the Capitals all over Europe. 2 Unlike the most industrialized regions deeply affected by unemployment rates from the 1980s onwards, Rome and the Lazio Region have not undergone substantial shrinking in labor force size due to a considerable rise in the service sector and to a peculiar development path, where brand new industrial patterns would merge with traditional economy features. 3 The Municipio is an administrative sub-division of the Municipality of Rome. The territory of Rome is split into 15 Municipi. 4 The activities of the creative sector are split into ‘layers’ according to the creative value chain; the activities linked to the creation of contents are at the ‘core’ of the chain, while those linked to production, distribution, and trade are found on the ‘outskirts.’ 5 These industries include: the media (e.g., films, television, music recording, publishing); fashionable consumer goods sectors (e.g., clothing, furniture, jewelry); services (e.g., advertising, tourism, entertainment); a wide range of creative professions (e.g., architecture, graphic arts, web-page design); and collective cultural consumption facilities (e.g., museums, art galleries, concert halls). 6 The ‘Tail of the Comet’ was figured out in the mid-thirties of the last century by Gustavo Giovannoni as the possible and desirable expansion of Rome towards the sea. Urban growth has long since been supported by citywide facilities (Fiumicino International Airport, two harbors, a major exhibition center, several main roadways, a subway line, and two regional railways). 7 More than 100 buildings in Rome are currently occupied for residential purposes, hosting some 10,000 people. Conversely, quite surprisingly, there is little data on gentrification dynamics and preferred locations, concerning trade-off among takeover by creative class in a broad sense and displacement phenomena. 8 The River Contract is a collaborative governance tool introduced in the early 1980s in France, defined as a technical-financial agreement for the management of hydrographic units. In Italy, the River Contracts were introduced in the early 2000s and recognized at the legislative level in 2015 Art. 68-bis in the Environmental Code defines the River Contracts as “voluntary tools of strategic and negotiated planning that pursue the protection, correct management of water resources and enhancement of river areas, together with safeguarding from hydraulic risk, contributing to local development of these areas.”

Culture-led regeneration and urban governance  203 References Amin A., Thrift N. Cities: reimagining the urban. Oxford, UK and Cambridge, Mass: Blackwell, 190, 1994. Aureli D. Lo spazio pubblico nella città multietnica. I luoghi d’incontro delle comunità straniere come risorsa per la città contemporanea. Roma: Aracne, 2011. Avarello P., d’Errico R., Palazzo A.L., Travaglini C. “Il Quadrante Ostiense tra Otto e Novecento.” Roma moderna e contemporanea 12, n. 1–2, 2004. Boschma R.A., Klosterman R.C. Learning from clusters a critical assessment from an economic-­ geographical perspective. Dordrecht: Springer, 2005. Boschma R., Gianelle C. Regional branching and smart specialization policy, Technical reports S3 policy brief series, 6. Seville: Joint Research Center, 2014. Calafati A.G. Economie in cerca di città. Roma: Donzelli, 2010. Chesbrough H. Open innovation. The new imperative for creating and profiting from technology. Cambridge: Harvard Business School, 2006. De Propris L., Chapain C., Cooke P., MacNeill S., & Mateos-Garcia, J. The geography of creativity. ­London: Nesta, 2009. https://www.nesta.org.uk/report/the-geography-of-creativity/ Feld S., Basso K.H. Senses of place. Santa Fe: School of American Research, 1996. Florida R. The rise of the creative class. And how it’s transforming work, leisure and everyday life. New York: Basic Books, 2002. Foray D. Smart specialisation: Challenges and opportunities for regional innovation policies. London: Routledge, 2015. Foray D., Goenega X. “The Goals of Smart Specialization.” JRC Scientific and Policy Reports 3 Policy Brief Series, 2013. Glaeser E.L., Kallal H., Scheinkman J.A., Shleifer A. “Growth in Cities.” Journal of Political Economy 100, n. 6, 1992: 1126–1152. Granstrand O., Holgersson M. “Innovation Ecosystems: A Conceptual Review and a New Definition.” Technovation 90–91, 2020: 2–12. Grodach C., Foster N., Murdoch J. “Gentrification, Displacement and the Arts: Untangling the Relationship Between Arts Industries and Place Change.” Urban Studies 55, n. 4, 2018: 807–825. Hall P. “Creative Cities and Economic Development.” Urban Studies 37, n. 4, 2000: 639–649. Hall P. Good cities better lives. How Europe rediscovered the lost art of urbanism. London: Routledge, 2013. Hobsbawm E. The age of extremes: the short twentieth century, 1914–1991. New York: Vintage Books, 1994. Ingallina P. Le projet urbain. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2001. Ishida T., Isbister K. Digital cities: technologies, experiences, and future perspectives. Dordrecht: Springer, 2000. James A., Martin R.L., Sunley P. “The Rise of Cultural Economic Geography.” In Critical Concepts in Economic Geography: Volume IV, Cultural Economy, edited by Martin R.L., Sunley P., London: ­Routledge, 2006. 1–18. Landry C. The creative city: a toolkit for urban innovators. London: Earthscan, 2000. Lelo K. From the subsidized muse to creative industries: convergences and compromises. Rome: Roma Tre Press, 2019. Lelo K., Monni S., Tomassi F. Le sette Rome. La capitale delle disuguaglianze raccontata in 29 mappe. Roma: Donzelli, 2021. Martin R., Kitson M., Tyler P. Regional competitiveness. London: Routledge, 2006. McCann P., Ortega-Argilés R. “Modern Regional Innovation Policy.” Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society 6, 2013: 187–216. McCann P., Ortega-Argilés R. “Smart Specialisation, Regional Growth, and Applications to EU Cohesion Policy.” Regional Studies 49, n. 8, 2015: 2–25. Miles S., Paddison R. “Introduction: The Rise and Rise of Culture-led Urban Regeneration.” Urban Studies 42, n. 5–6, 2005: 833–839. OECD. Innovation-driven growth in regions: the role of smart specialisation, 2013. https://www.oecd.org/ sti/inno/smartspecialisation.htm

204  A. L. Palazzo and R. D’Ascanio Palazzo A.L. “Culture-led Regeneration in Rome: From the Factory City to the Knowledge City.” International Studies. Interdisciplinary Political and Cultural Journal 19, 2017: 13–27. Palazzo A.L. “Territories and Productions: A Glimpse of the Lazio Region.” In The Guidelines of a New European Industrial Strategy Oriented to the Citizens and the Territory: Policy Proposals for the ­European Economic Growth, edited by Riccardo Cappellin, Ciciotti E., Battaglini E. Roma: Aisre, 2019. 176–184. https://economia.uniroma2.it/dmd/crescita-investimenti-e-territorio/ Piccinato G. (ed.). La Città eventuale. Pratiche sociali e spazio urbano dell’immigrazione a Roma. ­Macerata: Quodlibet, 2005. Puccini E. Verso una politica della casa, dall’emergenza abitativa romana ad un nuovo modello nazionale. Roma: Futura, 2016. Rabazo M. Tra Infrastrutture e Città: Spazi persi e luoghi d’opportunità nella scala intermedia del ­paesaggio, Il caso studio del Progetto urbano Ostiense-Marconi. PhD Dissertation. Roma: Roma Tre University of Rome, 2018. Racheli A.M. Restauro a Roma, 1870–2000. Architettura e città, Venezia: Marsilio, 2000. Sacco P., Ferilli G., Tavano Blessi G. “Understanding Culture-led Local Development: A Critique of ­Alternative Theoretical Explanations.” Urban Studies 51, n. 13, 2014: 2806–2821. Sassen S. The global city. New York, London, Tokyo. New York: Princeton University Press, 2001. Schneekloth L. Placemaking: the art and practice of building communities. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 1995. Scott A.J. “Cultural Economy and the Creative Field of the City.” Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography 92, n. 2, 2010: 115–130. Soja E.W. Postmetropolis: critical studies of cities and regions. Oxford, UK and Cambridge, Mass: ­Blackwell, 2000. Tocci W. Roma come se. Alla ricerca del futuro per la capitale. Roma: Donzelli, 2020. Valdaliso J.M., Wilson J.R. Strategies for shaping territorial competitiveness. London: Routledge, 2015. Zukin S., Braslow L. “The Life Cycle of New York’s Creative Districts: Reflections on the Unanticipated Consequences of Unplanned Cultural Zones.” City, Culture and Society 2, n. 3, 2011: 31–140.

17

The art of dancing for urban design An examination of a creative built environment in Helsinki, Finland Tommi Inkinen

Geographers use location, space, and place as their standard concepts. They provide a common discipline flavour to any study focusing on urban geography, built environment, architectural (or material) space, and (urban) human interaction. The rate of urban (re)development has been increasingly fast in contemporary times. These developments embrace megatrends of environmental sustainability and the goal of creating low-emission buildings, digitalisation and the use of information integration in cities, and image creation in competitive urban economies. In ontological and epistemological theorisation of human geography, spatiality is widely considered as a non-pre-given container, but rather a dynamic entity that is produced through human action, values and ethics, and exercises of power (foundations, see Foucault, 1977; 1978). Thus, space is not an empty stage on which human activity ‘simply happens’ – it is actively produced and reproduced entity following Lefebvre’s (1991) highly influential proposition of the ‘production of space’ that has been a significant theoretical base for human geographers for decades. Spatial experiences (of an observer) of everyday life is constructed through materiality of built environment and resulting social interactions and human activities taking place in these places. This triad is perhaps the most commonly used framework to approach any geographical question of human activity (see Simonsen, 1996). Spatiality provides a theoretical base for this chapter. Content wise, it focuses on ‘creativity’. Widely used concepts in the contemporary urban studies include concepts such as creative class and its implications for creative city, smart city, human capital, and education, as well as knowledge-based city and urban development. In civil engineering, an older concept, ‘urban technology’, is applied to describe the availability, content, and usage of technology domains that are the foundation of smart urbanism and data-driven urban development (e.g., Yigitcanlar & Inkinen, 2019). Creative- and culture-rich urban locations have had their impact on geographies of cities and their images. Diverse and well-functioning urban form contributes to the well-being of citizens and users of public spaces such as parks and recreation areas. The experiences of environmentally sound and technologically progressed urban solutions are preconditions for contemporary socially mediated good life. The combination of the need of high-quality architectural design that enables culturally and socially active behaviour, commonly mediated by information and communication technologies such as social media platforms. This chapter focuses on creativity through function (activity content) performed in a building; in this, the function is dance (as an art form and a category). The chapter considers three fundamental spatial properties as research questions:

• The architectural design and function of the building itself – how does the building feel as an experienced space?

DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-19

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• The immediate surrounding (area) of the building and the potentials for social, interaction,

and culture within the close proximity – what are the key characteristics for social togetherness and creative interaction? • What broader image and message does the creative location entail and broadcast (city of Helsinki as a context)? Renovated or reused buildings and areas (as is the case here) and new landmark urban structures serve multitude of purposes. These include functionality, accessibility, progress, and ­elevation of location’s image. The reviewed literature combines three main conceptual bodies including spatiality, scale, and creativity (class and capital) (e.g., Hoyman & Faricy, 2009). However, as the urban creativity debate mainly concerns statistically verifiable aggregate units (e.g., Marrocu & Paci, 2012), spatial interpretations and notions regarding creative urban environment are essentially qualitative, as is the case here. Framework for creative city and human capital in cities Remarks on creative city and human capital

Spatial theories have traditionally focused on clustering. An increasing emphasis has been given to spatial characteristics aiming to promote innovative or creative ‘platforms’. The generic goal is to support knowledge creation and creativity. Spatial agglomerations of these ‘knowledge hotspots’ are intensive and they are often expected to drive the overall image of the city in which they are located. There are two focal concepts applied in contemporary research in empirics as well as growth theories (with variations). First, there is ‘human capital’ claim that recognises the importance of education and resulting knowledge resources for spatial development and clustering. Second, there is ‘creative class’ debate that emphasises also informal skills (e.g., self-learning) and creativeness (including arts, design, and crafts). Creative spaces and built environments have specific characteristics. As such, creativity and urban form has been exceedingly studied topic since Florida’s (2002) original work on creative class and its urban impacts. Following the paradigms of the world city (Friedmann, 1986), the global city (Sassen, 1991) and the space of flows (Castells, 1996), there are several empirical studies concerning ‘competitive’ cities in urban geography. High-end design buildings and recognisable architecture are often associated with a positive urban image. Still, it is justifiable to ask how much do creative concepts (people, locations, tasks, performance, arts) drive the development of creative, smart, or knowledge-based city (e.g., Clark, 2003; Makkonen et al., 2018; Yigitcanlar & Inkinen, 2019). Already decades ago, Barro (1991) presented a correlation between human capital and (national) economic growth. These study designs were later narrowed and targeted to urban centres that function as the cores of social, cultural, and economic activity (e.g., Rauch, 1993; Simon & Nardinelli, 1996, 2002; Zucker et al., 1997; Simon, 1998; Glaeser, 2000; Henry & Pinch, 2000). Economic properties are not the key characteristic in the case of the dance house, but they do underlay all large-scale building investments, also in the case of culture or arts. The studied case creates urban image that entails urban image definable as smart, intelligent, or creative. ‘Creative location’ is an ambiguous concept to operationalise. It commonly refers to the agglomeration of creative people (i.e., ‘bohemians’ in Florida’s work) and highly educated people, thus combining human capital and creative class theses. Bohemians are the most problematic category, as it has been empirically proved to be fairly insignificant explanative factor (in terms of economic urban growth), particularly when co-examined with formal education indicators

The art of dancing for urban design  207 (Levine, 2004; Glaeser, 2005). Marrocu and Paci (2012) showed how the results are easily biased because the creativity and human capital are (mostly empirically, sometimes also conceptually) two overlapping concepts. Research has progressed, and Florida (2012) himself noted that the creative movement had shifted in ten years since his original work that time. Easily, it is argued that the shifting has continued during the following last ten years to current date. As can be suspected, analysis trends have moved from statistical analyses towards in-depth inquiries of case locations already identified as creative ones. In the case of Helsinki, Inkinen and Kaakinen (2016) conducted a specific analysis of innovation clusters that include ‘creative’ indicators. Afterwards, Ponto and Inkinen (2019) presented a qualitative study of the most important clusters in the Helsinki metropolitan area. The dance house case continues that research line and presents a single building construction and its surroundings located in Ruoholahti area next to the core centre of Helsinki. A significant societal criticism towards creativity conceptualisation in empirics comes from Krätke (2010, 2012), who criticised the idea of creativity as a ‘class’. Accordingly, a concept of creative cities was argued: “as an expression of the aggregated collective capability of its economic and social actors”, which “comprise particular occupational groups specializing in creative and innovative activity – to yield new forms, products, and problem solutions” (Krätke, 2012: p. 15). These occupational groups also need specifically designed spaces and the dance house is one of the prime examples of combining creativeness with the built environment. Highly advanced hot-spot designs in urban structure may be considered as examples of fragmentation of urban development in the postmodern sense as Soja, already decades ago (1996, 2000), critically elaborated on Los Angeles and its splintered planning disintegration. Soja’s examples are not directly applicable to Finland due to the different planning history and tradition, but the theoretical claim matters: Fragmentation increases and power structures have an impact on what the final outcome (built environment) will look like. In the Finnish case, cities (and nation as a whole) have a strong policy orientation towards balanced spatial development. In other words, all locations should support similar opportunities and their usability should not be dependent on the socio-economic status or heritage (i.e., age, gender, race) – the goal of social inclusiveness is strongly present in all decision-making related to urban planning and renewal. To summarise, history signifies, as the dance house structure has originally (partly) been an industrial factory manufacturing cables. A widely used term in urban studies has been gentrification that refers to renewal of old and less developed spatial units into other, mainly housing and other real estate, uses. The renewal also means changing of the residents’ socio-economic profile towards higher categories. Ruoholahti area where the cable factory is located, however, is not a very good example of socio-economic gentrification as the area had very limited residential housing before the 1990s. It has been fully an industrial district and all the surrounding buildings are for business office buildings or other service industry locations. These locations evolve in time and provide an interesting view on path dependency of built environment. History stacks (on each step of purpose) and this is visible in the location design in each period – the outcome can be surprisingly different from the original purpose and/or design. Classification frame for urban image and activity spaces

The framework is founded on spatial scaling and includes three major contents: Material (architectural); Social (human interaction); and Experienced (mental spaces and location feeling). All spatial aspects in Figure 17.1 (leftmost boxes) are interlinked with each other and with the spatial scale (building, surrounding, city context). These two main dimensions then have implications (purposes) derivable from the building as a part of urban form.

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Figure 17.1  A classification framework for assessing creative location in a city. Source: Author.

In terms of urban locations and built environment, the creative class debate manifests itself through those people who are using the particular spaces. Therefore, spatial theory provides a good platform to present the case through interactions of spatial characteristics, spatial scales, and desired goals (or implications). Figure 17.1 enables a classification to study the dance house through these key concepts accordingly. First, material space is manifested structure, architecture, and design. It is widely used as the basis for urban renewal, redesign, and construction. Social space refers to the practices that people have and form in material spaces. Experienced space refers to feeling and ‘atmosphere’ of the construction through material and social spaces. These three categories are key elements in human geography to divide and understand spatial entities. They are also robust and transformable to other (content) concepts such as positively–negatively or inclusive–exclusive spaces. Second, creativity is without a question realised in the studied construction (Figure 17.2 exteriors). The space is high-end in terms of its outer design, equipment, and services supporting the whole idea of ‘creativeness’ also in broader spatial spectrum. Third, the building facilities include a large open space and a cafeteria for collaborative work and interaction (openness and accessibility, middle boxes in Figure 17.1). Thus, the building itself expands over the rigid purpose of providing facilities for physical efforts of dance but also enables social interaction, specifically in the large glass lobby. There are some contradictions in ‘openness’, i.e., inclusiveness of spatial design. The dance house lobby and cafeteria are open spaces (see Figure 17.3 interiors). Majority of the floorplan in interior spaces is restricted and an idea of ‘open creative space’ is not realised in daily use. Thus, the building provides traditional pay-to-enter model of an art-driven space design. The new structure has its own lobby area and common spaces outside the three auditoriums for the artists and staff (i.e., backstage). However, for the occasional visitor, these spaces are invisible and thus restricting the usability potential of the building. The rightmost box in Figure 17.1 is perhaps the most significant one. It represents implications (goals, desires, and expectations) that the building might have towards the city. The city refers here mainly to the officials and planners but also to public, who are the end-users of the dance house space (and other parts of the ‘cable factory’). It is also worthy to recognise the feedback loop. After implementation, the structure, its social use and interactivity with the residents and visitors, and the experienced felt that the location fundamentally determine how successful the project has been.

The art of dancing for urban design  209

Figure 17.2  Dance house exteriors, close proximity plaza, and building entrance. Source: Photos by the author (May 2022).

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Figure 17.3  Dance house lobby, entrance to performance hall and cafeteria. Source: Photos by the author (May 2022).

Case insights of urban creative locations and built environment Properties of the case

The dance house is located in Ruoholahti district in the centre of Helsinki, Finland. The reason for selecting dance house as the case derives from its location (area ‘Ruoholahti’ has been since 1990s one major business area in Helsinki metropolitan area (HMA) (e.g., Inkinen, 2015;

The art of dancing for urban design  211 I­ nkinen & Kaakinen, 2016; Kiuru & Inkinen, 2017), in Finland, and Northern Europe in general. The selected location also includes a combination of old and new structural designs. Thus, it is partly reused industrial space that is amended with brand new design purely for the needs of dancing. It encompasses all characteristics of creative urban form. Third, it was timely opened for public in February 2022. One of the goals of the building is to provide facilities and establish connection between dancing art, urban citizen living and interaction, and influential architectural construction. How to approach this case then? Technically, the case is presented and assessed with photographs, site visits, and elements depicting the three defined research questions. Thus, the approach uses spatial scales to identify geographical nexuses between creative activity (dancing) with elements of (innovative) urban planning and site construction. Classification is divided into specific contents according to the three spatial layers (building, close proximity surroundings, and the city of Helsinki). There are several earlier qualitative studies of creativity and knowledge-intensity in the ­Helsinki Metropolitan Area and in the city of Helsinki (Inkinen & Vaattovaara, 2010; Inkinen, 2013; Ponto & Inkinen, 2019; Inkinen & Jokela, 2020), this case study presents an addition to other qualitative and small-scale (building or residential area) case studies. The dance house is an example of a current hotspot in ‘creative city’ development. Even though the photographs and site-visits provide a subjective and unique representation of the case, in specific context of time and location, they also capture significant properties of contemporary goals in urban design and image building. The dance house uses several social media platforms and they provide extensive amount of basic information concerning the building architecture, facilities, and organised events. For example, the building website describes the location as follows: “Dance House Helsinki is the first building in Finland designed on the terms of dance. The impressive new building and renovated premises in the old parts of the Cable Factory are a result of the design efforts of … Dance House has two venues for organizing shows, the 700-seat Erkko Hall and the 235-seat Pannu Hall, a connecting Lobby between them, a Cellar suitable for clubhouse activities, a training studio, a greenroom and an office …” (Premises, https://www.tanssintalo.fi/en/premises, accessed March 14, 2023). The website gives an indication to intelligent building design through flexibility and versatility. Performance spaces are separate but also connectable. The largest capacity for performance spectators is approximately a thousand. Spaces are also capable of multipurpose functions, i.e., they are usable also for concerts, seminars, or photoshoots when needed. As indicated, information sources for external observation of the dance house are extensive but location site-visits are perhaps the best way to obtain qualitative characteristics and experience of the location. Visualisations and images depicting a creative location

The best way to represent the dance house case is to look at the first element in Figure 17.1 (Architecture). In order to do so, a set of photographs are divided to show exterior and interior details. Dance house’s exterior (Figure 17.2) is characterised by two large and fundamentally different elements: the old structure of the cable factory and the new one of the dance house. The exterior of the new part is a cube that has spherical decorative elements. The used visible materials include mainly silver and black metal and wood. Finnish architecture has a long tradition of using wood elements and with varying colour palettes. The exterior provides quite traditional selection of contemporary visual elements and design often found in other large constructions

212  T. Inkinen done in Helsinki during the 2000s (e.g., reference buildings in Helsinki are ‘Oodi’ [the city main library]; ‘Kaisa’ [the university main library]; and ‘music hall’ [fully owned by public sector]). Two topmost photos in Figure 17.2 show the spherical metallic decorations against the black background. There are small fluctuations and variations on these parts of the outer walls and they give a feeling of liveliness to the otherwise quite simple execution. The wood panelling is in the middle range between dark and lightwood, probably due to highly changing annual weather conditions, as darker colours are often easier to maintain. The four other (middle section and bottom) photographs focus on presenting the immediate surroundings. As common, due to the time (season and daily) of the photograph taking there are very few or no people around the building (practically at all). This is significant for the interactivity (social space) element of spatial theory. Central position and easy accessibility should increase public interest to visit and interact with the space and services provided in the building but it is clear that fundamental goal of the building is to function as a private space fully usable only for specific events and private functions. The dance house does provide ‘open doors’ days for public a few times per year. They have been relatively popular indicating the public interest towards the building. However, the social sphere that they create is limited to architectural observation: not engagement as such. The exterior design is continued (and supplemented), as might be expected, with corresponding combination of old and new in the public interior spaces (Figure 17.3). Interior part of the dance house is interesting as the actual new part of the building is closed for audiences. It includes its own lobby space and other communal spaces in addition to large auditoriums but they are not accessible by the public. The topmost photographs of Figure 17.3 show the glass-structured design lobby open to public and a doorway that integrates old cable factory wall to the closed dance auditoriums. The access to the auditoriums goes directly through these lobby doors creating an integral feeling of joint-spaces. Photographs also reveal a limited amount of seats. This creates a feel of formality and standing reception for the whole space. However, the cafeteria directly accessible from the lobby provides additional large number of seats and resting places for those in need. The bottom photograph illustrates the cafeteria that forms the heart for social interaction in the building. Style-wise the decoration and spatial experience are textbook examples of the reused and redesign industrial space with contemporary urban art. The large graffiti visible from the large windows underlines the urban connection of interior design and urbanism. A nice detail in cafeteria (design) is that it has kitchen closets and cupboards together with a large table with professional chairs similar to numerous ‘brainstorming’ spaces of (creative) offices. Table 17.1 summarises the interactivity framework of Figure 17.1 with practical implications. Overall, the architectural structure (building) and three spatial dimensions (material, social, and experienced) prove contradictions. The new part of the dance house implies a clear-cut distinction from the old structure on the outside but the integration is more fluid inside ­(Figures 17.2 and 17.3). Architectural solutions are minimalistic using typical colour palette and decorative additions to create variations and surprising elements, particularly in the exterior parts. The dance house is foremost an architectural project designed mainly for the purposes of dancing. It is also commercial space, sometimes referred to as a semi-public space that still tries to uphold elements of accessibility both in physical and social senses. The building facilitates only a limited account for social interactivity or creative use of urban design. Relatively large open plaza outside the cubic structure has potential (particularly during the summer) to attract outside events or gatherings but due to the densely built neighbourhood it is unlikely that the plaza would either be widely used for collective purposes. Ruoholahti itself has more attractive and convenient places for spontaneous urban events (e.g., picnics or small

The art of dancing for urban design  213 Table 17.1  Summary of the dance house characteristics according to spatial dimensions and scale Building

Immediate surrounding

Helsinki context

Business environment, small Another culture and art-driven wow architecture open plaza. Connects well building in Helsinki. to public transport via Complementing earlier tram stop. Grey empty projects in the core centre area without any specific (music house; city main inspiring details (other library ‘Oodi’; Kiasma than the dance house modern art museum). itself). Limited to main lobby and Not active. Mainly go Event-driven location. cafeteria spaces. Glass through area. Has a Helsinki’s other locations design, large spaces, (e.g., core centre potential to engage in limited amount of social meetings but the buildings) offer better and space is too limited. larger locations for social seats or places to rest. urban activities. Mainly for events and performance breaks. An addition to other building Clean and straightforward ‘In-between space’ for projects but is located Scandinavian design trespassing and entering elsewhere. Contributes to tradition. For short the cable-factory/dance the actively build image of periods convenient, for house premises. Could be creative and smart city. longer ones not so. further developed e.g., with public art.

Material space Combination of old cable-factory with modern cube architecture with detailed exterior design. Social space

Experienced space

markets), and as the area is located very close to the city centre there are old parks and other green spaces providing more suitable places for spending time. The plaza does have a tram platform next to it providing excellent connectivity to public transport but alone it probably does not carry the locations attractiveness more than transit of event spectators. Other times than performance and event periods the dance house feels like a stereotypical functional space as an experience. It is not a public space in terms of accessibility or usability. It is mainly a commercial space available for renting and arranging various types of events other than related to dancing. The exterior and interior designs are in line with creating contemporary (sustainable) architecture but the usability aspect decreases the overall value of the building. As stated in Table 17.1 the overall feel of the building surroundings could be enhanced with outdoor art or other designs. There are such art works in Rouholahti area but they are not in immediate proximity to the dance house (i.e., visible from the entrance or the plaza). Overall, it feels that the cable factory and the new attached wing of dance house are another typical example of a central location that is still remote. In other words, one has to have a purpose to go there; it is unlikely that visitors or residents would go there by a random chance. Discussion Valuation and conceptualisation of a built creative location and establishing their geographical implications involve diversity and complexity. There are contradictions in the urban creativity debate. One is the significance of the creative for economic wellbeing and growth. The second is the interpretation of the (architectural) form as a part of larger spatial scales. Creative activities are hosted in these particular places and locations and thus the question is to think about how the ‘creativity’ is actualised (i.e., produced) and what effects they have in cities. Representations matter and a common criticism is that high-end architectural investments produce too

214  T. Inkinen large and ill-fitting structures (buildings) in the urban structure. This is a constant debate in the decision making of public spaces particularly in the case where cities are proprietors making the investments. Public debate and participation is constant in the considerations of the selected winners as all major construction investments are openly competed among architectural offices and constructors. Considering the case, the architectural design represents multitudes of purposes with the goal of improving urban lifestyle and community. How these interactions manifest in different parts of the world varies according to local and national cultures. First, the case entails recognition of global image and competition in cities (see Inkinen & Vaattovaara, 2007). Truly global cities aim to attract professionals (also dancers), investors, and companies. Urban development often aims to aid social, environmental, economic, and technological goals. The most creative cities tend to be among traditional global cities that are also the most important connecting nodes of flows of information, goods, and people. Second, the identification of the impacts and consequences that the creative and inspirational site (location) has on urban structure and lived urbanism. Third, there are spatial differences in the usages of creative spaces. These creative hotspots manifest themselves in terms of their international reputation and image (i.e., positive visibility). Take away lessons from the case are that combination and utilisation of old structures in the creation of new spaces for arts and culture is still a highly viable solution. Urban renewal by using old structures and e.g., industrial buildings in new purposes rose a significant popularity in the 1990s. Since then the availability of the underused industrial locations has decreased, whereas the costs of renovations have increased substantially. Second lesson is that even a recognised landmark, the dance house operates on closed logic. This is understandable if it manages to yield enough income to cover both event expenses, maintenance, and marketing costs. As the interior photographs reveal, the public spaces in the case of the dance house are large and extensive but they actually have a limited amount of seats and places for rest, other than commercial space of the cafeteria. The main spatial use principle of the lobby area is ‘standing’ and thus directly implies short-time visits and use. Additionally, the operating logic also causes that the finely tuned lobby, cafeteria, and other spaces will be underused. It is likely that between event times will remain silent periods. From the perspective of using urban spaces creatively hopefully innovative events, attractive (open) gatherings, and all kinds of refreshing happenings would emerge. This would also increase the familiarity of the dance house among local residents. Third and finally, accessibility and customer feedback cannot be underestimated. As the dance house is a traditional semi-public ‘pay-to-use’ space it needs customer feedback for improving the facilities. However, it is unlikely that major changes will take place in the near future, because the facility recently opened and COVID-19 pandemic has barred the demand for cultural onsite events – now in the current situation it is likely that the dance house will have an overbuild customer demand and will be economically successful in the coming seasons. However, if goals of participatory urbanism, open access, and public impact are considered, improvements could be made particularly in the use planning of the outside areas (specifically the open plaza). Customer feedback will be the key to unlocking the demand and popularity of these ideas and proposals. However, as the dance house and cable factory premises are private endeavours (even with strong public funding support) the outside development is likely to be slow. As a final interpretative remark, it is necessary to consider digitalisation that plays an increasingly important role in current and future urban designs. In the case of the dance house, the main technologies available to ‘occasional visitor’ are limited to free wireless local area network (WLAN) and mobile applications using quick response (QR) codes. They are quite standard

The art of dancing for urban design  215 access technologies to information and provide nothing new. There are new and additional potentials for high-end architecture, e.g., in increasing visitor experience with emerging consumer technologies such as augmented reality (AR). Obviously, the technological adoption time flows very differently in various ‘creative’ domains. Still, considering the potential for new high-tech solutions this opportunity has virtually been lost in this creative location. This entails also the problem of combining concepts of ‘smart’ and ‘creative’ in practical execution. Conclusions The pervasive continuation of urban development (e.g., with landmark urban designs, sustainable building solutions, and the use of intelligent structures) is an influential trend in global cities. The process of structuring the information and content presented regarding cities and their specific strengths are essential in geographical research of creative cities. Empirical observations done in this chapter represent a current desire in urban development to strive towards sustainable, visually impressive, and functional spaces. Very often specific purpose constructions (such as the dance house here) could be amended with supportive functions such as collaboration rooms, interactive communication tools, and free available time slots for everyone to book and use. Currently, these are missing, and thus reducing the new landmark art location, as a traditional closed space. The case demonstrates that the city governments admiration towards sustainable and creative locations stem from the overall city image. Still, this is understandable, as the city of Helsinki has contributed substantially to the overall building costs. Ruoholahti, as the host area of the dance house, boosts the overall image of business environment and densely built urban core. The immediate surrounding of the dance house gives the final touch to embed creativity-driven architecture that supports ideas of modern, state-of-the-art designs, made primarily for specific (creative) purpose such as dancing. For future research, there are three main lines of inquire that should be examined: First, international studies of the most significant successes as well as failures in implementation (how the structure fits the surrounding area), and economic viability (unanticipated construction and maintenance cost increases) provides an interesting venue for research. Second, the problem between closed spaces (pay-to-enter) and open public spaces (accessible without specific event or invitation) still remains theoretically interesting topic, particularly in the case of creative spaces or spaces made for creative purposes. This is linked to the third future research task that asks how public and private partnerships are formed in order to create these new spaces. The question of location is highly relevant here: how does city government decide and deduce locations for new cultural spaces, and how do the new buildings connect and fit to the surrounding area and the city? References Barro, R.J. (1991). Economic growth in a cross section of countries. The Quarterly Journal of Economics 106, 407–443. Castells, M. (1996). The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture (3 volumes). Blackwell, Oxford. Clark, T.N. (2003). Urban amenities: Lakes, opera and juice bars, do they drive development? In T.N. Clark (ed.): The City as an Entertainment Machine. Research in Urban Policy. Vol. 9, 103–140. ­Emerald, Bingley. Florida, R. (2002). The Rise of the Creative Class. Basic Books, New York. Florida, R. (2012). The Rise of the Creative Class: Revisited. Basic Books, New York. Foucault, M. (1977). Discipline and Punish. The Birth of the Prison. Surveiller et punir. Pantheon Books, New York.

216  T. Inkinen Foucault, M. (1978). The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1. Histoire de la sexualité. Lane, London. Friedmann, J. (1986). The world city hypothesis. Development and Change 17:1, 69–83. Glaeser, E.L. (2000). The new economics of urban and regional growth. In G.L. Clark, M.S. Gertler & M.P. Feldman (eds.): The Oxford Handbook of Economic Geography. Oxford University Press, Oxford. Glaeser, E.L. (2005). Review of Richard Florida’s the rise of the creative class. Regional Science and Urban Economics 35:5, 593–596. Henry, N. & Pinch, S. (2000). Spatialising knowledge: Placing the knowledge community of motor sport valley. Geoforum 31:2, 191–208. Hoyman, M. & Faricy, C. (2009). It takes a village: A test of the creative class, social capital, and human capital theories. Urban Affairs Review 44:3, 311–333. Inkinen, T. (2013). Creating a knowledge-based city: A spatial examination of the university of Helsinki’s main library. In T. Yigitcanlar & M. Bulu (eds.): Proceedings of the 6th Knowledge Cities World Summit, KCWS 2013, 508–518. Lookus Scientific, Istanbul. Inkinen, T. (2015). Reflections on the innovative city: Examining three innovative locations in a knowledge bases framework. Journal of Open Innovation 1:8, 1–23. Inkinen, T. & Jokela, S. (2020). Start-ups, business investors and flow of music: Contrasting two creative events in Helsinki, Finland. In S. Di Vita & M. Wilson (eds.): Planning and Managing Smaller Events: Downsizing Urban Spectacle. Routledge, London. Inkinen, T. & Kaakinen, I. (2016). Economic geography of knowledge intensive technology clusters: ­Lessons from the Helsinki metropolitan area. Journal of Urban Technology 23:1, 95–114. Inkinen, T. & Vaattovaara, M. (2007). Technology and Knowledge-Based Development. Helsinki Metropolitan Area as a Creative Region. ACRE Report 2.5. University of Amsterdam Press, Amsterdam. Inkinen, T. & Vaattovaara, M. (2010). Creative urban region in the Nordic country. Combining tradition with development in Helsinki. In K. Metaxiotis, F.J. Carrillo & T. Yigitcanlar (eds.): KnowledgeBased Development of Cities and Societies: Integrated Multi-Level Approaches, 196–210. IGI Global, ­Hershey. DOI:10.4018/978-1-61520-721-3.ch012 Kiuru, J. & Inkinen, T. (2017). Predicting innovative growth and demand with proximate human capital: A case study of the Helsinki metropolitan area. Cities 64, 9–17. Krätke, S. (2010). ‘Creative cities’ and the rise of the dealer class: A critique of Richard Florida’s approach to urban theory. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 34:4, 835–853. Krätke, S. (2012). The Creative Capital of Cities: Interactive Knowledge Creation and the Urbanization Economies of Innovation. Vol. 79, John Wiley & Sons, Oxford. Lefebvre, H. (1991). The Production of Space. Blackwell, Oxford. Levine, M.A. (2004). Government policy, the local state, and gentrification: The case of Prenzlauer Berg (Berlin), Germany. Journal of Urban Affairs 26:1, 89–108. Makkonen, T., Merisalo, M. & Inkinen, T. (2018). Containers, facilitators, innovators? The role of cities and city employees in innovative activities. European Urban and Regional Studies 25:1, 106–118. Marrocu, E. & Paci, R. (2012). Education or creativity: What matters most for economic performance? Economic Geography 88:4, 369–401. Ponto, H. & Inkinen, T. (2019). Knowledge-based environments in the city: Design and urban form in the Helsinki metropolitan area. International Journal of Knowledge-Based Development 10:2, 155–175. DOI:10.1504/IJKBD.2019.101004 Rauch, J.E. (1993). Productivity gains from geographic concentration of human capital: Evidence from the cities. Journal of Urban Economics 34, 380–400. Sassen, S. (1991). The Global City. New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton University Press, Princeton. Simon, C. (1998). Human capital and metropolitan employment growth. Journal of Urban Economics 43, 223–243. Simon, C. & Nardinelli, C. (1996). The talk of the town: Human capital, information and the growth of English cities, 1861–1961. Explorations in Economic History 33:3, 384–413. Simon, C. & Nardinelli, C. (2002). Human capital and the rise of American cities, 1900–1990. Regional Science and Urban Economics 32:1, 59–96.

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Section III

Environment and Space

18

End of the Holocene City The limits of urban imagination1 Francisco Javier Carrillo

Beyond urban creativity The term “creativity” as applied to urban environments has diverse connotations, some of these contradictory and often strongly contested (Peck, 2005). According to Meusburger (2009), over a hundred different definitions exist in the literature. In fact, the concept of urban creativity runs parallel to the concept of modern cities and is, therefore, subject to the vagaries of urban development (Van Damme et al., 2017). As Charles Laundry, one of the pioneers in the field, has pointed out, “the creative city notion is in danger of hollowing out by general overuse of the word ‘creative’ as applied to people, activities, organizations, urban neighbourhoods, or cities that objectively are not especially creative”.2 To clarify this chapter’s focus on urban imagination and how it relates to both urban creativity and urban innovation, these concepts will be briefly examined. A distinction is required between often interchanged concepts such as creativity, innovation, novelty, originality, disruption, and imagination. In their contemporary and most extensive use, both creativity and innovation seem to share a common criterion: the market sanction of value production. Hence, Michael Mumford (2003, p. 110). summarized scientific research into creativity in the following terms: “Over the course of the last decade, however, we seem to have reached a general agreement that creativity involves the production of novel, useful products” This is the sense in which the concept of “creative industries” has come to encompass that of “creative cities” and has been criticized as a trojan horse to promote urban gentrification or “artwashing” (Pritchard, 2020). A parallel attempt by Baregheh et al. (2009, p. 1334) to compile the extant literature on innovation concluded that “innovation is the multi-stage process whereby organizations transform ideas into new/improved products, service or processes, in order to advance, compete and differentiate themselves successfully in their marketplace”. The dominant paradigm seems to require a historical, economic, and social perspective to detach the potential of creativity and innovation from their current neoliberal overtones. Industrial capitalism is now held accountable not only for the extreme inefficiency in allocating global resources but also for the irreparable damage to the biosphere and the resulting existential threats caused by relentless growth and unbound consumerism (Soriano, 2021; Saito, 2022). Since both creativity and innovation involve a recombination of existing elements in a novel form, urban creativity and innovation for the Anthropocene require both, to overcome the dominant economic paradigm and to redraw the space of possibilities for urban creativity and innovation by reinventing the elements, the limits, and the rules of the game. The recent debate on AI, given the visibility that Large Language Models (LLMs) including ChatGPT and other neural network developments gained at the end of 2022 (see, e.g., Acemoglu DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-21

222  F. J. Carrillo and Johnson, 2023; Wolfram, 2023), is of relevance here. The reason is that the debate on the comparison, replaceability, and potential overcoming of human intelligence by computing capacity is drawn to its limits by these technologies. Rather than the broader concepts of creativity and originality that might have worked so far, an operational definition is made necessary for moving forward. In clarifying the implications of LLMs for employment, Eichengreen (2023) contends that the jobs less at risk of being displaced by AI are those requiring both empathy and originality. While empathy is – says Eichengreen – “the ability to understand and share the feelings and emotions of others”, originality “means doing something that hasn’t been done previously”. The critical dimension here is novelty, which becomes context-dependent, culturally relative, and therefore, conventional. This sense is related to disruption, which entails an unprecedented understanding of and solution to a problem situation. So, how to determine novelty, and therefore, originality and disruption in contemporary urban development? I contend that the unprecedented status of the current global urban situation is largely determined by the concrete challenges that cities around the world have begun to face day by day due to the consequences of global warming and other anthropogenic planetary limits. Since, by definition, the Anthropocene Epoch is distinct from the geological timeframe when cities emerged and evolved into their current form, it will demand a novel and disruptive approach. Unprecedented circumstances demand unprecedented solutions. Cities are children of the Holocene, as explained below. The Anthropocene marks a novel epoch where the climatic conditions that made human settlements possible no longer hold. Hence, we reach a preliminary conclusion: urban creativity, in the context of the climate emergency, is the collective intelligence to mitigate and adapt to the challenges of the Anthropocene as these unfold. Holocene code of urban genetics Humanity lived the largest proportion of its existence as nomads (Bettinger et al., 2015; ­Barnard, 2020). Nomadic hunting-gathering involved distinctive ways of relating to Earth (Ingold, 1996). While homo sapiens-sapiens started walking the Earth over 300,000 years ago, two key precursors of urban civilization – sedentary agriculture and permanent human settlements – started only about 10,000--12,000 years ago. The Holocene arose approximately 11,650 calendar years ago (Walker et al., 2009), the geological epoch that is now arguably ending to give way to the Anthropocene (Zalasiewicz et al., 2019). The Holocene marked the end of the last glacial period and was characterized by relatively stable and favourable conditions for human settlements. The period corresponds to the rapid expansion of our species globally, and it witnessed most of the recorded history as well as the rise and fall of civilizations and the transition to modern society. Among all its diverse cultures and forms, the city epitomizes the modern human presence on Earth. Within the singularly benevolent Holocene, towns have been the nesting shapes of human life. This, however, is changing. Human activities also made an unprecedented impact on the Biosphere during the Holocene resulting in current anthropogenic existential challenges to ecosystems. As described below, the proposed new epoch of the Anthropocene is characterized by a disruption of the environment on a geological scale. In the wake of its dominance and expansion, the human species sees its very existence endangered. Currently, the exceptionally benign conditions of the Holocene are giving way to conditions that make human survival more challenging (UNDP, 2022). In a few words, paradise is lost.

End of the Holocene city  223 After leaving the Holocene and entering the Anthropocene, we are likely to encounter several unprecedented challenges that threaten our ability to continue inhabiting this planet. City culture has been made possible solely by the unique environmental circumstances of the city as the embodiment of our integration into Earth’s system. A fossil record as unique in history as it is fragile: more than two-thirds of Earth’s history (first ten billion years) was devoid of life, and once life appeared (four billion years ago), microorganisms continued to be the dominant form of life. In the course of the evolution of more complex organisms, conditions for life also changed. There have been five major extinction events (a sharp decrease in the biodiversity of multicellular organisms) over the last 540 million years and the sixth may arguably be underway now (Novacek and Cleland, 2001). Life on Earth has evolved through a catastrophic and turbulent history rather than an incremental and smooth one. The biosphere is experiencing a “state shift” that may threaten human life support systems (Barnosky et al., 2012). As a result, urban foundations are liable to be shaken and disturbed. As an example, the existence of infinite supply resulting from indefinite growth is unlikely to be sustained. The accessibility to basic inputs, such as food, water, and energy, cannot be taken for granted anymore. In comparison with the scale of the challenges that may lie ahead, the COVID-19 pandemic, after causing such a significant social and economic disruption, pales in comparison. Cities are fragile complexes made up of a great variety of interconnected subsystems, akin to card castles, each subsystem subject to unique risks. If several of these are disrupted simultaneously, the whole city life falls apart. The axiological and conceptual foundations of our cities require a critical examination. Their environmental economic, cultural, and political bases to responsibly face the challenges of the Anthropocene as these unfold must be revised. It is therefore necessary not only to question modern urban living but also the whole way we relate to this planet. No mitigation, adaptation, or reform for a city will be effective unless such an examination is conducted. No fashionable urban development framework, be it smart, sustainable, or resilient, can be effective unless the entire Holocene City paradigm is examined. This means letting go of the very lifestyle that brought us here. This means farewell to the Holocene City. City preparedness for climate What “City Preparedness for Climate Crisis” entails? What makes this issue so relevant today? Essentially, the term denotes the historical concurrence of the Planetary Boundaries that have been disrupted by human activity (Rockström et al., 2009; Castree, 2017) as well as the invalidation of most of the assumptions on which urban life is conceived. Firstly, anthropogenic impacts are generating a “state shift” in the climate conditions that allowed human civilizations to flourish (Barnosky et al., 2012). Second, urban development took for granted a stable integration of city life and its physical environment. This chapter is concerned with how urban living is challenged by the escalating climate crisis and how urban areas can best address these urgent challenges. The question is whether traditional urban life can remain viable in its present form. Taking a broader look at several aspects of the Anthropocene existential threat may shed light on the fate of human cosmopolitanism. It is proposed that the Anthropocene is a geological epoch that follows the Holocene (Crutzen and Stoermer, 2000). The term is defined by the overwhelming impact of human activity on Earth, showing up in geo-stratigraphic records (Zalasiewicz et al., 2010; Zalasiewicz et al., 2019). The starting date of the Anthropocene is in dispute, but a favoured milestone is what is known as the “Great Acceleration”, which refers to the exponential growth of human impacts since the mid-20th century (Steffen, Broadgate et al, 2015; McNeill and Engelke, 2016). The

224  F. J. Carrillo enormous importance of these facts and the observable and potential consequences for the Biosphere have led to the term “Anthropocene” being used to encompass these broader implications for society, the economy, and culture (Castree, 2017; Cohen and Colebrook, 2017; Malabou, 2017; Clark and Szerszynski, 2020), including transformative movements from within specific disciplines such as Sociology (Dietz et al., 2020), Economics (Rees, 2020), Architecture (Turpin, 2013), and Political Science (Hickman et al., 2018; Wainwright and Mann, 2018). This work adopts the wider use of the term insofar it conveys an essentially transdisciplinary “Anthropocenic turn” in contemporary culture (Oldfield et al., 2014; Hamilton et al., 2015; Carrillo, 2019; Dürbeck and Hüpkes, 2020; Krogh, 2020). Environmental impacts resulting from anthropogenic activities threaten to disrupt our way of life in more profound ways and on a larger scale than anything experienced before by mankind. Anthropocene challenges are often equated with climate change or global warming in the public discourse and the media. Throughout this narrative, even human attribution is acknowledged, the tone emphasizes some form of discomfort caused by climate change and weather hazards that can be resolved through greater resilience, improved infrastructure, and new technologies. The terms “global warming” and “climate crisis” have been so diluted and politicized that they are being replaced by the seemingly more compelling “climate crisis” or “climate emergency” (Carrington, 2019; Ripple et al., 2019). As a matter of fact, the Climate Emergency is only one of the nine anthropogenic vectors of Earth System disruption, each posing potential serious threats to the physical fitness of our planet for human habitation. These are (i) climate change; (ii) novel entities (anthropogenic objects, materials, and bio-actants); (iii) stratospheric ozone; (iv) atmospheric aerosol loading (anthropogenic particles in the atmosphere); (v) ocean acidification; (vi) biogeochemical flows (nitrogen and phosphorus cycles); (vii) freshwater use; (viii) change in land use; and (ix) biodiversity loss (extinction rate). To keep humanity within a “safe operating space”, each of these nine “planetary boundaries” requires a delicate balance (Rockström et al., 2009). Therefore, crossing any of these planetary boundaries would pose an existential risk to humanity (Barnosky et al., 2012; Steffen et al., 2015). An Anthropocenic milestone, what I have called the Techno-Bio Inversion (Carrillo, 2022, p. 293), has recently been accomplished. The global biomass has been exceeded for the first time in history by the added mass of human-created materials and objects. The total biomass of all creatures on Earth has fallen to about 1.1 trillion metric tons, which is almost half of the biomass present at the dawn of human civilization (Elhacham et al., 2020). By comparison, the “Technosphere” mass, or human-processed matter – while roughly equivalent to the biomass – is rapidly increasing at an annual rate of 30 billion tons. By 2040, this figure is expected to double to approximately 2.2 trillion tons. Hence, the natural and artificial worlds are being inverted today in terms of both weight and ontology (Han, 2022). There is a limit, however, to the increase of the Technosphere and the decrease of the biosphere due to their physical constraints and mutual relationship (Moore, 2016; Carrillo, 2022, pp. 56–58). Even if Anthropogenic Global Existential Risks have already disrupted the climate conditions that prevailed through the Holocene, the inner urban logic remains undisturbed. Cities have developed in and for the Holocene. The epoch that is closing to an end has been the space of possibilities for urban life. Therefore, it is imperative that the whole concept of the globalized modern city be urgently revised and re-designed at the dawn of Anthropocene, not just structurally and functionally but also from the human perspective of inhabiting Earth and the externalities it generates. Insofar as it relates to the Neolithic village and how it evolved into the megalopolis of today, we need to examine how the transition from nomadic hunters and gatherers to agriculture and

End of the Holocene city  225 human settlements happened. In addition to examining the internal dynamics of urban growth (Smil, 2019), it is also necessary to examine the historical interaction between cities, their surroundings, and their social metabolism. Furthermore, human settlements need to undergo radical transformations to achieve the ability to cope with anthropogenic impacts, and, above all, to reinvent Earth citizenship. A narrow window of opportunity There is a narrow and rapidly closing window of opportunity for a viable transition from the Urban Holocene to the Urban Anthropocene. Several key concepts have been mentioned above, including anthropogenic existential risks, state shift within the biosphere, safe operating spaces, and planetary boundaries. Other concepts such as Earth overshoot (Wackernagel et al., 2002), carrying capacity (Ehrlich, 1982), Earth’s critical zone (Xu and Liu, 2017), and Doomsday clock (Mecklin, 2020) provide several parameters to gauge the narrowing space of opportunity to redesigning the bases of culture to inhabit a more-than-human world. Indeed, aggregate indicators of criticality have been identified, including the rise in global average temperature over preindustrial levels3 (Paris Agreement, 2015). In addition, 350 parts per million (ppm) is the safe threshold for CO2 concentration in the atmosphere.4 Alternatively, “Climate Sensitivity” to the increase in global temperatures due to doubling the concentration of CO2 in the atmosphere prior to industrialization is also critical (Goodwin, 2018). Also, the remaining MCC carbon budget of CO2 emissions to the atmosphere before reaching the 1,170 Gigatons required to maintain global temperature below 1.5°C5 can be used. They are all linked and, at the current rate of deterioration, all lead to a “Climate Breakdown” over the next few decades, which would have disastrous implications for human life (Jonas, 1976; Laybourn-Langton et al., 2019; Taylor, 2019). Despite the overwhelming evidence and scientific consensus surrounding anthropogenic climate change, no unequivocal guidelines are available for future action. We are aiming at a moving target in two different ways. Firstly, our reference constitutes an ever-shifting baseline since there is no “ground zero” for anthropogenic change (Pinnegar and Engelhard, 2008; Thomas, 2019). In addition, the unfamiliar nature and sheer complexity of the Anthropocene (A “Hyperobject”, as Timothy Morton refers to it) preclude us from being able to forecast and understand it based on prior knowledge (Morton, 2013). As we enter the Anthropocene, we experience a discontinuity between the existential conditions that prevailed during the Holocene and those we are about to confront. It is because of this compound situation that an incentive has arisen to go beyond traditional criteria such as the precautionary principle in ethics (Dupuy, 2015, p. 8) or discounting opportunity cost in policymaking (Stern et al., 2006). There is a need for new paradigms in order to cope with the sheer scale and potential effects of urban Anthropocene futures (Farber, 2015). These challenges warrant disruptive approaches. The imaginaries of post-urban development, post-carbon urban futures must urgently be engaged (Stone, 2012, pp. 172–173; Luque-Ayala et al., 2018, Chapter 13; Hajer and Versteeg, 2019, p. 142; Arabindoo, 2020, p. 2311), transcending the dominant paradigms of urban development. A perspective of incremental development constrains all these urban paradigms. Accordingly, a desired state should eventually be reached with sufficient effort and persistence. In fact, two conditions have become increasingly apparent: as the drivers for business as usual prevail for as long as the industrial capitalist economic culture endures, the Holocene economic culture is precipitating its end (Moore, 2016; Snower, 2020). Probably the first and most important common ground among major philosophers of the Anthropocene is that, by definition, even though human activity has produced this complex reality, it cannot be reversed, controlled, or in any way significantly directed by humans. A decentralization of human agency must follow. The

226  F. J. Carrillo traditional rationale behind political economy and social planning is now untenable. Received paradigms of urban development are meaningless under today’s unprecedented circumstances. Furthermore, tipping points, feedback loops, and cascading effects (Klose et al., 2019; Lenton et al., 2019) may prevent a return to a Holocene state for centuries or millennia. We have abandoned the earthly paradise. Human dwellings re-imagined Urban governance is lagging collaboratively creative approaches that are required to enable modern cities to meet the enormous challenges that they are bound to face sooner rather than later. There are several operative subsystems within cities that maintain an extremely fragile equilibrium. If a subsystem is disrupted, it may lead to a sudden and devastating domino effect as evidenced by recent events such as major blackouts, floods, water shortages, earthquakes, etc. Subsequently, all these systems were piled up and reconfigured under the same assumptions pertaining to continual growth and an endless supply. Increasingly, attribution studies (National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, 2016; Zhai et al., 2018) conclude that catastrophic climate events on urban centres are linked to man-made disruptions of the Earth System. Adapting to extreme resource scarcity and service disruptions will be a constant challenge for Anthropocene cities. Challenges include governance, the rule of law, community life as well as collective well-being among increased urbanization and population density. Since almost every aspect of contemporary urban life is destined to become dysfunctional – or to make evident how dysfunctional they were – human imagination will be put to the test: which way will the city go? If there are any city futures at all, they are neither smart, nor sustainable, nor resilient. In all these paradigms, improvement assumes a caeteris paribus clause: everything else remains the same. Not anymore. Enough warnings have been issued about the lack of preparedness of our current industrialized societies to deal with even the most predictable impacts of climate change. A recent project6 stresses how vulnerability studies “… focus on the processes that shape the consequences of climate variations and changes to identify the conditions that amplify or dampen vulnerability to adverse outcomes” (Leary et al., 2009, p. 4). A report by the Urban Climate Change Research Network7 warns on: “the unique risks that climate change poses to cities through a scientific global data analysis” (UCCRN, 2018). In its report on Adaptation, the Global Commission on Adaptation (2019) acknowledges the challenges faced by urban communities (Chapter 5): “Climate change is already bringing more damage, stresses, and suffering to the world’s c­ ities … without a determined effort to adapt to these impacts, the economic toll and human pain in cities will inevitably climb— sometimes dramatically … As a result, more and more people are in harm’s way all over the world, especially in rapidly growing, under resourced cities in developing countries that have limited capacity to adapt to climate change” (GCA, 2019, p. 39). Urban preparedness is a contentious concept. In view of the slow and limited response, it is debatable whether cities can prepare for Anthropocene scenarios. Can they be? If so, how? Accordingly, if there will be an urban life during the Anthropocene, we have yet to imagine it. City planning needs to reset at several levels. The foundations of city life must be redefined. At different scales of human settlement, what are the minimal viable conditions? How can the provision of basic services be guaranteed for everyone? Which alternatives exist for integrating a city with its surrounding region? To successfully cope with the unpredictable impacts of the state shift on the Biosphere, what forms of governance and community life will be required? Do cities have a role to play in the building of a critical mass of international cooperation required for effective mitigation and adaptation efforts on a global scale?

End of the Holocene city  227 A research agenda Rethinking cities to meet the needs of the Anthropocene is a monumental task only rivalled by the challenge of articulating the global human experience to implement the urgent supranational policies necessary to enact sustainable futures. There is a substantial background from different disciplines to foster a deeper understanding of urban climate mitigation and adaptation. Despite this, the topic of city preparedness for the climate crisis has been addressed only recently as an analytic category (Carrillo and Garner, 2001). Prior publications that fall into the preceding category of the Urban Anthropocene are the first and second UCCRN8 Assessment Reports, Climate Change and Cities (Rosenzweig et al., 2011, 2018); as well as Brian Stone (2012) “The City and the Coming Climate”, a good introduction to global urban heating. Luque-Ayala et al.’s (2018) “Rethinking Urban Transitions” advances post-carbon perspectives transcending dominant urban development and sustainability frameworks. Ashley Dawson’s “Extreme Cities” (2017), convergent with this approach, sets the scenario for the unfolding of human settlements destiny before the Climate Crisis. Douglas Kelbaugh’s “The Urban Fix” (2019) examines aspects of policies and design regarding city thermal management. Zaheer Allam et al. (2020) “Cities and Climate Change” underscores the urgency to redesign urban policies under alternative economic perspectives along similar lines. Joel Cohen’s (2019) essay reviews two of these. Ash Amin and Nigel Thrift’s “Seeing Like a City” provides a particularly sensitive harbinger as it conveys the complex network of agents engaged in the Holocene city, thus providing clues as to how it must be reinvented for the Anthropocene (Amin and Thrift, 2016). Infield et al. (2018) collect contributions on green infrastructure and resilience design. Thorpe (2019) provides a globalized perspective on urban environmentalism. Two special issues stand out among the most relevant journal literature: Urban Studies 57(11), 2020 special issue “Why does everyone think cities can save the planet?” (Angelo and Wachsmuth, 2020) and the 2020 Review of World Planning Practice Vol. 16 special issue on Post-Oil Urbanism, that includes a recollection of the influence of Knowledge-Based Development throughout the Middle East (Alraouf, 2020). Among the individual papers, the assessment of climate planning capabilities from 885 EU cities is noteworthy (Reckien et al., 2018). An in-depth study of Manchester’s adaptation capacities within the context of the Ecocities project (Carter et al., 2015) provides excellent insight into issues related to the adaptation of cities. Wamsler et al. (2013) as well as Giordano et al. (2020) are two other references relevant to planning and adaptation. It is worth mentioning two recent doctoral dissertations that have contributed to the advancement of urban climate planning and adaptation: Anja Wejs from Aalborg (2013) and Marina Rivera from Lund (2016). Regarding city resilience, sustainability, and technological capabilities, the literature is rich and extensive. Nonetheless, most of the abundant literature on urban planning, while considering several environmental issues, does not challenge the terms of Earth habitation, therefore failing to illustrate the functional inadequacies of modern urban design under the Anthropocene. The concept of City Preparedness builds upon Urban Knowledge-Based Development and Knowledge Cities as an urban Adaptive Intelligence approach (Carrillo and Garner, 2021). Adaptive Intelligence is a behaviour model in which intelligence, as regarded by a monistic brain/mind model will tend to adapt towards positive modes of interaction with the environment (Sternberg, 2021). Sternberg characterized Adaptive Intelligence as “something you can learn, and that can change through life. It is constantly updated by your interactions with your environment”.9

228  F. J. Carrillo The “City Preparedness for the Climate Crisis” program of the World Capital Institute10 is predicated on the following premises and is subject to adjustment considering underlying scientific consensus:

• The climate crisis is real, and its causes are human. • As a result of the climate crisis, cities are facing unprecedented challenges to the extent that Holocene urban planning is out of step with the Anthropocene.

• To redesign themselves for the Anthropocene, cities must engage in a rigorous exercise of mitigation, adaptation, and civic engagement.

• Cities are neither the problem nor the solution, but the transition to a viable future will take place on the urban arena.

• Reinventing post-Holocene urban life requires a new economic culture that redraws the terms on relation between humans and Earth.

• City alliances can contribute to the advancement of the international preparedness agenda for the climate crisis.

We have yet to find out both the actual expression of the Anthropocene, and the axis of a viable urban culture. Both are unprecedented. Both have yet to be imagined. Conclusion: Imagination as a last hope The Anthropocene historical landmark – the first of geo-epochal scale in human civilization – signals a discontinuity of imagination: a cumulative record of what we have been able to imagine so far and the existential challenge of envisioning an alternative future. Signals about a crisis of imagination are ubiquitous. In his manifesto against growth and debt, Berardi (2012) exclaims: “this is a crisis of imagination about the future” (p. 8). In his review of climate fiction, Andersen (2019), warns that “we face geophysical changes of drastic proportions that severely challenge our ability to imagine the consequences. This … crisis of imagination can be partly relieved by climate fiction, which may help us comprehend the potential impact … we are facing”. Andersen coins the concept of imagination form to describe “a narrative template that underlies the imagination” (op. cit., p. 2), concluding that “climate fiction can help those cultures across the globe that must now re-imagine themselves as sustainable” (p. 142). John Ashton, in an interview by Laybourn-Langton (2018), rejects a widespread hope in a technofix to the climate crisis: “… it has within it an implicit assertion that this is a future problem, not a current problem. It represents a colossal failure of imagination, maybe in some cases a deliberate failure”. Max Haiven’s (2014) sharp criticism of the industrial capitalist civilization is perhaps the most explicit exposure of the crisis of imagination underlying our contemporary way of living. Paraphrasing Wittgenstein, the limits of our imagination are the limits of our future. The challenge from the Anthropocene is, therefore, as much of timing as it is of imagination. This sounds like what Smith (2010) advocated as “The Revolutionary Imperative”: “We have, almost of all of us, lost the political imagination of a different future” (p. 52). Berardi (2012) sees the European decline not just as a socio-economic crisis “but as a crisis of imagination about the future” (p. 8). Thinking about the future has to be in different terms: “If we are able to come to terms with this postfuturistic condition, we’ll renounce accumulation and growth … If we are not able to do this, we will be doomed to a century of violence, misery, and war” (Berardi, op. cit., pp. 81–82). Finally, Luiselli (2020) moves against a philosophical background where hope in the future is not anymore what it used to be: “Something changed in the world”, she writes.

End of the Holocene city  229 “No one has quite been able to capture what is happening or say why. Perhaps it’s just that we sense an absence of future, because the present has become too overwhelming, so the future has become unimaginable” (p. 103). It seems that the future of civilization lies on our collective imagination capital, in our capacity to re-imagine the post-Holocene city. Landry (2019) urges to harness imagination as an existential handgrip: “There is need to switch the question: not ‘what is the value of imagination and creativity for city development?’ but instead ‘what is the cost of not thinking of imagination and creativity?” (Landry, op. cit., p. 6). Notes 1 This chapter has as a general reference the book “City Preparedness for the Climate Crisis” Edited by Carrillo and Garner (2021). Contributions therein expand the arguments discussed here. Some of the core ideas are summarized in Introduction, pp. 1–13. 2 “An advanced introduction to the Creative City – Highlights and Summary”. (Personal communication). 3 The 2015 Paris Agreement set the goal to holding it “to well below 2°C above pre-industrial levels and pursuing efforts to limit the temperature increase to 1.5°C”: Art. 2, 1.a. (Paris Agreement, 2015). 4 see “The Science” at www.350.org. 5 see “Remaining Carbon Budget” at www.mcc-berlin.net. 6 “Assessment of Impacts and Adaptations to Climate Change”. 7 “The Future We Don’t Want: How Climate Change Could Impact the World’s Greatest Cities”. 8 Urban Climate Change Research Network. 9 Sternberg, R. J. (2020) Rethinking what we mean by intelligence. Phi Delta Kappan, 102(3), pp. 36–41. 10 https://worldcapitalinstitute.org.

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19

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability A bibliometric and literature review Cristina Ciliberto, Raffaella Taddeo, Katarzyna Szopik-Depczyńska, Tan Yigitcanlar, and Giuseppe Ioppolo

Introduction Agenda 2030 is an outstanding program which consists of 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), adopted by the United Nations in 2015. It lays the groundwork for the achievement of sustainable development as companies are called to strive. SDG 9 and SDG 17 are focused on improving the implementation of Industry 4.0 through “clean and environmentally sound technologies”. On the other side, a great effort was made in integrating issues such as lean manufacturing, reverse logistics, and sustainability because of the spread of environmental issues (Olsen and Tomlin, 2020). Thus, the emerging technologies enabling the transition to a digitalised era, that are “gathering force [and will] be far reaching, affecting every corner of the factory and the supply chain” (Baur and Wee, 2015), environmental issues and the necessity of quick responses to the customers’ needs, connote a new scenario (Olsen and Tomlin, 2020). With the onset of Industry 4.0 and the implementation of a lean production management model under a sustainable perspective, supply chain could become smart and interconnected environments, flexible and able to respond rapidly to the market changes. Scholars have often aimed at analysing Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability separately or matching them in pairs (Amjad et al., 2020; Awan et al., 2021). It is only since 2011 that scientific research on these topics began to face how Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability can interrelate. Findings reveal that, despite the increase of works in this direction, there are still not many papers which consider all these three fields simultaneously. Furthermore, it is not clear whether one of them is a propulsive force against the others. Thus, in the effort to fulfil this gap, this chapter aims at investigating their relationships providing a better understanding on the role of Industry 4.0 in a lean and sustainable context. The chapter is structured as follows: theoretical background; research methodology; bibliometric analysis through descriptive statistics of the sample; results and discussion; conclusions, limitations, and future outlook. Theoretical background The literature review introduced in this section aims at understanding what is already known and what is not yet known about the relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability and the role played by Industry 4.0 (Table 19.1).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-22

Table 19.1  Literature analysis Authors

Year

Field of study

Object of study

1

Sarkis et al.

2013

Green information systems & technologies

2

Ioppolo et al.

2014

3

Alvarez et al.

2017

Green information system, green technology, supply chain lean management, industrial ecology, Technology Environmental Innovations (TEIs), and Computer Integrated Manufacturing (CIM) sustainability of the machining processes

4

Kamble et al.

2018

Industry 4.0, sustainability and lean manufacturing

5

de Sousa Jabbour et al. Nascimento et al. Farooque et al.

2018

Industry 4.0 and sustainable operations

2018

2019 2019 2019

lean management and big data Implementation of Industry 4.0

11

Ghobakhloo and Fathi Gupta et al. Horváth and Szabó Kamble et al.

Sustainable supply chain management, Industry 4.0 technologies, reverse logistics, and sustainability Circular supply chain management, reverse logistics, and Industry 4.0 Digitisation, lean manufacturing, and Industry 4.0

2020

12

Kościelniak et al.

2019

13

2019

14

Kouhizadeh et al. Saberi et al.

15

Tortorella et al.

2019

Industry 4.0 technologies, lean manufacturing practices, and sustainable organizational performance Sustainable development, augmented reality, and lean management Blockchain technology, sustainability, and supply chain Blockchain technology and sustainable supply chain lean production, Industry 4.0, and lean supply chain management

6

8 9 10

2019

2019

Implementation of sustainability in machine processes to achieve a leaner and cleaner production in digitalised operations Industry 4.0 technologies and their interactions with sustainability and lean production The relationship between Industry 4.0 and sustainability The integration of Industry 4.0 technologies (3D printing) with sustainability Identification of a unified definition of Circular Supply Chain Management (CSCM) The relationships between information technology, manufacturing digitisation, and lean manufacturing The application of big data analytics in the use of lean Six Sigma Driving forces and barriers to the implementation of Industry 4.0 The indirect effects of Industry 4.0 technologies on lean manufacturing practices and sustainable organizational performance The integration of augmented reality and lean culture in the light of a sustainable development management of organizations The relationship among blockchain technology, product deletion, and sustainability The relationship among blockchain technology and sustainable supply chains The moderating effect deriving from the introduction of Industry 4.0 technologies on the relationships between lean Supply Chain Management (LSCM) and supply chain performance improvement in the Brazilian industry (Continued)

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  235

7

The integration of lean management and industrial ecology

Authors

Year

Field of study

Object of study

16

Varela et al.

2019

lean manufacturing, Industry 4.0, and sustainability

17

Asif

2020

18

Bai and Sarkis

2020

19

Chiarini et al.

2020

Quality management models, Industry 4.0, and artificial intelligence Blockchain technology, sustainability, and supply chain transparency Industry 4.0, manufacturing industry, and lean production

20

Dev et al.

2020

21

Ghobakhloo

2020

22

Goienetxea Uriarte et al. Gonçalves Machado et al. MuñozVillamizar et al. Ramirez-Peña et al.

2020

Sustainable reverse supply chain, Industry 4.0, and sustainability Industry 4.0, smart manufacturing, and sustainability lean production, Industry 4.0, and simulation

The integration of lean manufacturing, Industry 4.0, and sustainability The alignment of quality management models with Industry 4.0 technologies The role of transparency in the evaluation process of blockchain technology Identification of Industry 4.0 technologies adopted in Italy and investigation on their aim to achieve specific manufacturing strategies The operational excellence obtained through the integration of Industry 4.0, reverse logistics, and a lean approach sustainability of Industry 4.0

2020

Sustainable manufacturing and Industry 4.0

2020

lean management, lean techniques, Industry 4.0, and efficiency

2020

Industry 4.0, supply chain, green and lean approaches

2020

27

Sutawijaya and Nawangsari Yadav et al.

2020

Industry 4.0, green paradigm, supply chain, and sustainability Sustainable supply chain and Industry 4.0

28

Kolberg et al.

2015

lean automation and Industry 4.0

29

Jayaram

2016

lean Six Sigma, Industry 4.0, and IoT

23 24 25 26

The integration of lean management and simulation as one of the main technologies of Industry 4.0 Impacts of sustainable manufacturing research on Industry 4.0 and the links between Industry 4.0 and sustainable manufacturing The integration of existing approaches in lean thinking, Industry 4.0, and mathematical optimisation Integration of Industry 4.0 technologies with the most significant supply chain paradigms (lean, agile, resilience, and green) in the shipbuilding sector Impacts of Industry 4.0 on green supply chain in the event management sector The development of a framework able to integrate sustainability and Industry 4.0 The integration of lean production and its methods with Industry 4.0 technologies The integration of lean Six Sigma and IoT in Green supply chain management (Continued)

236  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Table 19.1  (Continued)

Table 19.1  (Continued) Authors

Year

Field of study

Object of study

30

Karre et al.

2017

The presentation of the leanLab at Graz University of Technology

31 32

Leyh et al. Mrugalska and Wyrwicka Trstenjak and Cosic Wagner et al.

2017 2017

Learning Factory, Industry 4.0, lean manufacturing, and hands-on education Industry 4.0 and lean production Industry 4.0, lean automation, and lean production

33 34

2017 2017 2017

38

Duarte and Cruz-Machado Dombrowski et al. Duarte and Cruz-Machado Enke et al.

39

Araújo et al.

2018

40

Tortorella et al.

2018

41

Carvalho et al.

2018

Industry 4.0, CPS, and sustainable manufacturing

42 43

Mayr et al. Phuong and Guidat

2018 2018

44

Duarte et al.

2019

lean management, Industry 4.0, CPS, and IoT sustainability, sustainable value stream mapping, lean manufacturing, big data, radiofrequency identification Industry 4.0, business model, canvas, and lean/ green management

35 36 37

2017 2018 2018

Industry 4.0, supply chain management, and lean/ green paradigm Industry 4.0, lean management, and learning factory Automation, Industry 4.0, production efficiency, and lean production Industry 4.0, lean and operational performance improvement

The presentation of the “product planning software” The integration of lean production systems and Industry 4.0 Investigation whether Industry 4.0 can support the implementation of the lean and green supply chain Investigation on interdependencies between Industry 4.0 and lean production systems The integration of lean and green supply chain characteristics in Industry 4.0 environment Identification of the required competencies to integrate Industry 4.0 and lean management Identification of technological improvements in lean company processes The moderating effect of Industry 4.0 on the relationship between lean production and operational performance improvement within a developing economy of Brazil Identification of the principal forms of collaboration between Industry 4.0 and sustainability The integration between Industry 4.0 and lean management sustainability of VSM applied to processes of an apparel company Integration of lean/green management with Industry 4.0 (Continued)

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  237

Industry 4.0, process planning, and lean manufacturing Cyber physical production system, connected industry, Industry 4.0, lean production Industry 4.0, supply chain management, and lean/ green paradigms Industry 4.0 and lean production systems

The integration of Industry 4.0 with lean production Identification of how lean production and Industry 4.0 coexist

Authors

Year

Field of study

Object of study

45

Saetta et al.

2019

Supply chain management and Industry 4.0

46

Müller

2019

47

Edirisuriya et al.

2019

48

Manavalan and Jayakrishna Surajit and Telukdarie

2019

Industry 4.0, Industrial IoT, lean management, and quality management Green concepts, Industry 4.0, lean management, logistics, and operational performance Sustainable supply chain, Industry 4.0, and IOT

Investigation on how technological innovations introduced achieve economic, social, and environmental sustainability and influence production process in the foundry sector Identification of the potentials on quality management which can be improved with the use of Industry 4.0 technologies Examination of lean techniques and green concepts to enhance the operational performance of logistics functions Integration of Industry 4.0 and sustainability

50

Latinovic et al.

2020

51

Bittencourt et al.

2019

49

2019

Business process management, green manufacturing, Industry 4.0, optimisation, remanufacturing, and reverse logistics Intelligence system and Industry 4.0 lean production, lean thinking, Industry 4.0, smart factory, and fourth Industrial Revolution

The impact of Industry 4.0 on green operations and the Institutional pressures The creation of an intelligent system in the cigarette industry to reduce the machine’s failure time The role of lean production in the ongoing 4th Industrial Revolution

Note: Conference papers are listed in italics from 28 to 51; “Field of study” concerns the general topic of the paper, identified through keywords; “Object of study” deals with the results and insights after reading the full paper). In addition, it is important to outline again that, despite the cut-off point of the current review is intended to be 2011, year of birth of Industry 4.0, only since 2013 works that consider simultaneously Industry 4.0, Lean Production and Sustainability are emerged.

238  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Table 19.1  (Continued)

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  239 Industry 4.0 and a brief overview on the emerging technologies

The term Industry 4.0 was coined at the Hannover Fair, in 2011, to indicate the Fourth Industrial Revolution, a.k.a. Industry 4.0 (Kolberg and Zühlke, 2015), featured by an increasing digitalisation of the entire supply chain (Table 19.2). In this regard, it is crucial to understand both how new technologies work, how they interact together, and what technologies belong to Industry 4.0 (Dombrowski et al., 2017; Wagner et al., 2017; De Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018a; Horváth and Szabó, 2019). Indeed, it is argued that there is not a universal definition of Industry 4.0 (Leyh et al., 2017). This could be probably because the term “industry” incorporates several engineering and business disciplines, not only manufacturing (Ortt et al., 2020). The paradigm of Industry 4.0 relies on advanced technological innovations that link their physical and virtual side and is defined as horizontal, end-to-end, or vertical depending on the interplay among machines, humans, or among humans and machines (Kamble et al., 2018; Nascimento et al., 2018). Industry 4.0 technologies help manufacturing industries to improve work environment, employee morale, and product quality (Trstenjak and Cosic, 2017). Furthermore, focusing on customers’ needs and customised products may determine an improvement on productivity and a reduction of lead time (Jayaram, 2016; Duarte and Cruz-Machado, 2017; Müller, 2019; ­Latinovic et al., 2020). Mrugalska and Wyrwicka (2017) add emerging technology, as a competitive strategy, optimise value chain, improve quality standards, and increase productivity (Gupta et al., 2019; Asif, 2020). Industry 4.0 and lean production

Lean production is a management model and a strategic factor in the improvement of production processes based on the principles presented by the Toyota production System. lean production model adopts practices such as the Kanban, a type of scheduling system, and just-in-time, to minimise waste and improve the performance of a company (Duarte and Cruz-Machado, 2018). Chiarini et al. (2020) add that lean production acts as an enabler of Industry 4.0 technologies, only if, previous defects in process flows are eliminated. Industry 4.0 is a complementary environment to lean production so that they can support and enhance each other (Kamble et al., 2018). In this regard, Leyh et al. (2017) assuming that both the emerging technologies and lean production have common goals,that is, the reduction of the cost per unit produced and the improvement of communication in three relationships: man-man, machine-man and, above all, machine-machine for the further development and appropriate implementation of Industry 4.0. Examples of the beneficial implementation of system automatisation are shown by lean digital tools such as product planning softwares (Trstenjak and Cosic, 2017), intelligent and automated systems (Araújo et al., 2018), and technological tools in the foundry sector (Saetta and Caldarelli, 2020). Empirical evidence on the positive effects of this integration is offered through the assessment of the operational performance improvement with Ordinary Least Squares regression method (Tortorella et al., 2018) and a framework in which lean production techniques are combined through a business model Canvas for digital start-ups (Duarte et al., 2019). This is also confirmed assuming emerging technologies as a moderating variable with direct effects on lean supply chain performances (Tortorella et al., 2019).

Industry 4.0 technologies

Examples

Cyber-physical systems (CPS)

The main goal is to monitor physical Automated systems, control systems while creating a virtual copy. systems of processes and These technologies aim at detecting and products in real time, pickeliminating potential “physical waste” in to-light systems, intelligent production processes. logistics, intelligent warehousing, automated guided vehicles (AGV), digital supply chain, artificial intelligence (AI) Internet, smart factory These technologies provide online storage services for all applications, programs, and data in a virtual server to sustainably achieve the shortest lead time, best quality and value, and highest customer delight at the lowest cost.

Cloud computing (CC)

Internet of service (IoS)

Internet

Purpose of Industry 4.0 technologies in the integration of the three topics (Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability)

Internet of services derives from the convergence of two concepts: Web 2.0 and SOA – service-oriented architecture. Its aim is to use software applications which need internet to work. It also improves interactivity, social networks, tagging and web services, improve product customization, and reduce waste.

References

Kamble et al., 2018; de Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Ghobakhloo and Fathi, 2019; Horváth and Szabó, 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Varela et al., 2019; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020; Mrugalska and Wyrwicka, 2017; Trstenjak and Cosic, 2017; Wagner et al., 2017; Dombrowski et al., 2017; Carvalho et al., 2018; Mayr et al., 2018; Edirisuriya et al., 2019. Sarkis et al., 2013; Kamble et al., 2018; de Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Kamble et al., 2020, Varela et al., 2019; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020, Mrugalska and Wyrwicka, 2017; Trstenjak and Cosic, 2017; Wagner et al., 2017; Dombrowski et al., 2017; Mayr et al., 2018; Edirisuriya et al., 2019; Surajit and Telukdarie, 2019. Ghobakhloo and Fathi 2019; Ghobakhloo, 2020.

(Continued)

240  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Table 19.2  Overview of Industry 4.0 emerging technologies

Table 19.2  (Continued) Examples

Purpose of Industry 4.0 technologies in the integration of the three topics (Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability)

References

Internet of things (IoT)

RFID, sensors, barcodes, smartphones, intelligent and autonomous machines, wearable computing systems, advanced predictive analytics, machine-human collaboration, machine to machine communication, wireless technologies, IO-link, artificial intelligence (AI)

Information network of physical objects (sensors, machines, cars, buildings, and other items) enables the collection and exchange of data, allowing interaction and cooperation of these objects. This kind of technology helps to increase quality and safety in organizations and can substantially improve energy efficiency, thereby reducing energy costs.

Additive manufacturing (AM)

3D printer; augmented reality (AR), virtual reality (VR)

Big data analytics (BDA)

Predictive analytics

This technology consists of a process which joins materials to make objects from 3D model data. The purpose is achieving great potential for mass customisation. It can improve resource efficiency, enable closed-loop material flows, and leverage on product and process design. Through the collection and analysis of large amount of available data, these technologies capture and report crucial insights about data processed in high volume and great variety. They can achieve higher environmental performances through waste minimisation, reduction of energy consumption, and resource depletion.

Kamble et al., 2018; de Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Horváth and Szabó, 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Varela et al., 2019; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020; Sutawijaya and Nawangsari, 2020; Mrugalska and Wyrwicka, 2017; Trstenjak and Cosic, 2017; Wagner et al., 2017; Dombrowski et al., 2017; Carvalho et al., 2018; Phuong and Guidat, 2018; Edirisuriya et al., 2019; Manavalan and Jayakrishna, 2019; Surajit and Telukdarie, 2019; Latinovic et al., 2020. Kamble et al., 2018; de Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018; Nascimento et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Ghobakhloo and Fathi, 2019; Horváth and Szabó, 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Varela et al., 2019; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Dev et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020; Mayr et al., 2018. Kamble et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Ghobakhloo and Fathi, 2019; Gupta et al., 2019; Horváth and Szabó, 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020; Wagner et al., 2017; Dombrowski et al., 2017; Mayr et al., 2018; Phuong and Guidat, 2018; Edirisuriya et al., 2019; Manavalan and Jayakrishna, 2019; Surajit and Telukdarie, 2019. (Continued)

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  241

Industry 4.0 technologies

Industry 4.0 technologies

Examples

Purpose of Industry 4.0 technologies in the integration of the three topics (Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability)

References

Simulation and prototype

IP communication protocol, augmented reality (AR), virtual reality (VR), digital twins (DT)

Kamble et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Kościelniak et al., 2019; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020; Goienetxea Uriarte et al., 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020; Mrugalska and Wyrwicka, 2017; Wagner et al., 2017; Dombrowski et al., 2017; Mayr et al., 2018; Edirisuriya et al., 2019.

Robotic systems (RS)

Robots, collaborative robots, smart robots

Cyber security systems (CSS)

Internet

These technologies mirror the physical world data such as machines, products, and humans in a virtual world, aiming for simplification and affordability of the design, creation, testing, and live operation of the systems. One of the main purposes of these technologies, recognised in literature, concerns elimination of waste and reduction of production losses. Machinery and equipment that automate operational processes, containing also collaborative robotics, which allows humans and machines to operate in a shared learning environment play a crucial positive economic and environmental effect. Robotic systems reduce lead time, enhance productivity, improve recycling, reduce carbon footprint, and make manufacturing more sustainable. These technologies are security risk assessment tools with the aim of defending computers, servers, mobile devices, electronic systems, networks, and data from malicious attacks. Such tools can improve energy profitability performance and secure and speed up processes.

Kamble et al., 2018; Horváth and Szabó, 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Varela et al., 2019; Asif, 2020; Chiarini et al., 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020; Edirisuriya et al., 2019.

Kamble et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Kamble et al., 2020; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020.

(Continued)

242  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Table 19.2  (Continued)

Table 19.2  (Continued) Examples

Purpose of Industry 4.0 technologies in the integration of the three topics (Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability)

References

Blockchain (BC)

Internet

Ghobakhloo and Fathi, 2019; Kouhizadeh et al., 2019; Saberi et al., 2019; Bai and Sarkis, 2020.

Artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning (ML)

Internet

It consists of a database that creates a distributed digital ledger of transactions, including timestamps of blocks maintained by every participating node. It can provide benefits to larger manufacturers looking to improve their lean operations and reduce waste. It helps risk reduction thanks to a complete tracking of every single activity which is constantly verifiable and controllable. These technologies are able to analyse specific data and accurately predict the expected output, thus eliminating exorbitant material use or waste. Through its deep predictive capabilities and intelligent grid systems AI and ML can manage the demand and supply of renewable energy, optimise efficiency, cut costs, and contribute to the reduction of carbon pollution.

Asif, 2020; Mayr et al., 2018.

Note: In this Table is also highlighted the purpose of technologies in the integration of the three topics, Industry 4.0, Lean Production, and Sustainability.

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  243

Industry 4.0 technologies

244  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al. Industry 4.0 and sustainability

Sustainability has become paramount in smart manufacturing (Kamble et al., 2020). The European Union encourages the transition towards sustainability with measures to reduce the consumption of raw materials, reduce waste, and increase the reuse of resources. This would make our economy more sustainable and increase innovation and sustainable development through Sustainability of operations. Kirchherr et al. (2017) argued this would be the right path to follow in order to decrease depletion of resources, energy consumption, create value added, closedloop supply chain and reduce waste. Thus, such a more sustainable transition in supply chain may help companies to develop products and processes aligned with stakeholders’ expectations (Nascimento et al., 2018). Several studies confirm the implementation of new technologies in a sustainable perspective can lead firms towards greener operations, better operational performances and significant economic and environmentally friendly advantages (Surajit and Telukdarie, 2018; De Sousa ­Jabbour et al., 2018a; Nascimento et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Manavalan and ­Jayakrishna, 2019; Dev et al., 2020; Yadav et al., 2020). In support of this, Ghobakhloo (2020) remarks that the most direct outcomes deriving from the interaction of Industry 4.0 and sustainability are related to production efficiency and lay the groundwork for business model innovation. Kamble et al. (2020) and Varela et al. (2019) empirically demonstrate that the implementation of the emerging technologies in manufacturing companies is strongly related to sustainable organisational performances. It is also highlighted that implementation of new technologies in industrial processes is different between small or medium-sized companies and bigger ones. The former consider one of the most powerful drivers for integration cost saving (Ioppolo et al., 2014; Horváth and Szabó, 2019), whereas for the latter customers’ targets, consisting in environmental safeguards and, in a responsible environmental protection, are crucial. Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability

Matching these three concepts on the basis of the reviewed literature, it can be affirmed these topics holistically accomplish their common goal of improving production processes, quality, design, flexibility, product customisation, transparency, interoperability, reduction of complexity, waste, lead time, costs and increase in efficiency, and productivity (Peralta Álvarez et al., 2017; Kamble et al., 2020; Ramirez-Peña et al., 2020; Sutawijaya and Nawangsari, 2020). Duarte and Cruz-Machado (2017) add that lean and sustainable approaches jointly aspire to improve Industry 4.0 features such as flexibility, transparency, optimisation of company’s functions, and make the corporate strategy more suitable to keep up with competitiveness in the global market. Their integration, despite costly, can strongly support internal processes such as just-in-time, supplier relationship management, customer relationship management, and enhance environmental sustainability (Ghobakhloo and Fathi, 2019). Ioppolo et al. (2014) assume that lean production is not a mere set of tools but, a “modus operandi and a mindset” that has to be implemented into production systems in order to achieve sustainability. The jointly implementation of lean production techniques and emerging technologies results in the creation of a system which works as a “catalyst” to facilitate environmental sustainability (Edirisuriya et al., 2018). Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability were found to share the same goals because they are focused on the improvement of quality and the satisfaction of consumer’s needs even though they present different operative approaches (Farooque et al., 2019; Ghobakhloo, 2020).

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  245 Lean production aims at the elimination of waste, satisfaction of customer needs, generation of value, striving for perfection, ensuring reliability at all phases of production, and establishing continuous improvement (Kaizen) in all process flows (Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020). Industry 4.0 reaches these goals by improving performance processes through an integrated use of smart technologies (Asif, 2020). sustainability achieves the same objectives focusing on the reduction of resource depletion, energy consumption, and waste stream valorisation (Nascimento et al., 2018). According to Porter, strategy “is about being different” and “the essence of strategy is choosing a unique and valuable position rooted in systems of activities that are much more difficult to match.” In this perspective, sustainability has to be intended as a strategy which adopts circular economy as a precondition for sustainable manufacturing through the implementation of the ten key circular economy principles (Geissdoerfer et al., 2017). In this scenario, Industry 4.0 is an integrated environment of smart technologies which has the capability to act as a facilitator towards the achievement of sustainable goals tracking products post-consumption to recover components (Wagner et al., 2017; De Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018b; Gonçalves Machado et al., 2020). Furthermore, Industry 4.0 technologies with the implementation of Reverse Logistics and eco-innovation become a propulsive force of this new paradigm and a key element to shift companies towards a cutting edge and sustainable business model (Nascimento et al., 2018; Farooque et al., 2019; Kościelniak et al., 2020; Dev et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo, 2020). Methodology The study is developed following a literature review based on the five-step methodology (Briner and Denyer, 2012) presented in Figure 19.1.

• Phase 1: Identification. The objective of the research, keywords, research databases, and

cover period are defined. The keyword strings used are: (“Industry 4.0” OR “Smart manufacturing”) AND (“lean production” OR “lean manufacturing” OR “lean management”) AND (“sustainability”). Google Scholar, Science Direct, Scopus, Emerald Insight, and Web of Science are utilised to carry out the analysis. Industry 4.0 is a topic which officially came on stage in 2011 at the Hannover Fair (Chiarini et al., 2020). For this reason, it could be assumed that the year 2011 would be the natural cut-off point of the current literature review. • Phase 2: Literature search. In this phase, resources are collected. • Phase 3: Evaluation of the research. The review performed aims to select a set of resources that consider simultaneously the relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability. Inclusion and exclusion criteria were applied. First, only documents written in English were considered, peer-reviewed journal articles, literature reviews, and conference papers aligned with the aim of the analysis and pertaining only to the Business and Management fields of research. Book chapters, books, and doctoral theses were excluded. The total number of papers found was 276. All these resources were screened following a two-step screening process: (a) by titles and keywords; (b) by abstract and full paper. In the first phase, selected articles were 253. In the second step, the number of selected papers dropped to 193. Only those papers more adherent to the specific purpose of the research, focused on the simultaneous investigation of relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability and on the role of Industry 4.0 in this integration were considered. Duplicates were excluded. As a result, the final number of records that passed the screening process dropped to 51 (27 scientific articles and 24 conference papers).

246  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Figure 19.1  Research methodology. Source: Derived from Briner and Denyer (2012).

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  247

Figure 19.1  (Continued)

• Phase 4: Interpretation. The collected studies were critically appraised to achieve research objective and research gaps highlighted.

• In Phase 5, results were presented and discussed. A conceptual framework that interrelates Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability in its triple dimension (environmental, social, and economic) was proposed. Conclusions and future outlooks were elaborated.

Bibliometric analysis through descriptive statistics of the sample Trend of publications

It is interesting to note that the first publication in lean production dates back to the early 90s, whereas the environmental aspects were considered from the early years of their manifestation (1994), and Industry 4.0 was investigated from its occurrence in 2011 (Chiarini et al., 2020). In literature, the topic of the relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability is quite new and debated, and, as emerged in the research, studies are mainly concentrated between 2017 and 2020. Furthermore, it is true that 2011 is assumed as the cut-off point of the current literature review, but as findings reveal, only since 2013 that first studies investigated upon the proposed research topic (Figure 19.2). Contributions from journals, by country and by type of papers

The Excel tool was used to classify journals. Journal of Cleaner production has the highest number of publications in the selected period (2011–2020), with six papers, followed respectively by International Journal of production Research with five publications and sustainability with three ones. This means that Industry 4.0 issues related to lean production and sustainability are discussed in different journals with a broad dissemination (Figure 19.3). As shown in Figure 19.4, distribution of publications is quite widely spread in the world considering the relevance and the novelty of the topic. In Figure 19.5, the 51 selected papers are divided according to the type of study, of which 24 studies are classified as conference papers. They are followed by 11 literature reviews,

248  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Figure 19.2 Trend of publications. Authors are listed on the horizontal axis and years of their publication on the vertical axis.

14 research papers, 1 case study, and 1 special issue. This shows that the interest for this topic is growing up and the large number of conference papers confirms this trend. Keywords statistics

Figure 19.6 shows the most widespread keywords in the 51 scientific articles. “Industry 4.0/ Smart Manufacturing” was the most frequently used keyword (46%), followed by “lean production/­lean manufacturing/lean management” (35%) and “sustainability” (19%). Furthermore, in Figure 19.7, it is meaningful to observe that in the reviewed literature the keyword “Industry 4.0” is always present. On the other hand, keywords are matched together in order to understand both their relationships and whether Industry 4.0 is a dominant topic

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  249

Figure 19.3  Journals’ concentration.

compared to the others. What emerged is that leading integrations are between Industry 4.0 and lean production (50%) as well as between Industry 4.0 and sustainability (33%). The combination among keywords Industry 4.0 and lean production and sustainability do not reach high value (17%) and it confirms the existing gap on this topic. The persistent presence of Industry 4.0 in these combinations means new technologies play a significant role in this trilateral relationship, as it is confirmed by relevant literature ­(Peralta Álvarez et al., 2017; Trstenjak and Cosic, 2017; Araújo et al., 2018; Kamble et al., 2018; ­Tortorella et al., 2018; Duarte et al., 2019; Chiarini et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo and Fathi, 2019; Saetta and Caldarelli, 2020). Hence, a novel trend in literature that considers these three topics in an integrated way is traced.

Figure 19.4  Geographic concentration (countries of first authors are considered).

250  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al.

Figure 19.5  Types of studies reviewed.

Results and discussion Descriptive statistics and literature review highlight that out of 51 examined scientific articles, only 11 effectively tackle the topic of the relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability effectively. Furthermore, findings reveal that the integrated application of lean

Figure 19.6  Keywords’ trend.

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  251

Figure 19.7  Keywords match.

production and Industry 4.0 in a sustainable perspective is also an effective business strategy to reach higher levels of operational excellence. This also shows a lack of research in this topic. In this sense, Pagliosa et al. (2021) also declared the necessity for further investigation upon these relationships. These three topics, if applied simultaneously, as suggested by the trend identified in this research, lead to an effective achievement of sustainable goals, both economic, environmental, social, and operational. This is confirmed by Sarkis et al. (2013) who affirmed that lean manufacturing and Industry 4.0 technologies may reduce worldwide data centre of energy dissipation, improve operational performances, safety in industrial processes, and reduce costs. The integration may also contribute to the maximisation of power usage efficiency, improvement of

252  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al. recycling efforts, reduction of carbon and gas emissions, minimisation of water usage, reduction of wastes, lead time, and enhancement of customisation through eco-innovation (MaldonadoGuzmán et al., 2021). In this sense, Industry 4.0 represents a smart integrated environment where the adoption of lean production methodologies can give rise to a sustainable transition as claimed in UN Agenda 2030. Awan et al. (2021) argued such an implementation of a digitalised, lean, and closed-loop production system can lead companies towards the development of a more circular and sustainable business model. Cyber-physical systems with in real-time monitorisation help to reduce economic and environmental impacts, increase worker’s safety and autonomy, production process productivity, quality, and competitive edge. Smart Manufacturing with lean production is a new paradigm of in-real-time technologies contributing to effective decision-making processes and sustainable growth (De Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018b). Indeed, drawbacks are to be highlighted. The debate on the emerging technologies connected to lean production and sustainability could also lead to unfavourable results. It is noteworthy an ongoing discussion on the potential negative effects of lean models in sustainable logistics (Geissdoerfer et al., 2017) and the impact of cloud computing models on energy consumption (Olsen and Tomlin, 2020) which cannot be glossed over. Although Industry 4.0 technologies adoption in companies has taken on greater importance and visibility, technology implications on sustainability objectives need to be cautiously evaluated (Bai and Sarkis, 2020) for its higher resource consumption, global warming, general environmental degradation, and higher environmental pollution. To try to overcome these negative features, a conceptual framework integrating the three main topics, in an eco-innovative direction, and the ten Circular Economy’s key principles is elaborated (Figure 19.8). The proposed framework outlines the role of Industry 4.0 as an enabling environment of cyber-physical connected elements for the integration of production processes and, the importance of lean methodologies in making manufacturing systems more agile, cost-effective, and environmental friendly (Kamble et al., 2018; Ghobakhloo et al., 2021). Emerging technologies, through eco-innovation, may provide the groundwork for the adoption of lean methodologies and sustainability in its triple dimension through the 10 R’s framework, which is considered a new sustainability paradigm (Maldonado-Guzmán et al., 2021). In the proposed framework, all three pillars of sustainability are addressed. From an economic point of view, this interaction may lead to an increase of profits, efficiency, flexibility, and competitiveness; increase of turnover, and creation of new business models; improvement of market share of the products, supply chains, and security and a decrease of operational costs and massive savings for companies (De Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018a). Besides, the adoption of such an integrated system would also imply environmental effects such as a decrease of industrial waste, energy consumption of non-renewal energy sources; increase of production of renewal energy; increase of circular economy practices comprising collaborations with partners that follow good environmental ones; decrease of resources consumption, global warming, climate changes, and energy requirements; increase of renewable resources ­(Kirchherr et al., 2017). In addition, social impacts such as an improvement of working conditions a decrease of working accidents and an increase of participation of employees in decision-making processes can be recognised (De Sousa Jabbour et al., 2018b). Finally, operational effects in companies are identified, such as improvement of performance processes and management performance; improvement of the Overall Equipment Effectiveness; reduction of lead time and delivery time; improvement of quality; pursuit of perfection, value

Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability  253

Figure 19.8 The conceptual framework of the integration among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability. The 10 Rs’ principles consist of ten stages, namely refuse; rethink; reduce; reuse; repair; refurbish; remanufacture; repurpose; recycle; recover and it is applied to lean methods in an Industry 4.0 environment. Acronyms of underpinning technologies are explained in ­Table 19.2. Examples of lean techniques mentioned are: Just-in-Time, Kanban, Jidoka, ­Andon, Kaizen, Poka Joke, lean six Sigma, 5 S methodology, total quality management, target costing, value stream mapping, takt time, Hejiunka, standardisation, single minute exchange of dies.

generation, satisfaction of customer’s needs, continuous improvement and guarantee of reliability (Duarte and Cruz-Machado, 2017). Following these recommendations, managers may be helped to simplify production processes, decision-makers may elaborate more straightforward rules for sustainable growth and scholars may develop further research rethinking the role of new technologies, thought in an eco-innovative way and in connection with lean production and sustainability (Kamble et al., 2020; Ghobakhloo et al., 2021). Thus, Industry 4.0 has the potential to enhance global manufacturing and meet the rising human needs without hurting the environment if, eco-innovation and eco-design of products and technologies will be taken into account. Conclusion, limitations, and future research The chapter investigates the relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production, and sustainability through a descriptive statistical analysis and a literature review. It can be affirmed that Industry 4.0 has launched a lean and sustainable system, where Industry 4.0 technologies become a leading force and a vector with the application of lean production methodologies in a

254  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al. sustainable perspective. Industry 4.0 can be viewed as a productive formula which introduces innovation and represents the new bridge between human and machine interactions; lean Production methodologies as a productive model, and sustainability as a productive strategy. Therefore, from a theoretical point of view, this study contributes to strengthening the body of knowledge on Industry 4.0 technologies, lean production methodologies, and sustainability by addressing their main characteristics and applications, identifying similarities and differences among them and the potentials for a shared and integrated development. In this perspective, the proposed framework can be considered a preliminary step to contribute to a better understanding of the topic. This smart structure may provide the basis for a lean system that gives rise to sustainable outcomes. This framework will guide practitioners and policymakers towards a sustainable environmental and technological transition developing guidelines for the implementation of Industry 4.0 in a lean and sustainable perspective. The proposed framework may also push academicians to carry out exploratory research in order to measure the impacts of Industry 4.0 technologies, lean production methodologies, and sustainability on production processes’ performances and financial statements. In this sense, Multi-criteria decision-making techniques such as analytical hierarchical process (AHP), analytic network process (ANP), preference ranking organisation method for enrichment evaluation (PROMETHEE), technique for order of preference by similarity to ideal solution (TOPSIS) method may be used in future research to analyse relationships among Industry 4.0, lean production and sustainability. The study also contains practical implications. Indeed, it suggests how a simultaneous implementation results in many economic, social, environmental, and operational consequences. This implies that practitioners will be pushed to integrate these topics to have a better industrial control on the processes, increase agility of organisations, make in-real-time decisions, save money, offer highly customised products in shorter lead times and reduce waste. Furthermore, managers should strive to achieve a higher environmental respect with an efficient use of available resources and a reduction of energy consumption. Therefore, they should not get unmotivated in adopting Industry 4.0 technologies. Indeed, they should work hard to reach a smarter and more sustainable system in their companies through the simultaneous implementation of emerging technologies, lean production methodologies, and sustainability, to be intended as a competitive business strategy. In recent years, the concept of Industry 4.0 has expanded beyond the industry focus and became an overall concept for our cities journey to become smarter (Regona et al., 2022a). Today, we experience the expansion of Industry 4.0 to give birth to the notion of City 4.0 (Regona et al., 2022b), where it can be defined as a city that utilises technological developments and digitalisation to transform local public services and local economy to produce sustainable and desired urban, environmental, and societal outcomes for all (Yigitcanlar et al., 2022). Our prospective research will investigate this notion. Conflict of interest The authors of this chapter declare no competing interests. References Amjad, M. S., Rafique, M. Z., Hussain, S., Khan, M. A. (2020), “A new vision of LARG manufacturing – a trail towards Industry 4.0”, CIRP Journal of Manufacturing Science and Technology, Vol. 31, No. 1.

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256  C. Ciliberto, R. Taddeo, K. Szopik-Depczyńska et al. Enke, J., Glass, R., Kreß, A., Hambach, J., Tisch, M., Metternich, J. (2018), “Industrie 4.0 – competencies for a modern production system: A curriculum for learning factories”, in Mourtzis, D., Chryssolouris, G. (Eds.), Advanced Engineering Education & Training for Manufacturing Innovation, 8th CIRP Sponsored Conference on Learning Factories, Procedia Manufacturing, Vol. 23, pp. 267–272. Farooque, M., Zhang, A., Thürer, M., Qu, T., Huisingh, D. (2019), “Circular supply chain management: A definition and structured literature review”, Journal of Cleaner production, Vol. 228, pp. 882–900. Geissdoerfer, M., Savaget, P., Bocken, N., Hultink, E. (2017), “The circular economy – A new sustainability paradigm?, Journal of Cleaner production, Vol. 143, pp. 757–768. Ghobakhloo, M. (2020), “Industry 4.0, digitization, and opportunities for sustainability”, Journal of Cleaner production, Vol. 252, pp. 1–21. Ghobakhloo. M., Fathi. M., Iranmanesh, M., Maroufkhani, P., Morales. M. E. (2021), “Industry 4.0 ten years on: A bibliometric and systematic review of concepts, sustainability value drivers, and success determinants”, Journal of Cleaner Production, Vol. 302, p. 127052, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jclepro. 2021.127052. Ghobakhloo, M., Fathi, M. (2019), “Corporate survival in Industry 4.0 era: The enabling role of leandigitized manufacturing”, Journal of Manufacturing Technology Management, Vol. 31, No. 1, pp. 1–30. Goienetxea Uriarte, A., Ng, A. H. C., Urenda Moris, M. (2020), “Bringing together lean and simulation: A comprehensive review”, International Journal of production Research, Vol. 58, No. 1, pp. 87–117. Gonçalves Machado, C., Winroth, M. P., da Silva, E. H. D. R. (2020), “Sustainable manufacturing in industry 4.0: An emerging research agenda”, International Journal of production Research, Vol. 58, No. 5, pp. 1462–1484. Gupta, S., Modgil, S., Gunasekaran, A. (2019), “Big data in lean Six Sigma: A review and further research directions”, International Journal of production Research, Vol. 58, No. 3, pp. 947–969. Horváth, D., Szabó, R. Z. (2019), “Driving forces and barriers of Industry 4.0: Do multinational and small and medium-sized companies have equal opportunities?, Technological Forecasting and Social Change, Vol. 146, pp. 119–132. Ioppolo, G., Cucurachi, S., Salomone, R., Saija, G., Ciraolo, L. (2014), “Industrial ecology and environmental lean management: Lights and shadows”, sustainability, Vol. 6, No. 9, pp. 6362–6376. Jayaram, A. (2016), “lean Six Sigma approach for global supply chain management using industry 4.0 and IioT”, in IEEE (Ed.), 2nd International Conference on Contemporary Computing and Informatics, pp. 89–94, Uttar Pradesh, India. Kamble, S., Gunasekaran, A., Dhone, N. C. (2020), “Industry 4.0 and lean manufacturing practices for sustainable organisational performance in Indian manufacturing companies”, International Journal of production Research, Vol. 58, No. 5, pp. 1319–1337. Kamble, S., Gunasekaran, A., Gawankar, S. A. (2018), “Sustainable Industry 4.0 framework: A systematic literature review identifying the current trends and future perspectives”, Process Safety and Environmental Protection, Vol. 117, pp. 408–425. Karre, H., Hammer, M., Kleindienst, M., Ramsauer, C. (2017), “Transition towards an industry 4.0 state of the leanLab at Graz University of Technology”, in Metternich, J., Glass, R. (Eds.), 7th Conference on Learning Factories, CLF 2017, Procedia Manufacturing, Vol. 9, pp. 206–213, Darmstadt. Kirchherr, J., Reike, D., Hekkert, M. (2017). “Conceptualizing the circular economy: An analysis of 114 definitions”, Resources, Conservation and Recycling, Vol. 127, pp. 221–232. Kolber, D., Zühlke, D. (2015), “lean automation enabled by industry 4.0 technologies”, in Dolgui, A., Sasiadek, J., Zaremba, M. (Eds.), 15th IFAC Symposium on Information Control Problems in Manufacturing, IFAC-Papers Online, Vol. 48, No. 3, pp. 1870–1875. Kościelniak, H., Łęgowik-Małolepsza, M., Łęgowik-Świącik, S. (2019), “The application of information technologies in consideration of augmented reality and lean management of enterprises in the light of sustainable development”, sustainability, Vol. 11, No. 7, p. 2157. https://doi.org/10.3390/su11072157 Kouhizadeh, M., Sarkis, J., Zhu, Q. (2019), “At the nexus of blockchain technology, the circular economy, and product deletion”, Applied Sciences, Vol. 9 No. 8, p. 1712. Latinovic, T., Barz, C., Pop Vadean, A., Sikanjic, G., Sikman, L. (2020), “Adaptive intelligence system for a predictive process for the industry 4.0 in tobacco factory”, in IOP Publishing Ltd (Ed.), Journal of Physics: Conference Series, International Conference on Applied Sciences, Vol. 1426, pp. 1–12.

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Collingwood Yards The formation of a creative precinct Esther Anatolitis and Hélène Frichot

Prologue: Collingwood Yards opening night Following big discussions and bold visions animated by desires and disagreements, delays and frustrations, and with a launch date stalled by two years of pandemic disruption, ­Collingwood Yards finally welcomes the public! Opening night sparkles enticingly on the Melbourne arts calendar as one of the city’s first moments for gathering after some of the world’s longest lockdowns during the COVID-19 pandemic (see Fig 20.1). A warm Welcome to Country sets the scene as curious visitors venture across newly reinvigorated buildings embracing a central courtyard whose trees and open spaces have not been enjoyed in decades. In the Australian context, a Welcome to Country by local Indigenous Elders reaffirms that First Nations’ sovereignty was never ceded, and honours Elders past and present. On this basis, resident artists and tenant organisations can gather together with government partners, philanthropists, and new neighbours to begin to imagine what this extraordinary new place will yield. With so many different practitioners and practice modes brought together, the hope is that new relationships will nurture complex creative ecologies. So, how did Collingwood Yards come to be? What is a creative ecology, and what role can one creative precinct play in nurturing the complexities of its formation into generative practices? Introduction: Setting the scene This chapter takes a close look at the formation of a creative precinct to ask how such organisations – when well-governed, when connecting industry to communities of artists and artists organisations, when supported by state government and its planning instruments – can manifest as generative spaces that foster relationships of understanding between artistic communities and local communities. We introduce the concept of creative ecologies to discuss the ways in which a creative precinct emerges as a result of a range of complex relationships among diverse actors in an environment that itself must be understood as dynamic. Ecologies, we stress, are neither good nor bad, but sometimes allow life to flourish, and sometimes risk diminishing generative capacities. Our focus is Collingwood Yards in Naarm (Melbourne, Australia), Melbourne’s newest creative precinct, which had been many years in the making: first designated as a site for cultural development by the Victorian Government in 2014, it was brought to life by a non-profit organisation with a founding strategy led by inaugural CEO, urbanist and former festival director ­Marcus Westbury. Co-author of this chapter, Esther Anatolitis, served as founding Deputy Chair DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-23

260  E. Anatolitis and H. Frichot

Figure 20.1  Opening Night at Collingwood Yards. Source: Photography by Esther Anatolitis

of that organisation, called Contemporary Arts Precincts, which was charged with developing the governance frameworks that could best support Westbury’s vision and collaborative approach. It was a project fraught with risks and greeted with the highest of expectations among practitioners across local ecologies of practice. Collingwood, an inner-city suburb of Australia’s second-largest city, has been home to the Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung people since time immemorial. Following invasion and then colonisation, rapid development followed, and by the mid1800s, Collingwood had become a district of factories and toxic industries such as brickworks and quarries. Over a century later, as the city had grown, deindustrialisation left spacious, solidly built warehouses available for creative use, as well as a good supply of former workers’ cottages, making Collingwood a place where artists could live, work, and thrive affordably. By the 2010s, however, these creative energies had inadvertently fed property prices, expressed in the gluttony of fast-paced residential development, forcing artists out. Seemingly resisting the usually inexorable progress of gentrification, the site of the 19th-century Collingwood Artisans’ School of Design, later the Collingwood Technical College, had lain abandoned for decades. This was the opportunity that would become Collingwood Yards. One of the challenges of composing this creative space was how to resist contributing to yet more gentrification in the area. This was to be a place where artists and artist-led organisations could work securely and collaborate adventurously without being concerned about being evicted or displaced. It was to be a place where curious audiences could experience new work and engage in invigorating conversations; a place to feel challenged, inspired, and connected. A place where mutual support systems could enable the development of new modes of practice, as well as sustaining ethical ways of working. All of these qualities contribute to what we argue is a flourishing creative ecology. It was not to be a place that resulted in the forced relocation of vulnerable members of society, or the homogenisation of a local neighbourhood.

Collingwood Yards  261 Creating a new precinct for artists, makers, and their audiences is a sensitive undertaking. One of the greatest risks a precinct presents – even while aiming to alleviate the concerns of communities of creative practice, and open new spaces of creative collaboration – is the acceleration of gentrification. Gentrification is a process identified in the 1970s by Ruth Glass (2010). Observing post-war neighbourhoods in London, Glass described a suite of symptoms she identified with Americanisation: the increasing exploitation of the housing needs of the working class and migrant communities; the resulting exodus to the suburbs by those priced out of the city, and at the same time, a revaluation of life in the city by a suburban middle-class choosing to return to the inner city and take up residence there; gleams of affluence in places that had not witnessed this before; and finally, social homogenisation among previously diverse communities. Sharon Zukin’s (1982) pioneering book Loft Living goes on to address the phenomenon of artists reclaiming post-industrial urban spaces in the 1970s, which led to increasing property prices in cities like New York. By today, global cities have borne witness to wave after wave of gentrification, and canny developers know that the demographic to follow closely are artists and so-called creative types. The rejuvenation of Collingwood Yards emerges in the 21st-century at a historical juncture where such risks are well known. The Contemporary Arts Precincts Board was aware from the very outset that this project would risk ring-fencing affordability to within the precinct’s boundaries, surrounded by an inner-city environment increasingly hostile to artists. This risk became an immediate threat when a developer on the eastern threshold of the site – identifying an opportunity and rapidly moving in to capitalise on the promise of the new creative precinct – made a play for the speculative development of multi-residential housing. An unauthorised gentri-fiction was deployed to leverage site value and future apartment sales by riding on the promise of rubbing shoulders with creative types. A gentri-fiction, as Frichot has argued across several essays, is a story composed through image-making practices and marketing narratives that aims to reassure a local population that forthcoming projects of revitalisation and development will not result in the loss of community relations and the displacement of more vulnerable citizens. Gentri-fiction is “a spatial story told through branded compositions of image and text” (Frichot 2017: 2.5), deployed less as a means of making an account of our local urban environment worlds, than of repackaging these worlds as spatial commodities. Without seeking consultation or approval, property developers Gurner Group released a prospectus illustrated with Collingwood Yards images and even a photograph of Westbury himself, the inaugural CEO of Collingwood Yards. At the same time, Gurner Group lodged objection after objection with local planning authorities against Collingwood Yards’ plans – a vexatious approach which would require a creative response. And so, years before it would become a creative precinct, the site was generating one of neoliberal capitalism’s most fundamental conflicts, risking the perilous slide into what Claire Bishop (2012) calls an “artificial hell” by hijacking an imaginary of local creative participation in an adjacent developer-driven project that was in fact aimed predominantly at profit. The best of intentions invested in the planning of a creative precinct are easily waylaid and are ever at risk of producing unintended consequences for a local neighbourhood ecology. This combination of creative talent and developer desire is, by now, an established narrative. Richard Florida (2005), for example, well known for his celebration of the creative class and what it offers to the rejuvenation of cities, produces what Bishop cautions is a “gentrification handbook” (2012: fn 19, 290) directed at the revitalisation of cities led by creatives despite the resulting collateral damage produced. Artists and creatives are easily taken up in such plans. Bishop looks specifically to a surge of interest among artists from the 1990s onwards in participation and collaboration. This is what she calls an “expanded field of post-studio practices” (1–2), noting that it has become a near global phenomenon. Yet, in the desire to work with local communities and

262  E. Anatolitis and H. Frichot to strengthen social bonds, Bishop issues an important warning. Bishop warns of how, with the retreat of the welfare state, participatory and socially engaged art comes to be instrumentalised, filling a gap that widens with the evacuation of state-based social support systems. In an interview, Bishop explains that the instigation of the book, Artificial Hells, came from an observation of how “neoliberal cultural funding policies began to use art as a way to reinforce social inclusion agendas that were being simultaneously undermined by the privatisation of education and healthcare” (Eschenburg 2014: 177) to which could be added housing. In Artificial Hells, she argues that the participatory turn always risks being “less about repairing the social bond than a mission to enable all members of society to be self-administering, fully functioning consumers who do not rely on the welfare state and who can cope with a deregulated, privatised world” (6). Isabelle Stengers, who will be introduced further on, remarks: “The privatization of resources that are simply essential to survival, such as water, is the order of the day, as well as that of those institutions which, in our countries, had been considered as ensuring a human right, like education” (Stengers 2015: 80). Here is where we begin to see the vulnerability of any creative ecology and how the flourishing of one set of relations may well lead to the diminution of another. A great deal is at stake. Wily developers, meanwhile, have gone as far as enrolling artist groups in their endeavours to develop socially and culturally sensitive sites by securing public or local community support for the project. To ask how power can be adequately shared and wealth appropriately distributed is beyond the scope of what we can adequately address here, but we can venture a discussion of a specific cultural precinct to explore how well it might or might not support a sufficiently diverse ecology of creative practice. Despite the real risk of disenfranchisement, there persists the promise of everyday affects, the sharing of everyday life and everyday joys, and humble aspirations for facilitating community-building while acknowledging our differences. To render this fragile ecology of relations durable, a capacity for critical self-reflection and the wherewithal to remain critically alert to the after-effects of such work – including the ever-present risks of the neoliberal co-option of such efforts – remains crucial. Let’s turn to the question of what is a creative precinct. And how does it support an ecology of creative practice? What, exactly, do we mean by creative ecologies? What is a creative precinct? We hear the term “creative precinct” commonly used to describe the different kinds of places where artists live and practice, or where creative work is made or presented, or where people choose to live because of proximity to creative people and a diversity of cultural experiences. A precinct can be planned or unplanned, with property developers and governments relying on value capture in ways that all too often force independent artists out of the places whose increasing value they themselves precipitated. Successful creative precincts are developed, facilitated, and sustained via multiple approaches – and that multiplicity is essential. A precinct might be just the one building, or a clearly bounded site, or a less-defined neighbourhood – or it might be a set of tactical approaches that unlock the complex potential of a place in valuable yet indeterminate ways. Unless we’re more specific, “creative precinct” can be an unhelpful way of focusing our thinking, evoking too many characteristics to be of use. Successful precincts also change over time. A creative precinct located in one building might expand into a site when neighbouring buildings and venues attract creative uses. A site might become a neighbourhood when artists begin to live and work nearby, and when residents and other businesses are attracted to move in on the basis of local creative energies. A planned creative neighbourhood might be rejected by the artists and communities to whom it was targeted – be

Collingwood Yards  263 it for accessibility, cost or other cultural factors – actively leaving the area and withdrawing the value they helped create in the first place. The place management approach of a neighbourhood is critical to its success, spanning creative as well as commercial and hospitality activities. All require tactical approaches and a capacity for critical reflection that evolves over time, cutting across the physical and the spatial to facilitate new modes of creation and engagement, including those unforeseen by the original planners. Like most creative places, Collingwood Yards started out as a tactical undertaking, including governance models, strategies, and early activations. Once the resident artists and organisations moved in, it became a site. And as its energies and relationships give rise to surrounding activity whose communities link those energies to Collingwood Yards, it evolves into a neighbourhood. The greatest challenge of a precinct’s success is to plan unintended consequences: to create the conditions where independent creative practice can thrive and develop new audiences, yielding what couldn’t possibly have been anticipated by governments or developers, such that the cultural value generated continues to feed the success of the precinct. This is the organic yet purposeful work of a creative ecology. What is a creative ecology? Australia’s professional arts communities have long embraced the word ecology in referring to themselves collectively as the arts ecology – as opposed to the arts sector, arts industry, or creative industries. We see it in artists’ everyday language, arts organisations’ strategic plans, and also representations to government. Anatolitis regularly evokes the term in her work as an arts and cultural advocate, and public and political commentator (Anatolitis 2021). There is more at stake in these distinctions, however, than simply an insistence on decentring capitalist economies and privileging creative ones. It’s a deliberately evocative choice of term: a word rich in connotations around organic development, complexity, and interdependence. We have already deployed the concept of ecology above to discuss the relational ontology of local communities and their vulnerability in the face of profit-driven development, and we have alluded to how the collective work of artists can be conceived as creative ecologies of practice. Let’s explore this further. Ecology, first and foremost, evokes the natural world of organic growth and development as well as decay. Plants, forests, and jungles; bacteria, fungi, and animals; communities, populations, and biospheres. Ecology as a scientific study examines the interactions between organisms and environments forming what Gregory Bateson famously calls “the basic unit of survival” (2000: 491). It’s a highly dynamic field, composed of life forms operating according to their own logics, finding ever-new ways to diversify and grow as intricately and messily as all the ways that art is made. The arts ecology is composed of artists, designers, producers, curators, marketers, technicians, administrators, creative organisations, museums, galleries, theatres, industry bodies, unions, and many more such entities – each with its own purpose, own strategic vision, and own operating model. Given that artists’ average incomes remain chronically low, having stagnated at or below the poverty line for four decades in the Australian context (Throsby and Petetskaya 2017), there is also a precarity to the ecology that’s as fragile as life itself; a healthy creative ecology needs constant nurturing. This takes us to a second connotation around complexity. Ecologies are systems within systems – ecosystem is also a term preferred by the arts ecology – nested, overlapping, and in conflicts both generative and destructive. When critical mass moments emerge and great ideas break through, what’s generated exceeds the previous scope of imagination; as Anatolitis wrote at the height of the pandemic, “art defines what’s possible, and defies what’s impossible” (Anatolitis

264  E. Anatolitis and H. Frichot 2020). Given this complexity, there is no Australian benchmark nor agreed definition of what constitutes the arts ecology. Beyond the practice modes and organisation types that make up the ecology, there is the question of whether designers, architects, and filmmakers are included. The Australia Council for the Arts, the Australian government’s arts investment and advisory body, does not fund screen-based works for example, referring those applicants to Screen Australia. The federal government arts ministry – at the time of writing, located within the Department of Infrastructure, Transport, Regional Development and Communications – identifies a different set of artforms to the Australia Council, and includes screen. The Australian Bureau of Statistics has a broad measure of “cultural and creative activity” that includes zoos and botanical gardens as cultural experiences, as well as capturing the economic contributions of creative workers in other industries, such as corporate in-house graphic designers. Clearly, the arts ecology’s systems are complex, open, and indeterminate. Thirdly, ecologies are characterised by an essential interdependence among complex forms of varying scale and scope. Artists and arts workers take agile leaps between freelance and salaried work at small independent organisations or major state-funded companies. Innovation is richest at the smallest scale, as with any complex system, which makes the larger companies dependent on under-resourced collectives and independent artists for their own future innovations and blockbusters. This makes any policy approach quite the challenge: without a clear sense of what constitutes the arts ecology, it’s difficult to anticipate unintended consequences. And yet fostering this interdependence – and negotiating the tension between independence and interdependence – is the most critical challenge for a creative precinct’s success: curating a dynamic set of residency, tenancy, and participation modes that will be mutually generative, yielding more than could previously have been imagined possible, and embracing the unknown. The word “ecology” finds rich engagement in contemporary theory and has inspired creative practice across architecture, design, and art. Exploring the approach of an eco-memoir and inspired by Rachel Carson’s eco-critical writing, Bastian Fox Phelan cites Hawaiian and Swiss artist and Indigenous ethnobotanist T’uy’t’tanat-Cease Wyss, who says: “When I think about ecology, I think about humility and reciprocity. And I think those are two things we have to work on, in a deeper sense, with our environment” (2012). Ecology prompts us to think in relation, to practice in light of an acknowledgement of our immersion in the midst of things, because we, humans, are part and parcel of ecologies too. Ecology designates the study of life, as we saw above, but we who study it cannot presume to be on the outside looking in. As Bateson once argued: “We are not outside the ecology for which we plan – we are always and inevitably part of it” (2000: 512). The implication of this is that when we practice in such a way that our local ecology is negatively impacted, we likewise undermine our very livelihood and capacity for survival. Peg Rawes (2013: 1) explains that the biologist Ernst Haeckel defined ecology as the “household of nature”, drawing into proximity what we understand by habitat, natural milieux, places, and the fundamentals of shelter, suggesting as such a mingling of the natural and the constructed. The word “eco”, as is often pointed out, comes from the ancient Greek term oikos, which means house or home, designating the basic unit of ancient Greek society (Bennett 2010: 365). Ecology is composed of a flux of relations mobilised across scales, from the micro to the macro. Given the acute awareness of the increasing precarity of environmental conditions amidst concatenating climate crises, it is hardly surprising to see a flourishing of titles dedicated to a re-engagement in variously defined ecologies: Mohsen Mostafavi and Gareth Doherty’s (2010) Ecological Urbanism; Orff, Kate Orff’s (2016) Toward an Urban Ecology, Rawes’ (2013) Relational Architectural Ecologies; Joanna Boehnert’s (2018) Design Ecology Politics: Toward the Ecocene; and recently, Hélène Frichot’s (2018) Creative Ecologies: Theorising the Practice of

Collingwood Yards  265 Architecture. This re-engagement with the powerful and mobile concept of ecology can either be read as a marketing ploy or else a sincere effort to ground our thinking amidst our material practices and acknowledge the planetary implications of our every aesthetic move. When Frichot, one of the co-authors of this essay, defines creative ecologies – with an emphasis on ecologies in the plural – she draws on thinkers such as Peg Rawes (2013), Félix Guattari (2000), Gregory Bateson (2000), Isabelle Stengers (2005, 2010, 2011). What must be achieved in the pronounced turn to this mobilising term, ecologies, is the entanglement of natures and cultures, the fact that we are all of us, human, non-human, more than human, stuck thick in the midst of things on what has become our damaged planet. Here is where advice from thinkers and practitioners of psychotherapy, such as Félix Guattari, proves useful. In his essay “The Three Ecologies”, Guattari (2000) articulates a tripartite interlocking structure of mental, social and environmental ecologies and argues for the importance of composing these according to transversal relations that cut a zigzag line that counters flat ontologies, on the one hand, and the vertical striations of fixed hierarchies, on the other. Feminist philosopher Isabelle Stengers takes up the promise of Guattari’s three ecologies and demonstrates how these pertain to an ecology of practices. Because we are embodied, ever immersed, and entangled amidst ecologies, we must find the best means of practising adequately. Stengers’ ecologies of practice, as a conceptual and methodological formulation, is directed at scientific communities but can be extended to any research or artistic community (2005, 2010, 2011). All ecologies of practice are vulnerable and, in a non-metaphoric sense, occupy habitats. These habitats can be rendered uninhabitable or hostile depending on an array of factors that extend from the prevailing environmental conditions to the policy frameworks, modes of governance, and funding bodies, right down to the granular scale of workplace relations, that enable and disable collective action. An ecology of practice is constrained by its disciplinary obligations and requirements, and Stengers, alert to the inherent vulnerability of ecologies, encourages respect to be paid to a diversity of practices. What is needed is a biodiversity of approaches to contemporary problems rather than a monoculture of normative forms. Our case study From the outset, Collingwood Yards was informed by the experiences of creative precincts across Australia and across the world. There were buildings such as Carriageworks in Sydney, China House in Penang, and Wedding Co-op studios in Berlin. Sites like Auf AEG in Nürnberg, Granville Island in Vancouver, and Balboa Park in San Diego. And creative neighbourhoods in Newcastle, Berlin, New York, and more. As a site within a rapidly changing neighbourhood, developed into a precinct via a unique model of government investment, philanthropy, and social enterprise, Collingwood Yards makes a useful case study. With the strategic focus of its earliest meetings, the board committed to three key principles. First, their role in establishing the precinct was to create the conditions where the independent arts ecology could thrive – and therefore, the leadership model needed to be facilitative, not directive, with no artistic director. Secondly, it followed that Collingwood Yards should never compete with tenants on funding nor programming. And thirdly, a great deal of cultural and social responsibility comes with securing affordability within the site’s boundaries, and so the board would need to adopt a governance model that recognised this. Consistent with the cautions of Bishop and Stengers, Contemporary Arts Precincts did not wish to inaugurate the conditions that would co-opt or exploit the work of artists who are already some of the most precarious workers in our society. At the same time, the board remained aware of this risk; as Bateson cautioned, it was impossible for the board to imagine themselves outside of the ecology they hoped to shape.

266  E. Anatolitis and H. Frichot

Figure 20.2  Collingwood Yards. Source: Photography by Esther Anatolitis

An ecology exists as a complex, tentative balance of elements and flows. In our case study, the founding board was just one of these complex elements. The project had originally been initiated by the state government of Victoria, who is the property owner, and had bipartisan support, with partnership investment continuing seamlessly through a change in government. This was vital to achieving the zoning change that was ultimately needed to secure the success of the project, given the emergence of a hostile element right at the site’s boundary: a property developer intent on leveraging the increasing property values that Collingwood Yards would inevitably effect, while at the same time, aggressively objecting at the municipal level to any proposal that remotely risked minimising profit. And so capitalism, too, became an active element early on in this creative ecology, threatening to undermine the board’s fledgling plans and long-term social responsibility. This required innovative thinking in partnership with the state government, resulting in the creation of a new Special Use Zone that would override local government regulation to overlay the one set of planning conditions across the site, with a focus on cultural activity. This innovation could strengthen the ecology by recognising and codifying its unique elements, which can then be applied to future creative precincts within the state of Victoria. It also neutralised the developer’s aggression, requiring a more cooperative approach that resulted in modifications to the height and other aspects of the property development. Future ecologies Now that the founding tenants have moved in, sustaining the model becomes the highest priority for the new board. Their greatest challenge is to plan for unintended consequences: enabling mutually generative relationships between residents, tenants, and audiences by negotiating the tension between independence and interdependence. In other words, nurturing the creative ecology.

Collingwood Yards  267

Figure 20.3  Image of activity at Collingwood Yards. Source: Photography by Esther Anatolitis

Good governance requires active engagement across the ecology, anticipating cultural and collaborative protocols, and understanding their application in an environment of complexity. In bringing these new spaces to life, new interdependencies have been formed: the success of the Contemporary Arts Precincts organisation is premised on the success of the Collingwood Yards tenants, and their own on one another’s – artists and organisations who are themselves often engaged in precarious modes of practice or organisational sustainability. These are not governance responsibilities typical of board directors outside of the creative industries, who would tend to consider themselves at some remove from the ecologies that sustain that particular sector of the economy and of society. Here, a sensitive governance approach is required that remains politically engaged at multiple government levels and with multiple parties, as well as remaining actively engaged with what enables or constrains independent artistic practice. Imperatives include ensuring there are always at least two First Nations directors, of which one is a Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung person, as well as an active First Peoples Reference Group who oversee policy, protocol, and self-directed programs. Ensuring that decision-making processes are culturally safe for all involved will be vital, with conflict recognised as generative and conflicts of interest managed in sophisticated ways. A creative precinct is not a pop-up; long, hard work is required to maintain structures of governance and care while continuing to advocate for the communities, the practices, and the spaces that nurture creative ecologies. Wyss (2021) was right to evoke humility and reciprocity as the “two things we have to work on, in a deeper sense, with our environment”. At the heart of good governance is the understanding that power is distributed across an ecology and not held within the boardroom. With all of the founding board members having completed their

268  E. Anatolitis and H. Frichot tenures, Contemporary Arts Precincts is at a fragile stage as the company comes to a renewed understanding of its custodial role. The risk of accelerating gentrification has increased across the past six months alone, with cost of living and interest rate rises threatening to displace more and more local creative activity. The risk of lapsing into an “artificial hell” is also a real one, ensuring that community and cultural development serves generative purposes rather than contributing to the inexorable retreat of the welfare state with its complex public responsibilities. Even once it has elaborated beyond a site and across a neighbourhood, a creative precinct can only foster the ecologies its communities have the integrity to develop, engaging with genuine reciprocity to create what couldn’t possibly have been imagined alone. References Anatolitis, Esther (2020) Art Creates the Future, NAVAnews 2020 Issue 3 https://visualarts.net.au/newsopinion/2020/art-creates-future/ accessed September 06, 2022. Anatolitis, Esther (2021) Place, Practice, Politics, Braunach, Germany: Deutscher Spurbuchverlag. Bateson, Gregory (2000) Steps to an Ecology of Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bennett, Jane (2010) Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Bishop, Claire (2012) Artificial Hells: Participatory Art and the Politics of Spectatorship, London and New York: Verso. Boehnert, Joanna (2018) Design Ecology Politics: Toward the Ecocene. London: Bloomsbury. Eschenburg, Madeline (2014) ‘Artificial Hells: A Conversation with Claire Bishop’, Contemporaneity: Historical Presence in Visual Culture, 3 (1): 176–78. http://contemporaneity.pitt.edu Florida, Richard (2005) Cities and the Creative Class. London: Routledge. Frichot, Hélène (2017) ‘Local Real(i)ties: A Contemporary Image of Thought’, Artifact, IV (1): 2.1–2.9. Frichot, Hélène (2018) Creative Ecologies: Theorising the Practice of Architecture. London: Bloomsbury. Glass, Ruth (2010) ‘Aspects of change’, J. Brown-Saracino, ed., The Gentrification Debates. New York: Routledge: 19–30. Guattari, Félix (2000) The Three Ecologies, London: Athlone Press. Mostafavi, Mohsen and Gareth Doherty (2010) Ecological Urbanism. Zurich: Lars Müller. Orff, Kate (2016) Toward an Urban Ecology. New York: The Monacelli Press. Phelan, Bastian Fox (2012) ‘I Know Such a Pool’ Sydney Review of Books, 12 August 2012. https://­ sydneyreviewofbooks.com/essay/phelan-i-know-such-a-hidden-pool/ Rawes, Peg, ed. (2013) Relational Architectural Ecologies. London: Routledge. Stengers, Isabelle (2005) ‘Introductory Notes on an Ecology of Practices’, Cultural Studies Review, 11 (1): 183–96. Stengers, Isabelle (2010) Cosmopolitics I. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Stengers, Isabelle (2011) Cosmopolitics II. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Stengers, Isabelle (2015) In Catastrophic Times: Resisting the Coming Barbarism, London: Open ­Humanities Press. Throsby, David and Katya Petetskaya (2017) Making Art Work: An Economic Study of Professional Artists in Australia. Strawberry Hills: Australia Council for the Arts. Zukin, Sharon (1982) Loft Living: Culture and Capital in Urban Change. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Wyss, T’uy’t’tanat Cease (2021) ‘FE1.1 - Decolonize this Podcast’, Future Ecologies. https://www.­ futureecologies.net/listen/fe1-1-decolonize-this-podcast

21

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city Rob McGauran

Four years later, these ideas grew in popularity, propelled by Daniel H. Pink’s bestselling book, A Whole New Mind – Why Right Brainers Will Rule the Future, 2006. Pink considered the future of work and linked critical ages of enterprise and industry with enabling combinations of technologies and skills, asking us to consider, what next.1 This new era requires different skills from those that precede it. Creativity and empathy have replaced linear and analytical thinking as core skills. It is typically now more important to identify the right question than solve a single problem. The way we shape our cities, our places of collaboration, enterprise, and learning are central to our future success in delivering success in this new conceptual age. This chapter looks at the intersection of applied research and practice in addressing shaping the Creative City to respond to these challenges. According to Daniel Pink, the rise of cities, education, and invention saw humans evolve from the agricultural age through the industrial age to the information age of the 20th century,2 in which problems are solved by the larger aggregations of data and the diagnostic skills and technologies available to address them. The information age saw the role of universities grow as companies recognised the value of the aggregation of talent and research capacity. Daniel Pink proffers that the new millennium brought with it another seismic shift in which we have moved into the conceptual age and animated by a different form of thinking and new approaches to life.3 This new age requires different skills from those that precede it. The linear and analytical thinking that dominated the information age is no longer the dominant paradigm; replaced by creativity and empathy. More important than solving a problem is identifying what is the right question. Over the past 20 years, poor city planning, innovation, housing, and climate adaptation policies in Australian cities have undermined the diversity and resultant capacity of dynamic inner-city neighbourhoods and under-leveraged the drivers of new enterprises and jobs in the conceptual age. Across areas of knowledge, social inclusion, and sustainability, we have the potential to measure the benefits of projects through:

• Peer recognition and awards • Economic, organisational, social, environmental, health and wellbeing, and cultural impact • Better homes and more resilient communities, cities, and environments In looking for ways to leverage our distinctive advantages to a shared benefit, this chapter focuses on the rise of the new Creative City, a reimagined city that supports the needs of Pink’s conceptual age. I argue that two elements must be nurtured to ensure the success of the Creative City: Innovation and Social Diversity and Inclusion. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-24

270  R. McGauran The conceptual age and the role of the urban designer and architect Over more than three decades, MGS Architects, the intergenerational practice I co-founded in 1986 with Mun Soon and soon thereafter Eli Giannini AM, has sought to operate for positive social, cultural, economic, and environmental impact. The work has combined metropolitan and precinct-level strategic and master planning projects with case study architectural projects. The projects have been widely acknowledged with national and state awards in urban design, planning, and architecture and featured in publications and exhibitions. Our agenda has been shaped by the needs of the Australian city (most particularly Melbourne), the community, and the environment in which we live. We have sought to collaborate to understand it and uncovered insights to understand how we might enable it to respond to the wicked challenges facing the new age and our community. Our toolkit has been developed through enduring research partnerships with universities, annual self-directed global research of best practice exemplars supported by visits to many world-leading tertiary institutions and engagement with the key stakeholders therein as well as those charged with addressing the challenges facing our cities, communities, and institutions locally. Our underlying ambition has been to practice for purpose. This approach has required us to operate outside the conventional boundaries of design practice in order to effectively leverage our city’s strengths and address the emerging major cracks in equity, resilience and across our diverse metropolis. Insights have been drawn through various modes of practice and engagement. Embedded client-side roles have been critical in developing this insight. Some roles, such as those on university councils, on governance committees, and as university architect, have given us a better understanding of the importance of the master plan as an enabling tool for the implementation of university strategic plans and, in turn, the essential role of good governance to support this. Boards of not-for-profit community housing agencies, and those responsible for effective engagement and uplift of disadvantaged communities, have evidenced the foundational role of safe, conveniently located, and well-designed housing. These boards have taught us the value of the coalition-of-the-willing in implementing these projects with great impact and benefit. Resultant partnerships have ensued between governments, philanthropy, and not-for-profits to unleash the undeveloped potential of “lazy land” and delivered some fantastic enduring projects across our capital and regional cities. We have been privileged to be entrusted with extensive urban design, master planning, design review, project design management, and project and precinct implementation roles for the urban renewal precinct visions we had authored. Master plans for Monash and LaTrobe Universities have been followed by roles as University Architect and University Master Planner at both. Plans for many of Melbourne’s most successful Creative City precincts, including Cremorne and Collingwood, have been followed by enduring precinct project review processes, in which we have assisted local and state government planners and communities to successfully negotiate outcomes with developers and their designers. Cumulatively, these roles have provided us with real-time substantial sampling of project responses to our authored policies, plans, architectural and urban design projects, and applied research. The issues arising, the efficacy of the planning and design tools we have adopted, market responses to our assumed metrics for development economics and research into emerging need and market trends, our skills in effective design advocacy and mediation, and our ability to bring decision-makers and community with us through design and narrative skills, have all been tested through this process.

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city  271 Essential infrastructure for the Creative City: quality affordable housing With a third of Australians now in rental housing4 and higher concentrations in job-intensive areas of the inner city and large regional centres, affordability of rental and supply in some capitals, and proximity to high concentration of jobs for this in affordable housing are, in combination, at 20 year lows.5 Shortages, compounded by recent catastrophic floods and fires,6 the return of international and local students and tourism, and the proposed and necessary expansion of immigration programs to meet key skilled labour shortages and address the humanitarian global crisis,7 will further amplify years of failed urban and enterprise development and affordable housing investment. Melbourne’s success depends on a broad range of economic sectors including tertiary education, health and research, culture and events, hospitality and tourism, advanced manufacture, retail and hospitality, and family services. These sectors rely on a workforce entrenched in moderate and low incomes who require affordable housing proximate to their workplaces, their ecosystems of enterprise. The Creative City is nourished by the co-location of affordable rental housing with opportunities to live well and sustainably and to contribute to the dynamism, diversity, and hence the resilience of these places that Daniel Pink identifies as critical to our collective future. Examples of success in delivering these models include Barcelona’s 22@Barcelona urban renewal program, Zurich’s New Oerlikon and Paris’s Rive Gauche. 22@ Barcelona An interesting case study, the 22@Barcelona renewal of a former industrial and largely privately owned neighbourhood of over 200 hectares, is reimagined as a new place for urban, economic, and social innovation (Figure 21.1). The DNA of this innovation district is founded in its vision and enabling strategies: The global vision has been implemented through the concentration of knowledge-based activities, as well as a strong involvement of new technologies. Urban planning was guided by the “compact city” principle, which links higher-density planning to environmental efficiency and improved life-quality. To that end, subsidized housing, public spaces, and green areas have been planned in order to create a balanced neighborhood.8 Catalytic early city infrastructure investment included an interventionist approach to housing and workplace diversity with clear targets, and a clear plan that facilitated diversity with aligned development uplift. Twenty years on, the success is evident with over 70% of the precinct renewed, accommodating over 9,000 businesses, 10 universities and research institutes with more than 25,000 students, over 4,000 homes, and more than 1,600 new affordable housing units. Lessons learned Each of these examples includes:

• A well evidenced masterplan identifying development targets, key infrastructure and placemaking investments, and the necessary enabling Planning Policies and Targets.

• Catalytic early government investment in key green travel transport, and digital and placemaking infrastructure.

272  R. McGauran

Figure 21.1 22@Barcelona.

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city  273

• A distinctive identity, capabilities, and anchoring institutions that have driven investment and impact.

• The co-location of Innovation jobs with housing including affordable housing that has attracted and nurtured talent and minimised car dependency.

• A focus on stitching the precincts into the broader city in which they sit to amplify impact and collaboration with the precinct as the catalyst.

• A focus on leveraging what is local and special in partnership with an emphasis on building a high-quality urban environment.

Our challenge In Australia, urban renewal for the Creative City requires:

• the right catalytic early infrastructure supported by good governance and an enduring stakeholder engagement to champion change,

• the right scale, siting, and connections to knowledge intensive anchors to catalyse innovation and grow and attract complimentary enterprise partners that are diverse in scale,

• the right mix of housing including affordable housing that supports the precinct’s global competitiveness for talent and diversity and drive the necessary precinct vitality,

• the right urban design, environmental, and architectural standards consistently manifested

in the quality standards for streets, urban spaces, buildings, and facilities within the quarter from inception.

Melbourne has enormous opportunities to leverage a unique time in its development. Fishermans Bend’s 200-hectare employment precinct sits less than 2 km from the CBD Grid and a river crossing from the nearly completed mixed-use waterfront quarter of Docklands. Despite many reasonable criticisms, the Docklands renewal has delivered valuable lessons and benefits to the city. It demonstrated that, with the right infrastructure, the private sector will invest,9 key organisations will stay and grow, and people will change their modes of travel to work, where they live, and the tenure of that accommodation to leverage the distinctive opportunities these precincts offer. At Docklands, more than two-thirds of the 17,500 residents in 10,000 households have tertiary qualifications and work in professional jobs, with a similar number renting. Early investment in the extension of the tram network and upgraded rail has meant that only one in five households drive a car to work with most either walking or using public transport.10 Its 73,000+ workforce is employed in more than 170 businesses. The success of the neighbouring Fishermens Bend and the new 17 hectare + metro-enabled Arden precinct will rely on an early shift by the Government in its calibration of vision, zoning tools, early infrastructure investment programs and affordable housing. Our city’s chronic shortfall of affordable housing stock for the key workers necessary to drive the innovation, essential services, and amenities the future city needs, disproportionately benefits these innovation hubs of employment and learning when co-located. Equally, Fishermans Bend’s future is condemned to mediocrity and underperformance, without delivery of, at a minimum, light rail and dedicated cycleway to the proposed new university campus, and innovations in zoning to support enduring rental-capped affordable key worker housing. Innovation in the Creative City For universities, the COVID-19 transformation has been radical. Emphasis in face-to-face education has shifted to peer-to-peer, work-integrated, project-based, simulation, and experiential

274  R. McGauran focuses. Traditional lectures are typically delivered in hybrid arrangements, where students may choose to attend remotely. New opportunities to conduct online conferencing, studios, and lectures at low cost have opened new frontiers for researchers and potential industry and academic collaborators that require advancements in the quality of technology and spaces to enhance the virtual and hybrid studio, boardroom, or simulation laboratory and workplace experience. These institutions provide the opportunities for students to rebuild the individual resilience, life, adaptive, and learning skills, and confidence, curiosity, empathetic, and communication skills and the support structures of lifelong friendship and collaboration groups acknowledged by students as a key reason for physical attendance on campus. We have heard academics describing this as finding your people, a group that nurtures your sense of purpose, complements your insights and skills, and makes you better. In addition to the value ascribed to the quality and reputation of the anchoring learning institution, their choice of city in which to study (one where Melbourne is amongst the leading global cities) is driven by issues including a city’s safety, rich multiculturalism, diversity of experiences and choices, proximity to part-time supportive work and pathways to post-graduation employment. Melbourne continues to be a place where knowledge workers, creatives, and students are able to find people of like-minded interests. Location for impact Locating high concentrations of talent where they further amplify our city/enterprise/citizen capacity is exemplified with the success of the creative precincts of Parkville, Docklands, Cremorne, and Monash. With access to more accurate data, insights, and evidence, city-makers can evidence issues, choices, benchmarks, and opportunities. As the challenges have become more complex, and the disciplines and technology applied to the challenges necessarily expanded, the questions and solutions become more interdisciplinary in their dependencies and iterative in their resolution, proximity to colleagues and collaborators, both virtually and physically, has become more vital. The University-anchored Innovation precinct can be viewed as a microcosm of both the opportunities and challenges arising in response to the Conceptual Age. The positive short and longer-term impacts of campus renewal can now be measured and hence inform future project decision-making. These precincts are now truly living laboratories where we can measure impacts in a timely way and as a tool to inform decision-making, communication to stakeholders, and priorities for investment. Our work in the Knowledge City space seeks to apply and expand this toolkit for maximum positive short and long-term impact. The Monash national employment and innovation cluster Building a strong relationship between town and gown

Melbourne had long been seen as the cultural capital of Australia. The Marvelous Melbourne of the first decade of Federation had celebrated the 50-year anniversaries of the University of Melbourne, Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology, and State Library of Victoria. The city had one of the world’s most extensive urban tramway networks and had the Felton Bequest to the National Gallery of Victoria, a bequest exceeding those of London’s National and Tate galleries combined.11 By the beginning of the new Millennium, it was already a great university and research city. New campuses and colleges had emerged in the suburbs postwar to educate the returning

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city  275 service members and their expanding progeny. Monash University was one of these and is described as the first of a new type of Australian University rather than the last of the old. The main campus at Clayton is 17km to the southeast of Melbourne. At the time of our appointment in 2011, the new leadership, led by Chancellor Alan Finkel AO and Vice Chancellor Sir Edward Byrne AC, understood it’s unique strengths and the opportunity for the University to be great in world terms, but were equally aware of the negative perceptions of the campus and underlying business. Our research of globally successful university campuses had confirmed the potential afforded through the alignment of the Physical Plan with the new University Strategy when supported by the right governance framework, strategic positioning within the metropolis, and clear Campus, Vision, Principles, and Strategies. The local success of the aggregation of talent in university and health clusters at Parkville mirrored that globally in places such as Philadelphia’s University City Precinct, John Hopkins in Baltimore and ETH and the University of Zurich with the adjoining health cluster in Zurich. Remarkably, Monash could already be proud of its successes despite its (less than ideal) physical campus arrangements and facilities. The achievements in a decade

The key achievements over the decade of implementation of the Clayton plan have included:

• Inclusion of Monash University as the Centre of one of a small number of established

• • • • • • • •

• • • • • • •

­ ational Employment and Innovation Clusters within Plan Melbourne 2017–2050 and now N ranked by industry indices in the top two in Australia and the world’s top 50 universities,12 44 from a ranking outside the top 170 at the commencement of our commission.13 A growing campus population of 42,500 students, up from 25,800 in 2010. Successful partnerships to deliver the co-location of the Victorian Heart Hospital and the new Moderna MRNA production and research facility. Completion of over 200,000 sqm of new and refurbished buildings. The most nationally awarded campus in the past decade for master planning and projects. New residential accommodation for 1,600 students. Campus Carbon Neutrality before the target date of 2030. Extensive Stormwater harvesting and treatment infrastructure that secures the extensive and expanding campus landscapes and the amenity, research, and biodiversity this enables. New general and specialist learning teaching and research spaces featuring peer-to-peer, learning-enabled areas that incentivise interdisciplinary sharing through enhanced quality of technology, design for flexibility in learning and teaching pedagogies, and careful campus positioning of facilities to facilitate shared access and blurring of disciplinary boundaries. Replacement of 40% roadways and at-grade parking with new buildings and landscapes. Positioning of shared facilities and hospitality services for meeting along pedestrian streets. 24-hour campus safety and vitality along key walks linking the historic College Precinct and Public Transport and Parking hubs to the campus core through the inclusion of bridging extended-hour high-use shared learning spaces, hospitality, and new student housing. A new Bus interchange, now the busiest in metropolitan Melbourne. Zero additional campus parking spaces despite a 60% increase in staff and student numbers. Prioritisation of the centre of the campus for students and collaboration. A nearly doubled $1.8bn p.a. economic impact in the State and the Monash Technology Precinct and direct contribution to GDP and a $2.5bn contribution to export income, a more than three-fold increase on 2011 figures.

276  R. McGauran The key moves

The lessons learned at Monash provide a useful blueprint for Innovation Clusters across Australia. They have informed our responses to new precincts in Canberra, Sydney, Wollongong, RMIT’s City North Innovation Precinct, the new Arden Metro Precinct, VU’s suite of Western Melbourne campuses, and UNSW’s Kensington Precinct. Advocacy and success in building an enduring town and gown partnership strategy

Central to the success of innovation precincts globally is the commitment to a shared vision and story. The Creative City framework is at the centre of this narrative. The success of Town and Gown partnerships lies in building a deep understanding of the key success factors around which City and University make decisions and determining the means by which these can be shaped in partnership. Until recently, Melbourne Metropolitan Planning Strategy determined the significance of Activity Centres based on the quantum of retail and commercial floor space.14 Universities and their synergistic neighbouring Public Hospitals, whilst enjoying self-determining zoning provisions were not well understood by planning policymakers as a consequence, leading to their understatement in metropolitan and municipal strategic planning. Within suburban areas, higher concentrations of jobs were typically understood to be in larger regional shopping malls where salaries and skills were typically modest and growth declining rending these areas and the communities they served, dependent on longer commutes to central city opportunities. The exception to these characteristics were the clusters of Knowledge and Health where significant growth both in jobs and salaries corresponded to those of changing inner urban areas. The Monash Cluster is and was the highest performing of these. In 2011–12, as the Monash Masterplan was being finalised, the state led a review of the Melbourne Metropolitan Plan, providing us with the opportunity to support the University in repositioning itself to align its strategic ambition more effectively with that of the Metropolis and State by demonstrating the strategic city-shaping importance of the Monash Cluster, and the network of like, albeit less developed clusters in the city’s north and west. The submission made a series of 25 recommendations to the Committee that included:

• Designation of the Clayton Innovation Precinct as a major Employment and Innovation Cluster in the forthcoming plan in recognition of its current and future national significance.

• Incentivisation of partnerships between state and local governments and institutions to deliver higher quality and better value shared facilities.

• Earmarking of strategic middle and outer suburban precincts (e.g., Monash Clayton and

Caulfield) for urban renewal to develop world-class environments for innovation and collaboration. • Partnering with Monash University to develop the Monash Transport Interchange at the Clayton campus. • Prioritising the Melbourne Metro rail project as Victoria’s next major infrastructure project. • Ensuring land-use policy around university campuses supports higher density, affordable rental housing. National Employment and Innovation Clusters and the underpinning polycentric model on which they were based was adopted in Plan Melbourne 2017–2050.15 A new Transport Interchange at the University (now the busiest in Greater Melbourne16) was delivered soon thereafter. Later projects on campus include the Victorian Heart Hospital and Moderna MRNA production

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city  277 facility. The new Melbourne Metro (to be opened in 2025), known by some as the University Line, was declared a priority in the Plan and links the Western suburbs and Footscray campus of Victoria University with the new $5.5Bn sub-acute health and research campus at Arden a short three-minute trip from the Parkville NEIC, and RMIT’s historic and City-North Innovation campuses extending to Monash’s campus at Caufield to the southeast. Building on this new dynamic, a new Metropolitan Radial Suburban Rail Loop (SRL) is now under development that will deliver two stations in the Monash NEIC linked to neighbouring Universities, Hospitals, Activity Centres Clusters, and four arterial rail corridors. Setting up the innovation precinct for success Governance and delivery

An overlooked but critical element of successful Innovation Precincts, such as Monash, has been the development of clear governance frameworks that define the stewardship, capital and project priorities, decision-making pathways, and accountability for the implementation of masterplans (see Figure 21.2). Equally critical has been the monitoring and annual reporting of masterplan progress to the University Council against these agreed targets regularly to both build on successes and address shortcomings.

Figure 21.2  The Monash governance model.

278  R. McGauran Understanding best practice and its dynamism

Competition for talent, effectively leveraging the University’s strengths including its global reach, its diverse exceptional and large talent pool of staff and students, and mature and expanding industry partnerships, required matching ambition for an enabling campus organisation, identity, accessibility, and experience. Visits to more than 200 of the world’s best campuses and almost double that number of urban renewal precincts, combined with recurrent engagement with the key delivery agencies, creators, and stakeholders, enabled us to understand their success journeys, their learnings, and their future challenges. Collectively, the insights we gained have been a key enabling tool for us to assist Monash in the successful reimagination of the campus. Overlaying world-best exemplar insights, with the distinctive ambitions, strengths, and challenges of Monash and the place and city it occupies, remains a foundation to the success of the Monash Innovation Precinct. The precinct plan as a physical manifestation of the organisational vision

Innovation Precincts require alignment of the Physical Masterplan and its DNA with the strategic vision of the participating organisations. Success lies in the physical manifestation of these institutional goals and their coalescence. Monash, as Australia’s most outward looking University, seeks to engage in the wicked problems of our time. These problems are both local and global and typically multidisciplinary in nature. The main Post War Clayton Campus was historically arranged as a cluster of introverted disciplinary silos, encircled by car parking, and permeated by roads that prioritised the convenience of the motorist. A ring road encased these activities and amplified the separation of the core campus from neighbouring student colleges, sports, and CSIRO precincts and enterprises. Campus investment drawn from an inadequate budget surplus, relied on the politic of a fiefdom of Deans without clear decision-making structures and controls. The ambition to prepare students for the new conceptual age through a broadened and rich tertiary undergraduate experience of double degrees, deep immersion in university life, and enhanced opportunities for industry engagement required a radical shift. This could only occur through commitment to the Masterplan and its governance by the leadership, and this, in turn, required the Strategic Plan to be embodied in the plan. The Campus Masterplan then became the tool through which the organisation’s plan could be realised. Be careful to plan for success

On these regular international visits, a typical regret from those responsible for the implementation of innovation agendas for cities and campuses have had, was that they had underestimated the potential for success and the consequent need for space that success might generate. Many lamented that they have run out of space as the neighbourhoods around them have quickly attracted private sector investment and development at the same time that the dynamic research and partnership of their making has become exponential in impact and growth. Local examples at Parkville and the University precinct in central Sydney have seen similar competition for land emerge. Enduring success has occurred where transformation is accompanied by a set of planning tools and projects that continue to support:

• A diversity of enterprise scales and maturities. • An enterprise and institutional ecosystem that supports pathways of ideas and incubation into commercialisation and enterprise.

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city  279

• Blurring of the boundaries between University and Precinct in models where partner enterprises are embedded within the university and vice versa.

• A substantial portfolio of affordable rental housing and workspaces, along with the expansion of high-quality essential services such as Child Care, Kindergarten & P-12 education.

• Placemaking acknowledges the critical role of amenity and programming of places to cata-

lyse curiosity, build the strength of community and relationships, and enable people to find their tribe. • Enhanced local and metropolitan high speed and capacity PT connections and services. Examples of success include the Berkeley start-up cluster,17 a collaboration between the city, local landowners, and the university to retain and nurture alumni and their ideas with the second largest startup outputs of any American University. A state sponsored example is the JTC Corporation, a development corporation of the Singapore Government, entrusted with building the startup and innovation of the Singapore City State with initiatives such as Create.18 Creating a compelling narrative – vision and principles

An often-used quote in the office is one from Nelson Henderson, “The true meaning of life is to plant trees, under whose shade you do not expect to sit.” This quote underlined the critical importance of getting the right structure in place and committing to it from the beginning. At Monash, it meant immediate and continuing investment in a city-scaled campus of over 70 hectares with a city referenced primary walking network. This network connected key places of significance, new and old, in a way that effectively narrated the purpose and ambition of the university. It sought to invest these new streets and connections with the indigenous landscape experiences, diverse cultural stories, and amenity that authentically, and sometimes playfully and irreverently connected the campus to its location and time. The interfacing buildings and bespoke places aim to invite curiosity and interaction with the repurposed and new ground planes. New student accommodation is configured along one of these walks – College Walk and configured in a form that linked perimeter college and sports precincts to the core. Buildings that blocked connections between important neighbours, were boldly cropped, and reimagined or demolished to emphatically support the purpose and vision. New buildings and spaces have deliberately blurred traditional faculty boundaries both programmatically and physically. Many buildings embedded new locations for social interaction and collaboration, new external learning and integrated art and parkland spaces, replacing car and service dominated zones (see Figure 21.3). A comprehensive suite of well-understood master plan guidelines and controls

A suite of supporting development guidelines and strategies for buildings and development, landscapes, parking, retail, First Nation narratives, research, integrated art, sustainability and signage, and training in their governance and application have ensued. These documents are supported by Briefing and Consultant selection procedures that ensure gender equity and diversity, design excellence, and that alignment with masterplan goals are consistently realised. A highly skilled and appropriately resourced delivery team with clear chains of command is in place to implement the rolling capital plan with support from the University Architect (a position initially filled by MGS for the first five years of implementation).

280  R. McGauran

Figure 21.3  Monash precinct principles.

A series of both big and little moves

The plan is underpinned by both key bold and small moves. Big moves included important new gateway buildings central to Monash’s precinct mission and engagement agenda. They are located at key entrances to the primary walks and arrival points of welcome to campus and include the Victorian Heart Hospital to the east, the new Learning and Teaching Building and Bus interchange to the south, and the New Horizons Physics research partnership with CSIRO to the northern campus edge. Important intersections within the campus are the location of key nodes of housing, collaborative research, learning, resource centres, university life, and services that speak to the University Vision. Through the integration of its Academic, Research, and Masterplan strategies, Monash has sought to reconfigure its pedagogical and research ecosystem to prioritise enriched peer-to-peer engagement, campus life, and leverage of technology (see Figure 21.4). Through its programming of spaces and integration of places for events, performance, exhibition, integrated art, and play, it has mapped a framework celebrating the purposeful play of ideas, creative insights, and shared and individual experiences that together shave ought to deliver a campus with embedded empathy and meaning. Conclusion The success of Innovation Precincts draws on a common magic mix, delivered in differing quantities dependant on context but typically evident in all. The mix includes:

• Effective configuration to support and connect high concentrations of diverse talent and nurture a strong sense of identity, a rich and vibrant precinct cultural, social, and creative life.

• Effective Leadership and governance to guide precinct-wide coordinated, programming, investment for purpose.

Driving innovation and equity in the 21st-century Australian city  281

Figure 21.4  The Monash Clayton Campus – from and to.

• A shared Town and Gown identity that nurtures the distinctive and differing contribution to the city and community of University, Community, Government, and Enterprise partners.

• Complimentary and interconnected, well-designed, loose-fit, and sustainable learning, teach• • • • •

ing, research, and enterprise buildings and synergistic external spaces that have long life and facilitate continual readaptation. Facilitation of affordable and diverse workplaces accommodating enterprises of varied sizes, needs, and stages in their development. Places for lifelong learning and collaboration enabling the workforce to reskill and reimagine in response to future challenges. Well-designed affordable and diverse homes in higher density neighbourhoods that support the vitality, safety, and competitiveness of the precinct supported by high quality Community Infrastructure. Curation and design of precincts, streets, and spaces that support an ecosystem of diversity, sustainability and resilience, optimism and sharing of ideas. The visibility and early inclusion of great public and active interconnecting the precinct to the surrounding neighbourhoods and the city.

Australian cities are well-placed to leverage the capacity of a well-educated population and their proximity to great tertiary health and university institutions. Together they can be the catalysts for exciting amplification of the impact of existing Innovation Clusters and the development of new precincts. This section outlines precinct exemplars globally and nationally and the skills and key ingredients necessary for their delivery. Notes 1 McGauran, Robert, op cit. 2 Pink, Daniel, A Whole New Mind – Why Right Brainers Will Rule the Future. P 2Riverhead Books New York 2005 p 49. 3 Pink, Daniel H. Ibid.

282  R. McGauran 4 https://www.abs.gov.au/statistics/people/housing/housing-occupancy-and-costs/2019-20 5 SGS Economics Rental Affordability Index Report key findings, November 2022. 6 Naylor, Catherine, https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/houses-to-remain-in-flood-zone-under-lismorebuy-back-scheme-20220807-p5b7vl.html 7 https://immi.homeaffairs.gov.au/what-we-do/migration-program-planning-levels 8 https://use.metropolis.org/case-studies/22-barcelona 9 $14.6Bn of private investment https://www.development.vic.gov.au/projects/docklands?page=overview 10 https://www.abs.gov.au/census/find-census-data/quickstats/2016/SSC20760#:~:text=In%20the%20 2016%20Census%2C%20there,up%200.2%25%20of%20the%20population.&text=The%20 median%20age%20of%20people%20in%20Docklands%20was%2030%20years 11 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Felton#cite_note-Report-3 12 https://www.timeshighereducation.com/student/best-universities/best-universities-australia 13 https://www.shanghairanking.com/rankings/arwu/2010 and https://www.timeshighereducation.com/ world-university-rankings/monash-university 14 P46 and pp 50 and 54, Melbourne Let’s Talk about the Future, Ministerial Advisory Committee for the Metropolitan Planning Strategy for Melbourne 2012. 15 P27, Plan Melbourne 2017–2050 Outcome 1. 16 https://philipmallis.com/blog/2020/07/21/where-are-the-busiest-bus-stops-in-melbourne/ 17 https://berkeleystartupcluster.com/about-berkeley-startup-cluster/ 18 https://www.create.edu.sg/#:~:text=Welcome%20to%20CREATE,research%20centres%20from%20 top%20universities

22

Flagship architecture and city branding Amparo Tarazona Vento

Introduction Cities are collective works of human creativity, not only because they are complex technical achievements but because they are carriers of imaginaries, cultures, and ways of life too. Their more emblematic pieces of architecture embody the aesthetic values, socio-economic paradigms, and the more advanced knowledge of their time. Cities are also places of cultural creation; places of increased interaction and exchange, where economic, social, and political innovation occurs. Under globalization, architecture and urban space have become ever more important from an economic perspective since through inter-urban competition, place distinctiveness has become an economic asset. Thus, place promotion, city marketing, and city branding, understood as forms of place making, have captured urban collective imagination and creativity to use it as a tool for economic development. City branding—considered the most evolved and comprehensive approach to the promotion of cities (Ma et al. 2021)—involves “a process of urban transformation through self-reinvention” (Ma et al. 2021:4). Flagship architecture—often in the form of cultural venues—has become a key element within such process of reinvention (Dudek-Mańkowska & Grochowski, 2019; Bonakdar and Audirac, 2020). Taking a historical approach to the use of flagship architecture for economic regeneration is helpful to understand from an empirical perspective the connections between architecture, city branding, culture-led urban regeneration, and the political economy of city making more widely, and the evolution of these connections over time. Moreover, it offers an insight into how modelling and travelling of ideas have contributed to the widespread use of urban policies involving the use of flagship architecture. In their competitive attempts, cities look to each other for inspiration and as a reference to compare themselves to. Although older examples remain in the imaginaries of policymakers and politicians alike, new contemporary models continue to be added to the repertory of policy ideas and increasingly become the blueprints on which any aspiring city models its branding and economic regeneration strategies. Towards a flagship-architecture-led urban regeneration Flagship architecture has long been linked to the regeneration of cities not only physically but economically too. Already in the late 1800s, the ethos of the City Beautiful movement was to use “planning for display, architecture as theatre, design intended to impress” Hall (2002: 217). But also, more in line with the objectives of contemporary entrepreneurial civic boosters, as Daniel Burnham, the architect in charge of the construction of the expo argued, beautifying Chicago would attract affluent visitors who would readily spend their money in the city, creating what nowadays would be described as a trickle-down effect (Hall, 2002). DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-25

284  A. T. Vento Beyond the Beautiful City movement, American cities can be considered the birthplace of the use of flagship projects for urban regeneration and city promotion. Starting in the 1960s and mainly during the 1970s and 1980s, as a response to deindustrialization and the fiscal problems and unemployment associated with it, many cities in the United States and Canada—for instance, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Atlanta, and Toronto—came up with “entrepreneurial strategies” for economic regeneration (Levine, 1987; Carrière and Demazière, 2002). The idea was to publicly subsidize and incentivize private developers to turn downtowns from declining manufacturing and retail areas into what Levine (1987) has called “modern corporate centers”, with the aim of attracting private investment in competition with other cities. Thus, the public administrations invested in flagship projects, that is, developments, usually with a high symbolic capacity, such as convention centres, museums, stadiums, tourist attractions, upscale shopping malls, luxury housing, office complexes, and hotels, which, although not necessarily a profitable initial investment in themselves, were expected to act as catalysts for regeneration by signalling the area as safe for investment (Harvey, 1989; Doucet et al., 2011). Flagship projects were expected to reimage not only the area where they were located but also the whole city. In addition, they were expected to attract tourists, improve the tax base, stimulate economic activity, and trickle down the economic benefits (Loftman and Nevin, 1995; Doucet et al., 2011). The most well-known case of the use of this strategy is Baltimore’s early-1970s pro-business and boosterist plan to redevelop the city’s inner harbour and waterfront area in partnership with the private sector. The feature for which Baltimore’s regeneration is best known is the successful use of public investment, including subsidies from the federal and state governments, to lever private investment. Thus, substantial public funds were used to subsidize the building of attractions including aquariums, marinas, a science centre, a convention centre, and shopping arcades to, subsequently, let the private sector take the initiative (Merrifield, 1993). By the 1980s, private investment already accounted for around 90% of the investment in the inner harbour area (Levine, 1987). Tourists had started to flock into the area and the hotel and convention business was booming (Levine, 1987). In contrast with this image of success and prosperity of downtown Baltimore, the loss of jobs, impoverishment, and deterioration of the city as a whole continued to increase apace (Levine, 1987; Harvey, 1989). However, despite severe criticisms from the academic sphere, Baltimore’s downtown redevelopment—in particular, its use of public expenditure to leverage private investment and its strategy of using the public-private partnership approach—became widely circulated as a successful model of regeneration (Levine, 1987; Harvey, 1989). Together with Boston’s and Toronto’s similar strategies, Baltimore’s became one of the models that elicited more replicas, not only in North America but also in the rest of the Western world and further afield. In the early 1980s, American property-led regeneration strategies travelled first to Britain and shortly afterwards to mainland Europe (Loftman and Nevin, 1995). Not surprisingly, faced with similar urban problems to those of their American counterparts and constrained by a national urban policy that prompted local authorities to compete for private investment, British decisionmakers turned their gaze to the other side of the Atlantic in their search for solutions. Attracted by the images of success, soon, cities such as Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester, Cardiff, and Sheffield had their own prestige projects. By the early 1990s, any urban regeneration strategy worth its salt included a flagship project (Loftman and Nevin, 1995; Miles, 2007). Given that one of the main goals of prestige projects was to reimage the city where they were located by making claims about its cultural status, cultural venues, typically designed by high-profile architects, became one of the most common types of prestige project (Evans, 2003;

Flagship architecture and city branding  285 Miles, 2007; Grodach and Loukaitou-Sideris, 2007). In this way, cultural strategies and citymarketing strategies converged in the construction of prestige cultural venues designed by highprofile architects. Therefore, not only were cities rebranded, but also the property-led strategy of using prestige projects as a motor of change was rebranded as culture-led regeneration. It was, in fact, the criticisms of property-led regeneration strategies—namely their excessive focus on land and property markets rather than communities (Loftman and Nevin, 1995)—that caused there to be a shift of focus toward “cultural strategies”, which, although often based on cultural prestige projects were, nonetheless, supposed to address better social issues of equity. Thus, starting in the 1980s but particularly in the early 1990s, in the UK and in Europe more generally, there was a considerable growth of urban cultural strategies (Bassett, 1993; Loftman and Nevin, 1995). These strategies combined “cultural goals” with property-led regeneration. In this way, cultural policy came to be regarded as a tool for local economic development rather than as “a mechanism to enhance community development and encourage social participation” (García, 2004). Again, this was not new but was inspired by earlier patterns in the United States. Propertyled regeneration strategies included cultural facilities and incorporated a program of cultural events, including street festivals and fairs, to increase the attractiveness of the city to visitors who would spend money there (Whitt, 1987). More specifically, as early as the 1960s, US arts coalitions—formed by arts organizations, banks, developers, corporations, and local government decision-makers—had argued that the arts could be used to combine city marketing and economic development goals with urban revitalization, and to create a focus on community cohesion and regeneration (Bassett, 1993). By the 1970s, many American cities, with the support of the different tiers of government and in partnership with the private sector, were using the arts as a tool for economic development or, in Whitt’s (1987: 16) words, were “using the arts in attempts to spur central-city redevelopment, to attract new businesses, and to compete more effectively with other cities and with their own suburbs”. Cases in point are The Lincoln Centre in New York in the 1950s, the Los Angeles Music Center in the 1960s, and the Dallas Arts District in the 1980s (Whitt, 1987; Grodach and Loukaitou-Sideris, 2007). Therefore, almost from the very beginning, culture was a key element of urban regeneration strategies. In fact, the idea of using the arts as a tool for urban regeneration had first been “explicitly imported into Britain in the 1980s through conferences and publications” (Bassett, 1993). Later on, from the mid-1990s, the European Union, sanctioning the idea as good, promoted it by allocating substantial amounts of money to be spent in cultural projects as part of its regional development strategy (Evans, 2003). Not surprisingly, the use of cultural policy as a tool for economic regeneration with a special focus on the construction of high-profile cultural venues rapidly became widespread. As new museums and cultural facilities were built or expanded throughout the Western world, urban regeneration projects also became more and more spectacular and often superficial (Granger, 2010). Increasingly, the symbolism and iconicity of the architecture—or of the architect—­ became more important than the content of the building itself. It is this symbolism that attracts visitors and that, therefore, is meant to “generate revenue” and “prosperity to the city”. Thus, city branding became an ever-more important element of urban regeneration, or in other words, “the demand for instant fame and economic growth” became more impelling (Jencks, 2005: 7), and in consequence, flagship projects by star architects were increasingly included in culture-led regeneration strategies. But the use of emblematic architecture as part of an economic-growth and place-branding strategy also had an early precursor as well as influential example in the European context: the

286  A. T. Vento “Grands Projects Culturelles”, which are a series of Parisian landmark architectural projects that high-profile international architects were commissioned to design by President Francois Mitterrand between the 1970s and the early 1990s. These included, for instance, the New Louvre by I. M. Pei, the Opéra Bastille, by Carlos Ott, and the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, by Dominique Perrault. The aim of this extensive building program was to consolidate the prestige of Paris as an international cultural capital and as a symbol of French identity that could also compete for economic activity as a post-industrial city (Evans, 2003; Jones, 2011). Not surprisingly, the spectacularity of the “Grands Projects Culturelles” captured the imagination of many politicians, who used them as an inspiration for their own urban regeneration policies. Paris is, however, a big European capital city with a considerable and unique architectural heritage that grants them an unquestionable cultural profile. In contrast, cities such as Baltimore or Glasgow, with a heritage mostly built on the affluence arising from a bygone industrial era, were more eager to establish new cultural credentials as well as to transform their industrial economic base. Glasgow was not only considered a grey, declining post-industrial city and an extreme case of economic and demographic decline after deindustrialization but also, to some extent, a newcomer in terms of cultural credentials and consequently more reliant on a new prestige project. It is therefore not surprising that it was one of the first British and European cities to import the idea of civic boosterism from the United States and was a pioneer in implementing a citymarketing campaign, which became a model for others to emulate (Hambleton, 1991; Bassett, 1993). From the early 1980s, the city implemented a series of city-marketing campaigns to improve a negative image that was considered to be a deterrent for investment (Paddison, 1993). The first promotional campaign, which used the slogan “Glasgow’s Miles Better”, was inspired by New York’s experience and was directed as much to improve the local population’s self-esteem and show that the council was working to improve the city’s problems as to market the city externally (Paddison, 1993). Over time, the marketing strategy developed from more indirect promotion into a more targeted type of marketing, while the entrepreneurial strategy turned its focus toward culture, architecture, and the arts as a means to establish a post-industrial economy and counter Glasgow’s negative identity (Paddison, 1993; Granger, 2010). Giving a boost to its culture-led regeneration program, the city was designated European Cultural Capital in 1990 as part of the European City of Culture scheme. Glasgow was not the first city to obtain the status of cultural capital from Brussels, but it was the first one to use this nomination to push forward its urban regeneration strategy through arranging cultural activities and the construction of infrastructure and cultural venues (García, 2004). The city’s experience transformed the perception of the European City of Culture program and competitor cities started to view the designation as an opportunity to brand the city and to secure public funding for their urban regeneration initiatives (Evans, 2003; García, 2004). Indeed, as a result of Glasgow’s regeneration efforts, there was a substantial growth in urban tourism and a positive change in the perception of the city. The reality of the city, however, several commentators complained, did not correspond with the image of regeneration given; the suburbs continued to suffer from unemployment, overall intense social deprivation, and a widening gap between the poor and the affluent (Paddison, 1993; Granger, 2010). Anyhow, the most emblematic example of a city that linked the hosting of an international event with its urban regeneration program was, without a doubt, Barcelona and its use of the 1992 Olympic Games as a catalyst for urban regeneration. Taking advantage of its designation as an Olympic host the city secured funding from the central and regional governments to start a spectacular urban transformation that included new transport and telecommunications

Flagship architecture and city branding  287 infrastructures and public amenities, the renovation of the waterfront, and the opening up of new areas of the city for development (Degen and García, 2012). Drawing on American models and as part of the project for the Olympic Village, 130 hectares at the waterfront were earmarked for redevelopment and were transformed into a leisure area that includes a marina, an auditorium, a shopping mall, offices and restaurants, an aquarium, and a conference centre (Jauhiainen, 1995). Flagship architecture had a central role in Barcelona’s regeneration program. Although the council also encouraged the participation of local architectural practices in the Olympic project, emphasis was placed on the use of emblematic architecture by recognizable global architects—for instance, Richard Meier’s Museum of Contemporary Art and Norman Foster’s Telecommunications Tower (Moix, 1994). The transformation of Barcelona, showcased to the world during the 1992 Olympics, was indeed spectacular. The city’s regeneration strategy was criticized for its emphasis on image and for fostering gentrification processes, contributing to the creation of a dispersed urban region (Monclús, 2003). However, the Barcelona approach to regeneration—especially the use of a high-profile event to trigger regeneration and the emphasis on good urban design and emblematic architecture to signify the city as a city of culture and design—inspired the regeneration strategies of many other cities. The Barcelona model was actively exported internationally and promoted through publications, reports, talks, and consultation work for different cities, for instance, Lisbon for its Expo ‘98 project (Monclús, 2003) and Rio de Janeiro for its Olympic project (Silvestre, 2013). Barcelona was also a model for the design-led regeneration in Britain that came to be known as the urban renaissance (Ward, 2004). Like Barcelona, Rotterdam also used good urban design and architecture as a key element of its regeneration strategy. In 1986, as part of the larger regeneration strategy of the city, the local government decided to create a new 125-hectare urban quarter, the Kop van Zuid, in the old docklands opposite the city centre. Since the city centre lacked an attractive architectural heritage—which had been widely destroyed during the WWII bombing raids—the emphasis was placed on striking futuristic architecture. Thus, in addition to the Erasmus Bridge, the symbolic element used to indicate to private developers that the area was safe to invest in (Doucet et al., 2011), many of the buildings in Kop van Zuid were designed by high-profile architects, including the World Port Centre by Sir Norman Foster and the telecom headquarters by Renzo Piano. Rotterdam’s innovation, however, was to combine in its regeneration strategy entrepreneurial objectives with specific planning for social goals. Although the primary objective was to improve the city’s position internationally, there was recognition from the beginning that placing a high-end development side by side with the city’s most deprived neighbourhoods—the ones that had been most affected by the closure of the docklands, with high rates of unemployment and crime and low rates of educational attainment—could be problematic and that the benefits generated by the new development should be spread to the surrounding poorer areas and residents, not least to ensure that the regeneration project was well received by them (Cadell et al., 2008; Doucet et al., 2011). In order to secure a social return, the Mutual Benefit program was developed, funded by the local government and EU funds. The program aimed to make it easy to give the jobs that the new development generated to the local population. The social goals were, nevertheless, secondary and entailed mainly that an effort was made to make certain that a trickledown effect took place because it was recognized that this would not happen automatically. Kop van Zuid was a success in terms of attracting economic activity and changing the image of Rotterdam, which came to be known as “Manhattan on the Maas” and earned the title of European Capital of Culture in 2001. The deprived neighbourhoods adjacent to the new development benefited from improved accessibility and public passport connectivity, and better local confidence (Cadell et al., 2008; Doucet, 2012). However, despite the efforts, the number

288  A. T. Vento of jobs that the new development generated for local residents was well below that expected. As a result, the integration of the local population through participation in the economy continued to be relatively low (Cadell et al., 2008). Even capital cities like London, which was not an old industrial centre, adhered to the trend of using iconic architecture for economic regeneration purposes. In the 1990s, there were concerns in London about the city losing its competitive edge over other European cities—such as, according to the secretary of state for the environment, Paris, Frankfurt, Barcelona, and Berlin—that were using entrepreneurial strategies to attract investment (Thornley, 2000). The Millennium Dome in London, designed by Pritzker Prize–winner Richard Rogers, was one of the key projects with which the central government wanted to promote London and the UK globally and mark the start of the new millennium. The Dome was a state-led attempt both at icon-led regeneration and at representing a modernized and multicultural national identity, a “Cool Britannia” brand, symbol of a new economy focused on cultural production and away from manufacturing (Jones, 2011). Yet, the project was a financial failure, and for many it “came to symbolize a crisis in state-led British identity” (Jones, 2011: 89). The landmark building, however, that inaugurated the era of the global flagship building was the Guggenheim Museum of modern and contemporary art in Bilbao. Designed by Californiabased architect Frank Gehry, Bilbao’s Guggenheim is considered the first building that, with over one million visitors in its first year, managed, on its own, to reimage a city and put it on the map of global cultural tourism (Evans, 2003). The Guggenheim was the centrepiece of the wider Strategic Plan for the Revitalization of Metropolitan Bilbao, devised by the Basque regional government in 1991 to tackle the city’s economic and reputation problems. After learning that Thomas Krens, the Guggenheim’s director, planned to establish a franchise with museums all over the world, the Basque regional government informed the art institution of its interest. In 1994, a final agreement between the two parties—stipulating a fee of $20 million for the franchise, a budget of $100 million for a landmark building, and a fund to build up a new collection—was signed (McNeill, 2009). Following a closed design competition with three participants—Frank Gehry, Coop Himmelb(l) au, and Arata Isozaki—Gehry, the architect favoured by Krens, won the commission (McNeill, 2009; Adam, 2012). Somewhat ironically, the museum, a franchise of a Manhattan-based art foundation designed by a California-based star architect (McNeill, 2009), besides being a prominent representative of global iconic architecture was at the same time a symbol of Basque identity, of the nationalist regional government’s conscious construction of a new image of a region that was leaving behind a violent past and was embracing modernity (Keating and de Franz, 2004: McNeill, 2009). Although the opposition parties and the local artistic community were concerned about what was perceived as American cultural imperialism, for the regional government, this new identity matched well with their nationalist-separatist ambitions (McNeill, 2009). With its random, undulating titanium-clad surfaces dominating the Nervion River, the daring and sculptural Guggenheim Museum has been hailed since its opening in 1997 as an architectural masterpiece. It has also been a success in terms of visitors. In its first year, it attracted 1.3 million visitors, mainly from abroad (Jones, 2011: 116), and by 2000 it had already reached 3 million (Jones, 2011). Almost immediately, Bilbao’s Guggenheim became a global symbol, the ultimate example of architectural icon-based regeneration. The critical voices, complaining that the public money invested in the project could have been used to fund local cultural production and a network of local museums, or that the focus should have been on improving the local population’s quality of life of the more generally rather than on the iconicity of the building, had only limited local resonance (McNeill, 2009; Jones, 2011). Indeed, the extravagant building

Flagship architecture and city branding  289 became more famous than its contents. In fact, of the 1.3 million visitors the museum received in its first year, 70% reported having gone to see Gehry’s bold sculptural piece of architecture rather than the exhibits that it houses (Jones, 2011). The building had an important impact on urban regeneration/city branding practice; after its opening in 1997, almost every city trying to climb the urban hierarchy and turn around its fortune would refer to the “Bilbao effect”. City administrators and decision makers worldwide tried, with different degrees of success, to replicate the success of the Guggenheim by commissioning star architects to design museums and cultural facilities in the expectation that the spectacularity of the architecture would perform the regeneration miracle and put their city on the map. In Europe, to name but a few examples, Peter Cook and Colin Fournier were commissioned to design the Graz Art Museum, whose extravagant form earned it the nickname the “Friendly Alien”, while in 2005, the Pritzker Prize–winner SANAA was commissioned to design the New Louvre at Lens, to reverse the old mining city’s fortunes. In the United States between 1998 and 2000, more than 150 museums were built or expanded. In 2001, the projects for new museums included one large new one for every two states (Evans, 2003). Some examples are an addition to the Milwaukee Art Museum by Santiago Calatrava, opened in 2001, and the Hamilton Building at the Denver Art Museum by Daniel Libeskind, a spectacular building opened in 2006 and, like Bilbao’s Guggenheim, clad in titanium. Thus, the strategy of using cultural prestige projects—albeit this time reimaged as icon-led regeneration and often making express reference to the “Guggenheim effect”—made its way back to the other side of the Atlantic. The iconic museum fever was far from over in the first decades of the 21st century and was expanding geographically, with signature-architecture museums and other cultural venues linked to rebranding strategies opening around the world. In China, around 1,400 art museums, including private and state-owned museums, were built between 2000 and 2011, many of them designed by high-profile international architects (Jacobson, 2013). Perhaps even more surprising than the sheer number of new museums is the fact that, illustrating the trend toward an increased importance of external image versus content, many of them did not have predetermined collections nor anything to display to start with (The Economist, 2014). A very brief overview of examples of commissions for cultural venues by global architects takes us not only to China but to a range of very diverse locations. For instance, Herzog & de Meuron’s Kolkata Museum of Modern Art (KMOMA), the Museum of Islamic Art in Doha, Qatar, designed by Pritzker Prize–winning architect I. M. Pei. opened in 2008 as part of the ambitious multifront branding strategy of the Middle-Eastern country (Peterson, 2006), and the Hanoi Museum, a spectacular building in the shape of an inverted pyramid, designed by GMP Architects, was inaugurated in 2010 as part of Vietnam’s millennial celebrations for the foundation of its capital city (Sutherland, 2005). Innovative approaches to city branding? We have seen an evolution toward the inclusion in regeneration strategies of increasingly spectacular and often banal architectural flagships to the point that their use “has become a nearubiquitous place-marketing strategy in post-industrial cities” (Balke et al., 2018: 1000). In this evolution, the icon status of the building and the stararchitect credentials of its designer have become paramount, leaving issues of social utility even more in the background than before. This is seen very clearly in the case of museums where, as expressed by Schubert (2000: 98 in Evans, 2003), the architectural statement made by the building often means that “the museum

290  A. T. Vento as cultural status symbol can shift the emphasis onto the building and its symbolic meaning to a degree to where what is inside hardly seems to matter at all”. Not surprisingly, city branding has received much academic criticism. In addition to diverting public expenditure into speculative image construction (Ward, 1998) cities involved in branding practice are accused of trying to differentiate themselves by focusing on surface rather than content, achieving in this way a superficial place identity that ends up giving marketed places a sense of homogeneity (Philo and Kearns, 1993; Knox and Pain, 2010), what Harvey (1989) has called serial reproduction, and Rossi (2017) “Guggenheimization”. There are, however, more positive visions of city branding. For some commentators, the place identities created by branding strategies and their attached architectural flagships are not always disconnected from the residents’ sense of identity (Hoekstra, 2020). According to ­Lindsay (2018), iconic architecture’s capacity to embody overlapping meanings can instead contribute to the generation of local identities based on the residents’ local memories and experiences. In her own words, “innovative designs which are not tied to historical symbolism can allow people to make up their own meaning and offer a common language for diverse populations” (Lindsay, 2018: 196). Bonakdar and Audirac (2020) argue that current understandings of city branding are more aligned with an approach to placemaking practice that fosters proactive bottom-up and contextspecific identity formation. According to them, urban planning and city branding are interconnected activities that shape urban imaginaries (Bonakdar and Audirac, 2020). They, however, recognize that, just as participatory planning does, participatory city brand formation faces challenges such as unequal participation, tokenism, commodification, and prioritization of growth over social objectives (Bonakdar and Audirac, 2020). Along these lines, Jokela (2020) presents the case of Helsinki as an example of recent more participatory forms of city branding, defended by more progressive scholars, branding practitioners, and city governments—a bottom-up process that promotes experimentation and unlocks the creativity of the wider public. In Helsinki, the construction of a branch of the Guggenheim Museum to brand the city was rejected and “the city council decided to focus instead on local residents’ initiatives and experimentations as the foundation of an attractive city brand” (Jokela, 2020: 2035). Whether these more progressive approaches represent a shift of paradigm and a general move away from urban regeneration based on the use of flagship architecture remains to be seen. In any case, beyond the challenges in economic (prioritization of growth and diversion of funds from welfare), cultural (elitism and commodification of culture), and governance (topdown elitist decision-making) terms, urban regeneration policies based on the use of flagship architecture and city branding present related risks from a creativity perspective. First, they raise questions about to what extent branded cities can be truly seen as works of collective creation rather than presenting to the world a manufactured image managed by place entrepreneurs. Therefore, can or should the complexity of a city be reduced to a brand? Similarly, mirroring the critiques to a star architecture system that results in a homogeneity derived from a tight group of architects building iconic cultural projects around the world, there is the associated risk of focusing on the iconic city at the expense of the everyday city, or, in Koch’s (2018) words “the unspectacular other”. Creativity is thus left to a few selected individualities rather than becoming a collective endeavour. From a more pragmatic perspective, this raises questions about how the creativity of wider groups can be engaged in advancing innovative policy solutions to urban problems rather than, often uncritically, resourcing to the use of globally mobile policy models.

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292  A. T. Vento Liu, H. (2017) “The Real Estate Developers Behind China’s Museum Boom” Sixth tone, Fresh voices from real China (Jan 06, 2017). Loftman, P. & Nevin, B. (1995) “Prestige Projects and Urban Regeneration in the 1980s and 1990s: A Review of Benefits and Limitations”, Planning Practice and Research, Vol. 10, No. 3/4, pp. 299–315. McNeill, D. (2009) The Global Architect: Firms, Fame and Urban Form, Routledge: London. Merrifield, A. (1993) “The Struggle Over Place: Redeveloping American Can in Southeast Baltimore”, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, New Series, Vol. 18, No. 1, pp. 102–121. Miles, M. (2007) Cities and Cultures, Palgrave: London. Moix, L. (1994) La Ciudad De Los Arquitectos, Anagrama: Barcelona. Monclús, J. (2003) “The Barcelona Model: An Original Formula? From ‘Reconstruction’ to Strategic ­Urban Projects (1979–2004)”, Planning Perspectives, Vol. 18, No. 4, pp. 399–421. Paddison, R. (1993) “City Marketing, Image Reconstruction and Urban Regeneration”, Urban Studies, Vol. 30, No. 2, pp. 339–350. Peterson, J. (2006) “Qatar and the World: Branding for a Micro-State”, Middle East Journal, Vol. 60, No. 4, pp. 732–748. Rossi, U. (2017) Cities in Global Capitalism, Polity Press: Cambridge. Silvestre, G. (2013). Mobile Olympic planning: The circulation of policy knowledge between Barcelona and Rio de Janeiro 1993–1996. Geografias, Políticas Públicas e Dinâmicas Territoriais, 7369–7381. Sutherland, C. (2005) “Repression and Resistance? French Colonialism as Seen Through Vietnamese Museums”, Museum and Society, Vol. 3, No. 3, pp. 153–166. The Economist (2014) “Mad about museums”, The Economist (Jan 6, 2014). Thornley, A. (2000) “Dome Alone: London’s Millennium Project and the Strategic Planning Deficit”, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Vol. 24, No. 3, pp. 689–699. Ward, S. (2004) Planning and Urban Change, SAGE Publications Ltd: London. Ma, W., de Jong, M., Hoppe, T. & de Bruijne, M. (2021) “From City Promotion via City Marketing to City Branding: Examining Urban Strategies in 23 Chinese Cities”, Cities, Vol. 116, p. 103269. Whitt, J. A. (1987) “Mozart in the Metropolis: The Arts Coalition and the Urban Growth Machine”, Urban Affairs Review, Vol. 23, No. 1, pp. 15–36.

23

The corporate campus D.J. Huppatz

Introduction In the past decade, three of the largest companies in the world have designed and built new headquarters in Northern California’s Silicon Valley: Apple Park (2017), Facebook’s MPK21 (2018), and Google’s Mountain View and Charleston East (2022). Designed by globally renowned architectural firms, each company claims its new headquarters reimagines the corporate campus as a new type of workplace, integrating technology, creativity, and sustainability. While these new campuses built upon 20th-century models, they also introduced new approaches and ideas. The first is that they draw upon the language of urbanism, structured via internal streets, plazas, and town halls; the second is a holistic emphasis on sustainability; and finally, a new approach to workplace design, emphasizing innovation and collaboration. This chapter analyzes the corporate campus as an architectural type, a branding device, and an internal mechanism of corporate organization. While researchers of both space and organizational culture have long recognized that a corporate headquarters’ appearance, spatial planning, and interior design comprise a set of cultural symbols (Berg and Kreiner, 1990; Dale and Burrell, 2003), more recently, architects, designers, and organizations have proposed ways in which a campus might better shape corporate culture and values. This represents a shift from a vision of corporate architecture as “clean, organized, impersonal, silent and above all, empty” (Kersten and Gilardi, 2003) to workplaces designed around staff aspirations, collaboration, and innovation. The 20th-century corporate campus In Pastoral Capitalism: A History of Suburban Corporate Landscapes, Mozingo (2011), traced the development of the corporate campus to precedents such as the research facilities of Bell Labs in New Jersey (1942) and the headquarters for the Connecticut Life Insurance company (1957). She noted the numerous advantages of suburban campuses as compared to city headquarters: large tracts of inexpensive land without complex zoning or building regulations; safety and security; and offices embedded in a pastoral landscape. Architects and management alike believed employees worked more productively and creatively in natural surroundings (­ Mozingo, 2011: 36). Detached from the chaos of urban life, the corporate campus also aligned with an American ideal of the university—an informal place for intellectual inquiry, free of distractions in spacious parklands (Muthesius, 2001). For staff, beyond simply offices, the corporate campus provided leisure facilities and service provisions such as cafeterias, games parlors, sports centers, hairdressers, and laundry services. The Connecticut Life Insurance Company (1957) was typical of the modernist campuses of the postwar era: a series of glass-and-steel boxes designed by architect Gordon Bunshaft of DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-26

294  D.J. Huppatz Skidmore, Owings and Merrill (SOM), sitting in a bucolic landscape designed by Joanna Diman (also of SOM). Florence Knoll’s interior design emphasized rational order, with standardized office furniture in neat rows, a minimal color scheme, and functional fittings and fixtures. SOM designed the campus as an integrated whole that incorporated architecture, landscape, interior, and furniture design, a unified system founded upon a grid that determined everything from the planning of buildings to the interior details (Havenhand, 2019: 105–127). For the designers, the campus was “a realization of the Taylorist aesthetic fetishized by interwar architects” (Lange, 2005: vi), while for Connecticut General Life Insurance, it projected a technologically advanced, progressive, efficient corporate image. Internally, although the campus’ standardized design suggested an equitable workplace, the upper management of Connecticut General Life Insurance—all male—occupied private offices furnished to their own tastes on the top floors (Kerr et al, 2016). Below, the 1200 predominantly female staff sat at standard desks on open-plan floors. In this way, the buildings “enveloped rigid corporate and gender divisions” (Mozingo, 2000: 34). As modernist architectural ideals gave way to postmodernism in the 1980s and 1990s, campus design changed. Architects and designers sought not the neutral, universal aesthetic of modernism but distinctive forms and colors that could project recognizable symbols and corporate brands (Kerr et al, 2016). This shift into architectural postmodernism (Jencks, 1977) brought a new emphasis on corporate branding via iconic buildings (Jencks, 2005) and aligned with new ideas about management and organizations. Internally, management sought to develop a “corporate culture” by redesigning the worker through staff identification with the corporation and its goals (Grey, 2005). Campus design—particularly interiors—shifted to reflect these changes with an emphasis on staff comfort and well-being. A prominent example of these changes was the General Foods Headquarters (1983), designed by Kevin Roche John Dinkeloo and Associates on a 55-acre site north of New York. To house 1600 employees, architect Kevin Roche designed a pristine white, seven-story structure, reminiscent of a gargantuan Palladian villa, set by a lake in wooded landscape. While Roche rejected the neutral, universal language of modernist design in favor of Classical and Renaissance allusions (at least for the exterior envelope), he eschewed local references, creating a placeless edifice beside an interstate highway. The General Foods Headquarters comprised a single structure with interior spaces arranged around a glass-domed, central atrium. With a large cafeteria below, the atrium functioned as the campus’ visual and symbolic center. Following research that interior plants boosted staff psychological and physical well-being (Sparke, 2021), Roche filled the atrium with greenery, inserting a (controlled) patch of nature into the building’s center (Pelkonen, 2011). Critics described the offices, filled with natural light, as “warm and welcoming” (Goldberger, 1983). But, as with Connecticut Life Insurance, the executive level was located on the top floor in a central position in the building, reinforcing the corporate hierarchy (Kerr et al, 2016). The corporate campus spread from the United States to become a global type in the late 20th century, with variations arising in different countries. Importantly, the vast majority of these campuses relied on what Mozingo referred to as “separatist geography” (Mozingo, 2011: 220), whereby staff remained isolated from their larger communities. Integrated with various staff facilities for leisure and services, the corporate campus was insulated world. A reliance on driving to work meant staff had little engagement with the places between home and work, and a blurring of traditional boundaries between home (with its associations with leisure and personal services) and work. Despite possibilities such as the urban, vertical campus (Britton and Hargis, 2016), the low-rise, suburban campus continued into the 21st century with three of the world’s largest companies—Apple, Facebook, and Google—designing and building new campuses in California’s Santa Clara Valley, popularly known as Silicon Valley.

The corporate campus  295 The high-tech corporate campus Silicon Valley is not a region generally associated with architectural innovation. Entrepreneurs typically began working in temporary or ad-hoc spaces, most famously William Hewlett and David Packard’s Palo Alto garage and the Homebrew Computer Club’s 1975 gatherings in a Menlo Park garage (Audia and Rider, 2005). From such humble spaces, start-ups moved to existing low-rise office parks such as Stanford Research Park and renovated these (Lange, 2014). Even as they grew to become global giants, high-tech companies showed little interest in commissioning new corporate headquarters until very recently, with a new generation of groundup corporate campuses that includes not only Apple, Facebook, and Google, but Samsung by NNBJ (2016) and Nvidia by Gensler (2018). Today, a corporate campus for a global company serves several purposes besides simply housing offices. In Silicon Valley, the new alliance of global corporations and high-profile architects has severed to distinguish one company from local competitors. A distinctive corporate architecture helps convey to the public and potential employees that the company is committed to this particular region and values its employees. While for a corporation, the campuses function as a physical embodiment of corporate values, for staff it offers a lifestyle aspiration. Here, it is worth distinguishing between corporate identity—as externally focused branding, and internally focused identification—as these new campuses attempt both. New visions of work and workplace design, with roots in Silicon Valley, have helped shape the new campuses. Palo Alto-based design consultancy IDEO, for example, have long associated innovation with fun—the work environment (and interior design) was promoted as essential in fostering innovation. Google’s global offices, renowned for incorporating slides, ping pong. Pool tables and video games within office spaces were also promoted as stimulants for creativity and innovation. Such fun not only encouraged staff to stay after hours (Baldry and Hallier, 2010) but also coincided with a kind of infantile relationship between staff and corporation—with no need to prepare meals, shop for food, or do laundry—corporations could adopt totalizing control of their employees’ lives. In exchange for long working hours, the corporation increasingly strives to provide easy access to leisure, food, health and wellness, and transportation services. Apple Park Opened in 2017, British-based Foster + Partners-designed Apple Park is not only the first of the new campuses, but, with its unusual ring shape, the most distinctive. Apple had been located in Cupertino since 1993, dispersed over 100 different buildings, so Foster’s brief was to house 12,000 staff in a single building situated on a 71-hectare (175-acre) site. Renowned for designing high-tech, minimal structures, Foster + Partners have also designed or renovated dozens of Apple flagship stores around the world since 2014, and the architect’s reductive aesthetic language and elegant detailing seemed a perfect match for Apple. Apple Park epitomized the shared vision of the two companies: a building as an autonomous machine, its temperature, lighting, and ambiance all carefully controlled, its every detail—down to precision-milled aluminum door handles—designed specifically for a particular function. A large staff cafeteria seats 4,000 people and utilizes similar furniture as the Apple stores— simple, blond timber tables and chairs. The interiors, defined by a lack of any decorative details, excessive colors, or patterns, serve to reinforce Apple’s simple design language. More than an aesthetic, simplicity was Apple’s key to corporate success (Koch and Lockwood, 2016), a design philosophy that some critics believe is synonymous with “integrity, essence, deference,

296  D.J. Huppatz style, and honesty” (Shelley, 2015: 441). Beyond aesthetics, Apple’s simplicity also carries a positive moral connotation. Ken Segall, a former advertising creative director who worked with Apple, noted Apple’s “deep, almost religious belief in the power of Simplicity” (Segall, 2012). Simplicity is a principle that Apple applies to the design of products, to its organizational design, as well as its design of online and physical retail experiences. With an emphasis on austere, restrained, and pure products and spaces, simplicity evokes a modest, honest, good life. The Apple campus’ unusual circular design contains the largest panels of curved glass in the world and sits in stark contrast to its surroundings of suburban streets set at right angles. Although the ring shape functions as distinctive branding, Apple Park continues the 20th corporate campus ideal of an isolated, insular world. The self-contained campus was not built near mass transit, so automobiles are the main transportation mode for staff, while the large campus is offlimits to visitors and local communities. A high-tech sustainability discourse operates at Apple Park. This engineered machine is powered largely by renewable energy, emphasis on natural ventilation, and a vast internal courtyard. The latter, designed by landscape designer Laurie Olin, included over 9,000 new trees. Both Steve Jobs and Olin noted their admiration for Frederick Law Olmsted, who designed the campus for nearby Stanford University (Rybczynski, 2018). The topology was carefully engineered, the interior landscape contains hills and orchard trees such as apples and pears (in a nod to what was in the Santa Clara Valley before the tech industries), an ornamental pond as well as walking and cycling paths. In a 2020 podcast, Apple CEO Tim Cook described Apple Park as: … like working in a national park for me. And it provides that kind of feeling. So you know, we all operate on inspiration and motivation. And you find your somewhere. And the only difference between people is generally what level of ins — of how inspired they are and how motivated they are to do different things. So nature really inspires me and motivates me as it does the bulk of the people here. (Cook, 2020) As well as this access to nature, Apple is keen to emphasize the building’s flexibility. Chief Design Officer Jonathan Ive described it thus: Our building is very configurable and you can very quickly create large open spaces or you can configure lots of smaller private offices. The building will change and it will evolve. And I’m sure in 20 years’ time we will be designing and developing very different products, and just that alone will drive the campus to evolve and change. And actually, I’m much more interested in being able to see the landscape, that is a much more important capability. (Compton, 2017) The aesthetic order in Apple’s corporate campus reinforces that of its stores, devices, packaging, website design, and product design in an integrated, disciplined aesthetic. Yet there is something hidden here too. Foster + Partners carefully conceal the air conditioning, heating, and mechanical systems and, as in the Apple Stores, hide wires and cables in table legs and wall cavities. The infrastructure that supports Apple’s business—like the army of subcontractors in China and elsewhere who assemble components—is kept from view, allowing staff to work in an idyllic realm, isolated from the world.

The corporate campus  297 Facebook’s MPK21 If Apple Park is defined by its design simplicity, Facebook’s campus is complex. It consists of over 30 buildings in roughly 2 parts—a collection of buildings from a 1990s office park (formerly Sun Microsystems), and two new buildings, MPK20 and MPK21, designed by Frank Gehry Architects. The first part was integrated in 2012 into a kind of “Main Street” with the aid of Disney designers. This not only brought together the discrete buildings but integrated staff amenities such as restaurants, cafes, and medical facilities. Close by, Facebook invested in two signature buildings, MPK20 (completed 2015) and MPK21 (completed 2018), the latter incorporating the former into one large campus. MPK21 stretches along the bayfront across 9 hectares (22 acres) comprising a ground level of parking, a second level of offices, and a roof-top garden. Unlike Frank Gehry’s previously iconic buildings, such as the Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao (1997), and Los Angeles’ Walt Disney Concert Hall (2003), the Facebook headquarters is difficult to capture in a single image and its exterior reveals little of its interior. In fact, Gehry was reportedly asked by Facebook to “tone down” his original design that they considered “too flashy” and “not the culture of Facebook” (Chalcraft, 2013). In reply, Gehry stated in an interview: “We were getting lessons in Facebook culture and we’re making a new kind of architecture within that culture” (Thorpe, 2018). With its windowless façade and lack of visible entrance, the campus lacks the coherent design language of Apple Park. CEO Mark Zuckerberg described the final design in an interview: The building itself is pretty simple and isn’t fancy. That’s on purpose. We want our space to feel like a work in progress. When you enter our buildings, we want you to feel how much left there is to be done in our mission to connect the world. (Moore, 2017) In fact, the interior design, spatial planning and “work in progress” aesthetic is what makes Facebook’s campus unique. MPK21 is constructed around a wide corridor, or “main street”, which centers around the “town hall”, around which cluster a collection of cafes, restaurants, and staff amenities. In contrast to Apple’s interiors of engineered perfection, Facebook’s interiors look self-­ consciously unfinished. The open-plan offices house 2,800 staff and the concrete floors, visible cabling and heating ducts, recycled timber, and ad hoc furniture evoke the temporary garages of early Silicon Valley start-ups or artists’ warehouse studios. The interiors contain numerous plants and trees, so the internal experience is akin to walking in an urban park, with multiple paths and different types of break-out spaces and offices, all furnished with an eclectic mix of desks, chairs, and lounges. Facebook and “hacker” ethos—working spaces like cafés, artist or designer studios, lounge rooms, break-out spaces, pop-ups, informal and not rigid or geometrical ordered—to enhance creative collaboration, there are no cubicles or traditional partitions (Rühse, 2021: 249). Standing desks, treadmill desks, sofas, and beanbags—unlike at Apple Park, here, the design emphasizes difference and individuality. Colorful murals by local artists, walls for staff to write on, and moveable partitions suggest a creative, interactive environment. Yet these creative interventions, including posters produced by the in-house Analog Research Lab and an artist-in-residence program, “do much more than simply brighten the walls. They transform political and aesthetic movements into management tools. The arts at Facebook blur the line between the public, social sphere and private corporate space, and they encourage workers to imagine the company as a community—a community centered on the celebration of individual creativity” (Turner, 2018: 54). Such interior interventions

298  D.J. Huppatz also appeal to staff’s authentic, intimate self, reinforcing the social media company’s “mission”: “Being your authentic self is the foundation of who we are as a company” (Facebook, 2019). Through contributing not only their work but their self-expression and individual emotions, Facebook staff feel engaged in a shared mission of connecting the world, enabling communication and community. Finally, as at Apple Park, at MPK21, staff have access to nature, with varied outdoor spaces and courtyards filled with plants and an extensive roof-top garden with over 200 trees and wildflowers. With the campus design, Facebook is keen to demonstrate its sustainable credentials, not only with plantings, but with solar panels and a water recycling system but, as a global corporation, it relies on huge, unsustainable data centers in the desert. As at Apple Park, the well-promoted sustainable credentials of the corporate campus serve to conceal a large carbon footprint elsewhere. Google’s Bay View Opened in 2022, Google’s Bay View headquarters in Mountain View is the most recent of the new Silicon Valley campuses. Like Facebook, Google’s previous campus comprised numerous buildings from a 1994 campus for Silicon Graphics that had undergone various iterations, including a 2005 masterplan that integrated them into a campus called the Googleplex. Like ­Facebook’s earlier campus, this was a loose connection of buildings by footpaths and cycle paths, scattered with colorful Google bicycles. But the 2022 Bay View campus is the company’s first ground-up headquarters—four hanger-like buildings designed by Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG) and Thomas Heatherwick Studio—the largest two to house around 4,000 staff each, while the smaller 3,000 and the final one functioning as a theatre. Google already had a reputation for designing “fun” workplaces. In contrast the sober, minimal Apple aesthetic, Google’s slides, hammocks, yurts, games rooms, climbing walls, and bright color schemes suggested a playful work environment designed to stimulate creativity and innovation. This atmosphere accompanied Google’s renown for staff autonomy and flexibility, founded on a management culture devoted “to discovering, refining, and implementing leadership practices that optimize human performance in the workplace” (Crowley, 2013). These values continue in the new campus. Under a large, canopy roof, the vast interior space occupies 20 acres over two floors. The upper level comprises individual desks and enclosed “team spaces”, while the lower level includes cafes, kitchenettes, break-out spaces, and communal spaces for interaction with different people (Nelson, 2022). Architect Bjarke Ingels stated: “Google had already set the standard for a fun, engaging, playful work environment. And they wanted to reinvent that. At the same time, they wanted to maintain their rebellious, startup, DIY mentality …” (Pathways, 2022a,b: 45–46). Thus, the interior contains an eclectic mix of different furniture types, potted plants, and colorful murals. Like Facebook’s MPK21, Google’s interior spaces have an urban plan, arranged in “neighborhoods” around internal courtyards, cafes, and streets. Thomas Heatherwick described the design as inspired by large aircraft hangers at a neighboring airfield that could be adapted to various internal configurations: “It was about facilitating a flexible, internal urbanism that could be changed over time” (Pathways, 2022: 52). Such adaptable interior spaces are enabled by moveable partitions and furniture that can be reconfigured quickly and easily either on an individual or team level. The architects cut the canopy to allow in natural light yet in a controlled interior environment that feels like working outside. A healthy interior is a key feature of the design—light, air

The corporate campus  299 quality, glare, acoustics, thermal comfort and “biophilic design” and, of course, stimulation via nature—are all stressed by the designers and Google in order to stimulate staff creativity and promote collaboration. Thomas Heatherwick, for example, described the ideal: “Our approach centred on the notion that the emotional engagement of one team with another is what matters. It’s beyond conventional notions of office efficiency … It’s about triggering your team’s imagination and facilitating a sense of open-mindedness” (Pathways, 2022: 54). BIG and Heatherwick’s new campus also emphasizes Google’s sustainability credentials. The innovative “dragon-scale” tiles are actually curved solar panels designed to generate power and maximize water retention. Additionally, the campus boasts a large geothermal installation for energy production and a water reuse system. Health and wellness for employees—natural light, air, open spaces. As with Apple and Facebook, Google also promotes the extensive surrounding plantings and staff’s access to nature. Although still ongoing, the campus comprises over 17 acres of marsh and meadows and wetlands with plans to rehabilitate the local landscape. The future of the corporate campus Each of these global tech companies built environmentally sustainable corporate campuses, using high-tech materials and the latest engineering and energy systems. But, in all three campuses, visible manifestations of new technologies are hidden: there are surprisingly few screens, electronic signage, billboards, or visible gadgets. For companies so invested in new technologies, one might expect robots making coffee, serving meals, or cleaning. But there are none. These are profoundly human-centered spaces, integrating natural light, air, and access to nature in order to ensure health and wellness for staff. All aim at fostering innovation and creativity, particularly through “serendipity” (Lange, 2014: 26–27), that is, creating spaces that generate chance encounters between employees from different parts of the corporation. Serendipity is attributed to “lateral circulation in low-rise buildings” (Dutson, 2022: 74), hence the emphasis on the interiors of continuous and open spaces rather than separate buildings, cubicles, and enclosed rooms. The other commonality is the mix of collaborative and contemplative or private spaces, and the importance of walking routes that overlap, and, particularly in Facebook and Google’s offices, aspects that are perceived to promote “freedom” and playfulness (Elsbach and Stigliani, 2019: 16). Yet ultimately, each of these corporate campuses isolates staff from the rest of the world. Mozingo’s “separatist geography” still applies, as staff have little opportunity to mix with diverse people as they would be of the campus were located in a dense, urban location. Such isolation from the public sphere makes it difficult to maintain an interest in public transport, public parks, or public spaces, particularly with so many facilities and amenities provided by the corporation. Lange argues the new models are recreating not so much pastoral landscapes as a kind of internal, corporate urbanism that utilizes the language of cities but within a secure, controlled environment (Lange, 2014). Despite Silicon Valley’s reputation for innovation, the region has long been marked by unsustainable suburban development characterized by such isolated, auto-dependent, corporate campuses, and these remain the primary form of Silicon Valley workplace (SPUR, 2017). Silicon Valley corporations, such as Apple, Google, and Facebook, actively promote their sustainability practices and support sustainability programs and initiatives (Sanquiche, 2017). Such credentials function as “green camouflage” to distract from the campus’s automobile dependency and huge energy expenditure elsewhere (Rühse, 2021: 252). Despite the promotion of sustainability and references to the local ecology, none of these campuses recognize the Ohlone people (the indigenous inhabitants of the San Francisco Bay Area, some of whom still live there)

300  D.J. Huppatz who maintained a relatively stable ecological balance in the area for at least 10,000 years before the Spanish missionaries arrived (Ramirez, 2007). The final question arising from the work-from-home model adopted with the 2020 COVID pandemic is that if physical spaces and their connection to nature are crucial to creativity, innovation, and collaboration, what happens when staff abandon the corporate campus and work from home? Given Apple, Facebook, and Google continued to operate during the pandemic (and increase their profits), the logical answer suggests the corporate campus is finished. However, the recent shift towards authenticity and a shared mission between staff and company suggests otherwise. “Apple, Facebook and Google”, argues Dutson, “have long known that the campus is the site where personal desires for meaningful work are enfolded within company missions, and the architecture facilitates the provision of well-being, the manufacture of shared objectives and the quest for self-actualisation” (Dutson, 2022: 73). Given this, it seems likely that such corporate campuses are here to stay, as, for corporation, management and staff alike, these physical places enable the production of identity and aspirational lifestyles. References Audia, Pino G. and Christopher I. Rider, 2005. “A Garage and an Idea: What More Does an Entrepreneur Need?”, California Management Review, 48(1): 6–28. Baldry, Chris and Jerry Hallier, 2010. “Welcome to the House of Fun: Work Space and Social Identity”, Economic and Industrial Democracy, 31(1): 150–172. Berg, P. O. and K. Kreiner, 1990. “Corporate Architecture: Turning Physical Settings into Symbolic Resources.” In P. Gagliardi, ed., Symbols and Artefacts: Views of the Corporate Landscape. Berlin: de Gruyter, 124–145. Britton, John and Steve Hargis, 2016. “The Vertical Corporate Campus: Integrating Modern Workplace Models into the High-Rise Typology”, International Journal of High-Rise Buildings, 5(2): 127–136. Chalcraft, Emilie, 2013. “Facebook asks Gehry to design ‘more anonymous’ headquarters”, Dezeen, 2 April 2013. Online: https://www.dezeen.com/2013/04/02/gehry-facebook-headquarters-gets-go-ahead/ Compton, Nick, 2017. “In the Loop: Jony Ive on Apple’s new HQ”, Wallpaper. Online: https://www.­ wallpaper.com/design/jony-ive-apple-park Cook, Tim, 2020. Interview on Outside Podcast, 9 December 2020: https://podcasts.apple.com/podcast/ outside-podcast/id1090500561?i=1000501826971 Crowley, Mark C., 2013. “Not a Happy Accident: How Google Deliberately Designs Workplace Satisfaction”, Fast Company, 21 March 2013: https://www.fastcompany.com/3007268/not-happy-accidenthow-google-deliberately-designs-workplace-satisfaction Dale, K. and G. Burrell, 2003. “The Spaces of Organisation and the Organisation of Space: Power, Identity and Materiality at Work.” In A. Carr and P. Hancock, eds., Art and Aesthetics at Work. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Dutson, Claudia, 2022. “A Proprietary Polis: Silicon Valley Architecture and Collective Life.” In Penny Lewis, Lorens Holm and Sandra Costa Santos, ed., Architecture and Collective Life. London and New York: Routledge, 71–81. Elsbach, Kimberly D. and Ileana Stigliani, 2019. “The Physical Work Environment and Creativity: How Creative Workspaces Support and Encourage Design Thinking.” In Oluremi B. Ayoko and Neal M. Ashkanasy, eds., Organizational Behaviour and the Physical Environment. London and New York: Routledge. Goldberger, Paul, 1983. “A Corporate Equivalent of the Classical Villa; Rye Brook, N.Y.” New York Times, 3 July 1983. Online: https://www.nytimes.com/1983/07/03/arts/architecture-view-a-corporate-equivalentof-the-classical-villa-rye-brook-ny.html Google, 2022a. Pathways: Unlocking Innovation at Bay View and Charleston East, digital book: https:// bay-view-campus-opening.prezly.com/bay-view-office-opening

The corporate campus 301 Google, 2022b. Pathways: Unlocking Innovation at Bay View and Charleston East, Google Books: https:// services.google.com/fh/files/misc/google_pathways_book_bayview_charleston_east_100322.pdf Grey, Chris, 2005. Studying Organizations, London: SAGE. Havenhand, Lucinda Kaukas, 2019. Mid-Century Modern Interiors: The Ideas That Shaped Interior Design in America, London: Bloomsbury. Jencks, Charles, 1977. The Language of Post-Modern Architecture, London: Academy Editions. Jencks, Charles, 2005. The Iconic Building: The Power of Enigma, London: Frances Lincoln. Kerr, R. Sarah K., Carole Robinson and Elliott, 2016. “Modernism, Postmodernism, and Corporate Power: Historicizing the Architectural Typology of the Corporate Campus”, Management & Organizational History, 11(2): 123–146. Kersten, Astrid and Ronald Gilardi, 2003. “The Barren Landscape: Reading US Corporate Architecture.” In Carr, Adrian and Hancock, Philip, eds., Art and Aesthetics at Work. Houndsmills, Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 138–154. Koch, Richard and Greg Lockwood, 2016. Simplify: How the Best Businesses in the World Succeed, London: Piatkis. Lange, Alexandra, 2005. Tower, Typewriter and Trademark: Architects, Designers and the Corporate Utopia, 1956–1964, PhD Thesis, New York University. Lange, Alexandra, 2014. The Dot-Com City: Silicon Valley Urbanism, Moscow: Strelka Press. Moore, Rowan, 2017. “The Billion-Dollar Palaces of Apple, Facebook and Google”, The Guardian, 23 July 2017: https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2017/jul/23/inside-billion-dollar-palaces-oftech-giants-facebook-apple-google-london-california-wealth-power Mozingo, Louise A., 2000. “The Corporate Estate in the USA, 1954–64: ‘Thoroughly Modern in Concept, but … Down to Earth and Rugged’”, Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes, 20(1): 25–56. Mozingo, Louise A., 2011. Pastoral Capitalism: A History of Suburban Corporate Landscapes, London and Cambridge Mass: MIT Press. Muthesius, Stephan, 2001. The Postwar University: Utopianist Campus and College, New Haven. CT: Yale University Press. Nelson, Tim, 2022. “Google’s new Bjarke Ingels—and Thomas Heatherwick-designed HQ shows the future of office spaces”, Architectural Digest, online: https://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/ googles-new-bjarke-ingels-thomas-heatherwick-designed-hq-future-office-spaces Pelkonen, Eeva-Liisa, 2011. Kevin Roche: Architecture as Environment, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Ramirez, Renya K., 2007. Native Hubs: Culture, Community, and Belonging in Silicon Valley and Beyond, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Rühse, Viola, 2021. “Facebook’s MPK 20 Headquarters Designed by Frank Gehry.” In Oliver Grau and Inge Hinterwaldner, eds., Retracing Political Dimensions: Strategies in Contemporary New Media Art. Berlin and Boston, MA: De Gruyter, pp. 242–256. Rybczynski, Witold, 2018. “The Untold Story of Apple Park”, Architect, 107(11), 99–110. Sanquiche, Rosalinda, 2017. “CSE and ET Index Research Reveal Silicon Valley Sustainability Behavior”, Centre for Sustainability and Excellence. Segall, Ken, 2012. Insanely Simple: The Obsession That Drive’s Apple’s Success, London: Portfolio. Shelley, Cameron, 2015. “The Nature of Simplicity in Apple Design”, The Design Journal, 18(3): 441. Sparke, Penny, 2021. Nature Inside: Plants and Flowers in the Modern Interior, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. SPUR, 2017. “Rethinking the Corporate Campus”, SPUR Report. Thorpe, Harriet, 2018. “Frank Gehry’s Latest Office Building at Facebook’s Menlo Park HQ Opens”, Wallpaper, 4 September 2018, online: https://www.wallpaper.com/architecture/frank-gehry-officefacebook-menlo-park-hq-san-francisco-opens Turner, Fred, 2018. “The Arts at Facebook: An Aesthetic Infrastructure for Surveillance Capitalism”, Poetics, 67: 53–62.

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Urban design dimensions of creative clustering Mix/adaptation/networks/ambivalence Stephen Wood, Kim Dovey, and Lucinda Pike

Introduction In almost any large city one can find neighbourhoods, often within the post-industrial inner-city, that can be characterised as creative clusters – creative quarters, districts, or milieux that attract cutting-edge activities of various kinds from studios, galleries, theatres, and music performance, through fashion, architecture, and design to film, media, technology, and science. They may have a long history as artisan quarters or develop rapidly based on the cheap rent of former industrial building shells. Such activities may develop adjacent to major institutions such as universities and they may be subject to displacement through gentrification. In this chapter, we explore the spatiality of creative clustering based on research in Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane, Australia. Our focus is on the urban morphological and spatial dimensions of such phenomenon, including ways in which these dimensions might incubate creative activities. Why are such clusters where they are and what morphological characteristics, if any, do they have in common? What is the attraction? Creative clusters and urban morphology The clustering of particular trades, services, and industries in certain urban neighbourhoods is as old as cities. Alfred Marshall (1890) was the first economist to argue for the economic advantages of industry clustering including a ready supply of labour, shorter distances, and enhanced competition. The knowledge-based economy is not simply sustained by access to information but also by access to tacit knowledge – what Marshall dubs ‘something in the air’ – that can be gained only through intensive informal immersion in face-to-face communities. Tacit knowledge flows best in an intensive urbanity defined as random encounter with difference; one never knows which difference will make a difference. While formal knowledge is quantified and coded, transmitted in training and educational programs, informal or tacit knowledge is picked up on the streets and in coffee breaks (O’Connor, 2004; Storper and Venables, 2004; Rantisi and Leslie, 2006). The city becomes a school where knowledge spreads by osmosis. Thus some cities and clusters within them become ‘sticky’ in the sense that creative firms become economically attached to the cluster (Markussen, 1996). While it has long been understood that creative industries cluster within inner-city postindustrial neighbourhoods in most cities, there has been little research on the particular ­urban characteristics and morphologies of those neighbourhoods (Durmaz, 2015; Martins, 2015; ­Stevens, 2015). Much work on the role of place-based qualities in creative practice has emphasised the significance of social factors and/or somewhat nebulous ‘atmospheres’, with only implicit links to built form. Creative neighbourhoods are often argued to be distinguished by their DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-27

Urban design dimensions of creative clustering  303 ‘flavour’, ‘character’, and ‘authenticity’ (Hutton, 2006; Brown and Meczynski, 2009; Marotta et al., 2016). Creative clusters have a creative ‘buzz’ which attracts talent and encourages innovative potential (Storper and Venables, 2004; Currid and Williams, 2010) – an intensity of talk, heightened attention, and expectation where ideas flow and germinate faster. While often described as having the ‘feel’ of a ‘village’ with high levels of safety and trust, creative clusters have an open sense of place where outsiders can easily be accepted (Massey, 1993; Florida, 2002: 227); the closed sense of place by contrast has a tendency to be intolerant of newcomers, new ideas and new practices. In parallel, a nascent body of literature has started to highlight the importance of both social relations and material characteristics in incubating creative activities (Rantisi and Leslie, 2010), with some suggesting that the ‘atmospheric’ properties attributed to creative clusters (‘buzz’, ‘flavour’, etc.) are emergent effects of the synergistic interplay between social and spatial variables (Wood and Dovey, 2015). In relation to spatial factors, we know that creative industries are drawn to derelict post-industrial building stock, which are prized for their aesthetics as well as their capacity for flexible adaptation (Rantisi and Leslie, 2010). This is especially the case when linked to fine-grain morphologies and compact, walkable neighbourhoods with a focus on the tensions and interconnections between creative work and leisure (Hutton, 2006; Stevens, 2015). The quality of ‘mix’ – or a ‘mix of mixes’ – has also been found to be key in a number of studies, including social, functional, and formal mixes (Hutton, 2006; Rantisi and Leslie, 2010; Wood and Dovey, 2015). The current chapter seeks to contribute to this body of knowledge. The study In a larger study, we have identified and mapped creative clusters in Sydney, Melbourne, and Brisbane (Wood and Dovey, 2015). The suburbs where we identified concentrations of creative industries were Surry Hills in Sydney, Fitzroy/Collingwood in Melbourne, and Fortitude Valley in Brisbane. Figure 24.1 shows the extent of our study areas and relations to the central city, major educational institutions, public housing estates, and access networks. As part of this larger study, we conducted in-depth interviews with a total of 37 people working in creative industries including visual arts (painting, photography, galleries), performing arts (theatre, live music), design (fashion, architecture, graphic, furniture), and media (gaming, film, video). Interviews were transcribed and subjected to content and discourse analysis; they are augmented here with morphological and functional mapping to show some relations with the spatiality and materiality of the neighbourhoods. There are many ways to cut this cake and the interconnected mix between ingredients is fundamentally important. Our goal is to make sense of the complexity in a manner that makes the interconnections coherent. In what follows, we frame it as MANA: Mix, Adaptation, Networks, and Ambivalence. This is not a list or a formula but a multiplicity of intersecting factors. ‘Mix’ involves the productive effect of juxtaposed differences – at once social, formal, and functional mixes. ‘Adaptation’ is the capacity for both forms and functions to change incrementally and continuously. ‘Networks’ involve a capacity for access and connectivity at multiple scales from the walkable neighbourhood to transit connections with the larger metropolis. ‘Ambivalence’ is a sense of a being driven in contradictory directions at once – a both/and condition, a doublelogic where the formalities of urban governance co-exist with informalities of creativity and innovation. The creative cluster is a socio-spatial assemblage wherein these conditions work together and properties referred to as ‘buzz’, ‘atmosphere’, and ‘character’ are emergent effects of these synergies.

304  S. Wood, K. Dovey, and L. Pike

Figure 24.1  Study areas in Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane. Source: The authors.

Mix The notion of mix draws in part on the identification of mixed-use as a primary condition of urban efficiency and productivity (Jacobs, 1961) while teasing out additional dimensions. In each of our case studies, we find a variety of mixes, a mix of mixes – socio-economic, functional, and morphological. In terms of social class, each of the neighbourhoods we studied was seen by interviewees to have a relatively high level of mix; the ‘types’ identified can be loosely, if simplistically, categorised into gentrifiers, bohemian/youth, and welfare/disadvantaged. The arts-based community (including our interviewees) spans the bohemian/gentrifier divide. Attitudes among interviewees towards both social mix and public housing were overwhelmingly

Urban design dimensions of creative clustering  305 positive, yet they were seen as under threat: “I find it a great relief that there are still a range of people here rather than just a homogenised set of latte drinkers …” The interviews revealed a widespread sensitivity to social disadvantage and a commitment to help, yet there is seen to be very little integration. The social mix can produce an edginess in public space: “You know how to protect yourself, how to interact with what is going on … like looking over your shoulder periodically, trying not to make eye contact with certain people at certain times of the day”. Another interviewee says: “I don’t think it [public housing] makes a difference at all. With the café culture … I don’t think it matters at all”. This is a discourse of tolerance rather than mutual benefit, where the ‘café culture’ is presumed to be central. There is a widespread view that the presence of public housing dampens property values: “it’s great because it keeps the rent down… thank God for the public housing”. This ambivalent tolerance of a welfare class can be contrasted with a valuing of bohemian youth cultures: “It is kind of on the cusp of where everything is happening. The creativity, the drugs, the sex, the nightclubs, everything is a bit more, a bit more intensity - I think it is pretty intense here …”. The bohemian cohort is identified with the young and with risk taking, often seen to be the fount of new ideas: “The kids are the backdrop, they are the interesting ones, the dynamic ones who are providing the music, the art and stuff like that, and it is just nice to be around that”. While the ‘kids’ add the edge to gentrified consumption, there are also tensions, especially around live music: “drunk, crazy partying people, that’s good but it is also bad – you don’t want to be right in the middle of that with a contemporary art gallery”. It is between these cultures of edgy production and creative arts consumption that art gallery proprietors want to be: “we like being between those two cultures”. The social mix is linked by some to authenticity: “you feel like you are part of a real part of the world” and “… it is not totally renovated and all the [poor] people have been kicked out and condos put up. It is still a real area”. The displacement of creative activities due to gentrification is a big issue for many interviewees. There are many dimensions to the gentrification process: consumption displaces production; restaurants and food culture displace everyday retailing; commercial firms displace start-ups; up-market housing displaces cheap housing; large new buildings displace small derelict ones; tourists and visitors displace locals. “It is a never ending cycle of the artists find somewhere to go; they create the art, then the area gets gentrified. But the artists will find a way, they’ll move, create a new vibe somewhere else. It’s cyclic, it moves around”. The cluster is seen to attract those who want to be near the bohemian creativity but only at arm’s length: You do get these somewhat snobby property developers, they love being around here because they live in their fantastic warehouse conversion with all the high-tech equipment, and they love the area because it is so cool and funky and edgy, but behind closed doors they can’t stand the young tattooed artists - I was a guest in a house and heard that!… they loved the food, the shops, but didn’t want the people. Along with social mix, these clusters embody a very high level of functional mix incorporating residential, retail, industrial, commercial, education, and community uses – often within the same streetscape (Figure 24.2). There is a widespread view that the functional mix has a synergy that becomes an attraction for both producers and consumers; for one gallery owner the functional mix is: “the basic stuff that makes art precincts work. In terms of attracting your customers they can come here have a look, go and get a coffee, go the bookshop, do that. It

306  S. Wood, K. Dovey, and L. Pike

Figure 24.2  Functional mix. Source: The authors.

Urban design dimensions of creative clustering  307 makes the mix far more attractive, more of a destination”. The attraction of such a mix is also linked to sociality: people like to cluster together because they feel like they belong to a community, they feel like they are part of something … The offspring of that clustering is that you’ll get things associated with the things that these people like, furniture shops, bars, interior shops, restaurants, design shops … What brings all these people together is the like-minded tribe, the like-minded taste. Note that in this quote, all of the examples of the ‘offspring’ are sites of ‘like-minded’ c­ onsumption – the functional mix has become detached from social mix and services social conformity. The valued mix is not just any kind of mix but excludes certain ingredients; there is an opposition to chain stores and shopping malls where the ingredients of the mix are dependent components of a global hierarchy: “When you walk down the street and you go and get a coffee, you are getting a coffee from the person who owns the place, it is not homogenised, there’s no Macca’s around here”. While functional mix at the neighbourhood scale is now widely understood and promoted, in creative clusters production, consumption, exchange, and recreation are often mixed within the same building or space, perhaps with different time rhythms. A mix of home/work is relatively common in the form of residential/production or residential/retail. The home/work mix often has an economic justification, particularly with creative start-ups: “[it is] difficult to afford to pay rent at home and studio when just starting out, so a lot of it is clandestine …”. A good deal of creative production is hidden within what is ostensibly housing and housing is also hidden within spaces that are ostensibly commercial: “lot of shops off the side streets where kids have got studios, and they are probably living there as well”. This can become vital to creative production: Most of my team lives in the warehouse! That is what makes it happen. It is a collective community. It means that we always have time, it is always in our face. No one can slack off and go and live their own life with their boyfriend or girlfriend or their job, and forget about it! Adaptation The existence of post-industrial building types has long been a noted characteristic of creative clusters and is affirmed in this study. Warehouse and factory shells are widely seen as attractive, especially for the visual arts and design industries due to their flexibility and adaptability: “I just love those warehouses, even though they are just a few walls and a tin roof, you can do so much with them, especially when it comes to showing art … they are easily dividable into artist spaces”. The aesthetic attraction is partly that of spatially open interiors flooded with natural light; the flows of space can also be linked to the flow of ideas: “The high ceilings give you a sense of space and you can think within it”. The practice of adaptive subletting is closely associated with post-industrial buildings: This enables creative firms to emerge, expand and contract as well as connect with like-minded firms: Here we rent studio spaces out … there is three spaces that we sublet and a creative hot desk … We like subletting because it helps the productive environment.

308  S. Wood, K. Dovey, and L. Pike … the space was constantly shifting … someone would move out, and then the person next to them would get an extra metre. Subletting can connect different creative industries; one property owner curated a creative cluster involving live music, café, guitar shop, recording studio, gallery, and offices. There is a crucial economic dimension to the adaptation of post-industrial buildings which are often somewhat derelict with cheap rent: “We initially moved here because [it] was pretty grotty… This in fact was a burnt-out shell, this building. It had been a squat …”. Some interviewees are on constant lookout for new cheap spaces: “As soon as you see five shops for lease in a row, that is the area that you want to be in”. Dereliction is often valued as a capacity for physical adaptation: What I quite like about the space is it is quite robust. It has a concrete floor that you can drill into, if you drill holes in the wall you can repair them, so it is quite flexible in that way … it hasn’t been … developed in a very beautiful polished wooden floors way, it is a robust space that you can take an axe to if you need to, and we do! The grunginess of the building can be a part of the image that is cultivated by some cultural producers: “we’ve got that beautiful big rusty iron door that slams shut and is hard to open, the stairs are nice, clunky metal, you can hear people coming up … I feel like I am part of a funky design firm”. Yet as cultural producers move up-market the dereliction becomes less attractive: “We outgrew it, not in size, but in level of finish. You have to have a certain standard for some clients, and this place is a lot cleaner”. A major focus for adaptation is the public/private interface – generally, to open up the entrance of industrial buildings to become more visible from the street (Dovey and Wood, 2015). Different creative industries value different kinds of interface with public space networks – some need the shopfront while others value privacy. There are a significant number of artsrelated events that take place across the public/private interface as one music promoter puts it: “If we have a big night, everyone is out on the street out here, and it is very visible that the place is doing good business, so I think that is really important”. The street is often deployed as part of a gallery opening or event: “… we wouldn’t have the roller door open all day. But we do have it open for openings at night, which means a greater social dynamism, that flow through from smokers on the street to inside”. Figure 24.3 illustrates some of the interface adaptations that were evident in our study as former garages, factories and houses became shops and offices or vice versa. Networks Access networks are a crucial component of these creative clusters with a primary focus on walkable proximity to a broad range of attractions: our graphic designer is just up the road, a whole lot of the agents are just around the corner, the union [arts industry] is just down the road, there is a sense that our sort of community is very much around here. [the fashion designer] whose studio is here, he lives [nearby], the photographer is up the street, his friends who are his models live around, so it is just so fantastic. It could be detrimental if you moved out.

Urban design dimensions of creative clustering  309

Figure 24.3 Interface adaptations – garages, factories, and houses become shops and offices, and vice versa. Source: The authors.

Note the repetition of phrases such as ‘around the corner’, ‘up the street’, and ‘down the road’. Walkable access networks are seen as an economic benefit to both production and consumption, with food and drink playing a key role: more than ten galleries would be in walking distance… it means that you get a demographic flow through, it is really good for art tours. If we can take prospective clients, or current clients to a coffee shop, to coffee shops that feel like they are part of the same culture that we are, that’s really important. Figure 24.4 shows a mapping of these networks across each of the case studies (Wood and Dovey, 2015). Our interest in the walkable connections between these activities led us to develop what might be termed walkable intensity maps – or WIMs – formed by lines connecting all activities closer than 400 metres as the crow flies. Thus, clusters were represented by the roughly walkable interconnections between activities. While pedestrians are not crows, in these highly permeable neighbourhoods this is a loose correlate for five minute walkability. What is at stake here is a visual understanding of spatial clustering and potential networks rather than exactitude. These are maps of potential (rather than actual) face-to-face contact, of the intensity of spatial clustering at the walkable scale, of potential accessibility. This network connectivity extends to larger scales beyond these walkable neighbourhoods –they are connected into

310  S. Wood, K. Dovey, and L. Pike

Figure 24.4  Mapping walkable networks. Source: The authors.

public transport and road networks at metropolitan scales (Figure 24.1) and are all within about 20–30 minutes of major international airports. Ambivalence The preceding discussion already suggests that the creative clusters examined are multivalent – open to multiple uses, adaptations, and connections. They are also often ambivalent in the sense of being driven in two contradictory directions at once. This is not a balance or dialectic but

Urban design dimensions of creative clustering  311 a dynamic twofold condition where opposing forces co-exist; it is best explained through a handful of examples from among many that might be furnished. These clusters are gentrified but poor – places of both high market demand (subject to gentrification) and somewhat derelict (incorporating bohemian and student elements, along with social housing and welfare activities). The clusters are connected but protected – strongly connected with larger car and public transport networks, yet also protected from through traffic and highly walkable. All of the clusters reach a certain density without height – they are relatively dense in relation to the larger city, but buildings are rarely high-rise. Such clusters are transparent but hidden – they exhibit a high level of urban transparency in the sense that much of what is happening can be seen and understood on the street where the mix of people, food, and products is on conspicuous display, yet much of the informal creative production is also hidden or camouflaged in spaces that need no signage and may be illegal. The aspect of ambivalence that received the most direct commentary from interviewees was most closely geared to regimes of control where the formalities of urban governance co-exist with informalities of creativity and innovation. Interviewees often suggest that government should do more to encourage and protect creative enterprises, to stop the displacement of creative start-ups and even to impose rent control. Yet there is opposition to formal regulations that inhibit creativity and impose prohibitive costs. I think there is over regulation. I don’t think they understand what contemporary art making is about. Let us self-govern a bit, I guess. If you … have a place that is a shithole, and a group of artists have moved in and made it a beautiful place, well let them do that… it is not anarchy, it is community. Some interviewees called for what amounts to different rules for creative activity, and there is evidence of what might be called ambivalent governance within these creative clusters. We have a big festival coming up at the end of the year… It won’t be council sanctioned, it will be in the lane, we want to shut it off. There will be alcohol in the street, but I will be inviting the CEO of (the local Council) and other people, and they will come, and they won’t say anything, and they will enjoy it. Council turns a blind eye - they enjoy what I am doing and are keeping an eye on it. This is community building right here, and I think they just want to see what happens, because they like it. Here, the double logic of flexible governance means ‘keeping an eye on it’ while turning a ‘blind eye’. Mana While this chapter is based in empirical data from three Australian cities, it is also about the broader question of the role of morphology as an incubator of urban creativity. There can be no easy or clear conclusion to this question, and we cannot claim any more than a few steps here. The morphology of creative clustering involves a multiplicity of alliances and synergies between different activities, people, and built forms. MANA is an acronym for the intensities that emerge when these are mixed, adapted, and networked in ambivalent ways. All of the ingredients in MANA are ‘between’ categories – mix is a mix between different people, practices, and

312  S. Wood, K. Dovey, and L. Pike buildings; adaptation is a process of one form or practice becoming another; networks enable flows and connections between people and places; ambivalence is a tension between contradictory forces. The ‘buzz’, ‘atmosphere’, ‘stickiness’, or ‘character’ of creative clusters emerges when these alliances and liaisons between spaces and social practices do their magic. Of course, ‘Mana’ is also a Polynesian word that identifies a form of magic power embodied in both people and the material world. The four urban qualities identified in this chapter exist in a state of reciprocal presupposition; they are mutually determining and reinforcing, each is at once both condition for, and outcome of, the other. To illustrate, we begin where we left off, with ambivalence. Ambivalence (ambi-, ‘both, both sides’ + valentia, ‘strength’) describes a condition of playing strongly on both sides of an erstwhile divide or seeming contradiction, where it is impossible to distinguish separated terms (an ambivalent experience might involve attraction and repulsion at the same time). This failure to distinguish separated terms removes the key pre-condition for any dualism or dialectic; instead of dualism or dialectic, ambivalence involves ‘duality’, dual poles or polarities that are duelling, with dynamic and volatile relationships between them. This duality is itself innate to creativity: in his seminal book, The Act of Creation, Koestler (1964: 35–6) argues that creativity is essentially a bi-sociation of two previously unrelated frames of reference, an alliance of different matrices. It is also embodied in the qualities of mix, adaptation, and networks. A homogenous environment tends to be pulled only in one direction, whereas a mixed environment – containing a ‘mix of mixes’ – is pulled in multiple directions, generating juxtapositions, superimpositions, and tensions conducive to ambivalence and creativity. Insofar as adaptations enable the built environment to be pulled in two directions at the same time, to play simultaneously in two registers – factory/ studio, home/work, public/private – they are also a key source and embodiment of ambivalence. And ambivalence is at the core of the networks in each study: they are each walked and protected, yet highly connected. Adaptations, meanwhile, are enablers of both mix and networks. Many functions would not or could not exist in the case studies if associated buildings did not lend themselves to adaptations. In turn, the social mix fuels adaptations as buildings are adapted to reflect the diversity of needs and desires within the respective communities, and adaptations are generally easier where streetscapes are already mixed. New social networks are potentially forged through adaptations, as post-industrial floorspace is shuffled about, people leave, new tenants arrive. Finally, social networks are enriched through the social mix, and the functional mix ensures the provision of sites – cafes, bars, restaurants, etc. – where networks might flourish. Clearly, these dimensions cannot be seen in isolation from each other because they are in alliances and synergies – they co-function. The creative cluster is not a singularity or totality that can be mobilised and reproduced through a ‘Creative City’ policy nor any kind of urban design regeneration (Bell and Jayne, 2003). The ‘atmosphere’ or ‘character’ of the cluster is an intensity produced by the multiplicity. These are places where creativity becomes contagious, they are at once incubators of new ideas and practices and networks that spread them. The important relations are those of co-functioning rather than causation; creative practices do not derive from these urban morphologies any more than the morphology derives from the creativity. To focus on the ‘buzz’, ‘atmosphere’, or ‘character’ is to describe the emergent effect or ‘sense’ of the place, but it does not show how it works. It works through the intensive co-functioning interconnections between different people, practices, identities, spaces, and built forms. References Bell, D. and Jayne, M. (2003) Design-led’ urban regeneration. Local Economy 18(2): 121–134. Brown, J. and Meczynski, M. (2009) Complexcities. Built Environment 35(2): 238–252.

Urban design dimensions of creative clustering  313 Currid, E. and Williams, S. (2010) The geography of buzz. Journal of Economic Geography 10: 423–451. Dovey, K. and Wood, S. (2015) Public/private urban interfaces. Journal of Urbanism 8(1): 1–16. Durmaz, S. (2015) Analyzing the quality of place. Journal of Urban Design 20(1): 93–124. Florida, R. (2002) The Rise of the Creative Class. New York: Basic Books. Hutton, T. (2006) Spatiality, built form and creative industry development in the inner city. Environment and Planning A 38: 1819–1841. Jacobs, J. (1961) The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Vintage. Markussen, A. (1996) Sticky places in slippery space. Economic Geography 72: 293–313. Marotta, S., Cummings, A. and Heying, C. (2016) Where is Portland made? The complex relationship between social media and place in the artisan economy of Portland, Oregon (USA). M/C Journal, 19(3). Marshall, A. (1890) Principles of Economics. London: MacMillan. Martins, J. (2015) The extended workplace in a creative cluster. Journal of Urban Design 20(1): 125–145. Massey, D. (1993) Power-geometry and a progressive sense of place. In: Bird J (ed) Mapping the Futures. London: Routledge 59–69. O’Connor, J. (2004) A special kind of city knowledge: Innovative clusters, tacit knowledge and the ‘creative city’. Media International Australia 112: 131–149. Rantisi, N. and Leslie, D. (2006) Placing the creative economy. Environment and Planning A 38: 1789–1797. Rantisi, N. and Leslie, D. (2010) Materiality and creative production: The case of the Mile End neighbourhood in Montreal. Environment and Planning A 42: 2824–2841. Stevens, Q. (2015) Creative milieux: How urban design nurtures creative clusters. Journal of Urban Design 20(1): 1–7. Storper, M. and Venables, A. (2004) Buzz: Face to face contact and the urban economy. Journal of Economic Geography 4(4): 351–370. Wood, S. and Dovey, K. (2015) Creative multiplicities: The morphology of creative clustering. Journal of Urban Design 20(1): 52–74.

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The dark side of creativity A design perspective on the built environment’s chequered histories Marcus Foth, Skye Doherty, and Nick Kelly

Introduction The built environment is arguably the result of the artful integration of human creativity and the natural environment it encounters. The adjective “built” characterises the quality and origin of human-made artefacts—from miniscule objects such as screws that hold together buildings and their components to the macro-scale of entire cities and regions visible from space. It also differentiates the built environment from the natural environment. Lefebvre (2013) describes three phases in the social production of space: First, space is “conceived” by architects, designers, planners, that is, they imagine future possibilities and then plan for realising them through creativity. Next, space is “perceived” by engineers, builders, construction companies working off the plans created by the former, yet they also enrich and adjust them with their own knowledge, practices, and creativity. As the built environment is then occupied, inhabited, and populated by people we arrive at the stage of the “lived experience.” The influence of creativity continues through all three phases, as people continue to—sometimes gradually, sometimes abruptly— tailor, customise, appropriate, and change the built environment by extending, repairing, renovating, removing, and rebuilding (Brand 1995). Designers often refer to this ongoing creative process as placemaking (Foth 2017). Creativity is thus a significant and ongoing element fundamental to creating, designing, building, inhabiting, and even governing the built environment. But is it always benevolent? We unpack this question in more detail further below. Here, we set the scene by pointing to three key components that date back to classic Greek philosophy: (i) the epistēmē, i.e., the knowledge and systematic approach to constructing and engineering buildings and artefacts; (ii) the technē, i.e., the craft, practices and artisanal skills required to translate from conceived ideas to the reality of a finished built object; and (iii) the phrónēsis, i.e., the prudence, acumen, axiology or sound judgement and governance necessary to make good and ethical decisions and choices about methods, materials, locations, timing, and direction. Epistēmē and technē are often associated with other dichotomies in common parlance such as “function and form” and “mind and body.” Phrónēsis has not received as much attention. We argue that in order to unpack the notion of creativity in the built environment from a designer’s perspective, it is phrónēsis that offers new learnings and connections with current debates and discourse about the value of creativity and design for improving the quality of the built environment. In this chapter, we shed light on that third component and its relationship with how creativity is employed—implicitly/tacitly or even explicitly/directly—in the built environment. At face value, creativity is seen as something not only essential and integral to the design process of the built environment but also desirable and aspirational. Yet, trying to locate and pinpoint creativity conceptually is not straightforward. Polanyi (1981) argues that science often DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-28

The dark side of creativity  315 forgets how ideas are generated; for it is imagination and intuition—concepts that largely remain foreign to the positivist epistemology of many scientists—that drive the scholarly pursuit of knowledge/epistēmē and the artisanal drive for inventing new practices and outputs/technē. Polanyi goes on to describe the “creative imagination” required for scientific discovery as the “tacit dimension.” Conventionally, scientific papers focus on documenting the rigour with which the result was proven. Similarly, architectural plans primarily aim at conveying the aesthetic and practical qualities of the built object—but not the creative act of its conception. Creativity is often relegated to an assumed and implicit role in the process. Rust (2004) suggests that as the creators usually “pay very little attention to the genesis of the enquiry [it is] designers, through their practical contributions, [who] can be instrumental in drawing attention to this” (p. 78). Yet, do they? In the scholarship that looks at the role of creativity in the built environment there are two gaps. First, there is a lack of attention in architecture and design drawn on the genesis of creativity. Notwithstanding the rigid and functional post-occupancy evaluations, the tendency is to judge award schemes based on qualities of epistēmē and technē, that is, excellence in process, impact, and outcome. Moreover, design itself has its own tendency to favour looking forward and engaging in speculative design exercises, futuring, and related fabulations (Dunne and Raby 2013; Rosner 2018). However, what about looking back? In this chapter, we explore how historiography can generate new understandings of the role of creativity in the design of the built environment. Second, our reflections uncover some chequered histories and find that creativity is not always used for “good” per se. When it comes to roadblocks on the path to a successful project completion, it is the designer’s creativity that identifies novel ways to overcome obstacles. Examples in the built environment include being granted exemptions to exceed building height restrictions; ambiguous communications to defuse community opposition against controversial infrastructure projects; creative accounting of carbon offsets to meet sustainability objectives; creative backroom “deals” struck at cash-for-access luncheons with politicians to build projects in protected environments; and so forth (e.g., Murray and Frijters 2022). All these examples suggest that creativity in the design of the built environment does not always lead to producing desirable outcomes. It is this darker side of creativity that this chapter explores. The study of creativity Creativity is intrinsic to designing and essential to the work of defining issues and generating responses that are novel, valuable, and useful (Gero 1996; Runco and Jaeger 2012). Across popular and academic discourse design creativity is broadly discussed as a good, positive, and benevolent force: it helps reframe complex problems (Dorst 2011), creates infrastructure for collective action (Le Dantec 2016), proposes radical ideas for alternative futures (Dunne and Raby 2013) and leads to product innovation (Brenner and Uebernickel 2016). Indeed, design recognition often comes from creating work that demonstrates originality in form, function, and materials. Good judgement, phrónēsis, is less overtly celebrated yet. It is becoming increasingly clear that design judgements, no matter how original, do not always improve conditions and can make matters worse. Conceptual, material, and technical decisions can have positive and negative effects and these can emerge long after the design work is complete. The notion of negative creativity recognises that some ideas have unintended consequences and can cause “collateral damage” (Perchtold-Stefan et al. 2021). More extreme is intentionally wielding creativity for malevolent or harmful ends (Cropley et al. 2014). Critiques of design contain dozens of examples of these dark forms of creativity seeping into practice, sometimes with disastrous results. Monteiro (2019) highlights combustion engines, guns and Facebook as designs that contribute to environmental destruction and social problems. Gammage and

316  M. Foth, S. Doherty, and N. Kelly Pascoe (2021) explain how Western approaches to farming and land management have created unsustainable and volatile landscapes. And van Dijck and co-authors (2018) argue that values and norms designed into platforms are shaping new social and economic structures, which can prompt new forms of oppression (Noble 2018) or exacerbate existing socio-cultural tensions such as racism (Gilmore 2022). Certainly, the complexity of the contexts in which designers operate can make good creative judgements difficult. Boehnert (2018) points out that an anti-ecological world view and widespread denial of our interdependence with nature has led us to design a world that is deeply unsustainable. Design practice, she argues, is “stuck in the reproduction of unsustainability” (p. 3). Similarly, in examining the relationship between design and capitalism, Wizinsky (2022) argues that designers continue to reproduce and strengthen systems in which the negative consequences are regular and predictable. But designers have a responsibility to recognise these forces and to push back against them. Among work in architectural design and the built environment, we find that creativity is nearly universally aspired to. Architectural prizes are one manifestation of how creative expression is valued. Indeed, in recognising “the black box of quality” (Chupin 2022), awards take creativity to be a proxy for quality. University degrees in architecture and the built environment are advertised as, and designed for, the purpose of developing creativity (Onsman 2016). Scholars of design pedagogy in the built environment focus upon ways to measure and to increase creativity (e.g., Demirkan and Afacan 2012). Design studios and their venerated principals promote their work and services on the basis of creativity, with some writing books about the creative process (e.g., Wright 2010; Isenberg 2012; Libeskind and McKeough 2018). In the built environment, there is an unspoken assumption in many areas of design that increased creativity within design is necessarily a good thing. It is challenging when looking retrospectively at any design that has been realised (e.g., consideration of a building for an architectural prize) where to draw boundaries on the frame for assessing the value of any design or the creativity that produced it. A criterion in the Pritzker ­Architecture Prize is “significant contributions to humanity,” yet such an attribute is far harder to assess than mere creativity. Chupin (2022), in a review of the institution of architectural awards, notes that there are three separate conceptions of what makes for “quality” in architecture: (1) intra-disciplinary and quasi-elitist notions of quality; (2) managerial notions of quality (e.g., quantifiable attributes); and (3) a socio-anthropological notion of quality including ethics and intangible effects of design. The aim of this chapter is to highlight “the dark side of creativity” (Cropley et al. 2010) within the built environment and to suggest that often the first and second of these notions of quality in creativity are employed when the third is what we need to aim for. Design historiography to study creativity To examine some of the intangible—perhaps unintended—effects and consequences of design creativity, it is useful to study and reflect on how creativity was employed in the design of completed built environment projects. We apply Chupin’s (2022) proposed socio-anthropological lens on quality, which we argue dovetails with phrónēsis (sound judgement/prudence). This task is, at its root, a matter of how we write design histories. Design historiography is a growing concern within the literature: the interpretation of design histories. Goldschmidt (1998) writes that the architectural trend of transfer from the past to the present and into the future is problematic and that we should use the past for reference rather than as precedent. This is because the social systems and values within which a creative work was produced are often only implicit within a design.

The dark side of creativity  317 Heeding Goldschmidt’s advice, our application of historiography is aimed not at a simple transfer from the past to the future but at a different outcome that is best illustrated by a classic genre of history: war. We are inspired by Jullien (2017), who compares different strategies employed by Western and Chinese adversaries based on fundamentally different ways of applying judgement (phrónēsis) to acts of warfare, politics, and diplomacy. He describes how the Chinese strategist intermediates between their own troops and the enemy in order to win a battle without waging war and to bring about victory effortlessly. While the West usually aims at efficiently deploying force on the battlefield, the Chinese strategy is to “win before having to fight,” i.e., “by intervening upstream before the conflict unfolds and thus without having to join serious battle subsequently. Intervening upstream makes it possible to obtain an effect from a distance” (p. 127, emphasis in original). There are parallels with the way creativity is employed by designers, as design’s efficacy also “lies in an ability to predispose” (Jullien 2017, p. 194) requiring strategy, judgement calls, diplomacy, and intermediation (Teli et al. 2022). This, in turn, suggests that design historiography is a suitable method to study not only the past application of creativity in the built environment but also its various impacts and consequences without risking Goldschmidt’s simple transfer from past to future. Further, we opt for “historiographies” rather than simply “histories” to emphasise the fact that there are different accounts of how impacts and consequences are interpreted— design competition judges may recommend awards while end-users negatively affected may decide to pursue a class action. Next, we discuss three examples of the contradictory nature of creativity within the built environment. Examples of creativity’s chequered histories We present three short cases where the creativity of designers was harnessed to produce a work of quality in both disciplinary and managerial perspectives; yet that is of questionable quality when considered from a socio-anthropological and historiographic perspective. These examples are taken from (i) urban planning; (ii) major infrastructure development; and (iii) environmental design. Hostile architecture at Howard Smith Wharves

Built on the site of a 1930s heritage listed riverside wharf, the Howard Smith Wharves (HSW) are a commercial development in the city of Brisbane, Australia (Figure 25.1). They provide an example of the use of questionable creativity in the design of public spaces. In this example, designers actively worked to reduce the function of thoroughfare movement of pedestrians and cyclists across the site. The HSW, now a commercial enterprise, has a vision “to create a vibrant playground for lovers of the good life” (Howard Smith Wharves 2022). In achieving this vision, the development converted the heritage wharves into a space for restaurants, bars, and functions. Prior to this, it had been a major pedestrian and cycle thoroughfare and active transport corridor rebuilt in 2014 by Brisbane City Council following the 2011 floods for A$78m. The dark side of creativity appears in the changes made to the design prior to opening. In approval documents early in the process and right through to a letter dated 15 October 2018, there was a council requirement for “a separation line marking […] to clearly define a through movement function for cyclists and pedestrians, enhancing safety for all users of the site” (as shown in a council letter reported by Space 4 Cycling 2022). In a decision one month prior to opening,

318  M. Foth, S. Doherty, and N. Kelly

Figure 25.1 Brisbane’s Howard Smith Wharves post-development showing deliberate design of curves to slow cyclists. (Gravel was removed after community complaints post opening.) Source: Photo by Kgbo, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

the requirement for a centre line was overturned (without explanation), and instead, aggressive forms of hostile architecture (Petty 2016) were implemented—including gravel on the pathway at the time of opening—to slow down or even repel cyclists. This situation was described by a spokesperson for HSW in a newspaper article at the time: “The pathway will remain a shared path. It has been designed as a shared ‘go slow’ zone for guests, pedestrians, cyclists and alternative modes of transport. We encourage all visitors to slow down and enjoy improved access to the Brisbane River. The subtle bends which characterise the precinct encourage a slower, safer transition through the precinct for all visitors.” (Moore 2019) It was a designer within the project who came up with these innovations: of subtle bends with no centre line leading to likelihood of pedestrian-cyclist collisions (Stone 2019) and of a gravel surface to impose slower speeds, reducing accessibility for many in the process. A portion of the cycleway is also shared with loading zones and vehicle access, with no cycling path marked, despite this being intended as a major cycling artery. The end result was that a cycling thoroughfare that connects two key parts of the city (the CBD and New Farm) became a commercially dominated entertainment precinct. In later years, subsequent to opening and giving in to community backlash, the gravel path was resurfaced.

The dark side of creativity  319 While community groups were launching petitions and agitating for fixes to this situation (Space 4 Cycling 2022), the Planning Institute of Australia chose to award the HSW with its 2020 Hard Won Victory urban design award, with a citation reading: It is a testament to the integrity of the idea and the commitment to the vision that the Howard Smith Wharves have been redeveloped into a world class waterfront open space. The guidance from project champions, and the ongoing community engagement has delivered a project that reflects the community and the location. (PIA 2020) As a case study, the HSW serves as a prompt for several questions. How might we characterise the creativity of the designer who sat down to try and subvert a council requirement? Naivety, malevolence, and coercion all seem possible explanations. How does a situation arise in which the industry’s peak body is handing out an award with a glowing citation while the local community and regional newspapers are lambasting that very same project? Other examples within Australia and internationally suggest that this is not a one-off occurrence. Deceit surrounding Brisbane airport’s new parallel runway

Airports represent a particularly challenging type of infrastructure in the built environment for they are prone to safety and security concerns, their usage requires a mix of mass transit (getting people to and from the airport) and heavy machinery (aeroplanes and associated plant), and in Australia and most other jurisdictions they are bound by federal legislation for the aviation aspects yet also state and local legislation for roads, permits and interfacing with the airport’s host city. On 12 July 2020, Brisbane Airport Corporation (BAC) launched its new parallel runway at a total cost of A$1.1bn, which doubles the airport’s capacity from 52 to now 110 flights an hour. The absence of regulatory restrictions such as curfew or flight caps means that Brisbane Airport can outperform competitors Sydney and Melbourne, elevating the airport to be on par with Singapore and Hong Kong. The new parallel runway has since won BAC a number of awards, including Airport Excellence Award 2021 in the infrastructure category by the Australian Airports Association; Project of the Year 2021 at the National Infrastructure Awards presented by Infrastructure Partnerships Australia; and Project Management Achievement Award 2021 in the construction/engineering category of the Australian Institute of Project Management (AIPM). Following years of planning, the new runway’s Major Development Plan (MDP) and Environmental Impact Statement (EIS) were approved in September 2007 by the Minister for Transport and Infrastructure under the Airports Act 1996 and the Minister for the Environment under the Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act 1999. Thirteen years later, the runway’s new flight paths cause families and communities in 169 of 190 total suburbs of Brisbane significant aviation noise impacts with flights at low altitudes up to every two minutes.1 The stark increase in both quantity and frequency of noise complaints since the runway’s launch has prompted the Aircraft Noise Ombudsman to conduct an investigation, which found that Airservices—­the entity responsible for flight path design—failed to effectively engage with communities potentially affected by new flight paths nor did they provide full and complete information about aircraft noise to potentially impacted community (ANO 2021). Further, the findings show that Airservices did not conduct a detailed assessment of whether changes it made to Brisbane flight paths after the initial approval had a significant environmental impact. As a result, the Australian Government has so far invested over half a million A$ to have the flight path design independently reviewed by aviation consultancy TRAX International whose report was published in August 2022. At the time of writing the proposed changes are yet to be implemented.

320  M. Foth, S. Doherty, and N. Kelly

Figure 25.2 Brisbane communities protesting excessive noise pollution from Brisbane Airport’s flight paths, 22 October 2021. Source: Authors.

While the key messaging of the community consultation in the lead-up to the 2007 approval and the 2020 launch repeatedly suggested that the majority of flights would arrive and depart over water (Moreton Bay adjacent to Brisbane Airport) and thus not result in any significant noise impact over residential areas, communities now find this to be incorrect. Thousands of people complaining and protesting (Figure 25.2) about both the excessive noise pollution and the suspected deceit by the project proponents prompt the question: Was the omission of accurate noise forecasts and the misleading community engagement an accident? Or was it a malevolent act of creativity by design and on purpose that entailed pushing through ministerial approvals without risking any proper community opposition or backlash at the time that would have jeopardised the project from going ahead? This required malevolent creativity to be exercised to find ways to deceive communities into believing the new runway would not cause any issues for them. The latter certainly explains the remarkable similarity of feeling misled and deceived that the ANO found across thousands of complainants (ANO 2021). Vernacular placemaking for fire resilience

Australia’s Black Summer fire season in 2019–2020 highlighted the consequences of building communities at the urban-bush interface without developing strategies for longer-term resilience for both people and the environment. During those fires, almost all the buildings destroyed were within 500 metres of bushland, and most of those lost were constructed prior to the introduction of the bushfire building standard introduced in 2000. Population growth and a desire to live in a natural environment means more people are living in areas of natural peril, but many are poorly prepared (Koksal et al. 2020). The communities of Mount Glorious and Mount Nebo, northwest of Brisbane, highlight this tension and the implications of environmental design decisions. Located on Jinibara land in the D’Aguilar Range the communities are at risk of very high levels of bushfire intensity. Some of the risks can be attributed to the mountain terrain, extensive

The dark side of creativity  321 bush coverage, and limited water supply, but other risks stem from land management practices, emergency response plans, and communication strategies that result in a general lack of community awareness of fire risk. A key threat to life, property, and environment is from large tracts of surrounding bushland that is managed by state and local government. Over past decades, park management practices have allowed the wet sclerophyll forests to develop a thick understorey that not only provides fuel for high-intensity fire but supports invasive species. The consequence is a high-risk and unhealthy environment that does not reference Indigenous land management practices over tens of thousands of years (Gammage and Pascoe 2021). The prevailing view among agencies and residents is that in the event of a fire people would evacuate and insurance would cover the cost of rebuilding. To support evacuation, the local government Moreton Bay Regional Council has upgraded the early warning alert system and as each fire season approaches, residents are encouraged to develop a bushfire plan and reduce risk by clearing gutters and minimising vegetation near buildings. Meanwhile, planning scenarios for emergency services responding to a fire in the area assume residents have been evacuated safely. There are few routes off the mountain, and in the event of a disaster it is likely that any or all of these could be blocked. Moreover, it is very likely that insurance would not cover the cost of rebuilding if, indeed, it continues to be affordable (Eriksen and de Vet 2021). A bigger issue though is that a focus on human life and property does not account for the health of the forest or the natural systems that rely on it. As a result, there is an uneasiness in the communities about the extent to which residents can or should rely on external systems for protection. In response, some residents have begun lighting small-scale low intensity fires on private blocks with the aim of reducing fuel loads, reducing fear of fire, and improving environmental health (Figure  25.3). These fires expand local knowledge about the role of fire in a healthy

Figure 25.3 Low intensity fire on private land in the D’Aguilar range helps reduce fuel loads, improve the environment, expand knowledge, and build community ties. Source: Authors.

322  M. Foth, S. Doherty, and N. Kelly ecosystem and build community ties in a way that official, one-way information sharing does not. This attempt at placemaking and vernacular judgement responds to growing awareness of earlier environmental remaking of the natural environment. It recognises that the natural and man-made are both components of the built environment and that a creative response to living with the threat of fire requires designing for both human and ecological needs. Institutioning as creative prudence These examples only scratch the surface of the spectrum of ways that creativity is employed in the design of the built environment across good and evil. Yet, just these three suggest that creativity is not always used for desirable outcomes—or, more precisely, for outcomes that everyone would commonly consider to be good and desirable. In addition to these cases, there are other problematic uses of creativity in the design context. Institutions have started to co-opt design methods for the purposes of staging competitions and design sprints under the umbrella of “open innovation” and crowdsourcing of ideas. However, often participants contributing their time and creativity to these altruistically branded initiatives are, in fact, engaged in contributing free labour and their intellectual property to commercial endeavours without reward or remuneration (Ettlinger 2017). Other forms of co-optation of design methods by institutional entities such as local governments entail community participation that appears creative and performative on face value but is in fact tokenistic (Monno and Khakee 2012; Teli et al. 2020). Kamols et al. (2021) have termed this “engagement theatre.” This spectrum of values underpinning the use of creativity in the design of the built environment is not solely characterised by the quality of knowledge or craft, epistēmē or technē, but by the designer’s sound strategic judgement—or lack thereof—applied “upstream” in Jullien’s (2017) terms. In essence, the level of malevolence can be categorised by three archetypical personas distinguished by different types of judgement (phrónēsis) they apply: i The naive designer who has no idea that their work is implicitly channelled in a particular way by institutional processes or commercial arrangements. Notwithstanding their innocence, malevolent outcomes can result from ignorance or negligence beyond the designer’s immediate circle of influence that could have been redressed with a better “ability to predispose” (Jullien 2017, p. 194) what happens upstream; ii The realist designer who is aware of the institutional frameworks their work is embedded in, which may produce undesirable outcomes and impacts. The realist has resolved to either accept those, or they may have opted to “offset” a guilty conscience through social good work pro bono after hours (Monteiro 2017); iii The evil designer who actively uses their design creativity in pursuit of malevolent or harmful ends and in return for commercial gain. Arguably, no designer is likely to voluntarily identify as “evil.” However, their existence is proven by the outcomes they create as well as the kinds of firms and consultancies available for hire that engage in creative design, communication, and PR to paper over unpleasant situations; iv The activist designer who perhaps once was a realist but has now resolved to critically assess the institutional and commercial frameworks their practice is embedded in and do something about it. The argument we present here first calls for phrónēsis or sound judgement or prudence, to become a core literacy of every designer in addition to capabilities in epistēmē and technē. This work is underway in academia and design research scholarship, where researchers and

The dark side of creativity  323 practitioners have started to engage in a critical reflection of design’s embeddedness in larger systems of power (Monteiro 2019; DiSalvo 2022). De Roo (2021) argues that in times of increasing uncertainty and decreasing levels of institutional trust, urban planners and designers require axiology—that is, a sound understanding of the nature of value and judgement of what is and is not valuable—to be added to their repertoire of traditional epistemological and technical skills. His argument resembles value-based scenarios as a method to envision systemic effects of new designs proposed by Nathan et al. (2008). Axiology also corroborates our proposal for emphasising phrónēsis/prudence as a way to raise awareness of the upstream possibilities to predispose design consequences early on. Could we imagine new criteria for architectural and design award schemes that incentivise creative prudence? Second, raising awareness and creating a critical understanding of design’s entanglements with economic, societal, and environmental factors and powers is a first step. Dourish (2010) critiques design’s focus on usability and, thus, the individual user and consumer in attempts to bring about environmental sustainability through design. He argues that climate change requires urgent systemic interventions at a scale appropriate to the issue’s global scale. He calls on designers to create “technologies of scale making” in response. The themes of scale and impact are also taken up by Frauenberger et al. (2018), who suggest that in addition to the designed object as output, a design process should leave literacy in participatory design to help scale the capacity of communities to engage in systemic change. The neologism “institutioning” has been proposed in design research to call on designers to actively embrace the interface between design and the realm of institutional frameworks—both government and industry—as part of design’s scope and remit (Huybrechts et al. 2017, Foth and Turner 2019, Teli et al. 2020, 2022). Could we employ institutioning as an additional practice in the design toolbox to establish literacies of creative prudence and prudential creativity? From this perspective, urban and architectural design awards are an example of a site where the institutioning of prudence could occur. As described, most built environment awards focus upon the recognition and honouring of creativity in the form of epistēmē and technē. How might creativity qua phrónēsis be better institutionalised within built environment awards? Similar questions could be posed around the institutions of media, education, and governance within the built environment. Conclusions Creativity in the design of the built environment is Janus-faced. While the common understanding of creativity suggests it is a desirable attribute to be aspired towards, there are dark sides to creativity and reasons to be cautious. Eisenman (2010) argues that “Criminals can be creative, and this can lead to their being more successful in their criminality” (p. 204). In this chapter, we proposed design historiography as a method to critically assess previous design projects in the built environment that allows for interpretations and judgements of their impact and reception to be documented. In order to close with some future directions in examining the reciprocal relations between creativity and the built environment, we offered a synthesis that proposes institutioning as a complementary design practice to exercise creative prudence and as a way to re-emphasise phrónēsis and axiology in a designer’s careful use of creativity as a powerful skillset. Our current scholarly work is situated at exactly this intersection: How can the conceptual and theoretical notions of institutioning be translated into practical methods and approaches? And, what support services, peer infrastructures, and intermediaries are needed to enable designers to be prudent in their judgements?

324  M. Foth, S. Doherty, and N. Kelly Note 1 Airservices response to Question on Notice by Senator Gerard Rennick, Budget Estimates 2021/2022, Australian Senate, https://bfpca.org.au/estimates/

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Section IV

Technology and Innovation

26

The application of big data and technology in urban transport management Mark Stevenson and Avita Streatfield

Big data and technology As the twenty-first century unfolds and the internet continues to evolve, more data of different types are being generated. This enables anyone, anywhere to access, collect, and analyse data online at any time. Over the past two decades, the sheer volume of data generated has increased exponentially – we now create more than 463 exabytes of data each day globally, with 90% of the data unstructured, namely, the data is not stored in a database (Desjardins 2019). These vast amounts of data are collected from numerous sources, ranging from traffic sensors to Facebook posts (Bello-Orgaz, Jung & Camacho 2016; Zarina Abdul Jabar et al. 2022). Cities globally have demonstrated numerous ways in which big data has informed the development of technology. In the context of urban design, big data has been used to create information and communications technology (ICT) resulting in infrastructure that improves the performance of energy, transport, health, education, and water services, leading to enhanced services and a higher quality of life for its citizens (Al Nuaimi et al. 2015; Maheshwari 2018). Big data has also been shown to facilitate the development of technological systems like Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) and Geographic Information Systems (GIS) that enable cities to better distribute resources (Al-Hader & Rodzi 2009). By using such technologies, cities can now identify points at which resources are wasted and optimise energy and natural resource consumption whilst controlling costs (Al Nuaimi et  al. 2015). Cities like Barcelona, for instance, have invested significantly in big data-enabled technology to improve city operations. For example, Barcelona used remote sensing to control irrigation in public parks and to redirect excess water throughout the city using electro-valves, (Maheshwari 2018). The new technologies also reduce energy consumption by transitioning its urban lighting system to LED lampposts that automatically light up when pedestrians are near and dim when streets are empty and integrated these lampposts to the city’s Wi-Fi network to provide free Internet access (Maheshwari 2018). Given the quantity of available data cities have access to, it is not surprising that traditional methods and tools for data management are no longer sufficient to process the data being generated. “Big data” refers to massive datasets ranging from terabytes to exabytes in size, resulting in datasets that exceed the ability of average software tools to effectively manage and analyse. Big data does not only provide solutions for data access and or storage, but big data applications provide an alternate solution to the problem of managing and extracting useful information from expansive data sources (Bello-Orgaz et al. 2016). Various analytic approaches have now been developed enabling large volumes of data types to be processed efficiently (Rosenblum et al. 2023; Zarina Abdul Jabar et al. 2022). DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-30

330  M. Stevenson and A. Streatfield Big data can be characterised by three dimensions: Volume (quantity of data), Velocity (rate at which data are received/processed), and Variety (different types of data) (Bello-Orgaz et al. 2016). More recently, these three dimensions have been extended to include Veracity (the accuracy of the data) and Value (the usefulness of the data), forming what Fosso Wamba et al. (2015) call the “Five Vs” of big data analytics (Gorman et al. 2023). Additional two dimensions have also been proposed by scholars: Variability (the changing of data) and Volatility (how long the data is valid and stored for) (Zarina Abdul Jabar et al. 2022). The future of big data and technology is limitless; when applied to innovation at the city level, the applications will deliver future cities. The use of big data in a changing climate

As areas around the world continue to rapidly urbanise in an increasingly unstable climate, social and environmental problems are arising, from socioeconomic inequalities to air pollution and, importantly, a significant lack of infrastructure for essential services (Liu et al. 2023). It will be crucial that planners and decision-makers are able to utilise big data to monitor the development of urban areas and determine priorities for resource allocation. As Liu et al. (2023) highlight in their paper on big data approaches to achieving the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), big data can provide cities (particularly cities lacking relevant statistical data) an alternate way of measuring progress towards the SDGs. Moreover, big data presents promising opportunities for monitoring natural disaster recovery – an application that will undoubtedly become pivotal as disasters steadily increase in frequency (Rosenblum et al. 2023). A rapidly changing climate will also have significant implications for mobility patterns across the globe. Big data is playing a key role in environment-driven transport decisions. For example, using big data, exposure to air pollution can be predicted over space and time, allowing decision-makers to plan methods to limit exposure to air pollution for commuters at peak pollution concentration times (Krall, Keller & Peng 2022). Further, as events like flooding in urban areas become more frequent, big data can be used to model flood events and compute, simulations under floods, identifying hot spots for flood exposure and the impact on transport commuting times and associated costs (Liu et al. 2022). Restructuring urban transport systems using big data

Big data enables cities not only to adapt to an unstable climate but also enables cities to digitalise their transport systems. Globally, multimodal smart transport systems are beginning to develop, marked by the digitalisation of infrastructure like traffic lights and online traffic control applications (Kuznetsova & Podbiralina 2023). This digitalisation, and its associated big data, is providing a knowledge base to guide data-driven transport policy. Forming a knowledge base is crucial to facilitate shifts in urban mobility – for example, the framework of conscious mobility aims to alter transport users’ mobility behaviour by implementing big data technologies allowing users to understand the environmental implications of their travel decisions (VargasMaldonado et al. 2023). By capturing real-time and accurate travel behaviours, big data can guide policy interventions, thereby leading to the introduction of new mobility services. For instance, fragmented public transport systems in rural areas can leave residents dependent on private motor vehicles for travel (Franco et al. 2023). On-demand mobility services can help residents complete the “first and last miles” of their journeys by helping users get from their homes to public transport stations and vice versa. Big data can be used to identify travel patterns in rural areas and to

The application of big data and technology  331 co-design mobility services to users’ needs. Moreover, big data can also be used to evaluate the use of mobility modes like electric bike-sharing services (Choi, Kim & Seo 2023), as well as to identify characteristics of the built environment that are necessary to integrate these services with public transport (Zhou et al. 2023). Big data can also provide insight on how public transport systems can be optimised to meet user needs whilst producing fewer carbon emissions. For example, Long et al.’s (2023) analysis of GPS data from urban buses in China generated information on bus emissions at different times of the day and days of the week. This analysis highlighted ways in which the bus network could be optimised to reduce its emissions. Moreover, new developments in big data technology can potentially make public transport more efficient for users – Nayak and Chaubey (2022) describe a rerouting framework that predicts passenger counts and reroutes public buses to prioritise routes with higher demand. The varied applications of big data in urban transport management exemplify how emerging technologies can support the development of transport innovation in cities. Innovations in big data technology mean that cities have greater access to data to guide effective allocation of resources, assuring that residents’ needs are met in an environmentally sustainable manner (Javed et al. 2022; Bulatova 2023). A key feature of a smart city is that technology is used to create more intelligent transport systems, resulting in improved efficiency and environmental sustainability (Dudek & Kujawski 2022). As cities strive to streamline and decarbonise their transport systems, big data and technology will prove to be indispensable. Infrastructure, technology, and the transport system

Throughout much of the twentieth century, high-income countries invested extensively in the built environment particularly in relation to transport infrastructure. Investment in transport infrastructure was greatest across cities that were deemed motor cities (Thompson et al. 2020). Private motor vehicle mobility delivered many opportunities including escape from high-­ density urban agglomerations to peri-urban areas where there was reduced crime and enhanced amenities (Lopez 2012). However, over time, it became increasingly apparent that private motor vehicle-related mobility had (and continues to have) negative consequences. As we write, more than 1.3 million people die in road crashes, and more than 4.2 million deaths due to air pollution (arising mostly from motor vehicle derived particulate pollution) occur each year across the globe (Mathers & Loncar 2006). It is not surprising, therefore, that in the twenty-first century, governments and industry are beginning to use big data to inform the design of alternate transport systems; systems that leverage the significant investment in transport infrastructure over the past century but systems that are not reliant on single-occupant private motor vehicle use. This new era of creativity where transport and technology partner to utilise the extensive infrastructure established for mobility means populations will be in a position to embrace new urban mobility – mobility that delivers on access to amenities but, importantly, focuses also on sustainability (Agarwal, Kumar & Zimmerman 2018). For example, widespread electrification of motor vehicles, greater shared vehicle trips and enhanced active transport infrastructure that facilitate walking and cycling (including electric micro-mobility) trips in cities are predicted to contribute to significant reductions in global energy use and CO2 emissions (Fulton, Mason & Meroux 2017). The use of big data to inform alternate transport systems is growing rapidly with most systems reliant on smartphone applications. Highlighted below are a number of recent big data applications that play a significant role in delivering enhanced or transformed transport systems,

332  M. Stevenson and A. Streatfield namely, (i) in-vehicle telematics, (ii) mobility-as-a-service, (iii) on-demand transport, and (iv) electric micro-mobility. In-vehicle telematics devices are either fitted in the motor vehicle or via Bluetooth linked to a smartphone to capture GPS location information. The ability to capture the GPS location information enables a variety of measures to be derived from the GPS data. These include the identification of trips (i.e., trip distance) and movement characteristics (e.g., vehicle speed, acceleration, deceleration, direction of travel). By overlaying map information, further detail is obtained such as extended location information (e.g., state, city, postcode, street, house number) and road-specific information (e.g., road class, speed limit). The utility of telematics data has been realised with numerous applications arising. For example, understanding the motorists route choice and speed of travel is not only necessary for transport planning but also for enhancing the safety of various road trips. Throughout the later part of the twentieth century, annual speed surveys, along with the analysis of crash data, had been the usual approach to understanding speed thresholds across the road network. However, these approaches have significant limitations including lag periods between observations (often with more than 12-months between speed surveys) and they provided limited insights into the underlying behaviours related to speeding. In contrast, real-time data acquisition using in-­ vehicle telematics technology allows for investigations using large volumes of driver-specific information. It is not surprising, therefore, that telematics-based insurance schemes are operating across the globe. The insurers collect and process millions of kilometres of data (via telematics) and set personalised (based on driving behaviours) insurance premiums. Aside from the use of telematics for vehicle insurance, telematics data provides unique opportunities to understand patterns of driver behaviour that may contribute to reducing crashes and associated road trauma. Wijnands et al. (2020) combined 900,000 satellite images of intersections and linked them to telematics data (66 million kilometres of driving data) in order to explore driver behaviours associated with varied intersection designs. The research highlighted potential infrastructure improvements that could be implemented to encourage safer driving behaviours through intersections. Mobility as a service, or MaaS, as it is often referred to, allows users to plan, book, and pay for journeys across multiple modes of transport (whether Uber, e-bikes, taxis, or public transport) using their smartphones, thereby serving a complementary transport service to traditional modes of public transport (Butler et al. 2022; Delponte & Costa 2022). In instances where shared public transport demand is low, as was the situation during the COVID-19 pandemic, MaaS provided an alternative to meet the specific demands of targeted populations (Delponte & Costa 2022; Kamargianni et al. 2022). Importantly, MaaS has also been found to reduce transport related GHG emissions by up to 54% (UNFCCC CDM 2022) if the transport modes delivered by MaaS use low-carbon modes of travel (UNFCCC CDM 2022). On-demand transport (or demand-responsive transport) is a technology-enabled shared transport service providing customers at a location with a set time and destination and at a cost similar to public transport; on-demand transport has enormous potential to minimise car dependency. Similar to MaaS, users accessing on-demand transport do so using a smartphone application. This transport system delivers well to users in peri-urban areas which often have limited public transport access and particularly in rural environments which typically have fragmented public transport networks (Thao, Imhof & von Arx 2023). Transport policy needs to focus on providing on-demand transport systems and/or MaaS to expand existing transport services. Electric micro-mobility (EMM) is a new industry and technology sector that was launched globally in 2017. Research on the benefits of EMM has highlighted not only carbon emission reductions but other social and economic factors. Commercial EMM, namely e-scooters, e-bikes,

The application of big data and technology  333 and e-mopeds are accessed via smartphone applications, have been found to reduce congestion, improve access to public transport, and provide more efficient transport for shorter trips (Campisi et al. 2022; Hermawan & Le 2022). Shifting from passive transport, namely private motor vehicle use to EMM also provides physical and mental health benefits (Langford et al. 2017; Anderson et al. 2022; López-Dóriga et al. 2022). Strategies to incorporate EMM into current transport management are dependent on the transport mode split of cities. In cities with poor public transport infrastructure and a high reliance on private motor vehicle use, such as cities in North America, modal shift from private motor vehicles to EMM will likely produce more environmental and health benefits than cities with higher proportions of active transport use (Felipe-Falgas, Madrid-Lopez & Marquet 2022). The brave new world … Transport systems are facing unprecedented change through a convergence of traditional transport services with information and communication technologies based on big data and associated analytics. This is bringing new companies into the “mobility-industry”, companies that differ from the traditional government and automakers who have shaped cities over the past decades. The slogan for the future is “Electric, Shared, Autonomous” (Chen, Kockelman & Hanna 2016), but this future will unfold in different ways in different places. Variations in culture, politics, economics, and environment mean that the trajectory of deployment and the impact on the health and well-being of citizens in any one place is hard to predict. In the next decade, if not sooner, economic and political choices will be made that will set us on a path towards new mobility systems. Three distinct industry sectors are currently implementing strategies in relation to the use of shared and driverless vehicle technologies. Each group has its own corporate proponents and target markets and will make competing demands on citizens, regulators, and planners. Each will pursue a different agenda for the use of streets and other public spaces. The three sectors are the traditional car manufacturers, the information and communication disruptors using big data, and the established public transport operators. The market dynamics of each are highlighted below. First, traditional car makers who are adding “driverless” features to their existing products. In the short and medium term, at least, this means continuing to support an individual ownership model. For these companies, the current target consumer is the individual who values private vehicle ownership and is attracted by the increased safety and convenience of new automated features such as lane-tracking and sophisticated speed control. The car makers’ challenge, in promoting AVs, is to win over drivers sceptical about “their” car doing things they cannot control, whether that is behaving differently in traffic or performing unescorted journeys. Second, IT disruptors such as Google and Uber see new types of vehicles and new patterns of ownership as the basis for new transport economies. So, their vision for the “driverless vehicle” is a lightweight, utilitarian “robo-taxis” owned by a corporation and rented by the trip, with the option for sharing on the model of “Uber Pool”. Travellers will use phone apps, or their nextgeneration successors, to choose and pay for a service to access the services. Wide use of such a system is likely to require the creation of complex platforms that will allow people to choose from many different providers (hire bikes, share cars, etc.). This is generally termed “mobility as a service” (MaaS) (Butler et al. 2022; Delponte & Costa 2022). The ambition of these companies, as seen already in the conduct of Uber around the world, is to carve out a large niche in competition with private cars, taxis, conventional public transport, and non-motorised transport.

334  M. Stevenson and A. Streatfield Third, public transport operators see opportunities and challenges in automated vehicle technologies (UITP 2017). Already, Vancouver, Copenhagen, Singapore, Barcelona, and other cities reap the benefits of lower operating costs associated with driverless rail systems: “electric, shared and autonomous” travel has been operating on the Vancouver SkyTrain since 1986. Transit operators argue persuasively that new vehicle technology will be more valuable if it is integrated with traditional mass transit services and with cycling and walking (Rampalli et al. 2020). If AVs are to be deployed in ways that diversify and spatially or temporally expand transit services or provide a lower cost structure and greater operational flexibility to replace or rationalise low-patronage traditional services, then it seems logical that transit agencies will need a significant degree of control of the information platforms and payment channels needed to provide multimodal mobility. This is a task that the more innovative agencies are already wellplaced to perform, building on decades of experience of fare and service coordination among transit operators and, more recently, other mobility services such as car sharing (Goodall 2017). From these competing interests we can identify the dominant tensions underpinning uncertainty over autonomous vehicles and shared mobility futures. First, will there be a significant transition from individual vehicle ownership to a “shared economy”, and if so, how rapidly will this change occur? Second, what will be the balance of influence and control between the public and private sectors? Conclusion The twenty-first century saw the rise of big data and analytic approaches to collect and analyse the unique data. As countries around the world rapidly urbanise in an unstable climate, big data will enable decision-makers to monitor the development of urban areas and determine how to distribute resources. Big data can allow planners to not only assess progress towards the SDGs but also has applications for natural disaster recovery, limiting air pollution exposure, and mitigating the impact of flooding on transport commuters, among countless other uses. Moreover, cities can use big data to digitise their transport systems. This digitalisation and its associated big data can provide planners with a knowledge base to draw upon for transport policy decisions, allowing for the introduction of new mobility services. Big data can, for instance, be used to design alternative mobility services, such as on-demand mobility, to meet the needs of commuters in rural areas with fragmented public transport systems. Further, big data can highlight ways in which existing transport systems can be decarbonised whilst meeting user needs. The rapid deployment of information and communication technologies like drones and sensors means there are huge volumes of urban data available for analysis. It is not surprising, therefore, that the past decade has seen considerable innovation in big data storage, enhanced computational power, and analytic technics. Governments and industry have begun to use big data to guide the design of alternate transport systems – systems that are not reliant on singleoccupant motor vehicle use but instead deliver sustainable alternatives to such. As a result, there are a number of examples of the ways in which big data has either enhanced existing transport systems or transformed them altogether. In-vehicle telematics, mobility-as-a-service, on-demand transport, and electric micro-mobility constitute some of these notable examples. As conventional transport services merge with newer information and communication technologies, cities will no longer only be shaped by traditional governments and automakers as they were over the past century. Instead, new companies will find themselves stepping into an increasingly influential role in the mobility industry, particularly as they look to promote

The application of big data and technology  335 electric, shared, and autonomous vehicle use. Although shared and driverless vehicle technology development is well underway, tensions have emerged between the three industry sectors involved – traditional car makers, IT disruptors like Google and Uber, and public transport operators. All three groups have their own competing demands on citizens, regulators, and planners, as well as their own agendas for the use of public spaces. These competing interests highlight the degree of uncertainty over a future dominated by autonomous vehicles and shared mobility. As new systems of mobility arise, they will develop characteristics unique to a place’s culture, socio-political and economic system, and physical environment. The trajectory of any given place’s transport system – and its impact on the health and well-being of its citizens – will thus be difficult to predict. Regardless, big data has ushered in a new era of creativity in which transport and technology are coupled together to create new mobility systems. This new urban mobility can not only deliver improved access to amenities but also feature reduced environmental impacts, allowing cities to move towards becoming more sustainable and equitable places for all. References Agarwal, O.P., Kumar, A. & Zimmerman, S. 2019, Emerging paradigms in urban mobility: Planning, financing and management. Amsterdam, Netherlands: Elsevier. Al Nuaimi, E., Al Neyadi, H., Mohamed, N. & Al-Jaroodi, J. 2015, “Applications of big data to smart cities”. Journal of Internet Services and Applications, vol. 6, no. 1, pp. 1–15. Al-Hader, M. & Rodzi, A. 2009, “The smart city infrastructure development & monitoring”. Theoretical and Empirical Researches in Urban Management, vol. 4, no. 2, pp. 87–94. Anderson, C.C., Clarkson, D.E., Howie, V.A., Withyman, C.J. & Vandelanotte, C. 2022, “Health and wellbeing benefits of e-bike commuting for inactive, overweight people living in regional Australia”. Health Promotion Journal of Australia, vol. 33, no. S1, pp. 349–357. Bello-Orgaz, G., Jung, J.J. & Camacho, D. 2016, “Social big data: Recent achievements and new challenges”. Information Fusion, vol. 28, pp. 45–59. Bulatova, O. 2023, “Using big data in smart cities transportation systems”, E3S Web of Conferences, vol. 371, no. 06009, pp. 1–8. Butler, L., Yigitcanlar, T., Paz, A. & Areed, W. 2022, “How can smart mobility bridge the first/last mile gap? Empirical evidence on public attitudes from Australia”. Journal of Transport Geography, vol. 104, p. 103452. Campisi, T., Ali, N., Alemdar, K.D., Kaya, Ö, Çodur, M.Y. & Tesoriere, G. 2022, “Promotion of e-mobility and its main share market: Some considerations about e-shared mobility”. AIP Conference Proceedings, vol. 2611, no. 1, p. 060002. Chen, T.D., Kockelman, K.M. & Hanna, J.P. 2016, “Operations of a shared, autonomous, electric vehicle fleet: Implications of vehicle and charging infrastructure decisions”. Transportation Research Part A: Policy and Practice, vol. 14, pp. 243–254. Choi, S.E., Kim, J. & Seo, D. 2023, “Travel patterns of free-floating e-bike-sharing users before and during COVID-19 pandemic”. Cities, vol. 132, p. 104065. Delponte, I. & Costa, V. 2022, “Metropolitan MaaS and DRT Schemes: Are They Paving the Way Towards a More Inclusive and Resilient Urban Environment?”. Studies in Health Technology and Informatics, vol. 297, pp. 304–311. Desjardins, J. 2019, “How much data is generated each day?” World Economic Forum. Available from https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2019/04/how-much-data-is-generated-each-day-cf4bddf29f/ Dudek, T. & Kujawski, A. 2022, “The concept of big data management with various transportation systems sources as a key role in smart cities development”. Energies, vol. 15, no. 24, p. 9506. Felipe-Falgas, P., Madrid-Lopez, C. & Marquet, O. 2022, “Assessing environmental performance of micromobility using LCA and self-reported modal change: The case of shared e-bikes, e-scooters, and e-mopeds in Barcelona”, Sustainability, vol. 14, no. 7, p. 4139.

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The application of big data and technology  337 Rosenblum, A.J., Wend, C.M., Akhtar, Z., Rosman, L., Freeman, J.D. & Barnett, D.J. 2023, “Use of big data in disaster recovery: An integrative literature review”. Disaster Medicine and Public Health Preparedness, vol. 17, no. 2, pp. 1–7. Thao, V.T., Imhof, S. & von Arx, W. 2023, “Demand responsive transport: New insights from peri-urban experiences”. Travel Behaviour and Society, vol. 31, pp. 141–150. Thompson, J., Stevenson, M., Wijnands, J., Nice, K., Ashwanden, G., Silver, J., Nieuwenhuijsen, M., Rayner, P., Schofield, R., Hariharan, R. & Morrison, C.N. 2020, “Injured by design: A global perspective on urban design and road transport injury”. Lancet Planet Health, vol. 4, no. 1, pp. 32–42. UITP, 2017, “Autonomous vehicles: A potential game changer for urban mobility”, available from https:// www.uitp.org/publications/autonomous-vehicles-a-potential-game-changer-for-urban-mobility/ United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) Clean Development Mechanism (CDM). 2022, “Meeting Report: UNFCCC Clean Development Mechanism (CDM)”, available from https://cdm.unfccc.int/EB/index.html Vargas-Maldonado, R.C., Lozoya-Reyes, J.G., Ramírez-Moreno, M.A., Lozoya-Santos, J.D.J., RamírezMendoza, R.A., Pérez-Henríquez, B.L., Velasquez-Mendez, A., Vargas, J.F.J. & Narezo-Balzaretti, J. 2023, “Conscious mobility for urban spaces: Case studies review and indicator framework design”. Applied Sciences (Switzerland), vol. 13, no. 1, pp. 1–25. Wijnands, J. et al. 2020, “Identifying safe intersection design through unsupervised feature extraction from satellite imagery”. Computer-Aided Civil and Infrastructure Engineering, vol. 36, no. 3, pp. 346–361. Zarina Abdul Jabar, Z., Wook, M., Zakaria, O., Ramli, S. & Afiza Mat Razali, N. 2022, “Establishment of big data analytics application model for Malaysian public sector: An expert validation”. EDPACS, vol. 65, no. 4, pp. 1–20. Zhou, X., Dong, Q., Huang, Z., Yin, G., Zhou, G. & Liu, Y. 2023, “The spatially varying effects of built environment characteristics on the integrated usage of dockless bike-sharing and public transport”. Sustainable Cities and Society, vol. 89, pp. 1–10.

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Customer uptake and preference analysis for mobility as a service (MaaS) schemes Xiaoyang Yu, Prithvi Bhat Beeramoole, Chaitrali Shirke, and Alexander Paz

Introduction Highlights • Mobility as a Service (MaaS) is envisioned as a single platform to provide travellers with access to (i) a broad range of transport options, (ii) trip information, and (iii) payment services, recommendations, and incentives. • Recently, MaaS bundles (plans and packages), including information, ticket, and payment integration, are being offered in several parts of the world to link customers with suitable transport services based on their preferences. • The design of a MaaS plan requires to determine, at the minimum, the following two types of attributes: i Transport mode specific: modes and the corresponding coverage regarding area, frequency, and quantity. ii Non-mode specific: user type (individual, household, business), payment mode (credit roll-over allowed or not), discount, add-ons.

Concept of mobility as a service

MaaS is an overarching term used to describe mobility management mechanisms that have been employed to provide travellers with access to different mobility services based on their preferences. MaaS is envisioned to integrate (i) a broad range of transport options, (ii) trip information, and (iii) payment services, recommendations, and incentives. Most MaaS services are based on public transport and shared options, such as car-sharing, bike-sharing, and ride-hailing. Emerging mobility solutions, such as e-scooters and carpooling, are also being tested and included in MaaS to enable a door-to-door connectivity. With a mobility plan customised to each subscriber, MaaS has a real potential to shift the traditional car ownership paradigm by providing an attractive and effective alternative (Ho and Mulley, 2015). A shift in ownership is already being observed, accelerated by a variety of mobility options such as Uber, GoGet (car-sharing), Car Next Door (peer-to-peer car-sharing), bike-sharing, and ridesharing schemes. Hence, there is significant interest to support and promote MaaS. The more travellers use MaaS services over driving alone, the more benefits accrue, such as fewer negative externalities including congestion, pollution, and crashes. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-31

Customer uptake and preference analysis  339 The MaaS concept has been trialled in various forms in various parts of the world with Finland being the pioneer in commercialising mobility plans under the MaaS framework. Since 2016, Helsinki residents have been able to use the Whim app to plan and pay for their everyday travel, either with a pre-pay option as part of a monthly mobility subscription or with a pay-asthey-go option (Hartikainen et al., 2019). Other countries such as Sweden (Sochor et al., 2015a, 2016; Smith et al., 2018; Strömberg et al., 2018), Austria (König et al., 2016), United Kingdom (Ambrosino et al., 2016; König et al., 2016), Netherlands (Jittrapirom et al., 2017, 2018; Ebrahimi et al., 2018), Germany, France, Singapore, Canada, and the United States have conducted pilot tests with limited mobility bundles. See Utriainen and Pöllänen (2018) and Kamargianni et al. (2016) for a detailed review. Australia and New Zealand are also joining the MaaS trend with the establishment of MaaS Australia (Eldaly, 2017) and SkedGo (Hessberg et al., 2009). SkedGo is a technology provider for an Australian MaaS trial which was conducted in collaboration with IAG and University of Sydney. Notwithstanding these active engagements of many jurisdictions and their enthusiasm for this emerging mobility paradigm, MaaS still represents an enormous challenge for the transport community; if not adequately managed and planned, negative impacts could easily overshadow benefits. Due to the novelty of the MaaS concept, there is still a vast gap in knowledge about the ideal design of mobility plans. As travellers’ needs are immensely heterogeneous, the plans should be able to cater to different preferences. Through few pilots, projects, and state-of-theart studies (Sochor et al., 2015a; Kamargianni et al., 2016), several potential designs have been presented, but there is no quantifiable evidence or consensus about the best approach. Further, with careful design, MaaS mobility plans can be used as a travel demand management strategy to promote sustainable transport (Matyas and Kamargianni, 2019). MaaS framework

The focus of MaaS is largely on mobility integration rather than only providing transport services (Kamargianni et al., 2016; Sochor et al., 2018). The objective is mostly to integrate key components including modes, traveller information and incentives, ticketing, and payment. The level of integration is often case-specific and is based on the goals of implementation. A topology of MaaS proposed in the literature (Sochor et al., 2018) includes four levels of integration, i.e., no integration, integration of information, ticket and payment integration, service offer integration, and integration of social goals. For example, incentives representing social goals such as congestion mitigation and/or environmental sustainability, which may not be the main purpose of MaaS implementation, could also be included. 1 Integration of information In general, information integration refers to a centralised platform that provides travel information including various modes. It is expected to facilitate and support travellers during pre-trip, wayside, and on-board by including functions such as journey planning, booking, and expected travel times. Google and Waze are examples of such platform and level of integration. 2 Ticket and payment integration Ticket integration is usually achieved by smart card technology. Smart cards for public transport (PT) exist in many cities worldwide with significant popularity among users. Other methods include use of near-field communication (NFC), where credit cards or mobile phones could also be used for payment.

340  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz 3 Integration of the services and incentives Services, including different mobility options and incentives, are integrated with MaaS plans by marketing packages for special prices and allowing customers to pre-purchase services of multiple modes for an extended period of time. Such service integration is also known as MaaS bundling or schemes or plans. Henceforth, these terms will be used interchangeably in this report. Service integration has been used to increase patronage of modes included in the package. Matyas and Kamargianni (2017) and Kamargianni and Matyas (2017) provided evidence that supports this strategy to increase patronage. There are three main components in MaaS bundling: (1) an aggregator (e.g., WHIM) that integrates services from different mobility providers (e.g., TransLink, Lime) to create MaaS bundles; (2) subscriptions, through which a customer would commit to buying a certain MaaS bundle (e.g., once, fortnightly, or monthly); and (3) pricing schemes for MaaS bundling to ensure sustainability (Reck et al., 2020). Bundles can be fixed or customisable. The latter requires sophisticated software frontends to optimise plans and pricing schemes. MaaS can also be offered without bundling, where customers do not purchase MaaS bundles but pay according to their service usage. This MaaS alternative is commonly known as “Pay as you go” or “PayG”. The following section provides a brief survey of MaaS plans that have been implemented across the world. Implementing sustainable MaaS plans that will address users’ preferences and induce shift away from private vehicle dominance is challenging. Before attempting large-scale MaaS deployments, key aspects regarding preferences and behaviour must be considered. In the following sections of this chapter, a brief overview is presented regarding the data and methods used for analysing travellers’ likely MaaS preferences. In addition, insights from a stated preference survey used in Queensland to study customer preferences for MaaS are presented. Related studies This section presents a summary from the comprehensive literature review conducted by Paz et al. (2020) of studies that analysed travellers’ behaviour and associated MaaS preferences. These studies are divided into two groups: (a) Studies based on real-life implementation or trials of MaaS and (b) Studies using surveys. Studies based on real-life implementation or trials UbiGo in Gothenburg, Sweden

A six-month field operational test (FOT) of a MaaS system, UbiGo, was performed in ­Gothenburg, Sweden, including 195 participants and everyday travel (Sochor et al., 2015b, 2016). Positive changes that were observed among participants due to MaaS included reduced private car ownership, increase in the use of public transport, and increase in pre-trip planning behaviour. The FOT was considered successful, with 93% of participants satisfied and 97% wanting to continue using UbiGo. The data from the UbiGo trial was further analysed by Strömberg et al. (2018). The analysis found that the most frequently reported behavioural changes were mode (42%), followed pretrip planning (34%), trip chaining (21%), destinations (21%), and travel time (21%). Around 36% of participants reported no change. The study concluded that the UbiGo met participants’ mobility needs by offering a full range of choices in a flexible manner. The pricing structure encouraged a mode choice for each trip and the app design made the choices apparent, which

Customer uptake and preference analysis  341 enabled the customer to freely choose and experiment within their adaptable, personalised subscription. In the end, users generally shifted to more sustainable transport choices. Whim in Helsinki, Finland

“Whim” was fully launched in Helsinki in November 2017. The service is currently active worldwide. Hartikainen et al. (2019) analysed the Whim user data collected from January to D ­ ecember 2018. Whim users were compared against typical Helsinki residents by using data from the ­Helsinki Region Transportation's Travel behaviour survey. Following are some key findings: 1 Whim users (PT modal share 63%) rode PT more than their Helsinki metropolitan area counterparts (PT modal share 48%). 2 Whim users were multimodal users, using both bicycles and taxis for their last mile connectivity. 3 Whim users used 2.1 times more taxis than the typical Helsinki resident. 4 Pricing affected mobility behaviour. 5 New mobility options were found likely to replace up to 38% of daily car trips. Hartikainen et al. (2019) concluded that new mobility methods and platforms seem to succeed in a mode-rich, densely populated urban environment with high accessibility to retail, commerce, and jobs. In addition, the popularity of MaaS correlated strongly with accessibility by bicycle. SMILE in Vienna, Austria

In Vienna, the SMILE project focused on providing ticketing, booking, payment, and billing features together with routing services to users. The usage of SMILE led to increased PT ridership among 48% of respondents. An estimated 21% of the surveyed pilot users stated to have reduced the usage of their private car. SMILE also increased the inter-modality of pilot users. Over two-thirds of the respondents tried new routes with SMILE. This study suggests that MaaS can support breaking mobility routines and increase the usage of alternatives. In total, the SMILE app promoted minimally (≥10% of respondents) the use of sharing offers. Electric mobility, as well as higher PT usage, was observed. It led to a reduction in car use and increased multi/intermodal mobility behaviour. It is essential to consider that most users stated that they used the app for non-routine trips. MaaS pilot study in Ghent (Belgium)

This exploratory pilot study organised in mid-2017 targeted one hundred car-owning participants (Ghent University employees). MaaS was offered as a complement rather than as a substitute to private cars. The findings indicated that MaaS attributes that significantly affect travellers’ choices are pricing, availability of a full range of services, and flexibility in usage. However, such studies are often based on the behaviour and preferences of early adopters (­ Hartikainen et al., 2019). MaaS trial in Sydney, Australia

The MaaS trial in Sydney started in November 2019 in collaboration with iMOVE, IAG, University of Sydney, and SkedGo. A digital App called Tripi was designed for the trial which

342  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz provided users with booking, transactions, payments, and invoicing facilities for trips. In November 2019, participants were offered only PayG MaaS option. During following four months, different MaaS bundles were introduced, namely Fifty50, Saver25, GreenPass, and SuperSaver25. Following are some key observations from this study (Hensher, 2020):

• A steady increase was observed in month-wise bundle uptake, starting with 10% in December 2019 and reaching up to 36.5% in March 2020

• Specific bundle uptake in March: PayG (63.6%), Fifty50 (11.9%), SuperSaver25 (9.3%), GreenPass (16.1%)

• Increasing popularity of PT focused MaaS bundles • Reducing PayG users • Clear interest in MaaS among travellers (37% of participants subscribed to a bundle) Studies based on surveys

These studies mainly aim at analysing at least one of the following three aspects:

• How large would the potential market of MaaS be? • How much might potential users value different attributes of a MaaS plan? • How do these attributes affect travel choice behaviour? The data used for such analyses are typically collected through a stated preference (SP) survey. The survey also includes revealed preference (RP) questions on socio-demographic characteristics and current travel behaviour. Few studies (Monzon et al., 2019, Reck and Axhausen, 2020) rely only on RP survey data regarding current travel pattern of customers. In discrete choice SP, respondents are asked to choose between different hypothetical MaaS alternatives defined by a set of attributes (e.g., travel time and price). A researcher controls the experiment process. Some studies (Ho et al., 2018; Matyas and Kamargianni, 2021) use context-aware experiments, in which researchers design a realistic experiment in which choice alternatives align with respondents’ actual travel behaviour. In the end, the respondent's current travel record is also presented as an alternative. This allows respondents to compare attributes of their current travel pattern with available MaaS options, before selecting their most preferred alternative. Following sections deliberate of the main findings. Among socio-demographic factors, age was found to have a significant effect on MaaS usage. Due to familiarity with technology and previous use of shared mobility, younger generations are most likely to use MaaS. Of all age groups, the older generation is less likely to subscribe to MaaS because higher segments of this group have very little to no experience with information and communication technology (ICT), shared services, route planners, and smartphones. Given the advantages of MaaS, there may be a need to highlight its added value or provide training. Trials can help, as positive attitudes among early adopters can influence the uptake of MaaS among peers and other social groups. Other socio-demographic and socio-economic factors influencing MaaS uptake include the number of children and cars in the household, employment or income, and education. Travellers’ current travel behaviour also affects the potential MaaS subscription. In Sydney, it was observed that despite PT being identified as an essential part of MaaS success, its patrons were not necessarily interested in MaaS as a concept. In contrast, some studies have identified that PT users as the most likely subscribers of MaaS. Potentially, this discrepancy has more to do with satisfaction with existing PT systems in specific cities rather than a general assumption for

Customer uptake and preference analysis  343 all users. Most studies have identified unimodal car users as the least likely social group to adopt MaaS. Due to freedom, convenience, and comfort offered by private travel, many of its users are not seeking alternatives. Furthermore, despite the potential economic benefits of MaaS, individuals are more likely to underestimate the total cost of private vehicle ownership, particularly when comparing to subscription-based service such as MaaS. Therefore, the idea of MaaS as a sole alternative to private car ownership may be unlikely in the short term but could be promoted as an alternative for a household's second vehicle. This can help these users get familiar with the new technology and potentially move away from private vehicle ownership in the long term. Mode specific, as well as non-mode specific attributes of MaaS plans significantly affect a potential subscription. In all studies, the inclusion of unlimited access to PT and price was observed to have, respectively, positive and negative effects. However, the effect of all other attributes may vary depending on geographic location and current transportation habits due to variation in the local environment and individual needs. Furthermore, MaaS plans that were designed according to customers’ needs and their current travel pattern were preferred over a pay-as-you-go scheme or customisable plans when all plans had the same level of discount. When MaaS plans were not tailored to customers’ needs, pay-as-you-go or customisable plans were preferred. Studies also evaluated willingness-to-pay for the services offered by MaaS to provide quantitative evidence of mobility-cost trade-offs. Though users’ willingness to pay for MaaS packages varied with location, overall, it was lower than the actual cost of providing the service. This provides significant barriers for the developers of MaaS who have looked to this innovation to solve issues associated with transport disadvantage, and further highlights the potential need for subsidies or incentives, at least in the short term before other technological innovations can contribute to lower operational costs (Butler et al., 2021). Case study Highlights • Data collected by RACQ in January–February 2022 from Queensland residents with access to public transport (PT). • The survey included questions regarding socio-economics, travel patterns, and customer preferences for MaaS plans. • The survey was completed by 1,498 people aged over 18. • A descriptive analysis of the data was performed to evaluate its socio-demographic distribution, current travel patterns, and preferences for different MaaS plans. • Around 33% of respondents use multimodal transport. They had a higher willingness to purchase MaaS plans compared to single mode users. • The sample reported that they spent approximately $58 every week on transport, with $41 mostly spent on fuel. • Convenience, travel cost, and journey time were the three most important factors while making travel mode choice decisions.

This section provides a detailed statistical analysis of survey data collected by RACQ. The survey was designed in collaboration with the Queensland Department of Transport and Main

344  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz Roads (TMR), Queensland University of Technology (QUT), and Royal Automobile Club of Queensland (RACQ). The following key objectives were pursued in this study: 1 understand underlying preferences and core MaaS characteristics that influence customers’ preferences for bundling, 2 analyse the effect of discounting products and services on customers’ preferences, and 3 identify any demographic trends or incentives/discounts which could increase the attractiveness of MaaS products. Data overview

The survey was completed by 1,498 respondents aged over 18 and living in (1) Greater Brisbane or Coastal Southeast Queensland, which includes seven Local Government Authorities (LGA), namely Brisbane, Gold Coast, Sunshine Coast, Noosa, Ipswich, Logan, Redlands, and Moreton Bay; (2) Inland Southeast Queensland, which includes three LGA namely Somerset, Lockyer Valley, Scenic Rim; and (3) remaining areas in Queensland. The responses were collected only from regions in Queensland with existing PT service because PT is a critical component of MaaS. The socio-economic characteristics of the sample are given in Table 27.1. During the survey, respondents were asked to state their most preferred plan from a set of five MaaS alternatives. The alternatives included Basic, Basic Plus, Standard, Premium, and ­Ultimate MaaS plans. Each plan/alternative differed in several important MaaS aspects such as price, access to PT, e-bikes, carshare and rideshare facilities, and availability of credit roll-over and rewards. Ranges were pre-defined for each attribute in the MaaS plans to ensure that alternatives were mutually exclusive. For each MaaS alternative, four different plans were designed by varying attributes within the pre-defined ranges. Participants were asked to choose their most preferred MaaS alternative for work trips, recreational trips, and all trip purposes. For each trip purpose, respondents were presented three choice questions, each time with a different plan for every MaaS alternative. As a result, each participant responded to up to nine choice questions. An example of a MaaS choice question is provided in Table 27.2. The MaaS section of the survey also included the following Likert-scale question regarding willingness to purchase a MaaS plan. Assuming your preferred option was available, how likely would you be to consider purchasing this product? A Very unlikely B Somewhat unlikely C Neither likely nor unlikely D Somewhat likely E Very likely The following are some preliminary observations from the data. 1 31% of the responses were from the Gold Coast and inner Brisbane city regions. 2 52% of the sample travelled daily by private car, whereas only 1–3% used scooters, bicycles, or public transport. 3 Around 33% of respondents use multimodal transport. They had a higher willingness to purchase MaaS plans compared to single mode users.

Customer uptake and preference analysis  345 Table 27.1  Socio-economic characteristics of the sample Variable

Categories

Gender

Male Female 18–24 Years Old 25–34 Years Old 35–44 Years Old 45–54 Years Old 55–64 Years Old 65+ Years Old

734 764 195 270 255 255 225 300

49% 51% 13% 18% 17% 17% 15% 20%

Region

Greater Brisbane Southeast Queensland Major regional cities

899 360 210

60% 24% 14%

Household type

A shared household of adults Family with child/ren mostly under 12 years, at home Family with child/ren mostly 13 years or older, at home Single/couple aged 40 or older, no more children living at home Single/couple under the age of 40, without children at home Single/couple aged 65 or older, in retirement

300 285 210 195

20% 19% 14% 13%

300

20%

210

14%

Income

Less than $30,000 $30,000–$49,999 $50,000–$79,999 $80,000–$119,999 $120,000–$199,999 $200,000+ Prefer not to say

180 255 300 285 270 75 135

12% 17% 20% 19% 18% 5% 9%

Employment

A full-time employee A part-time Casual work employee Home duties Unemployed Student Retired

569 240 120 90 90 60 330

38% 16% 8% 6% 6% 4% 22%

Household car ownership

Yes No car No, but I can easily access one

1,333 120 45

89% 8% 3%

Number of days work from home per week

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

854 120 165 105 75 135 15 30

57% 8% 11% 7% 5% 9% 1% 2%

Average weekly transport expenses

$0–$33 $34–$55 $56–$100 >$100

165 285 524 524

11% 19% 35% 35%

Age

Sample

Proportion

346  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz Table 27.2  Example of a MaaS choice question Out of these options, which option would you prefer for all your trips (work, education, non-work, and leisure)? Attribute

Basic

Basic Plus

Standard

Premium

Ultimate

Price Access to public transport

$20/Week 2 PT trips/day (weekdays)

$40/Week 2 PT trips/day (weekdays)

$60/Week 2 PT trips/day (weekdays)

$80/Week 4 PT trips/day (weekdays)

Access to car share/hire Access to taxi/ rideshare

None

None

None

None

None

None

2 hours per week 2 trips per week (10 km/trip limit)

30 mins free per week No None

60 mins free per week No None

None

None

60 mins free per week No $10 Monthly value Grocery, dining, retail, and entertainment discounts

$100/Week 4 PT trips/day (weekdays + weekends) 12 hours per week 2 trips per week (20 km/trip limit) Unlimited

Access to e-bikes/ e-scooters Credit roll-over Monthly rewards program value Monthly rewards program category

Unlimited No $15 Monthly value Grocery, dining, retail, and entertainment discounts

Yes $25 Monthly value Travel credits

4 The sample reported that they spent approximately $58 every week on transport, with $41 mostly spent on fuel. It was observed that as the weekly expense increased, respondents were more likely to purchase a MaaS plan. Respondents were more likely to purchase Premium and Ultimate MaaS plans, as their weekly expenditure average on transport increased. 5 Convenience, travel cost, and journey time were the three most important factors while making travel mode choice decisions. 6 Approximately 51% of the sample who were employed worked from home at least once a week. A counterintuitive finding was that around 27% of the sample who were employed and worked from home at least once a week preferred Ultimate plans for work trips. This could be explained by income levels and the corresponding purchasing power. 7 Basic plans were the most preferred MaaS alternatives, with Basic Plus plans most preferred for work trips, Standard for recreational trips, and Premium for all trip purposes. 8 As the age of respondents increased, they were more unlikely to make an actual purchase. 9 It was observed that as the respondents’ income increased, they were more certain of purchasing the preferred MaaS plan. 10 A significant portion of sample, who had an experience using MaaS, were found “very likely” or “somewhat likely” to purchase MaaS plans. Analysis Discrete choice modelling

As discussed in the previous section, the survey included two stated choice questions – (1) regarding the most preferred MaaS plan and (2) regarding willingness to purchase the most preferred MaaS plan. The Likert scale responses for willingness to purchase were transformed to a binary scale for statistical analyses. In other words, respondents who reported that were

Customer uptake and preference analysis  347 “highly likely” or “somewhat likely” to purchase the preferred MaaS plan were considered as “likely MaaS purchasers”, and the rest were considered “non-likely MaaS purchasers”. As a result, the available choice alternatives for the analysis include Basic, Basic Plus, Standard, Premium, Ultimate, and No-purchase. Consumers’ willingness to purchase is analysed using a discrete choice modelling framework. Under this framework, the utility uij that consumer i associates with alternative j is given by Eqn. (27.1). uij = vij + ε ij 

(27.1)

which comprises of a deterministic component vij of observed and relevant information and a stochastic unobserved error ε ij. A multinomial logit model was estimated following a series of hypothesis tests to identify significant influential factors, and their relationship with the consumers’ choice to purchase a MaaS plan. Eqn. (27.2) represents the multinomial logit model to estimate the probability P of consumer i choosing MaaS alternative j among the available J . Pij =

v

e ij



J

∑e

(27.2)

vij

j =1

where, the observed utility vij is given by Eqn. (27.3) vij = θZi + βX ij 

(27.3)

where, Zi and X ij are the vectors of significant individual-specific characteristics and alternative-specific attributes, and θ and β are the corresponding vectors of estimated coefficients. All variables are assumed to have a linear in-parameters relationship, and they are estimated using a maximum likelihood estimation method. The Bayesian Information Criterion (BIC) and Log-Likelihood, which are widely used goodness-­of-fit measures in statistics (Khadka et al., 2018; Paz et al., 2019; Veeramisti et al., 2021), are used to evaluate the models’ explanatory power and select an adequate specification for behavioural inference. In addition, the statistical significance of the estimated model parameters and their behavioural meaning were also considered for model selection. The following sections present the model findings and analysis of results. Analysis and results

Table 27.3 shows the final model considered for analysing MaaS preferences. Among MaaS attributes, price of the plan was found to be an important factor influencing purchase preferences. The price coefficient suggests that as the price of plans increase, they are less likely to be preferred. As a result, Basic was found to be the most preferred MaaS plan, with up to 10% of the sample choosing this alternative. Access to PT was also found to be an attractive factor for influencing MaaS purchase for Basic, Basic Plus, and Standard plans. However, PT access was not preferred for expensive plans, such as Premium and Ultimate. The coefficients suggest that consumers who prefer using PT would be willing to purchase economical MaaS plans. In addition, consumers who prefer using rideshare and car share facilities are more likely to choose

348  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz Table 27.3  Estimates of model parameters to analyse MaaS preferences Parameter For Basic plan Plan-specific constant Price ($/week) Access to PT (trips/day) Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer below 35 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer 35–54 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer above 54 years of age Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level less than $50,000 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $50,000–$119,000 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $120,000+ For Basic Plus plan Plan-specific constant Price ($/week) Access to PT (trips/day) Monthly rewards value Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer below 35 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer 35–54 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer above 54 years of age Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $50,000–$119,000 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $120,000+ For Standard plan Plan-specific constant Price ($/week) Access to PT (trips/day) Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer below 35 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer 35–54 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer above 54 years of age Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $50,000–$119,000 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $120,000+ For Premium plan Plan-specific constant Price ($/week) Access to PT (trips/day) Access to rideshare Access to carshare (hours per week) Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer below 35 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer 35–54 years of age Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer above 54 years of age Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $50,000–$119,000 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level $120,000+

Estimate

Std. z-val error.

−1.58 −0.01 0.03 0.05 −0.03 −0.28 −0.35

0.1 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.1

−16.3*** −3.3*** 3.2** 1.9= −1.1= −9.6*** −4.4***

0.18

0.1

2.3*

−0.42

0.1

−4.3***

−2.46 −0.01 0.03 0.17 0.05 −0.03 −0.28 0.37

0.1 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.1

−16.6*** −3.3*** 3.2** 8.5*** 1.9= −1.1= −9.6*** 4.5***

−0.52

0.1

−3.5***

−1.90 −0.01 0.03 0.05 −0.03 −0.28 0.52

0.2 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.1

−8.7*** −3.3*** 3.2** 1.9= −1.1= −9.6*** 6.2***

−0.13

0.1

−1.0=

−1.73 −0.01 −0.04 0.10 0.01 0.05 −0.03 −0.28 0.28

0.3 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.1

−6.8*** −3.3*** −4.6*** 3.4*** 2.2* 1.9= −1.1= −9.6*** 2.8**

−0.19

0.1

−1.3= (Continued)

Customer uptake and preference analysis  349 Table 27.3  (Continued) Parameter

Estimate

For Ultimate plan Plan-specific constant −1.70 Price ($/week) −0.01 Access to PT (trips/day) −0.04 Access to rideshare (trips/week) 0.10 Access to carshare (hours per week) 0.01 Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer below 35 years of age 0.05 Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer 35–54 years of age −0.03 Access to E-bike/scooters (mins/week) for consumer above 54 years of age −0.28 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level 0.14 $50,000–$119,000 Binary variable indicating if consumer belongs to annual income level −0.18 $120,000+ Log-likelihood −13,264 BIC 26,765

Std. z-val error. 0.3 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.1

−6.1*** −3.3*** −4.6*** 3.4*** 2.2* 1.9= −1.1= −9.6*** 1.3=

0.2

−1.2=

Notes Statistical significance based on p-value: 0 ‘***’; 0.001 ‘**’; 0.01 ‘*’; 0.05 ‘=’ 1. The model is estimated keeping non-purchase alternative as reference.

Premium and Ultimate plans. The coefficients suggest that the potential MaaS customers for expensive plans are among those who regularly use rideshare/taxi services. Consumers are more likely to prefer Basic Plus plans if the monthly rewards value increased. However, there was no significant effect of rewards observed on preference for other MaaS alternatives. Similarly, credit roll-over was found to have no considerable influence on MaaS purchase preferences. Interestingly, the model found varying effects for E-bike/scooter access across age groups. While consumers aged below 35 years preferred to have E-bike/scooter access, middle- (35–54 years) and old-aged (55+ years) consumers were less likely to purchase MaaS if E-bike/scooter access was included. The coefficients suggest that preference for E-bike/ scooters significantly reduces with age. Among the other socio-economic characteristics, income levels were found to have a significant influence on MaaS purchase preferences. The specification suggests that consumers belonging to low-income groups (less than $50,000 annual income) are less likely to purchase MaaS. A similar behaviour was observed among consumers belonging to high-income groups ($120,000+ annual income). The coefficients potentially capture the effect of car dependency for high-income groups. Finally, the plan-specific constants capture an overall reluctancy of the consumers to purchase MaaS plans. A significant portion in the sample (72%) reported that they were unlikely to make an actual purchase. An important reason could be the lack of awareness for MaaS in Queensland. A significant portion (more than 97%) of the sample did not have an experience using MaaS, therefore, are more likely to not make a purchase. As the awareness towards MaaS increases, consumers would potentially be more willing to explore MaaS alternatives. The willingness to pay (WTP) estimates for important MaaS attributes are presented in ­Table 27.4. The WTP estimates are comparable with observed trends for PT trips, rideshare, and E-bike access. However, the estimates are substantially low for carshare access. The WTP value potentially indicates a lesser preference for carshare facilities in MaaS plans compared to the other MaaS aspects.

350  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz Table 27.4  Willingness to pay for important MaaS attributes Willingness to pay per week To include an additional PT trips/day in Basic, Basic Plus, or Standard plans To include an additional, rideshare trip/week in Premium or Ultimate plans To include an additional, carshare trip/week in Premium or Ultimate plans To include an additional 30 mins of e-bike access/week

$2.5 $8.0 $1.1 $4.2

Summary and conclusions There is significant interest to support and promote MaaS for instigating more sustainable travel behaviour patterns among the population. It is relevant to establish what we currently know, based on scientific literature, about critical attributes of MaaS that are likely to be important for customers, and how they affect potential market share. Key findings from a comprehensive literature review (Paz et al., 2020) were presented in this chapter which included MaaS studies based on real-life implementation and studies conducted using surveys. The chapter also presented a statistical analysis of MaaS preferences performed using the data from “Mobility and Future Mobility” survey. The survey was conducted from January to February 2022 by RACQ in Queensland including regions with existing PT service. Discrete choice analysis using multinomial logit models was performed to identify important factors influencing preferences MaaS plans in Queensland. The estimated model suggests that Price, Access to PT, Rideshare, and Carshare facilities are important attributes affecting MaaS preferences. The analysis revealed that younger age groups (below 35 years) preferred having access to E-bikes/scooters. However, the willingness to purchase plans with E-bikes/scooters access was observed to reduce for middle-aged and old-aged consumers. While rewards had a relatively attractive effect for Basic Plus plans, the attribute did not have any significant influence on other MaaS alternatives. Interestingly, while low-income (below $50,000 annual income) groups preferred Basic plans over others, high-income groups ($120,000+ annual income) were less likely to purchase MaaS. However, the analysis suggests that willingness to purchase MaaS was relatively higher in middle-income groups. The inferences drawn from this analysis are reasonable and align with expected behavioural theories. The estimated willingness to pay reveals higher preferences for rideshare and carshare facilities in MaaS plans. The estimates and associated inferences provide important insights for designing attractive MaaS plans. Most importantly, an overall reluctancy was observed for MaaS uptake, with more 72% of the sample unlikely to make a purchase. MaaS is a new idea with a tiny market presence. More than 97% of the sample reported that they were either “aware” or “have never used” MaaS. As a result, it is possible that respondents did not fully understand the service idea and did not examine all facts. A potential solution to address this would be to integrate stated preference with revealed preference data, where the consumers are making an actual purchase. In addition, further data collection and advanced analysis are recommended to consider additional and likely influential aspects such as emerging and modes and network effects. References Ambrosino, G., Nelson, J. D., Boero, M. & Ramazzotti, D. 2016. From the Concept of Flexible Mobility Services to the ‘Shared Mobility Services Agency’. In: C. Mulley & J. D. Nelson (eds.) Paratransit: Shaping the Flexible Transport Future. Emerald Group Publishing Limited, Bingley, England.

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352  X. Yu, P. B. Beeramoole, C. Shirke, and A. Paz Smith, G., Sochor, J. & Karlsson, I. C. M. 2018. Mobility as a service: Development scenarios and implications for public transport. Research in Transportation Economics, 69, 592–599. Sochor, J., Arby, H., Karlsson, I. C. M. & Sarasini, S. 2018. A topological approach to mobility as a service: A proposed tool for understanding requirements and effects, and for aiding the integration of societal goals. Research in Transportation Business & Management, 27, 3–14. Sochor, J., Karlsson, I. C. M. & Strömberg, H. 2016. Trying out mobility as a service: Experiences from a field trial and implications for understanding demand. Transportation Research Record, 2542, 57–64. Sochor, J., Strömberg, H. & Karlsson, I. C. M. 2015a. Implementing mobility as a service: Challenges in integrating user, commercial, and societal perspectives. Transportation Research Record, 2536, 1–9. Sochor, J. L., Strömberg, H. & Karlsson, M. 2015b. Challenges in integrating user, commercial, and societal perspectives in an innovative mobility service. Proceedings of the 94th Annual Meeting of the Transportation Research Board, Washington, DC. Strömberg, H., Karlsson, I. C. M. & Sochor, J. 2018. Inviting travelers to the smorgasbord of sustainable urban transport: Evidence from a MaaS field trial. Transportation, 45, 1655–1670. Utriainen, R. & Pöllänen, M. 2018. Review on mobility as a service in scientific publications. Research in Transportation Business & Management, 27, 15–23. Veeramisti, N., Paz, A., Khadka, M. & Arteaga, C. 2021. A clusterwise regression approach for the estimation of crash frequencies. Journal of Transportation Safety & Security, 13, 247–277.

28

Who speaks for smart cities? Social media, influence, and stories of innovation Mark Wilson, Travis Decaminada, Cornelius Darcy, and Eva Kassens-Noor

Introduction Cities have long been smart, their very existence reflected advances in contemporary technology that promoted transportation, food production and storage, and construction. Recently, the term “Smart Cities” emerged to promote the next generation of autonomous management systems that monitor and run our cities. A smart city initially referred to sophisticated and fashionable urban residents (Thornbury 1856; Wright 1870), but over the past decades, the term has evolved to refer to the technology laden infrastructure often essential to the running of cities. The term as a technological phenomenon is relatively young—around thirty years old—but conveys a future image of the city attractive to urban leaders and residents. It is the presentation of the concept that prompts our research to understand who and how public opinions about smart cities are created and the agendas of those driving stories of urban innovation. Today, smart cities commonly refer to the information technologies used to manage urban systems such as transportation, environment, waste management, and utilities (Castells 1996; Wilson & Corey 2000; Graham & Marvin 2002; Albino et al 2015; Inkinen et al 2021). The elements that often fall under the umbrella of smart cities includes transportation (navigation, traffic and congestion management, public transit supply and demand); energy and water supply; sewerage and waste management); environment (air and water quality, public health); and community communications through alerts and feedback. Smart cities are promoted as a solution to the ills of urban life, yet the focus on technology often is disconnected from the people it is designed to serve (Glasmeier & Nebiolo 2016). The initial prompt for our analysis was how interests align around technologies to promote or oppose their adoption, in particular, the way that economic and political forces shaped how the early automobile was introduced and its adoption facilitated. Streets changed from being the preserve of pedestrians to the realm of the automobile with associated laws and practices that privileged vehicles over people (Montgomery 2013). In more than a century since the automobile became popular, there have been many new technologies that were accompanied by persuasive action with vested interests in their adoption (Wilson & Corey 2000; Inkinen et al 2021). As David A. Gautschi and Darius Jal Sabavala (1995) note in their analysis of automobile and telephone history, markets are created through the interplay of producers and consumers. Over the past decades, many technologies have been introduced around information, communication, and system management, yet the widespread adoption of mobile phones, the internet, and algorithm driven business and consumer systems often occurs without critical analysis or debate. With the arrival of smart cities, it is important to again assess how these technologies will be introduced and promoted, using the example of social media treatment of smart cities. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-32

354  M. Wilson, T. Decaminada, C. Darcy, and E. Kassens-Noor This chapter starts by discussing the smart city concept and its use in social media as a way to capture elements of influence and storytelling around innovation. We focus on the role of social media influencers as a force shaping the platform for discussion of smart city issues through analysis of the social media use of #smartcity and #smartcities. Analysis of 4.7 million tweets between 2016 and 2020 reveals the leading actors messaging about smart cities, along with the main ideas they present. Results show influencers to be closely allied to the supply of smart city technologies, primarily as consultants and vendors. Absent from the leading users are the voices of residents and policymakers. Implications of the results show that emerging technologies have their characteristics shaped by vested interests in adoption, and that social media may fail to provide a countervailing perspective. Background Cities as a space have a history of connection to the personal and the political, captured by Plato in The Republic as a concern for power, wealth, and influence (DeWeese-Boyd & DeWeeseBoyd 2007). This perspective is updated by Sassen (2013), who sees cities challenged by inequality, new profit motivated development, and large-scale surveillance of urban residents. While spanning millenia, these perspectives ask us to consider who speaks for the city and its residents. As cities increasingly embody intelligent systems that offer better management, they also provide a platform for control. The promise and peril of smartness as a social and technological force returns discussion to Plato’s fundamental questions about the link between democracy and place ( Sáez-Martín et al 2014, Vanolo 2016; Wylie 2018). Smart cities as a concept started to appear in the scholarly and technology sector literature in the early 1990s, and received a boost when IBM announced the Smarter City Awards in 2010 for leading examples of applied urban technology. As the potential of communications and technology for urban management was recognized, there was a dramatic increase in interest and academic publication, reaching almost 1,000 articles per year by 2015. The term was discussed mainly in the engineering and computer science fields and took many more years to appear occasionally as a feature of urban planning and city management. We also observed that smart city is a term not often used by urban planners and city managers, which prompts us to examine the forces shaping public and decision-maker perceptions of these new technologies. Smart city technologies are found in most urban areas, yet the overarching concept remains somewhat invisible in the minds of many associated with urban management. Despite a positive and catchy title, the emergence of smart cities has not been universally welcomed, with an undercurrent of concern arising even if drowned out by the positive aura of the concept. There is a range of tensions evident for smart cities, including inequality and a focus on affluent urban residents, marginalizing low income and minority populations, and neglecting environmental concerns especially given climate change impacts (Martin et al 2018; Nguyen et al 2022, van Twist et al 2023). Similarly, the adoption and presentation of smart cities are seen by some as one sided and outside the process of urban democracy (Glasmeier & Nebiolo 2016), with Halegoua (2020, p3) concluding, “At present, the smart city concept and even the term itself are almost inseparable from corporate visions of what digital media, data, and urban space might be.” Central to our thesis is the importance of public perception and the role of influencers in shaping attitudes to new technology. Through history, individuals and organizations have actively sought to shape attitudes and behavior, especially with the growth of mass media in the twentieth century. Word of mouth, influencer, and social network theories emerged in the late 1930s and early 1940s, exemplified by The People’s Choice (Lazarsfeld et al 1968), which

Who speaks for smart cities?  355 studied the process of voter decision-making and mechanisms to convey information about social trends, new technologies, and sales communication. The power of social/consumer opinion and influence in public affairs and marketing was based on personal recommendations, interpersonal relationships and communication, and informal communication; the very attributes that draw an audience for social media. Influencers represent several characteristics, built through recognition, celebrity, and expertise to be seen as opinion leaders and able to affect public opinion (Chang et al 2020). In the professional/academic sphere, influencers are not celebrities but are seen as experts or have cultivated a following that sees them as tastemakers (Flynn et al 1996; De Veirman et al 2017). Influence is drawn from three sources: who one is, who one knows, and what one knows (Katz 1957), all of which can be applied to social media and the storytelling of innovation. The authority of influencers comes from their willingness to shape ideas and the strength of their voice as measured in the content and number of tweets they disseminate, and the number of followers they attract. One aspect of messaging is agenda setting by influencers (Beard & Easingwood 1996, ­Brosius & Weimann 1996) and, more recently, in the sphere of online marketing (Sandberg 2008, Lee & Youn 2009). Word of mouth (WOM) is a powerful force as recipients may value more highly the information they receive from people they know or who they recognize. Much of the early online social marketing research focused on consumer engagement (Chu & Kim 2011). Social network theory, with its origins in sociometric analysis, interpersonal relations, and anthropology, is integral to communications theory and joins the quest to better understand consumer influences and behavior. The focus on technology and public opinion is a powerful force that affects consumer behavior and regulation, yet this factor is often underplayed (Darcy 2022). In our earlier study of language and meaning applied to technology and autonomous vehicles, we found that the terms used when communicating can significantly affect how technology is perceived (Kassens-Noor et al 2021). The motivations of influencers range widely and are informed by social exchange theory, that recognizes how people evaluate the rewards and costs of a relationship. Campbell and Farrell (2020) recognize several influencer categories including celebrity influencers, megainfluencers with more than one million followers, macroinfluencers (>100,000 followers), microinfluencers (>10,000 followers), and nanoinfluencers (5,000 tweets

Tweet count

% of all tweets

  1.  smartcityfeed

271,663

5.47%

  2.  PleasureEthics

111,880

2.25%

  3.  energycoin

53,428

1.08%

  4.  WIOMAX_MD

43,967

0.89%

  5.  hashsmartcity

38,952

0.78%

  6.  smartecocity

37,830

0.76%

  7.  smartcityworld   8.  SmartCitiesFeed

28,665 20,498

0.58% 0.41%

  9.  chidambara09

18,518

0.37%

10.  wiomax_cn

17,124

0.34%

11.  sectest9

14,271

0.29%

12.  guidaautonoma

13,746

0.28%

13.  _digitalfutures

13,680

0.28%

14.  TechNowOrNever

13,600

0.27%

15.  WIOMAX_VA 16.  IoTimelab

12,419 12,194

0.25% 0.25%

17.  alevergara78 18.  SmartCity_eu 19.  WIOMAX_PA 20.  fingo_org

11,660 10,371 10,351 9,951

0.23% 0.21% 0.21% 0.20%

21.  AIBizDir

8,889

0.18%

22.  CloudExpo

8,447

0.17%

23.  FormilabHX

8,124

0.16%

24.  iGent_SmartCity 25.  AdaptiveToolbox

7,980 7,973

0.16% 0.16%

26.  UtarSystems

7,856

0.16%

Description A source created by @matthew_jewell, a UK software engineer and PhD student in technology law. Owned by UK blogger Marie Donelly with interests in alternative living and emerging technology. The EnergyCoin Foundation focuses on sustainability and the cryptocurrency energy sphere. Wiomax is a Washington DC-based consultancy addressing transportation and road safety that controls 4 of the top 30 sources of #smartcity tweets. Account suspended for violating Twitter terms of use, last referenced December 2018. Smart city/sustainability consultancy focused on East Asian cities with offices in China, Taiwan, Switzerland, Singapore, and the United States. News source on smart city topics. Sources content on infrastructure, transportation, and sustainability. Individual based in India and Germany heavily retweeting content on smart cities or the internet of things. Wiomax is a Washington DC-based consultancy (see #4). Source of tweets/retweets about information security based in Hyderabad, India. Technology blogger addressing autonomous vehicles, based in Italy. International organization focused on research regarding smart technology with platform for business and academic presentations and conferences. Brazilian IT firm with content on emerging technologies. Wiomax is a consulting firm with many Twitter names. Timelab is a French organization focusing on the Internet of Things. Software programmer in Chile. Suspended account. Wiomax consulting. Fingo is a mobile pay app that tweets about emerging technologies. AI Business Directory posts on AI, machine learning, and big data. Cloud Expo is a technology trade group in the United States. Formilab creates prototypes for inventors and entrepreneurs. Brazilian technology network. Adaptive Toolbox tweets about emerging software and technologyactive until August 2020. Firm focused on big data, data science, and cryptocurrency. (Continued)

Who speaks for smart cities?  359 Table 28.1  (Continued) Users w/ >5,000 tweets

Tweet count

% of all tweets

27.  accmobility 28.  AccWalking 29.  OttLegalRebels 30.  AccBiking

7,398 7,147 7,041 6,966

0.15% 0.14% 0.14% 0.14%

31.  cybersec_feeds

6,898

0.14%

32.  ArkangelScrap

5,979

0.12%

33.  yamatho2

5,814

0.12%

34.  2heartoftheart 35.  bearlytech

5,625 5,456

0.11% 0.11%

872,361

17.57%

Total:

Description Retweets about smart mobility. Source for walkability and transportation planning. Canadian Privacy attorney. US-based account with interests in cycling and non-motorized mobility. A bot that retweets cyber security content that occasionally pertains to smart cities owned by software developer Abdirahiim Yassin. Data security and cryptocurrency source deleted by owner. Yamatho Supply LLC tweets almost about their own products, primarily automation for the water industry. UK-based art and self help blog. Deleted account about AVs, emerging technology, and cryptocurrencies.

megainfluencers with more than 1 million followers, but as is shown later, the topic is incidental to their main purpose. Overall, the leading sources of smart city tweets were managed by social bots to retweet content rather than create new or unique messages. The messaging came from consultants, bloggers, programmers, software developers, and event organizers with none of the top 35 sources representing urbanists, planners, city managers, or officials. The individuals and organizers focused on raising their visibility as experts or vendors of technology related products or using the hashtag to drive attention to unrelated businesses. By January 2022, 3 sources were suspended, 2 deleted by their owners, 18 were inactive, and only 12 remained as sources of technology tweets with many moving on to other related themes. Mentions

Another measure of influence is how frequently a user is referenced by others, and while a bot can disseminate many tweets, it is necessary for others to mention a source. Mentions are also a way for users to try to be seen by other influencers and to show association with leaders that reinforce their agenda and role as an influencer. In Table 28.2, we list the 26 most mentioned users of smart city hashtags that were noted by others more than 10,000 times. The top three mentions are all influencers in the broader tech realm who offer services around social media marketing. The remaining mentions are either events or influencers to which users are seeking to link their social media. The nano and microinfluencers actively generating smart city content on Twitter strategically include people and organizations who play a larger role in the technology/ consulting ecosystem as a way to expand their audiences and prominence. The results indicate the events and people seen as central to the smartcity universe as they are mentioned to further the reach of a specific tweet. As noted above, smart city influencers have a very narrow audience themselves, so must rely on developing a broader audience, both for their message as well as to augment their status within the influence sphere. One way to build an audience is engaging with leaders in a field who may then learn of an emerging influencer, or have content retweeted to a broader audience. There is little overlap between the list of smart city

360  M. Wilson, T. Decaminada, C. Darcy, and E. Kassens-Noor Table 28.2  Most mentioned entities in tweets containing #smartcities Top mentions (>10,000 times)

% of top mentions

Note

265,925 112,434 91,609 73,905 70,273 65,438

14.79% 6.25% 5.10% 4.11% 3.91% 3.64%

  7.  @jblefevre60   8.  @antgrasso   9.  @ipfconline1 10.  @wiomax

48,562 47,275 42,811 41,526

2.70% 2.63% 2.38% 2.31%

11.  @PleasureEthics 12.  @guidaautonoma 13.  @hashsmartcity 14.  @chboursin

40,234 38,928 36,852 34,311

2.24% 2.17% 2.05% 1.91%

29,247 24,151 23,721 20,130 17,532 17,236 16,970 15,400 15,313 11,299 10,705 10,370 1,222,157

1.63% 1.34% 1.32% 1.12% 0.98% 0.96% 0.94% 0.86% 0.85% 0.63% 0.60% 0.58% 67.98%

Michael Fisher is a paid technology influencer. Ronald van Loon a paid technology influencer. Evan Kirstel a technology influencer. Twitter account for the annual cloud expo event. Account for WIOMAX co-founder Xiao-Feng Xie. Mike Quindazzi works for PricewaterhouseCoopers about emerging technologies. Technology influencer Jean-Baptiste Lefevre. Technology influencer Antonio Grasso. IPFC Online is a European technology consultancy. One of the Twitter accounts for WIOMAX planning and technology consultancy. Marie Donelly, UK influencer of alternative living. Tweets largely about AVs and smart transportation. Suspended account. Christine Boursin (France) messaging about technology. Twitter account for the World Economic Forum. Influencer Enrico Molinari (Italy). Account for the smart city expo trade event. Influencer Karl A Smith. Deleted account. Influencer Mark Lynd. Technology blogger Ravi Kikan. ReadWrite is a technology news blog. Suspended account. Influencer Paula Piccard. Influencer Alvin Foo. Technology blogger Harold Sinnott. 67.98% of all mentions within the dataset

  1.  @Fisher85M   2.  @Ronald_vanLoon   3.  @evankirstel   4.  @CloudExpo   5.  @xfxie   6.  @MikeQuindazzi

15.  @wef 16.  @enricomolinari 17.  @SmartCityexpo 18.  @UserExperienceU 19.  @ThingsExpo 20.  @mclynd 21.  @ravikikan 22.  @RWW 23.  @ExpoDX 24.  @Paula_Piccard 25.  @alvinfoo 26.  @HaroldSinnott Total:

Count

influencers and mentions, with those mentioned being technology leaders in the wider realm than our focus on smart cities. Followers

In addition to generating tweets around smartcities and technology, another element of recognition is the power and authority of the people and entities that follow tweets and hashtags. Table 28.3 presents the top users by followers associated with smartcities. The smart city influencers themselves have few followers, but the topic itself can generate wider interest. These entities may have only occasionally been interested in the topic or distribute content because its newsworthy in the moment. Influencers value followers as it is a way to amplify their message, especially if a follower retweets a message to a large audience. The leading users who have tweets about smart cities have audiences in the millions. Megainfluencers with many followers fall into categories of news sources, politicians and governments, and technology firms, all of which play an important role in shaping the narratives of smartcities. Many of the sources are news sources that assemble and aggregate

Who speaks for smart cities?  361 Table 28.3  Influencers with the most followers that reference #smartcities Top 30 influencers

Follower count

Note

@FCBarcelona @detikcom @ArvindKejriwal

18,909,399 15,307,999 13,950,145

@PMOIndia @XHNews @timesofindia @ndtv @Metro_TV

13,121,131 11,726,476 11,023,243 10,852,290 10,472,773

@FCBarcelona_es @BJP4India @tvOneNews @Microsoft @lemondefr @TMCPoldaMetro @smritiirani @mcuban @muyinteresante @UN @abpnewstv

10,341,253 9,392,293 8,685,182 8,142,054 7,923,212 7,829,145 7,800,905 7,745,357 7,714,696 7,593,086 7,573,746

English Twitter account for FC Barcelona. Detikcom is a major Indonesian digital media company. The personal account for Arvind Kejriwal, Chief Minister of Delhi. Office of the Prime Minister of India, currently Narendra Modi China state media, Xinhua News. Major English news source for India. New Delhi Television Limited. Metro TV is an Indonesian free-to-air television news network based in West Jakarta. Spanish Twitter account for FC Barcelona. Twitter account for India’s Bharatiya Janata Party. Indonesian news network. Official Twitter account for Microsoft. Twitter account for Le Monde, a French news source. Traffic Management Center Jakarta Metropolitan Police. Indian politician named Smriti Z Irani. Twitter account for Mark Cuban. Spanish science magazine named Muy Interesante. Twitter account for the United Nations. Suspended account, formerly used by Indian television network ABP News. Website for the UK owned Guardian News group. Account for Anand Mahindra, Chairman of the Mahindra Group, India-based multinational manufacturer. Twitter account for Microsoft Windows. Twitter account for Indian news source, the Hindustan Times. Twitter account for Indian News source, The Hindu. Twitter account for UK businessperson Lord Allen Sugar. Twitter account for Felipe Calderón, former president of Mexico. Twitter account for Arun Jaitley, member of the Indian Parliament. Catalan Twitter account for FC Barcelona. Twitter account for Shivraj Singh Chouhan, Chief Minister of the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh. Corporate Twitter account for Intel.

@guardian @anandmahindra

7,219,527 6,747,519

@Windows @htTweets @the_hindu @Lord_Sugar @FelipeCalderon @arunjaitley @FCBarcelona_cat @ChouhanShivraj

6,265,460 6,262,940 5,567,289 5,476,360 5,422,966 5,335,861 5,330,915 4,927,753

@intel

4,800,989

information and data for use in reporting. News entities with millions of followers include @detikcom ­(Indonesian media corporation), @XHNews (China Xinhua News), @timesofindia, @ndtv (New Delhi TV), @Metro_TV of Indonesia, The Guardian, and @lemondefr (Le Monde of France). Among the political users of smartcities are @ArvindKejriwal (Chief Minister of Delhi), @PMOIndia (Prime Minister of India), @BJP4India (Bharatiya Janata Party of India), @smritiirani (Indian politician), and @FelipeCalderon (former President of Mexico). Related political entities would include the United Nations social media sources. These megainfluencers also follow many sources and have an interest in the modernity and policy aspects of smart cities, with countries such as India having major policies endorsing new technologies resulting in news interest in the subject. The third group of followers are technology firms and interests such as @Microsoft, @Windows, and entrepreneur Marc Cuban (@mcuban). One outlier that appears three times in the top 25 followers is FCBarcelona football club that appears under its English, Spanish, and Catalan variants.

362  M. Wilson, T. Decaminada, C. Darcy, and E. Kassens-Noor Conclusions Our analysis of the social media treatment of smart cities through use of associated hashtags (#smartcity and #smartcities) provides insights into the ways that innovation and new technologies are presented to a broad public. The media ecosystem associated with Twitter includes the sources of information or commentary (influencers), entities that are mentioned associated with smart cities, and those who follow smart city information and news. Social media are powerful forces used to shape agendas and actions that are increasingly recognized for their intentional use of information to sway opinions and shape perceptions. Findings from our analysis suggest that (1) influencers of smart city ideas tend to have interests aligned with a positive view of technology and the promotion of smart city technologies, with these interests linked to major news and information sources to extend their voice; (2) the ecosystem of smart cities very much talks to itself as ideas circulate among consultants, technology firms, and political interests that seek to develop smart cities. Ideas are not informed by debate or discussion but represent the presentation and acceptance of information in isolation, with little dissent appearing among the main sources; (3) significant by their absence are voices from residents, urban planners, city managers, and academics that have opinions about smart cities and represent a more critical perspective of innovation and implementation; and (4) a few users assisted by bots can have a major impact on the understanding of a topic if it is narrowly defined, allowing a few to have a loud voice telling their story of innovation. References Albino, V., Berardi, U. & Dangelico, R.M. (2015) Smart cities: Definitions, dimensions, performance, and initiatives, Journal of Urban Technology, 22(1), pp. 3–21, DOI: 10.1080/10630732.2014.942092 Alkhammash, E.H., Jussila, J., Lytras, M.D. & Visvizi, A. (2019) Annotation of smart cities Twitter microcontents for enhanced citizen’s engagement. IEEE Access, 7, pp. 116267–116276. Bao, P., Hua-Wei, S., Huang, J. & Chen, H. (2018) Mention effect in information diffusion on a microblogging network. PLoS One, 13(3) pp. 192–194. Beard, C. & Easingwood, C. (1996) New product launch: Marketing action and launch tactics for hightechnology products. Industrial Marketing Management, 25(2), pp. 87–103. Bosse, S. & Engel, U. (2019) Real-time human-in-the-loop simulation with mobile agents, chat bots, and crowd sensing for smart cities. Sensors, 19(20), p. 4356. Brachten, F., Stieglitz, S. & Berger, K. (2020) The Power of Bots: The Benefits and Pitfalls of Automation in Corporate Communications. Communication Insights. Akademische Gesellschaft für Unternehmensführung & Kommunikation, Leipzig Brosius, H.B. & Weimann, G. (1996) Who sets the agenda: Agenda-setting as a two-step flow. Communication Research, 23(5), pp. 561–580. Campbell, C. & Farrell, J.R. (2020) More than meets the eye: The functional components underlying influencer marketing. Business Horizons, 63(4), pp. 469–479. Castells, M. (1996) The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture (3 volumes) Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Chang, S., Wang, C. & Kuo, C. (2020) Social media influencer research: A bibliometric analysis. International Journal of Electronic Commerce Studies, 11(2), pp. 75–86. Chu, S.C. & Kim, Y. (2011) Determinants of consumer engagement in electronic word-of-mouth (eWOM) in social networking sites. International Journal of Advertising, 30(1), pp. 47–75. Darcy, C.H. (2022) Selling Technology: Influencing Perceptions of Autonomous Vehicles. Dissertation, Michigan State University. East Lansing MI. De Veirman, M., Cauberghe, V. & Hudders, L. (2017) Marketing through Instagram influencers: The impact of number of followers and product divergence on brand attitude. International Journal of Advertising, 36(5), pp. 798–828.

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364  M. Wilson, T. Decaminada, C. Darcy, and E. Kassens-Noor Sandberg, B. (2008) Managing and Marketing Radical Innovations: Marketing New Technology. London: Routledge. Sassen, S. (2013) Does the City have speech? Public Culture, 25(2 70), pp. 209–221. Sayyadiharikandeh, M., Varol, O., Yang, K., Flammini, A. & Menczer, F. (2020) Detection of Novel Social Bots by Ensembles of Specialized Classifiers. Proc. 29th ACM International Conference on Information and Knowledge Management (CIKM), pp. 2725–2732. https://dl.acm.org/doi/10.1145/3340531.3412698 Sekhon, T., Bickart, B., Trudel, R. & Fournier, S. (2015) “Being a Likable Braggart: How Consumers use Brand Mentions for Self-Presentation on Social Media” in Dimofte, C.V., Haugtvedt, C.P., & Yalch, R.F. (Eds.) Consumer Psychology in a Social Media World (pp. 51–67). New York: Routledge. Tähtinen, S. (2020) Motivational Factors of Social Media Influencers: The Context of Travel Influencers. University of Vaasa. https://osuva.uwasa.fi/handle/10024/10628 Thornbury, G.W. (1856) Art and Nature at Home and Abroad. Hurst and Blackett. van Twist, A., Ruijer, E. & Meijer, A., 2023. Smart cities & citizen discontent: A systematic review of the literature. Government Information Quarterly, 40(2) p. 101799. Vanolo, A. (2016) Is there anybody out there? The place and role of citizens in tomorrow’s smart cities. Futures, 82, pp. 26–36. Vertalka, J., Kassens-Noor, E. & Wilson, M.I. (2019). Data on sentiments and emotions of Olympicthemed Tweets. Data in Brief. 24, doi.org/10.1016/j.dib.2019.103869 Vinayakumar, R., Alazab, M., Srinivasan, S., Pham, Q.V., Padannayil, S.K. & Simran, K., 2020. A visualized botnet detection system based deep learning for the internet of things networks of smart cities. IEEE Transactions on Industry Applications, 56(4), pp. 4436–4456. Vrontis, D., Makrides, A., Christofi, M. & Thrassou, A. (2021) Social media influencer marketing: A systematic review, integrative framework and future research agenda. International Journal of Consumer Studies, 45(4), pp. 617–644. Wilson, M. & Corey, K. (Eds). (2000) Information Tectonics: Space, Place, and Technology in an Electronic Age. Chichester: Wiley. Wilson, M.I., Decaminada & Kassens-Noor, E. (2022) “Technology Talks: The Evolution and Rhetoric of #Smartcities” in Patnaik, S., Sen, S., & Ghosh, S. (Eds) Smart Cities and Smart Communities: Empowering Citizens through Intelligent Technologies. Singapore: Springer. Woolley, S.C. (2016) Automating power: Social bot interference in global politics. First Monday, 21(4). https://doiorg/105210/fmv21i46161 Wright, J.S. (1870) Chicago: Past, Present, Future. Chicago Board of Trade. Wylie, B. (2018) Searching for the Smart City’s Democratic Future. Centre for International Governance Innovation, 13. https://www.cigionline.org/articles/searching-smart-citys-democraticfuture?utm_ source=twitter&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=smartcityes&utm_content=adv-article-2 Yang, K.-C., Varol, O., Hui, P.-M. & Menczer, F. (2020) Scalable and generalizable social bot detection through data selection, Proceedings of the AAAI Conference on Artificial Intelligence, 34(01), pp. 1096–1103. doi: 10.1609/aaai.v34i01.5460 Yigitcanlar, T., Kankanamge, N. & Vella, K. (2021) How are smart city concepts and technologies perceived and utilized? A systematic geo-Twitter analysis of smart cities in Australia. Journal of Urban Technology, 28(1–2), pp. 135–154. DOI: 101080/1063073220201753483 Yuan, Y., Lu, Y., Chow, T.E., Ye, C., Alyaqout, A. & Liu, Y. (2020) The missing parts from social media– enabled smart cities: Who, where, when, and what? Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 110(2), pp. 462–475.

29

The new socio-spatial dimensions of creativity Theorising creative hybrid-places in the digital age Daniel de O. Vasconcelos

Introduction In William Gibson’s Neuromancer and Richard Morgan’s Altered Carbon – or cyberpunk literature in general – humans find themselves immersed in a hyper-technology reality that defies the limits of the organic body. Either by entering a bodiless cyberspace or transferring your consciousness to enhanced “sleeves” that grant you – well, at least if you’re rich – ­immortality, biology no longer solely delineates your humanity. This intimate relationship with digital technologies is, as provokingly stated by Katherine Hayles in How We Became Posthuman (2010, p. xiv), “so broad in its effects and so deep in its consequences that it is transforming the liberal subject, regarded as the model of the human since the Enlightenment, into the posthuman.” ­Hayles convincingly makes the case that our subjectivity cannot be understood without references to our corporeal experience in space (or the “medium”), which now finds no clear “demarcations between bodily existence and computer simulation, cybernetic mechanism and biological organism, robot teleology and human goals” (Hayles, 2010, p. 3). If that’s true, this raises an intriguing question: what about our creativity? If creativity throughout history meant the human faculty of combining our minds and bodies to produce new things, how creative is the posthuman? Have we become postcreative? Interestingly enough, the most common background where all the action in cyberpunk novels takes place is the enormous, dystopian metropolis, overcrowded by glassed skyscrapers and flying cars. Fiction or reality, cities are the cradle for digital technologies to evolve. But it is also where human creativity has flourished and continues to take new shapes (Florida, 2019). In our network society, digital codes create urban space since they are its “lifeblood” as the steam was for the industrial world (Dodge and Kitchin, 2004, p. 209), but it is creativity what puts form and meaning to them. There is a profound, though under-explored, nexus between creativity, digital technologies, and the urban environment. However, literature on the digitisation of creativity, when available, is markedly a-spatial (Pratt, 2013) and recurringly treats technology in monochromatic, deterministic ways. This chapter, therefore, provides a review of the literature and some theoretical insights into the debate on creative class/industries/cities by speculating about the new spatial dimensions of creative work as it is affected by digital technologies. It starts with an overview of the link between cities and digital technologies and how it affects creativity. The second part endeavours to investigate the opposite: how digitised creativity (or unbundled creativity) is changing the uses and preferences of urban spaces. Cities and digital technologies Technology has always been connected to urban development (Yigitcanlar, 2016). Great innovations and knowledge that had transformed into various forms of technological applications DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-33

366  Daniel de O. Vasconcelos originated in cities that offered a conducive environment for the exchange of ideas, decent infrastructure and resources, and a relatively “turbulent” – not stagnant – socio-political landscape (Hall, 2000). But cities, too, have dramatically changed as new technologies were applied to streets, buildings, gardens, and people themselves. The urban fabric suffered great sprawl in the twentieth century, for instance, due to new transportation technologies that allowed greater mobility to and from work, places of leisure, and home. Streets became larger to fit more cars while buildings grew taller to fit more people. As technologies evolved throughout the centuries, cities multiplied in population size and economic complexity to become the centres of human activity. How have urban areas been affected by digital technologies? Some “digital utopians,” mesmerised by the potential of these technologies to subvert space, had prophesied the transcendence of distance or the death of cities (Graham, 1998). In this line of thought, agglomerations of people would eventually become redundant and Frank Lloyd Wright’s dreams would have been realised in the form of the “electronic cottage.” However, as Marvin (2020) eloquently argues in When Old Technologies Were New, similar assumptions were put forth in the past by those who, for example, saw the telegraph as a technology capable of eliminating distance. A common mistake between now and then, Graham and Marvin (2002, p. 22) note, is that “the tendency of newer networks to overlie and combine with, rather than replace, earlier networks is often forgotten.” Digital technologies are, therefore, embedded in a complex assemblage of urban infrastructures, social practices, and symbolic meanings. Rather than killing the city, advancements in digital technologies have reinforced urbanisation and given rise – along with other factors – to the network society and its knowledge economy (Castells, 2010b). It is a dualspace society where the Internet rises as a “master technology” that mediates virtually all social processes (Kellerman, 2019). In his seminal writings, Castells (2002, 2010a, 2010b) laid down a theory of informationalism as the bedrock of today’s urbanised society. Digital technologies, in the form of information and telecommunication technologies (ICT), would thus intertwine knowledge and information and enable new spatial dynamics where major metropolitan areas gain prominence and “continue to cumulate innovation-inducing factors and to generate synergy” (Castells, 2010b, p. 421). Cities – and, especially, global cities – become “nodal points” that connect industries, infrastructures, and people through the space of flows and in line with the spatial requirements of “technocratic-financial-managerial elites” (Castells, 2010b). According to Castells, ICTs, since their rise in the 1970s, enabled not only mobility but mainly “perpetual connectivity” (Castells, 2010b). Taking Castells’ concepts of “space of flows,” “timeless time,” and the culture of “real virtuality,” Dodge and Kitchin (2004, p. 198) conclude that digital codes and spaces are “mutually constituted, wherein how the space is used and produced is predominantly mediated by code, and the code and its data exist in order to produce the space and its attendant spatiality.” Urban areas are, in this manner, increasingly dependent on digital codes, which control accessibilities, mobilities, and connectivity among digitally mediated things and people. The possibility of digital codes to produce space engendered deep transformations both at the city scale and the individual level (the latter being discussed in the next section). Technological innovations, such as the miniaturisation and commodification of digital devices and networks (Mitchell, 2000), the emergence of big data (Kitchin, 2014), the Internet of Things (IoT), cloud computing, and advanced telecommunications, led private entities – IBM as a p­ recursor – and the scholarly literature to call for smart cities (Cocchia, 2014; Kitchin, 2014; Mosco, 2019; Batty, 2020). Kitchin and others (Kitchin, 2014) have referred to these technologies as the ­“everyware:” “pervasive and ubiquitous computing and digitally instrumented devices built into the very fabric of urban environments” (Kitchin, 2014, p. 2). Urban spaces are now not only overwhelmed by the digital networks capable of providing real-time data “that can be used to

The new socio-spatial dimensions of creativity  367 better depict, model and predict urban processes” (Kitchin, 2014, p. 2). They are also ensnared in a technocentric discourse of “smart cityism” (McQuire, 2021) which is embedded in a “long line” of imaginaries that urban life can – and should – be measured, predicted, and regulated (Mosco, 2019). Although one part of the literature sees the smart city as the conjunction of ICTs with human capital and institutional improvement (Cocchia, 2014; Kitchin, 2014), there is an unmistakable bias toward conceptualising the “smartness” of the city by quantifying its “everyware” prowess. The “recursive interaction” of digital technologies and cities has indeed brought about “new landscapes” of economic development, innovation, and cultural interactions (Graham, 2002; Castells, 2010b), but it also created new geographies of exclusions (Graham, 2002; Graham and Marvin, 2002). Digital technologies reinforce the splintering of urban infrastructures ­(Graham and Marvin, 2002) and are themselves shaped by pre-established forms and processes that superimpose, intertwine, and hybridise “architectures of physical and cyber-space” (Mitchell, 2000, p. 44). According to Mitchell (2000), new technologies are loosening “place-to-place” and “person-to-place” contiguity requirements, de-localising interactions, and making them asynchronous. This goes in line with Graham and Marvin’s (2002) concept of infrastructural bypass, in which new flows of information and goods “bypass non-valued places” since they rely on unbundled infrastructures dispersed within and among cities. This intrinsically relational, co-evolutionary process engenders the reorganisation of urban space in unpredictable, complex ways. How do digital technologies affect creative work? Mangematin et al. (2014, p. 3) are categoric about the advent of digital technologies: “No set of industries has felt this impact more than the creative industries: that set of sectors bound together through a reliance on the value of symbols and aesthetics.” It is common ground that creative work has gone through a digital disruption over the past decades (Mangematin et al., 2014; Hearn, 2020). Even the “founding fathers” of the creative cities framework (Hall, 2000; Landry, 2000; Florida, 2019) acknowledged – though not central to their argument – that digital technologies deeply affected creativity. Richard Florida contends, for instance, in the new edition of The Rise of the Creative Class that the “internet, personal computers, and mobile phones, were transforming our jobs, lives, and communities” (Florida, 2019, p. vii), contributing to a “time famine” that extends our workday and mixes life, leisure, work, and rest (Florida, 2019, p. 127). But he still considered the rise of creativity as an “even deeper and more fundamental force” in today’s post-industrial society (Florida, 2019, p. vii). To him, the Internet and other new technologies were associated with the overhaul of some traditional creative sectors, but, on the other hand, they have accelerated job growth in a myriad of digital-intensive creative occupations. Equally optimistic, Landry noted that “the convergence of artistically based industries with computer communications and their cross-fertilisation through digitalisation has made them the drivers of the new economy” (Landry, 2000, p. 137). Moreover, Landry emphasises the importance of locality even in a cyber world, where the Internet has boosted the density of communication and connections and, therefore, blazed the trail for new forms of creativity. Likewise, Peter Hall observes that the “marriage between arts and technology” in the twentieth century (Hall, 2000), particularly in the movie industries, triggered mass production and market-led consumption, but which was only possible in a “special kind of city” in “economic and social flux” (Hall, 2000, p. 648). But just so far. The subsequent literature took a great effort in highlighting the flaws of the creative class/industries/cities narrative but was at odds with the digital

368  Daniel de O. Vasconcelos component. According to Mangematin et al. (2014, p. 3), “Creative industries research in the past has tried to understand the paradoxes or tensions inherent in creative work […] However, the role of digital technology as a mediator of these variables and in particular its disruptive effects on established forms of creative production and consumption is rarely explicitly addressed in these debates.” If the “creativity canon” were overly optimistic about the “marriage” between creativity and technology, there were those who bashed the idea by raising a rather pessimistic – sometimes even apocalyptic – argument against digital technologies. These “posthuman Luddites” emphasised how digital technologies catalysed the already present capitalist forms of precarity and commodification (Huws, 2007; Timberg, 2015), on the one hand, and the “dumbing down” of people’s urban life (Sennett, 2019), on the other. Scott Timberg, in Culture Crash: The Killing of the Creative Class (2015), does not find digital technologies as the sole culprits of the downfall of the creative class but agrees with Andrew McAfee and Erik Brynjolfsson’s thesis in Race Against the Machine in that emerging technologies might replace the “redundant” workforce threatened by automation. On a deeper level, digital technologies accelerate the turnover of ideas (Huws, 2007), subjecting the creative work to the same processes as industrial-like chain work – what Holford (2019) has dubbed “digital Taylorism.” In the digital era, Holford argues, the high turnover of creative work is underpinned by imaginaries of efficiency and maximisation of production, but such approaches “fail to recognize the unique and inimitable characteristics of human creativity and its associated tacit knowledge” (Holford, 2019, p. 143) – after all, is an artist that paints twice as fast as their peer, twice as creative? In a similar vein, some authors have drawn attention to how digital technologies distract and prevent people from the full experience of their surroundings – and, by extension, of their subjectivity – by replacing them with digital gadgets and media (Halegoua, 2018). Richard Sennett (2019) finds that “smart” solutions in urban spaces might, in fact – and ironically – be “dumbing down” city dwellers. In his line of thought, “friction-free tech” has “a notorious sideeffect on people’s experience,” where “all thinking, not just creativity, suffers when resistance is minimized technologically” (Sennett, 2019, p. 155). Sennet thus agrees with John Dewey in that “resistances and obstacles [are] creative spurs:” “The existence of resistance defines the place of intelligence in the production of an object of fine art” (Quoted in Sennett, 2019, p. 155). However, their valid arguments notwithstanding, much of such pessimistic views toward creativity and technology take a close to deterministic or Manichaean stance. They usually think of this interaction as a human versus machine clash instead of a deeply relational phenomenon in which digital technologies are invariably extended parts of our bodies (Mitchell, 2000, 2003; Gandy, 2005; Hayles, 2010; Hine, 2015; Haraway, 2016). Creativity takes new shapes in a recursive interaction, to borrow Graham and Marvin’s term, with digital technologies, space, and culture. It is the rise of what I call unbundled creativity. Unbundled creativity is creative workers’ coping mechanism for the posthuman conditions of precarity in informational capitalism – see Figure 29.1. The first and most evident feature of unbundled creativity is its functional dependence on digital technologies. It is enabled by flexible production (Castells, 2010b) with different combinations of time, space, tools, and processes across the creative value chain, but at the same time, digitised creative workers deal with techno-infrastructural requirements that constrain their creativity according to levels of technological accessibility and availability. Differently from the past, many tasks within the creative value chain depend on digital technologies, but they are not always available anywhere (which will be further explored in the next section). Second, digitised creative workers are in “perpetual connectivity” (Castells, 2010b) with infinite sources of information and stimuli. Unbundled creativity, therefore, deals with hyper-unpredictability, since the creative industries, which were

The new socio-spatial dimensions of creativity  369

Figure 29.1  The features of unbundled creativity. Source: Author.

already deemed unpredictable (Caves, 2000), are catalysed by the unpredictability of the Internet and other digital technologies themselves (Mitchell, 2000; Yigitcanlar, 2016). Third, as noted, digitised creative work demands a rapid turnover of ideas due to its commodification (Mitchell, 2000; Huws, 2007) and simultaneity (Castells, 2010b). This forces creative workers into a culture of endless creative labour centred around reproduction rather than creation. One main implication is that a defining feature of creative industries, “arts for art’s sake” (Caves, 2000), cedes to emerging trends of instant, permanent consumption and, thus, digitally mediated creative production hardly escapes the marketised imperatives of the creative economy. Fourth, unbundled creativity is more individualistic, in the sense that, increasingly, creative workers are in a “dynamic partnership” (Hayles, 2010) with machines. Caves’ (2000) idea of collaboration, therefore, suffers significant changes according to how symbiotic certain creative occupations are with digital technologies. This is related to the final aspect, the fact that creativity takes diverse forms of embodiment and subjectivities as digitised creative workers – in themselves organically and culturally diverse – are now heterogenous, contextual assemblages of technology combinations and organic parts in virtual and physical spaces. As a result, creative work is now “logically, spatially, and temporally discontinuous” (Mitchell, 2003, p.  15) and fragmented across its value chain, deeply intertwined and dependent on digital technologies, and highly unpredictable in its reverberations for the body, culture, economy, and space. Although various aspects of everyday life are not digital (Hine, 2015), such as smell, touch, and other sensory stimuli in face-to-face interactions, unbundled creativity emerges with new spatial dynamics and working practices under the guise of the “techno-creative habitus” (Foord, 2013). Unbundled creativity and the built environment: Unfolding creative hybrid-places Building on the work of Bourdieu (2013) and Scott (2010), Foord (2013) develops the concept of “techno-creative habitus” in reference to a digital cluster in East London, a “semi-sticky but highly porous locale,” and is based on the “tastes, housing needs and work practices of a relatively, small, highly educated, elite and globally mobile workforce” (Foord, 2013, p. 59).

370  Daniel de O. Vasconcelos However, if we understand “habitus” as culturally ingrained habits and tastes determined by social context (Bourdieu, 2013), this techno-creative habitus is also, and increasingly, for reasons outlined above, the reality of (digitised) creative workers. Unbundled creativity is embedded in socio-economic systems highly affected by digital technologies, as we have seen, and this shapes the body, mind, and social action: it, therefore, transforms spaces for creative production. How have unbundled creativity and the techno-creative habitus been spatially reproduced? Some previous research, which did not necessarily target creative workers, have already alluded to how “information technology has greatly contributed to the freeing of work from one ‘fixed’ place” (Reuschke and Ekinsmyth, 2021, p. 2179). Mitchell (2003, p. 31) claims that digital modernity has brought upon us a “radical de-localization of our interactions with places, things, and one another.” Wireless networks and other digital technologies have not only dwindled “place-to-place” contiguity requirements, he goes, but also “created an additional degree of spatial indeterminacy” with loose “person-to-place contiguity requirements” (Mitchell, 2003, p. 143). He concludes that the “workplace could fragment” since mobile workers would appropriate “multiple, diverse sites as workplaces” (Mitchell, 2003, p. 153). In a similar vein, Halford (2005) proposed that we looked at “hybrid workspaces” as emerging spatial arrangements of office and home connected by virtual networks. She found that different work environments were related to diverse working practices, tasks, and experiences of place. These ideas have propelled further investigations on “multi-locational workplaces” (Di Marino and Lapintie, 2017; Burchell et al., 2021; Shearmur, 2021). To Di Marino and Lapintie (2017), many planning approaches – the creative city framework included – are still “based on the concept of the functional city” (Di Marino and Lapintie, 2017, p. 7), whereas in many respects, the functions and possibilities of space use overlap – often in unpredictable ways – in the “postfunctionalist city.” They highlight the role of Information and Communication Technologies in blurring private, semi-private, and public spaces, which are thus mediated by virtual networks and form different modes of spatial accessibility. Most research on the digitisation of creative workers that takes the built environment into account adapts Oldenburg’s (1999) seminal work on “third places” for the digital era, emphasising the emergence of co-working spaces (Moriset, 2013; Durante and Turvani, 2018; Merkel, 2019; Grazian, 2020; Morgan, 2020) and ancillary spaces of work (Martins, 2015), while a few others investigate new housing forms, such as co-living environments (Bergan et al., 2021). For Durante and Turvani (2018), co-working spaces are the “physical platform” for digitised highskilled, knowledge workers, contributing not only to job creation but also affecting the built environment by re-utilising industrial buildings, developing creative districts, and attracting other activities (Durante and Turvani, 2018). On the other hand, they also shed light on the precarity of the digitised work based on short-term contracts, freelancing, and flexible workplaces that are typically found in such spaces (Durante and Turvani, 2018; Merkel, 2019), which is the “price to pay” for their enabling of “serendipity” (Moriset, 2013). Co-working spaces are reminiscent of other “third spaces” that creative workers frequented even before the advent of the Internet (Moriset, 2013). With the digital twist, however, these ancillary places (Martins, 2015) extend the workplace and form a network of places mediated by (types of) digitised work. At cafes and other “(semi)public spaces,” Martins (2015, p. 143) contends, “density needs to be balanced with competing needs such as space availability, relative density of particular groups and work atmosphere.” Martins (2015, p. 125) thus concludes that “place and specific spatial conditions matter for the operation” of creative and digital industries. These intense negotiations with space according to tasks to be executed and the technological requirements along the creative production chain function to unleash unbundled creativity and

The new socio-spatial dimensions of creativity  371

Figure 29.2  A representation of creative hybrid-places. Source: Author.

are related to the unfolding of creative hybrid-places – see Figure 29.2. Place is, according to Zook and Graham (2007, pp. 467–468), “a spatial parameter or setting for human existence and interaction […] constituted by material and virtual social processes.” In this line of thought, a creative hybrid-place is a complex virtual-material spectrum where creative activities mediated by digital technologies stretch through time and space, encompassing living spaces, traditional workspaces, ancillary spaces, and virtual spaces. The creative hybrid-place blurs the boundaries of these spaces, which are mutually constituted by digital affordances and unbundled creativity. In this sense, creative hybrid-places assume temporary creative functions when “code” succeeds (Dodge and Kitchin, 2004): they are used as digitally integrated, creative workspaces in order to cater for unbundled creativity’s discontinuity. They are hybrids not only because material and virtual spaces overlap but also due to their post-functional character, which intermingle primary with secondary spatial functions. Potentially, thus, every place that satisfies the technological and functional requirements of one’s creative production could be converted into temporary creative hybrid-places. For digitised creative workers dealing with unbundled creativity, the cityscape has transformed into a latently ubiquitous workplace. In this manner, digital technologies allow the multi-location of work, as many proposed, but they also constrain certain tasks to structurally adequate spaces. Although there are overlaps among creative spaces, they are not entirely interchangeable, so each creative hybrid-place will assume specific functions and produce different working practices and spatial experiences (Halford, 2005). Ancillary spaces, such as cafes, restaurants, public parks and libraries, shopping malls, etc., are more adequate for creative work whose function demands only “soft” and/ or “temporary” techno-creative requirements. They are used, for instance, in conjunction with laptops and smartphones to execute tasks that also require less focused attention. Often, only light digital infrastructure is provided by these spaces, whereas their “public” character prevents the individual, and permanent, installation of techno-creative infrastructure. Traditional workspaces, on the other hand, are prone to satisfy “hard” and/or more “permanent” techno-creative requirements. Computer units that run powerful software, 3D printers, stage installations, studio

372  Daniel de O. Vasconcelos infrastructure, etc., are not easily transferred through spaces. Traditional workspaces also facilitate collaboration when needed, so they still form an essential pillar of creative work. Finally, living spaces are arguably the most uncertain spaces among creative hybrid-places. The “intrusion” of digital technologies and work into the home reverts an industrial-era adaption of live/ work arrangements (Mitchell, 2000, 2003), in which “the ideal home was previously imagined as private, long term and secure, and a reprieve from work” (Bergan et al., 2021, p. 3). Unbundled creativity colonises creative workers’ homes with temporary – sometimes long-term – techno-spatial adaptations for creative production. Infrastructure matches longer occupations of space, but it ultimately depends on the creative workers’ requirements and their relative discontinuity with other creative hybrid-places. As Mitchell (2000, p. 30) speculated, inhabitation is taking on new meanings for creative workers. As potentially ubiquitous workplaces, creative hybrid-places are composed of spaces of possibilities for the reproduction of endless creative labour. They are points in space where creative workers are able to connect and integrate fragmented, dispersed tasks for creative outputs. These places are, however, very contextual in that their constitution depends on the specific combinations of digital technologies – “Dig. Tech. Bundle” in Figure 29.2 – and functions each creative worker requires and to what extent unbundled creativity typifies their creative production. Moreover, creative hybrid-places are, of course, embedded in recent trends of digitally induced, neoliberal urban development (Graham and Marvin, 2002; Castells, 2010b), so they are also spatial adaptations for a type of creative work that is increasingly digital, flexible, discontinuous, and uncertain, which applies more consistently to urban economies of global cities and great metropolitan regions. Finally, they make the clustering of creative activities even more complex, as co-location is no longer a precise metric for multi-locational, hybrid work in postfunctional creative spaces. Concluding remarks As Gandy (2005, p. 37) pinpoints, “the technological sophistication of the contemporary city has led towards an intensification of the dependence and co-evolution between urban societies and urban technological networks.” This is no different for the creative field: creative production is now taking new shapes and meanings due to its intermingling with digital technologies. I have argued that this has led to the rise of unbundled creativity, a form of creativity that is flexible and discontinuous, produces new subjectivities, and promotes endless creative labour. Creative hybrid-places are thus the spatial reproductions of unbundled creativity, an assemblage of spaces integrated by digital technologies that support different tasks and requirements of creative production. This process is reshaping spaces and the meanings we attach to them, but there are still many gaps in the literature worthy of further investigation. The scholarly literature fails to account for the specific technological combinations each creative sector – or group of creative workers – require. A technology inventory, for example, is essential when researching creative work and its spatial manifestations. Furthermore, while attention has been given to offices and public space transformations, there is a dearth of studies that centre on living spaces. How is the home changing and adapting to the techno-creative habitus? In fact, few studies attend to changes in space itself, paying more attention to behaviours and meanings without taking space – and the production of place – into account. Lastly, hybrid, multi-locational, post-functional creative work is still barely acknowledged in the literature – and most notoriously absent in Census data. Thus, this chapter provides a framework for initial insights into the transformations of creative work at the beginning of the twenty-first century, which could be signalling a new paradigm of spatial uses and meanings in city life.

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30

Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in the built environment Jennifer Whyte and Dragana Nikolić

Introduction With the growing interest in digital twins and data analytics to understand the long-term consequences of the interventions in the built environment, new questions arise about how to visualize future built environments and engage diverse people in shaping them. Augmented reality (AR) offers an enhanced version of the real world, overlaying digital information onto it through a transparent display or real-time video stream. Virtual reality (VR) creates a digital copy of a real or proposed world and enables an immersive experience with rich interaction. When we revised the book Virtual Reality and the Built Environment (Whyte and Nikolić 2018), we were interested in how AR and VR technologies are becoming used to collaboratively visualize existing built environments and show the dynamics of their operations, and to inform applications in the planning, design and construction of interventions into built environments. Since then, strong interest in these technologies has remained, with a set of reviews outlining the research and applications in construction and the built environment (Davila Delgado et al. 2020; Zhang et al. 2020; Albahbah et al. 2021). Our own recent work has sought to further explore how VR can support the understanding of long-term consequences through more systematic and interdisciplinary approaches to creating sustainable built environments (Nikolić and Whyte 2021) and to take a critical lens, interested in the unintended as well as intended outcomes. In this chapter we examine the Creativity-Built Environment nexus in relation to the potential of AR and VR to democratize design by making built environments and future proposals more accessible. We draw on a strong trajectory of recent research on the impact of AR and VR on creativity and design across a range of design domains, including industrial design (Obeid and Demirkan 2020) and construction and built environment applications (Gu and Amini Behbahani 2021; Paes et al. 2021). Interactive technologies, such as AR and VR, being independent from any professional disciplines, can potentially offer a platform for the diverse sets of people to engage in a creative and collective envisioning of the desired futures. Yet, this potential of AR and VR to support a playful and creative design and inquiry often gives way to more rehearsed, reductive, and narrow applications contained with individual disciplines and with little crosspollination of knowledge and experiences. We build on an idea of democratizing design that suggests that “To change the industry so that it can relinquish substantial control of the design process depends on appropriating new technologies and applying them in innovative ways” (Ewart 2018: p. 330). We make the case that there is potential for using these technologies within the built environment to understand longterm and systemic consequences, to collaborate across the diverse disciplines and to co-develop built environments with the sets of people that have interests in particular places. In the following sections, we review the state-of-the-art research on AR and VR for creative visualization DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-34

Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in built environment  377 and playful design in the built environment. We discuss and critically reflect on frameworks and approaches for innovative ways of using AR and VR for creativity in the built environment and the practical challenges, and conclude with future directions of research. AR and VR and the built environment: State of the art Recent research on AR and VR in the built environment seeks to flexibly combine data-sources and to display multiple forms of dynamic or behavioural as well as static data. This is a significant advance in earlier research, which required substantial effort in preparing models that were predominantly focused on displaying the geometry. There are many recent reviews of AR and VR in the built environment published in the last five years, which synthesize and develop insights across a wider set of individual studies. Table 30.1 shows examples of recent reviews. Schiavi et al. (2022) argue that this existing literature focuses on VR in the design phase, AR and VR in construction phase and AR in the FM phase. Such reviews are focused primarily on construction, where construction safety arises as a major application under research. Albahbah et al. (2021) describe safety management as the main application of VR and AR. Following a broader review, Schiavi et al. (2022) focus on construction safety applications and BIM data flows; while Zhang et al. (2020) also identify safety as an area of application. As well as education (Zhang et al. 2020; Albahbah et al. 2021) other application areas identified for both AR and VR include visualization; communication and data acquisition; scheduling and project progress tracking (Albahbah et al. 2021); architectural and engineering design; human behaviour and perception, construction project management and construction equipment (Zhang et al. 2020), with applications for AR including defect and quality management and facility management (Albahbah et al. 2021). Davila Delgado et al. (2020) focus on industry adoption (using both a review and a survey), finding drivers for adoption include improving project performance, company image and performance, and bolstering R&D, arguing this adoption is limited by the perception of immature technologies; non-technical issues (e.g. accessing knowledge and advice); special requirements for implementation; and by the sector structure and client-contractor dynamics. Across these reviewed literatures, some individual studies continue to evaluate the benefits of VR in specific cases using well-established methods of user tests and individual interviews (Truong et al. 2021), emulating a style of research that has been ongoing since the first author’s PhD conducted more than 20 years ago (Whyte 2000). However, there are also new strands in the research literature that relate the use of AR and VR to the changing technological landscape that is leading to greater integration across stages of delivery, and is bringing diverse stakeholders together. Areas of interest arising in these recent literatures include:

• The increasing focus on dynamic data: Given the phenomenal growth in the volume of data

used in planning, designing, and constructing built environments, there is a renewed need to consider how built environments are visualized through such combinations of dynamic data. The recent work has a notable focus on flexibly combining data-sources and displaying multiple forms of dynamic or behavioural as well as static data. This is a significant advance from early work in VR that required substantial effort in preparing models that were predominantly focused on displaying the geometry. • Integrative and interdisciplinary applications: Enabled by dynamic data streams, which raise the potential to combine diverse kinds of engineering modelling to understand tradeoffs and behaviours in visual displays, work is beginning to explore how we can use these

Authors

Focus

Approach

Main findings and directions for further research (where specified)

Albahbah et al. (2021)

Construction project management

Review of the research on VR and AR applications

Schiavi et al. (2022)

BIM data flows to AR and VR

Systematic literature review

Zhang et al. (2020)

Built environment

Review and bibliometric analysis of the research literatures

Davila Delgado et al. (2020)

Industry adoption of AR and VR in construction

Review of the research; focus groups and an online questionnaire

Nikolić and Whyte (2021)

Built environment and future of VR

Conceptual paper

Mollazadeh and Zhu (2021)

Biophilic design using virtual environments

Due to the scarcity of research, this is based on a review of research that uses virtual natural settings in various domains

Identified applications: construction safety management (51% VR, 36% AR), visualization; communication & data acquisition; education; scheduling and project progress tracking (VR & AR); defect & quality management, and facility management (AR). Outlines different design review applications, and argues that existing literature focuses on VR in the design, AR and VR in construction phase and AR in the FM phase before focusing more narrowly on construction safety applications and BIM data flows. Architectural and engineering design (30%); construction project management (22%); human behaviour and perception (17%); construction safety (14%); engineering education (9%); and construction equipment (8%) were identified as topics. Proposed research directions: user-centred adaptive design, attention-driven virtual reality information systems, construction training systems incorporating human factors, occupant-centred facility management, and industry adoption. Adoption driven by improving performance in projects; company image; company overall performance and R&D and limited by perception of immature technologies; non-technical issues (e.g. accessing knowledge and advice); special requirements for implementation; sector structure and client-contractor dynamics. Integrating vision of VR for promoting conversations across disciplines is challenged by the reality of VR use in the built environment that tends to be largely disciplinespecific and has seen inconsistent results, with opportunities for VR use for environmental design; landscape architecture; engineering design; and operations and maintenance. Articulates how we can use these technologies to span disciplinary boundaries and integrate and make sense of diverse data to impact the designing and understanding of a more sustainable world. Argue that virtual environments can support the study of biophilic design by including features that combine biophilic patterns, provide multimodal sensory inputs, simulate stress induction tasks, support the exposure time to observe biophilic patterns, and measure human biological responses to the natural environment. Limitations include experience dimensions, user-related factors, cybersickness, navigational issues, and possible limitations of sensory input.

378  J. Whyte and D. Nikolić

Table 30.1  Focus, approach, findings, and directions for further research in selected recent reviews of AR and VR and its implementation in construction and the built environment

Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in built environment  379 technologies to extend beyond narrow applications in individual disciplines to span disciplinary boundaries, integrate and make sense of diverse data to impact the designing and understanding of a more sustainable world (Nikolić and Whyte 2021), for example in recent work on virtual environments and biophilic design (Mollazadeh and Zhu 2021). • Ethical questions: No less important are the ethical questions raised by emerging applications. VR in the domain of entertainment has long offered a respite from a reality that is not under our control, especially in times of pandemics, climate change, disasters, and wars. In gaming and leisure applications, VR can be a haven that is relatively under our control or in which there are few consequences of our actions. Such applications offer some guidelines for both AR and VR to be also used in ways that can explain and shape reality, and rehearse interventions into the built environments in which we live, work, and play, but also suggest some of the unintended aspects and ethical questions that may need attention to implement and make use of AR and VR in creatively exploring and designing future built environments. • VR, AR, and Construction 4.0/5.0: Though not yet realized, there is a potential growth in machine learning to identify patterns in this data, with a suite of Industry 4.0 and 5.0 technologies and ambitions around the use of digital twins for built environments. Such work on AR and VR in the built environment can also be informed by wider studies, and the conclusions drawn in the above reviews resonate with a general review of extended reality (including AR and VR), which identifies design as a major application, alongside remote collaboration and training, and notes the lack of consistent hardware and software and relatively low uptake (Vasarainen et al. 2021). AR and VR in creativity and design There is a strong trajectory of recent research on the impact of AR and VR on creativity and design across a range of design domains, including industrial design (Obeid and Demirkan 2020) and construction and built environment applications (Gu and Amini Behbahani 2021; Paes et al. 2021). While such work focuses both on virtual reality as a medium with intuitive interfaces to enable creativity; and as a means to study creativity (Yang et al. 2018; Chen et al. 2022; Wang et al. 2022), we will focus on the former in this section. These “VR enabling creativity” studies highlight and explore topics such as the pervasive use of immersive and non-immersive VR in design studios (Obeid and Demirkan 2020), with recent studies in this area summarized in Table 30.2. While there are far fewer literature reviews and synthetic papers in this area, significant advances are made across this work. The papers in Table 30.2 are illustrative of the experiments in the recent literature that explore the link between the use of specific VR configurations and the creative thinking and design work. Studies typically indicate that technologies such as immersive VR can support complex and creative activities through increased motivation, attention, and flow state. Paes et al. (2021) find that immersive systems improve 3D perception and provide a more immersive experience and argue this benefits collaborative design review and increases productivity. Obeid and Demirkan (2020) find immersive systems facilitate design process creativity more than the non-immersive ones. Lee et al. (2021) find immersive VR design tool enables flexible cognitive action and activates physical and perceptual action. Graessler and Taplick (2019) find that users designing in the virtual environment highly rate functions for inserting objects and sketching, but for idea generation preferring functions to change environments and load object configurations. As well as the above work that compares immersive and non-immersive VR configurations, there are also several studies that start to explore the creative

380  J. Whyte and D. Nikolić Table 30.2  Focus, approach, findings, and directions for further research in selected recent experimental studies of AR and VR and its implementation in creativity and design Authors

Focus

Approach

Main findings and directions for further research (where specified)

Paes et al. (2021)

Comparison of users’ spatial perception of virtual model (of a building) using different VR systems Immersive and non-immersive VR in design studios

Controlled experiment using survey questionnaires

Immersive systems are found to improve 3D perception and provide a more immersive experience (controlling for individual factors and order effects). The authors expect this to benefit collaborative design review and increase productivity. Immersive systems are found to facilitate design process creativity more than the non-immersive ones, with a positive strong correlation between motivations and creative flow a weak correlation between spatial ability and flow. Immersive VR design tool “activated physical and perceptual action in design cognition and enhanced flexible cognitive action amongst different cognitive action levels compared to the 2D digital design”. Some differences were found in mood, interventions, and peak performance, but no statistically different results.

Obeid and Demirkan (2020)

Lee et al. (2021)

Cognitive action and creativity in design

Fillingim et al. (2021)

Physical walking versus movement only in VR

Graessler and Taplick (2019)

Supporting design guidelines and VR functionalities

Experiment with first-year basic design students, half in immersive VR, half not immersive Study of fashion designers, experimentally comparing immersive VR and 2D digital design undergraduate industrial design studio used to study design Experiment with industrial design students using the “Sensory stimulation technique”

Suitability is task related, with users designing in the virtual environment highly rating functions for inserting objects and sketching, but for idea generation preferring functions to change environments and load object configurations.

impacts of specific aspects of VR, including interaction, physical movement, and sensory stimulation (e.g. Lee et al. 2021). Areas of interest arising in recent literatures include:

• Novel forms of interaction: VR and AR offer ways to extend experiences beyond the real

world and immerse users in new ways for viewing and interacting with data. Types of interactions that do not have their real-world analogue, alongside the immersive and imaginative characteristics of VR (Gavish et al. 2015), have also been recognized as important aspects that can support creativity (Thornhill-Miller and Dupont 2016; Graessler and Taplick 2019). • Engaging diverse people in the conversation: There is substantial innovation in the interfaces used creatively (Heller 2018), with significant experimentation in design conceptualization and in design review, where the questions arise about how to visualize and engage diverse people in the conversation about what future built environments should be like. Maftei and Harty (2021) indicate how participants use of VR in design review alters their understanding of design, indicating features of proposed features that have not been appreciated in other media. • The role of VR for creative decision-making or for legitimating narratives: Pickersgill (2021) provides a more critical voice, surfacing difference between the promised capability of VR

Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in built environment  381 and needs in the design process, arguing that a less-recognized aspect of the VR experience is in creating legitimating narratives for a design proposition. These differences between VR and the real world are also highlighted in work on sustainability, with a recent paper noting that: “Although immersive technology has evolved significantly, its fidelity to the natural setting is still low, and a real experience in nature should be favored over its virtual equivalent” (Fauville et al. 2020). • Rapidity of content generation: One aspect in the new tools that enables increased use for creative decision-making is the ability to rapidly create content. Early applications of VR focused on aspects such as the “walkthrough”, enabling clients and end-users to navigate models and experience the interior of a building before it was built. Such applications required models to be built, with added lighting when possible, but the VR user would move through a relatively static environment, which took substantial time to build and given the computing performance requirements was often located in a research facility or office. More recent work has enabled engineers to generate models more rapidly, while more portable visualization equipment allowed VR applications to move from academic facilities into construction offices (Nikolic et al. 2019). • Potential to show alternatives: The implementation of AR and VR is growing in the built environment disciplines, although the extents of their use remain conservative and focused on representing intended “reality” during the design. The readability of the technology can thus be a double-edged sword, bringing challenges as well as opportunities to understand longterm and systemic consequences, with possible misunderstandings or misrepresentations, and a danger of becoming locked-in to envisioning one future too quickly. Yet, the focus of AR and VR applications in the built environment has undoubtedly been on presenting ever more “real” information, a pursuit that may not always yield desirable outcomes or at times can be even misleading (Whyte and Nikolić 2018). Here, there is real potential for creative solutions that share multiple options and stimulate broader consideration of futures. • Scaling up and down and recognizing the partial nature of representations: As all representations of futures are inherently partial, the questions about how such representations rather than seducing, can instead engage citizens in visualizing and realizing preferred futures, become pertinent. Previous research pointed to the importance of representations having some level of abstraction in order to focus design inquiry onto topics of concern (Whyte and Nikolić 2018). Shared view points and viewing perspectives in visualization are also important, where participants may find it hard to collaborate creatively if, for example, some users view a model from above while others experience it at eye level within the environment (Leigh et al. 1996). Examples such as these raise questions about how to scale up and down, either through the buildings, neighbourhoods, and cities within which people live, work, and play or through the infrastructure systems that support these localities, such as the transport, water, and energy networks. We observe that the developments in software libraries, VR plugins, as well as growth in computing power and consumer price-point for related equipment, all have enabled substantial recent experimentation in the creative use of VR in the design of the built environment, with results not only published in research journals, but also showcased by practitioners on social media. While the studies above focus on VR for design, examples from the technology and gaming industry offer rapid developments in interactive platforms with often playful approaches to user interaction. For example, Google’s Daydream Labs has been experimenting with creating whimsical tools for use out of their typical contexts, such as a virtual drum kit that used HTC Vive controllers as drumsticks (Doronichev 2016) and observed that people are good at

382  J. Whyte and D. Nikolić discovering new ways of interacting with virtual objects. Other more recent examples include AR sandboxes as a dynamic educational tool and an interface for learning about geoengineering, with recent research having developed an extendable Open AR sandbox (Wellmann et al. 2022). These examples illustrate how AR and VR can be powerful and engaging platforms that encourage users to interact with information in novel ways. Discussion While the research we review provides exciting examples of AR and VR use for creative work, the potential of interactive technologies for informing future changes in the built environment remains unrealized, limited by professional and institutional ways of working. We see the potential for using these technologies within the built environment, particularly to understand longterm and systemic consequences, to collaborate across the diverse disciplines and to co-develop built environments with the sets of people that have interests in particular places. There are frameworks and approaches for using AR and VR for creativity in the built environment suggested in the above literatures, yet we see many of these as inadequate to support a playful and creative design inquiry with a focus on more rehearsed, reductive, and narrow applications contained with individual disciplines and with little cross-pollination of knowledge and experiences. The combination of data-sources in the virtual environment is enabling designers and other professionals to have access to multiple forms of engineering data from across disciplines, and to use this creatively. We see a broader set creative opportunities for AR and VR use across domains (Nikolić and Whyte 2021):

• environmental design, e.g. for behavioural change, dynamic growth/change visualization, and resource use simulations;

• landscape architecture, e.g. for dynamic site change simulation and scene visualization over time;

• architecture, e.g. for design development, evaluation, design reviews, and design marketing; • engineering design, e.g. for design testing and review, (dis)assembly, operations training; • construction for sequencing, e.g. clashes, site logistics, equipment operations, and site access; and

• operations and maintenance, e.g. for design reviews and operations training. AR has the obvious advantage of situating the user in the real world, where the future of places can be imagined. However, there are also significant creative uses of VR. For example, the development of online games that teach inhabitants about resources, consumption, or planning suggests ways VR can be developed into dynamic and interactive environments where users can see the consequences of their actions and decisions. Two ongoing research projects include codeveloping an approach to the modelling and visualization of water and housing to support collaborative planning applications (Ricco Carranza et al. 2022), and linking diverse forms of data to support collaborative construction through a construction production control room (Farghaly et al. 2021). Both projects focus on supporting collaborative visualization and, for that reason, use large screen displays to enable the collective sensemaking leading to better decisions in the real world. Challenges for AR and VR are associated not only with current technology development but also with human-centric issues. Users’ engagement through participation, such as in design processes, is one of the key open challenges (Victorelli et al. 2020). Improving user participation is required in both the data use (in terms of better understanding) and production

Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in built environment  383 (in terms of quality improvement) cycles (Locoro 2015). VR and AR allow access to data in a smooth and natural way based on both tangible and verbal interaction to convey knowledge to the end user and to ensure actionable insights that improve decision-making (Olshannikova et al. 2015). Thus, AR and VR systems can demonstrably support collaboration through improved communication and access to information for all the stakeholders, regardless of their technical background. At the same time, these technologies still tend to be largely viewed as off-the-shelf, pre-defined, and thus monolithic, often not examined through the lens of their distinct attributes that form an array of configurations from augmented reality to virtual reality, (non-)stereoscopic, (non-)immersive, as well as from single-user head-mounted displays (HMD) to multi-user large projection-based systems. As a result, applications of VR often reveal the tension between the potency of the medium to support users in visualizing information and the elusiveness of VR solutions to consistently realize the above said benefits. Conclusions With the growing interest in digital twins and data analytics to understand the long-term consequences of the interventions in the built environment, new questions arise about how to visualize and engage diverse people in shaping future built environments. Though current applications remain conservative, developments in other fields suggest the potential to use AR and VR in a personal way, in the playfulness of the designers’ own process, and also in broader processes of collaborating across the diverse disciplines and to co-develop built environments with the sets of people that have interests in particular places. Take aways are the need to consider: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

The opportunities of increasing focus on dynamic data; The potential of integrative and interdisciplinary applications; The emerging ethical questions; The role of VR and AR and a construction Industry 4.0/5.0; How diverse people are engaged in the conversation; The role of VR for creative decision-making rather than legitimating narratives; The new creative opportunities of rapidity of content generation; The new creative opportunities to show and consider alternatives; and The challenges of scaling up and scaling down and showing uncertainties in data.

There is hence a call to action to apply AR and VR technologies in innovative ways to democratize design by making built environments and future proposals more readable. At the start of the chapter, we drew on Ewart (2018) to describe how this is required to relinquish control in ways that make design more participatory. This is important because, though there are studies that offer exciting examples of AR and VR use for creative work, unconstrained by professional and institutional ways of working, practical applications continue to lag in realizing the potential of interactive technologies for informing future changes in the built environment. There are a number of future directions in examining the reciprocal relations between creativity and built environment. These include extending work on the way the adoption of VR and AR systems for data interaction changes cognitive processes in visualization, analysis, and participatory activities warrants. While VR and AR offer powerful and novel ways to engage allied built environment disciplines in shared conversations, their use remains largely confined within individual disciplines, bound by discipline-specific tools. For interdisciplinary practice, integrating increasingly diverse data sets not only requires overcoming issues

384  J. Whyte and D. Nikolić of interoperability but understanding salient content and technology features for the intended users to evaluate longer term consequences of relevant decisions. This would also allow for an exploration of methodologies to measure the performance of VR/AR systems in a more consistent manner. AR and VR, in many ways, can offer users experiences that enrich, expand, and surpass those of the real world. Yet, in built environment practice, fewer studies have focused on the nature of VR interaction beyond the basic capabilities of navigating and walking through a space (Nikolić and Whyte 2021). The ability to experience an environment in novel ways, such as to teleport, fly, jump between various viewpoints, change the appearance of the environment, and build scenarios that transcend time and space, is what makes AR and VR compelling technologies, and yet, remain largely unexplored in practical applications. References Albahbah, M., Kıvrak, S. and Arslan, G. (2021) Application Areas of Augmented Reality and Virtual Reality in Construction Project Management: A Scoping Review. Journal of Construction Engineering, Management & Innovation 14: 151–172. Chen, Y. C., Chang, Y. S. and Chuang, M. J. (2022) Virtual Reality Application Influences Cognitive Load-Mediated Creativity Components and Creative Performance in Engineering Design. Journal of Computer Assisted Learning 38(1): 6–18. Davila Delgado, J. M., Oyedele, L., Beach, T. and Demian, P. (2020) Augmented and Virtual Reality in Construction: Drivers and Limitations for Industry Adoption. Journal of Construction Engineering and Management 146(7): 04020079. Doronichev, A. (2016) Daydream Labs: Exploring and Sharing VR’s Possibilities. Https://Blog.Google/ Products/Google-Vr/Daydream-Labs-Exploring-and-Sharing-Vrs/. Ewart, I. J. (2018) Humanising the Digital: A Cautionary View of the Future. Sustainable Futures in the Built Environment 2050. J. C. T. Dixon and S. Green, John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.: 325–335. Fauville, G., Queiroz, A. C. M. and Bailenson, J. N. (2020) Virtual Reality as a Promising Tool to Promote Climate Change Awareness. Technology and Health 1: 91–108. Fillingim, K. B., Shapiro, H., Reichling, C. J. and Fu, K. (2021) Effect of Physical Activity through Virtual Reality on Design Creativity. AI EDAM 35(1): 99–115. Gavish, N., Gutiérrez, T., Webel, S., Rodríguez, J., Peveri, M., Bockholt, U. and Tecchia, F. (2015) Evaluating Virtual Reality and Augmented Reality Training for Industrial Maintenance and Assembly Tasks. Interactive Learning Environments 23(6): 778–798. Graessler, I. and Taplick, P. (2019) Supporting Creativity with Virtual Reality Technology. Proceedings of the Design Society: International Conference on Engineering Design: 1(1): 2011–2020. Gu, N. and Amini Behbahani, P. (2021) A Critical Review of Computational Creativity in Built Environment Design. Buildings 11(1): 29. Heller, L. (2018) Crafting Virtual Reality. Virtual Creativity 8(2): 189–202. Lee, J. H., Yang, E. and Sun, Z. Y. (2021) Using an Immersive Virtual Reality Design Tool to Support Cognitive Action and Creativity: Educational Insights from Fashion Designers. The Design Journal 24(4): 503–524. Leigh, J., Johnson, A. E., Vasilakis, C. A. and DeFanti, T. A. (1996) Multi-Perspective Collaborative Design in Persistent Networked Virtual Environments. Proceedings of the IEEE 1996 Virtual Reality Annual International Symposium, IEEE, Santa Clara, CA. Locoro, A. (2015) A Map Is Worth a Thousand Data: Requirements in Tertiary Human-Data Interaction to Foster Participation. Proceedings of Third International Workshop on Cultures of Participation in the Digital Age - CoPDA 2015, Madrid, Spain, May 26th, 2015. Maftei, L. and Harty, C. (2021) Surprise: Challenging Design Perceptions in Immersive Virtual Reality Environments? The Case of Designing a Hospital Project Using a Cave (Cave Automatic Virtual Environment). Archnet-IJAR: International Journal of Architectural Research 15(3): 887–904.

Augmented and virtual reality and creativity in built environment  385 Mollazadeh, M. and Zhu, Y. (2021) Application of Virtual Environments for Biophilic Design: A Critical Review. Buildings 11(4): 148. Nikolić, D. and Whyte, J. (2021) Visualizing a New Sustainable World: Toward the Next Generation of Virtual Reality in the Built Environment. Buildings 11(11): 546. Nikolic, D., Maftei, L. and Whyte, J. (2019) Becoming Familiar: How Infrastructure Engineers Begin to Use Collaborative Virtual Reality in Their Interdisciplinary Practice. Journal of Information Technology in Construction 24: 489–508. Obeid, S. and Demirkan, H. (2020) The Influence of Virtual Reality on Design Process Creativity in Basic Design Studios. Interactive Learning Environments 31(4): 1841–1859. Olshannikova, E., Ometov, A., Koucheryavy, Y. and Olsson, T. (2015) Visualizing Big Data with Augmented and Virtual Reality: Challenges and Research Agenda. Journal of Big Data 2(1): 1–27. Paes, D., Irizarry, J. and Pujoni, D. (2021) An Evidence of Cognitive Benefits from Immersive Design Review: Comparing Three-Dimensional Perception and Presence between Immersive and Non-Immersive Virtual Environments. Automation in Construction 130: 103849. Pickersgill, S. (2021) Wish You Were Here: Virtual Reality and Architecture. In Virtual Aesthetics in Architecture, Eds: S. Eloy, A. Kreutzberg, and I. Symenonidou Routledge: 34–42. New York, NY. Ricco Carranza, E., Mijic, A. and Whyte, J. (2022) Co-Creating Virtual Design Rooms for Planning of Water Resources and Housing Development. EGU General Assembly 2023, Vienna, Austria, 24–28 Apr 2023: EGU23-17338, https://doi.org/10.5194/egusphere-egu23-17338, 2023. Schiavi, B., Havard, V., Beddiar, K. and Baudry, D. (2022) Bim Data Flow Architecture with AR/VR Technologies: Use Cases in Architecture, Engineering and Construction. Automation in Construction 134: 104054. Farghaly, K., Soman, R. and Whyte, J. (2021) Visualizing real-time information through a construction production control room. Proceedings of the 2021 European Conference on Computing in Construction, 2: 415–422, July 26–28, 2021, Online eConference. Thornhill-Miller, B. and Dupont, J.-M. (2016) Virtual Reality and the Enhancement of Creativity and Innovation: Under Recognized Potential among Converging Technologies? Journal of Cognitive Education and Psychology 15(1): 102–121. Truong, P., Hölttä-Otto, K., Becerril, P., Turtiainen, R. and Siltanen, S. (2021) Multi-User Virtual Reality for Remote Collaboration in Construction Projects: A Case Study with High-Rise Elevator Machine Room Planning. Electronics 10(22): 2806. Vasarainen, M., Paavola, S. and Vetoshkina, L. (2021) A Systematic Literature Review on Extended Reality: Virtual, Augmented and Mixed Reality in Working Life. International Journal of Virtual Reality 21(2): 1–28. Victorelli, E. Z., Dos Reis, J. C., Hornung, H. and Prado, A. B. (2020) Understanding Human-Data Interaction: Literature Review and Recommendations for Design. International Journal of Human-Computer Studies 134: 13–32. Wang, Y. Y., Weng, T. H., Tsai, I. F., Kao, J. Y. and Chang, Y. S. (2022) Effects of Virtual Reality on Creativity Performance and Perceived Immersion: A Study of Brain Waves. British Journal of Educational Technology 54: 581–602. Wellmann, F., Virgo, S., Escallon, D., de la Varga, M., Jüstel, A., Wagner, F. M., Kowalski, J., Zhao, H., Fehling, R. and Chen, Q. (2022) Open AR-Sandbox: A Haptic Interface for Geoscience Education and Outreach. Geosphere 18(2): 732–749. Whyte, J. (2000) Virtual Reality Applications in the House-Building Industry. Doctoral Thesis, Loughborough University, UK. Whyte, J. and Nikolić, D. (2018) Virtual Reality and the Built Environment. Routledge, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY. Yang, X., Lin, L., Cheng, P.-Y., Yang, X., Ren, Y. and Huang, Y.-M. (2018) Examining Creativity through a Virtual Reality Support System. Educational Technology Research and Development 66(5): 1231–1254. Zhang, Y., Liu, H., Kang, S.-C. and Al-Hussein, M. (2020) Virtual Reality Applications for the Built Environment: Research Trends and Opportunities. Automation in Construction 118: 103311.

31

Virtual reality and desiring-production Peter Raisbeck and Michaela Prunotto

Introduction Virtual Reality can be situated within a libidinal economy of desiring-production within the Built Environment. Virtual Reality (VR) immerses the user in a digital setting, often through a head-mounted device and sometimes haptic controllers. Similarly, Augmented Reality (AR) superimposes digital information onto real-world settings; hundreds of AR applications are available today through smartphones (Anderson & Rainie, 2022). VR and AR constitute rapidly developing visualisation technologies for architects, planners, and construction managers. For Built Environment experts, envisaging the creative use of such technology ensures the viability of urban spaces. For architects, beyond the tokenistic use of VR as a shiny toy to impress clients, VR promises future imaginaries of the city that addresses urban inequalities—ushering in new ways of apprehending space and facilitating ex-ante and ex-poste spatial perspectives. This chapter pursues the idea that developments in VR and AR, as applied to cities, can be understood as part of a libidinal economy. Thinking about VR this way centres human creativity and its drives as a function of desire and a part of what Deleuze and Guattari (1977a) describe as desiring-production. This approach positions Built Environmental knowledge across a libidinal economy. Deleuze and Guattari’s ideas point to a complex terrain of critical interpretation and ideas at different scales. There are different levels of entry into this corpus of work. For example, Berressem (2020) relates Schizoanalysis to Guattari’s later notions of the ecological (p. 52). In contrast, Abrahams (2019) focuses specifically on assemblage theory—as articulated in A Thousand Plateaus—by analysing the components of a building. Alongside these disparate interpretations, we offer a preliminary discussion of VR applications in the Built Environment and the concept of VR as a constructed desiring-machine. This approach disrupts existing avenues of thought concerning Built Environment technologies (such as BIM or AI) and innovation. In Episode 1, Season 6 of the acclaimed television series The Good Fight (2017–2022), the fictional search engine company Chumhum develops a VR application and Metaverse. In the episode, a woman sues Chumhum over a sexual assault she suffered in this world, entering with a headset and haptic suit. Initially, the lawsuit is not taken seriously, partly because the Metaverse is not the physical world; however, the judge is persuaded to wear both headset and haptic suit to put himself—arguably—in a similar position as the female victim. As a result of this exercise in empathy, he rules in the victim’s favour and blames Chumhum’s lawyers for victim shaming. This thorny narrative suggests that VR is a conduit for human drives, providing an equivalent yet charged space for violence, empathy, and social justice—not to mention the resultant legal, ethical, and monetary implications. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-35

Virtual reality and desiring-production  387 This example establishes how VR production is the desire to remake the real, an aspiration that has been playing out since stereoscopes of the 1800s and has made its way through to the non-digital View Masters, low-tech Google cardboard goggles, and VR head-mounted devices of today (Harley, 2022). Harley notes that this history exposes the Reality that VR is a phenomenon that has, ironically, been framed and reframed through cycles of innovation. Harley (2022, p. 2) then argues that this process of reframing privileges a ‘colonial and exclusionary language of “pioneering” expansion’ that is employed to attract developers who are mostly white, young, and male. This cyclical framing—this marketing—seduces the passive adoption of false innovation for the sake of being spuriously ‘cutting edge’ rather than offering new political futures. Harley’s thoughts about VR and AR point to the dangers of writing about creativity, innovation, and new digital technologies in the context of this book; a first impulse is to argue that VR and AR enhance creativity, conferring on expert users such as architects or planners new capacities for utopic world-building. In reality, the application of these technologies—as simulations of the past and future—is much more complicated. VR, if left unquestioned, may codify or even exacerbate existing architectural and societal structures. VR and historical spaces

The use of VR to shift our perception of space, particularly historical space and associated interpretations, is evident in the experience of one co-author—in Domus Aurea located on the Oppian Hill in Rome. Domus Aurea was Emperor Nero’s Golden Palace and was built after the great fire of 64 AD. After the fire, Nero sought to rebuild the city, building a palace as part of this vision: Domus Aurea was completed in 68AD. It included a lake and a monumental statue in the likeness of Nero himself. Historians have interpreted and depicted Domus Aurea as an over-scaled monument, a Roman equivalent of Albert Speer’s Nazi gigantism. However, for contemporary visitors, the VR simulation in the underground fragment of Domus Aurea suggests something different. Instead, the simulation alludes to an architecture of preeminent civility; pastoral views across Rome; a language focused on fine materials versus crass ornamentation; an integration of structure with light, being the major innovation of Nero’s architects that notably he chose to employ. Through the effects of VR, this co-author’s perception shifted to encompass a new reading of Rome. Nero’s Golden Palace was no more monumental than the palaces on the nearby Palatine Hill. Arguably, through VR, it can now be apprehended that Nero’s palace embodied a new form of civil urbanism. Once the palace was built, Nero reportedly said: ‘and now finally I can live like a man [human]’ (Yegül & Favro, 2019, pp. 240–242). The above narrative points to the increasing use of VR in the architectural heritage arena and the creative potential of these technologies to both recover and shift historical narratives and shape architectural historiography. Within galleries and museums, new digital practices through VR have been seen to increase the public’s engagement with collections (Lewi et al., 2020). For example, VR was used by the Art Gallery of NSW in the King Henry VIII VR exhibition— providing visitors with ‘an engaging experience’ (Yip et al., 2019). The exhibition developed a sensorial VR experience around a painting of Henry VIII, developing an understanding of the world in which the painting was created and its ‘object life.’ The VR installation acted as a time portal transporting visitors into a reconstruction of a 16th-century London artist’s workshop. And then, somewhat incongruously, the VR users were ‘teleported’ to ‘a particle accelerator to view unique images produced at the Australian Synchrotron’ (Yip et al., 2019, p. 345). This juxtaposition of virtual time and space recalls Latour and Lowe’s (2010) argument that VR might ensure the auratic migration of a work of art—maintaining its original aura—through sensations of physical, temporal, and immersive presence.

388  P. Raisbeck and M. Prunotto Multi-disciplinary perspectives on VR creativity and innovation Architecture and VR

For architects, creating design knowledge is central to the design process. Since the beginning of this millennium, methodologies of creativity have been associated with digital modes of design—for example, parametric design. This digital turn in architecture has seen the rise of the idea of Design Research as a means to create new knowledge and innovation. Design Research is found in design studio practices but has also been aligned with normative definitions of research as ‘original investigation undertaken to gain knowledge and understanding’ (Lawson, 2002, p.109; Raisbeck, 2019, p. 87). However, simply reiterating design is research does not make it so, especially if normative infrastructures of research such as peer review, Design Research methodologies and design are rarely debated and communicated (Raisbeck, 2019, p. 89). Built Environment practitioners not trained in the architectural design studio might find the above methodological viewpoints baffling. Nonetheless, guided by Design Research, architects have embraced various digital design practices, including parametrics, virtual environments, computational design, robotics soundscape design, and studies in digital cultures and affect. Alongside the above, Spiller (2021), the editor of the prestigious journal Architectural Design, writes that VR can revolutionise architecture by providing new sensory experiences. In the November 2021 issue of Architectural Design, the more pragmatic and immediate notions of VR and AR in architecture and urbanism are articulated. This is done under the banner of Entertainment Architecture with the contribution of the founder of the Archigram group Sir Peter Cook. In doing so, the issue explores ideas of events and entertainment in the architecture of the 1960s with Archigram’s Instant City project of 1968 and Cedric Price’s Fun Palace. Increasingly seeing VR and architecture’s various publics—either museum users or inhabitants of inner cities or suburbs—as audiences. In this vein, space itself becomes an arena of theatrics and performance and, more worryingly: In Augmented Reality, the city is mostly empty – a blank canvas on which to transcribe architectures, responsive to individual points of view at varying scales, times, and durations. (Spiller, 2021, p. 11) A recent survey of VR technologies in architecture is presented in the Virtual Aesthetics in Architecture; Designing in Mixed Realities compendium (Eloy et al., 2021). The compendium is an important survey of VR in architecture and includes numerous case studies by influential and emerging architects. This compendium includes the history of VR and AR in Architecture (Achten, 2021, pp. 16–22) and a discussion of so-called cybernetic aesthetics in the work of the parametric architects Zaha Hadid (Kinzler et al., 2021, pp. 34–46). The editors provide a comprehensive overview of VR in architecture by exploring the ‘aesthetic paradigm these technologies bring to the discipline’ (Eloy et al., 2021, p. 14). Yet, much of this compendium is hyperbole: The editors proclaim that VR and AR as immersive technologies with the potential to ‘reshape’ architecture by providing a new digital interface for ‘visiting, experiencing, sharing, and evaluating the designs, datasets, models, and increasingly data-rich buildings that result from the design process’ (Eloy et al., 2021). In the compendium, Guembe and Hernández (2021, p. 53) explore how VR might reshape how we think about zoos and the posthuman condition. This project entitled Mille-oeille (a riff on the French title of Deleuze and Guattaris’ Mille Plateaux) was exhibited at the 2018 Venice Architecture Biennale. Mille-oeille is a speculative creation, a VR techno-architecture

Virtual reality and desiring-production  389 alternative to the zoo. Guembe and Hernández (2021, p. 53) use VR aims to move beyond anthropocentrism, sharing a sensitivity to vitalist materialism and the posthuman condition drawing on the work of Braidotti, arguing that posthumanism must embrace ‘science and technology studies, new media and digital culture, environmentalism and earth sciences, biogenetics, neuroscience and robotics, evolutionary theory, critical legal theory, primatology, animal rights, and science fiction’ (Braidotti cited in Guembe and Hernández 2021, p. 53). In this proposal, VR enables the choreography of a ‘bio-techno-future’ paralleling a ‘human-animal-nature-culture continuum,’ and the zoo becomes a garden of earthly delights; achieving the aim of reinventing subjectivity, and actualising a new relational subject within nature and culture (Guembe & Hernández, 2021, p. 58). Each Mille-oeille or VR zoo bubble is distributed across the globe, and all are linked together. These bubble worlds, echoing Frei Otto’s 1960s architectural experiments with soap, will, through ‘foaming,’ bring together a global data network (Guembe & Hernández, 2021, p. 55). Construction innovation and VR

In marked contrast to the imaginaries of architects, construction researchers appear to have taken a less creative approach to VR. In construction research, VR has been seen as a way to mitigate risks through all phases of design and construction. This risk focus is pursued through a bundle of theories and methodologies focused on positivist and quantitative research oblivious to social theories of a libidinal economy. Zhang et al. (2020), in a bibliometric survey of VR and Built Environment journals, conclude that future research should focus on industry adoption, training, VR information systems, adaptive design, and facilities management. Few of these studies focus on the adoption of VR in construction supply chains. As Zhang et al. (2020) indicate, VR construction research privileges a few predominant pathways: Lovreglio et al. (2022) employed VR to examine the trade-offs people make when evacuating a building fire. Zhang et al. (2022) developed a Technology Acceptance Model to understand why VR was not widely accepted in construction training. Potseluyko et al. (2022) developed a BIM-based VR tool to create a ‘game-like’ environment enabling people to frame timber in self-build housing. Bao et al. (2022) explored VR’s ability to simulate hazardous areas on construction sites, enabling workers to visualise these sites before attending the site. These researchers developed a cross-platform framework using Industry Foundation Classes (IFCs) and WebXR; allowing the simulation could be widely accessed via the Internet rather than from limited purpose-built locations and dedicated rooms. An approach that points to the hopes attached to a nascent technical maturity of VR in construction. Underlining this research, Khalili (2021) developed a prototype method to translate geometric and semantic data between BIM and VR. This process was achieved by translating Extensible Markup Language (XML) extracted from BIM and converting this data and information to IFC files. In doing so, it was claimed that VR capabilities included an entire range of real-time review parameters: design parameters of material, texture and dimensions, structural loads, R-value, and clashes (Khalili, 2021, p. 103424). The focus on safety training, decision-making, education, and the ability to use VR visualisation to enhance data exchange and clash detection may appear attractive. However, these efforts belie the difficulty of implementing these innovations. Interoperability between software programs and platforms is a continuing narrative in construction (and architectural) research. Hence, a critical issue in integrating VR with BIM models, especially given the widespread use of BIM in construction. While there is the dream of a hybrid VR-BIM digital twin, the technical aspects of data exchange between BIM and VR are problematic—both complicated and

390  P. Raisbeck and M. Prunotto time-consuming. Nonetheless, IFC research too often suggests a seamless operability when this is not the case (Noardo et al., 2019). VR research methodologies in construction innovation may benefit from applying a sociospatial lens. For example, prolific literature in construction on safety training—where most workers across the globe are male—remains indifferent to this very statistical inequality. To draw a comparison with an entirely separate industry, as Kalagas (2021) has identified, L’Oréal recently developed an AR tool branded as Modiface and launched ‘its first line in Virtual makeup,’ called Signature Faces. A quick Google Images search of ‘Modiface’ reaps exclusively images of female-identifying users modelling or testing the product. This comparison may describe that when apoliticised, VR may reinforce traditional gender stereotypes or, at the very least, be inert in promoting social change. The contrast between VR safety training in construction and the AR cosmetics industry raises the question: What if, in addition to safety training, VR was used to empower women in construction or to promote positive industry/on-site culture around gender diversity? Bernard Stiegler, the social and political philosopher of technics, decried in a 2005 manifesto the rise of Industrial Populism (Stiegler, 2014). For Stiegler, Industrial Populism is our era’s prevailing consumerist and techno-economic tendency (Ross, 2022). Stiegler examines the relationships between human faculties and the technologies of advanced hyper-industrial economies. For Stiegler, technologies such as VR are devices of ‘communication’ that consume ‘brain-time,’ leading to a form of capitalism that is represented as being at times either ‘cultural’ or ‘cognitive’ or sometimes both. For example, the Henry VR exhibition promotes cultural knowledge in tandem with forming the participant’s intellect regarding history and technology (the synchrotron). For Stiegler, Industrial populism is, taking part in each technological evolution to turn consciousness, that is the seat of the spirit, into a simple reflex organ: a brain reduced to an ensemble of neurons, such as those controlling the behaviour of a slug. (Steigler, 2014, p. 10) Stiegler also develops the idea of the Pharmakon, which has philosophical lineage both in Plato and Jacques Derrida. In the introduction to Stiegler’s The Neganthropocene, Stiegler’s collaborator Daniel Ross summarises the concept by noting that the Pharmakon concept suggests that technology, in the Anthropocene, is ‘poisonous and curative, requiring both a toxicology and a therapeutics’ (Ross, 2018, p. 24). Planning perspectives and VR

For planners, VR might be spuriously understood as the ultimate anti-racist and anti-sexist ‘empathy machine’ that can fuel new modes of e-governance and participation. The phrase ‘empathy machine’ was coined in Milk’s (2015) dated TED Talk. Milk describes the showing of a VR film at the World Economic Forum in Davos and shares a slide of white men in corporate garb, wearing VR headsets: And these are people who might not otherwise be sitting in a tent in a refugee camp in Jordan. But in January, one afternoon in Switzerland, they suddenly all found themselves there. (Applause) And they were affected by it. (07:35–09:00) (Milk, cited in Murray, 2020)

Virtual reality and desiring-production  391 Milk has since been criticised by those who argue that the efficacy of VR in promoting actual behaviour change is scant; they claim that the novelty of VR wears off fast (Murray, 2020). No critiques, however, are more incisive than Nakamura (2020), who calls out VR’s most popular (libidinal) applications: video games and porn. The subsequent response by developers has been to ‘cleanse’ VR’s image with the portrayal of a virtuous, empathetic VR. Nakamura dismantles Milk’s conception of VR empathy as a thing rooted in toxic re-embodiment. Hence, creating affects through VR may not always be desirable. Nakamura points to the limits of VR induced empathy and affects generated through VR immersion: Modeling the experience of stigmatised identity as something others can temporarily opt into is not only a profound insult to those who live with challenges that cannot be simulated (Nakamura, 2020, p. 54) While VR may be a tool for those urban theorists who call for greater creativity in planning practice to enhance social justice (Phelps, 2021), it is a double-edged tool that must be wielded with the utmost care and sensitivity. In alignment with Nakamura (2020), VR should not be measured by how it makes people feel but rather by how it activates political agency. Alongside the ethics of embodiment in VR applications, data is also a central issue for VR in participatory planning. The prototype platform developed by Porwol et al. (2022) enhanced participant experience by linking AI behavioural data to a VR platform to extract live interactive data in real time. Hence, VR technologies, in tandem with AI, data governance, and analytics, might extend existing text-based platforms of e-participation, such as blogs, forums, chats, and other social media communications (Porwol & Ojo, 2019). Porwol and Ojo (2019) argue that VR holds the opportunity to create e-participation platforms that would increase the trust that might match face-to-face communication—in doing so, possibly counter networks of political misinformation. Coproduction methods are also seen to be enhanced using VR. VR, it is argued, can extend Coproduction and co-design beyond the early design stages of a project. (Dorta et al., 2019) created and tested a VR framework and process that generated ‘mature design proposals’ via ‘physical models and immersive virtual representations.’ Inevitably, this framework leads to the coproduction promises of VR engendering the dream of smart cities. In smart cities, VR technology enables consultation and involvement of citizens, in turn creating a self-reinforcing ecosystem. To spell it out: data is extracted from participatory processes, then organised as information, in turn producing knowledge; shaping and reshaping the smart city in endless cycles of Coproduction. However, as Castelnovo (2019, p. 2) argues, the danger of this approach is that ‘a supply-driven government push approaches that consider citizens mainly, if not exclusively, as potential users of the services delivered by the city’—rather than a demand-driven bottom-up approach to participation. Virtual manifestations of participation in the urban realm are, arguably, to culminate in a nascent yet growing metaverse experienced through VR. The Metaverse is a virtual world inhabited by ‘avatars’ (virtual selves) who interact, make purchases, and build their identities and status. This Metaverse is a ‘massive market’ with lots of ‘creative opportunities’ and is understood as an immersive intersection between video games and social media (Coelho, 2022). In the Metaverse, architects won’t require construction knowledge; they will require an understanding of human anthropology in digital space. Within the Metaverse, the definition of architect and also urban planner is blurred to encompass tech entrepreneurs, coders, software developers,

392  P. Raisbeck and M. Prunotto hackers, and digital artists. In this way, the disciplinary expertise and knowledge of architects and urban planners may well erode. IKEA place and IKEA disobedients

In 2017, the Modem Office for Design and Innovation developed a new AR app for IKEA called IKEA Place. IKEA Place, in a stroke of software and marketing genius, allowed prospective customers to creatively and virtually ‘try out’ furniture in their homes and offices in three dimensions to scale. IKEA claimed this would help customers find ‘just the right size, design and functionality for [their] room’ (IKEA Place). However, IKEA Place’s seemingly creative mechanics is problematic when read against the work of the cultural theorist Gerald Raunig. Raunig’s (2013) book Factories of Knowledge Industries of Creativity views the conjoining of industry and creativity as a contradictory exercise. Raunig claims that concepts of creativity, specifically those related to the creative class and industries, exhibit an inflexible discourse of industrialisation, despite a rhetoric of creativity. (Raunig, 2013, pp. 111, 119). IKEA’s proclamation to ‘Be Creative!’ belies the self-exploitative and contradictory paradigm of the IKEA Place app: the IKEA catalogue describes itself as being popular as the Bible vs the app imploring users towards creativity. The fallacy is that as prospective buyers drop sofas, tables, and chairs into their living rooms in the blink of an eye, they are also complicit in an extractive system driven by both economic imperatives and the manipulation of the ‘creative consumer’s’ desire. In contradistinction to IKEA Place, Andrés Jaque’s Office for Political Innovation had, in 2012, developed IKEA Disobedients. Although this project did not explicitly adopt VR or AR technologies, it reappropriated IKEA’s transmedia strategy to ‘empower alternative domesticities, where otherness and engagement are encountered’ (Jaque, 2020, p. 183). This project, which comprised online movies, pop-up showrooms worldwide, and the ‘hacking’ of IKEA products, had a broader activist agenda: to galvanise social and political capital and prevent the eviction and privatisation of Lavapiés social housing in Madrid. Here, we may apply Easterling’s (2021) conception of Medium Design: the notion that space itself, ‘an exclusive mixing chamber,’ is the medium of design. The conception of Medium Design proposes an activist, multi-scalar practice enabling Built Environment practitioners to revel in the interplay of things; we may then read Jaque’s entangled IKEA Disobedients case study as figuratively hacking into the IKEA Place AR app, exposing potentialities of the AR/VR medium. The c­ reativity—a hacker mentality—applied by IKEA Disobedients results in an emancipatory or curative libidinal ecology, whereby politically charged material networks collide, unhindered by the profiteering Enlightenment mind’s ‘selecting, naming, and positioning’ ­(Easterling, 2021). As McKenzie Wark writes in A Hacker Manifesto (2004), hackers create disparate relationships into new concepts, railing against the commodification of information. (Wark, 2004, p. 13). For Wark, hacking is not simply about creating malicious code; hacking is an opportunity to disrupt regimes of signified information anew: a creative use of VR that is not yet evident in Built Environment research. VR and desiring-production

VR can be seen as a technology of affect produced and reproduced through what Deleuze and Guattari identify as desiring-production and desiring-machines. VR and its creative imaginaries of innovation in architecture, construction and planning exist within an entangled libidinal ecology of desiring-production. Desiring-production enables a wider positioning of VR technologies, compared to considering VR only in terms of political economy—as defined as

Virtual reality and desiring-production  393 the interaction of politics and economics (Drazen, 2000, p.5). In contrast, desiring-production has both materialist and psychoanalytic dimensions. Deleuze and Guattari first formulated the concept of desiring-production in Anti-Oedipus (1977a) and further in A Thousand Plateaus (1988). This concept is part of what they named Schizoanalysis. Desiring-production critiques Marx, Freud, Lacanian psychoanalysis, and overly structuralist notions of political economy. Desiring-production is a process of universal and primary production. It is only productive in the ‘real world’ and ‘can only produce reality.’ Desire cannot be defined or limited by fantasies of ‘lack’ but is understood as a process of production, an ‘autoproduction of the unconscious.’ Considered in this way, VR technologies are not technical apparatus seen as alleviating lack, fulfilling needs, or generating imaginaries; nor economic ends shaped as public goods by politics. Instead, VR is best seen as a machine connected to flows of desire, and hence, ‘Desire is a machine, and the object of desire another machine connected to it’ and ‘desire produces, its product is real’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1977a, pp. 26–27). It is at work everywhere, functioning smoothly at times, at other times in fits and starts. It breathes, it heats, it eats. It shits and fucks. What a mistake to have ever said the id. Everywhere it is machines—real ones, not figurative ones: machines driving other machines, machines being driven by other machines, with all the necessary couplings and connections. (Deleuze & Guattari, 1977b, p. 1) Desiring-machines are not metaphorical machines, and this cautions us not to think of VR technologies in an overly metaphorical or analogical fashion. A desiring-machine is a ‘system of interruptions or breaks,’ and these machines connect with channel and redirect the flows of the world; indeed, ‘every machine is a machine of a machine’ and a ‘break in the flow in relation to the machine to which it is connected’ and ‘This is the law of the production of production’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1977a, p. 38). Desiring-production is production of production, just as every machine is a machine connected to another machine. We cannot accept the idealist category of “expression” as a satisfactory or sufficient explanation of this phenomenon. (p. 6) From this perspective, VR technologies can neither be read as instruments—in the hands of humans—isolated from ‘the social conditions of their exercise’ nor as leveraged ‘projections in the form of tools’ or ‘imaginary projections in the form of phantasies’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1977b, p.117). VR desiring-machines are no‘fantasy or dream machines’ that impel human action (Deleuze & Guattari, 1977a, p. 30). As desiring-machines, VR technologies are cut adrift from teleological—and vaguely theological—dreams of economic progress, technological evolution, and ever-adaptive innovation. In this manner, VR technologies can be seen at various scales, as a part of linear chains of social production, not simply as economic instruments of human creativity. Deleuze and Guattari posit that desiring-production can be employed to analyse the production of social relations—‘social production is purely and simply desiring-production itself under determinate conditions’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1977a, p.38). Desiring-machines comprise multiscalar circuits of social production and signification, enacting both physical and social production: ‘there are no desiring machines that exist outside of the social machines’ and ‘no social machines without the desiring-machines that inhabit them’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1988 p. 340).

394  P. Raisbeck and M. Prunotto Reducing VR to a technical apparatus to fill and smooth over gaps in architectural design, heritage, construction, or urban planning elides its role as a determinant of social production. VR is seen as having a creative way to produce new effects in bodies that induce new insights in different fields. For example, at Domus Aurea and the Henry VR exhibition in these examples, VR connects the body to new affects. In these contexts, VR is also connected to the desiring-machines for increasing audience revenues, cultural legitimacy, and the relevance of cultural institutions. Desiring-machines break into the received urban history of Rome, producing new flows of affect from cultural sites and museum collections connected to historiographic machines. VR technologies cut into architectural machines, interrupting existing typologies and coupled to mass entertainment and digital media machines. VR technologies are part of machines that produce cyberdelic imaginaries of a benign human and non-human Anthropocene, machines connected to, and perhaps smoothing over ecological extinction. In construction, VR technologies produce new systems of risk elimination, functioning risk machines of construction innovation, ensuring the optimised delivery of projects. In urban planning, VR technologies redirect flows to alleviate disparities of power in urban settings; fake empathy machines—simulating affect rather than inciting action—that appear to enhance the agency of architects, planners, and project managers; machines of social production coupled with machines of professional knowledge. But these VR desiring-machines also point to other machines and arguably less repressive, or at least habitual, flows of desiring-production. These desiring-machines entangle, disobey, and hack to connect to new desiring-machines. These tendencies are evident in the work of Easterling, IKEA Disobedients and the ideas of McKenzie Wark. These disobedient desiringmachines counter what Guattari later identified as ‘planetary computerisation’ (Revoy, 2018, p. 574): a term denoting the transformation of subjectivity towards singularisation—rather than freedom—as a result of digital control and forms of machinic subjection. VR technologies in architecture echo the utopian imaginaries of the 1960s, connecting and decoding for consumption cultural heritage, participatory planning and construction risks, reterritorialisng and then deterritorialisng Built Environment knowledge into a seemingly creative theatre of post-digital media. VR as desiring-machines can also be positioned alongside Deleuze and Guattari’s concept of a Body Without Organs, a body—or entity—that has become decoded in their terminology (Deleuze & Guattari, 1983, pp. 315–316). Body Without Organs is a seemingly fluid and ambiguous concept with its threads of Marxism, material vitalism, and psychoanalysis. This is a body that is constituted by totally undifferentiated subjectivities. Conversely, it is also a body whose free subjectivities have been decoded and determined by capital. The latter echoes Stiegler’s contention that mass communications technologies have led us to become slugs. Conclusion Desiring-production, and the broad project of Schizoanalysis, shifts us away from seeing VR and AR as a site of creative-driven innovation, as a therapeutic solution to e-participation, as a future-perfect smart city phantasy, or as a new form of media entertainment. VR technologies, viewed in the context of desiring-production, should not simply be seen as a deployable means to solve or shape properties of the city. Revoy (2018) cautions that such technologies, including VR, can be seen as having a ‘pathological signification of instrumentality’ which, rather than producing a resistant politics, fosters control over the subjectivity of others through the design and manipulation of perception; VR, rather than expanding creativity, might also be seen as filters that select, narrow and reduce what we might perceive and feel. VR may not necessarily unleash new psycho-social agencies through the creation of empathetic experiences.

Virtual reality and desiring-production  395 VR technologies should not be seen as isolated contraptions that functionalise empathy for the non-human, safety on construction sites, or engagement with marginalised urban classes. VR is better posited as an instrument, and producer of social production, whose affordances might be both toxic and therapeutic, a technology that might create seemingly schizophrenic subjectivities rather than only creating surplus value—‘a market flow and a flow of innovation as machinic surplus value’ (Deleuze & Guattari, 1983, p.372). Schizoanalysis is an incomplete project—if rightly considered a project of political freedom—and, while infuriating, there are no guidelines for how one might ‘do’ Schizoanalysis (Buchanan, 2022, pp. 11–12). Nonetheless, Schizoanalysis posits the schizo as the ultimate creative dancing across ideologies and regimes of repression. Within the domains of the Built Environment, such a transdisciplinary project is problematic; capital requires research instruments and methodologies in the form of answers and solutions, ones easily distilled and abstracted. For Built Environment researchers and practitioners, enamoured by creativity and innovation, Schizoanalysis and desiring-production may seem to be a strange project, a project that does not offer easy solutions to the dilemmas of the city. And perhaps this is the point. Across the Built Environment, capitalism is repressive of desiring-production, shaping and abstracting our flows, and connecting new desiring-machines to repression rather than the freedom of the schizophrenic. References Abrahams, G. (2019). The building as a Deleuzoguattarian strata/machinic assemblage. Architectural Theory Review, 23(3): 363–379. Achten, H. (2021). A concise history of VR/AR in architecture. In S. Eloy, A. Kreutzberg, & I. S ­ ymeonidou (Eds.), Virtual aesthetics in architecture: Designing in mixed realities. Routledge. Anderson, J., & Rainie, L. (2022). The metaverse in 2040. Pew Research Centre, 30 June, p. 4. Bao, L., Tran, S. V. T., Nguyen, T. L., Pham, H. C., Lee, D., & Park, C. (2022). Cross-platform virtual reality for real-time construction safety training using immersive web and industry foundation classes. Automation in Construction, 143, 104565. Berressem, H. (2020). Felix guattari’s schizoanalytic ecology. Edinburgh University Press. Buchanan, I. (2022). The incomplete project of Schizoanalysis. In The incomplete project of schizoanalysis. Edinburgh University Press. Castelnovo, W. (2019). Coproduction and cocreation in smart city initiatives: An exploratory study. In L. A. Muñoz & M. P. R. Bolivar (Eds.), E-participation in smart cities: Technologies and models of governance for citizen engagement (pp 1–20). Springer. Coelho, S. R. (2022). Metaverse architecture. A study on the metaverse from an architectural perspective [PhD dissertation]. Universidade do Porto. https://repositorio-aberto.up.pt/handle/10216/146279 Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1977a). Anti-oedipus capitalism and schizophrenia (Vol. 1). Viking Press. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1977b). Balance sheet-program for desiring-machines. Semiotext (e) ANTIOEDIPUS, 2(3), 118. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1988). A thousand plateaus: Capitalism and schizophrenia. Bloomsbury Publishing. Dorta, T., Safin, S., Boudhraâ, S., & Marchand, E. B. (2019). Co-designing in social VR: Process awareness and suitable representations to empower user participation. Intelligent & Informed, Proceedings of the 24th International Conference of the Association for Computer-Aided Architectural Design Research in Asia (CAADRIA), 2: 141–150. Drazen, A. (2000). Political economy in macroeconomics. Princeton University Press. Easterling, K. (2021). Medium design. Verso. Eloy, S., Kreutzberg, A., & Symeonidou, I. (Eds.). (2021). Virtual aesthetics in architecture: Designing in mixed realities. Routledge.

396  P. Raisbeck and M. Prunotto Guembe, E. P., & Hernández, R. R. (2021). Reconceptualizing zoos through Mille-Oeille: A posthuman techno-architecture to sustain a human/non-human/culture continuum. In S. Eloy, A. Kreutzberg, & I. Symeonidou (Eds.), Virtual aesthetics in architecture: Designing in mixed realities. Routledge. Harley, D. (2022). “This would be sweet in VR”*: On the discursive newness of virtual reality. New Media and Society, 0(0), 1–17. https://doi.org/10.1177/14614448221084655 IKEA. Say hej to IKEA Place. accessed 2 February 2023, https://www.ikea.com/au/en/customer-service/ mobile-apps/say-hej-to-ikea-place-pub1f8af050. Jaque A/Office for Political Innovation (2020). Superpowers of scale. Columbia University Press. Kalagas, A. (2021). Zoom and the segmented subject. Inflection, 8, 138–143. Khalili, A. (2021). An XML-based approach for geo-semantic data exchange from BIM to VR applications. Automation in Construction, 121, 103425. Kinzler, H., Zolotareva, D., & Tadauchi, R. (2021). Cybernetic aesthetics. In S. Eloy, A., Kreutzberg & I. Symeonidou (Eds.), Virtual aesthetics in architecture: designing in mixed realities. Routledge. Latour, B., & Lowe, A. (2010). The migration of the aura, or how to explore the original through its facsimiles. In T. Bartscherer & R. Coover (Eds.), Switching codes: Thinking through digital technology in the humanities and the arts (pp. 275–298). Chicago University Press. Lawson, B. (2002). The subject that won’t go away but perhaps we are ahead of the game. Design as research. Arq: Architectural Research Quarterly, 6(2), 109–114. Lewi, H., Smith, W., Vom Lehn, D., & Cooke, S. (Eds.). (2020). The Routledge international handbook of new digital practices in galleries, libraries, archives, museums and heritage sites. Routledge. Lovreglio, R., Dillies, E., Kuligowski, E., Rahouti, A., & Haghani, M. (2022). Exit choice in built environment evacuation combining immersive virtual reality and discrete choice modelling. Automation in Construction, 141, 104452. Milk, C. (2015). How virtual reality can create the ultimate empathy machine. published in 2015. https:// www.ted.com/talks/chris_milk_how_virtual_reality_can_create_the_ultimate_empathy_machine? language=en. Murray, J. (2020). Virtual/reality: How to tell the difference. Journal of Visual Culture, 19(1), 11–27. Nakamura, L. (2020). Feeling good about feeling bad: Virtuous virtual reality and the automation of racial empathy. Journal of Visual Culture, 19(1), 47–64. Phelps, N. A. (2021). The urban planning imagination: A critical international. Polity Press. Porwol, L., & Ojo, A. (2019). Harnessing virtual reality for e-participation: Defining VR-participation domain as extension to e-participation. Proceedings of the 20th Annual International Conference on Digital Government Research, pp. 324–331. Porwol, L., Pereira, A. G., & Dumas, C. (2022). Transforming e-participation: VR-dialogue–building and evaluating an AI-supported framework for next-gen VR-enabled e-participation research. Transforming Government: People, Process and Policy. https://doi.org/10.1108/TG-06-2022-0097 Potseluyko, L., Rahimian, F. P., Dawood, N., Elghaish, F., & Hajirasouli, A. (2022). Game-like interactive environment using BIM-based virtual reality for the timber frame self-build housing sector. Automation in Construction, 142, 104496. Raisbeck, P. (2019). Architecture as a global system: Scavengers, tribes, warlords and megafirms (p. 87). Emerald Group Publishing. Revoy, S. L. (2018). On arbormosis: Becoming-cyborg, machinic subjection, and the ethico-aesthetic of user-friendly design. Deleuze and Guattari Studies, 12(4), 572–593. Raunig, G. (2013). Factories of knowledge, industries of creativity, MIT Press. Ross, D. (2022). Introduction to Bernard Stiegler “the national front and ultraliberalism” (Extract from pharmacologie du front national, 2013). Cultural Politics, 18(2), 119–129. Ruberto, F. (2021). Models and fictions: The archi-tectonic of virtual reality. In S. Eloy, A. Kreutzberg, & I. Symeonidou (Eds.), Virtual aesthetics in architecture: Designing in mixed realities. Routledge. Spiller, N. (2021). Sheer frivolous pleasure: Designing sensory stimulation. Architectural Design, 91(6), 12–19. Stiegler, B. (2014). Re-enchantment of the world: The value of spirit against industrial populism. Bloomsbury.

Virtual reality and desiring-production  397 The Good Fight (2017–2022). Television series, CBS All Access, United States. Created by Michelle and Robert King. Wark, M. K. (2004). A hacker manifesto / McKenzie Wark. Harvard University Press Yegül, F., & Favro, D. (2019). Roman Architecture and Urbanism. Cambridge University Press. Yip, A., Dredge, P., Gerard-Austin, A., & Ives, S. (2019). Henry VR: Designing affect-oriented virtual reality exhibitions for art museums. In H. Lewi, W. Smith, D. Vom Lehn, & S. Cooke (Eds.), The Routledge International Handbook of New Digital Practices in Galleries, Libraries, Archives, Museums and Heritage Sites (pp 345–352). Routledge. Zhang, Y., Liu, H., Kang, S. C., & Al-Hussein, M. (2020). Virtual reality applications for the built environment: Research trends and opportunities. Automation in Construction, 118, 103311. Zhang, M., Shu, L., Luo, X., Yuan, M., & Zheng, X. (2022). Virtual reality technology in construction safety training: Extended technology acceptance model. Automation in Construction, 135, 104113.

32

Lean construction in China A review Yanqing Fang and Shang Gao

Introduction Lean Construction (hereafter referred to as LC) was first proposed by Koskela in 1992 in the hope of improving the performance of the construction industry. Given that LC has roots in the manufacturing sector, scholars have attempted to provide definitions of LC (Salem et al., 2006; Tommelein, 2015). A common definition of LC is the adoption of Lean thinking in the construction sector. Lean provides a way to precisely define value, to reduce unnecessary interference to increase efficiency, and to do more with less to gear products more towards user needs and eliminate waste while creating value. ‘Specify value,’ ‘Identify value stream,’ ‘Flow,’ ‘Pull,’ and ‘Perfection’ are the five Lean principles (Womack and Jones, 2003). Generally speaking, there are two main explanations of this concept: one view holds that LC is the application of Lean production methods (i.e., tools and techniques) in the construction field, while the other view follows Koskela’s (1992, 2000) theory, who provided a so-called new production theory that conceptualised LC. Since the 1990s, LC has been widely studied and applied in construction throughout the world. The International Group for LC (IGLC) conferences had held 30 consecutive sessions by 2022 and have produced many valuable conference proceedings. However, research into Chinacs journey towards LC adoption has rarely been documented. Little is known in terms of the status quo of LC practices. As an emerging country, China is experiencing rapid urbanisation and industrialisation (Chang et al., 2018) and has the largest construction market in the world (Ghisellini et al., 2018). However, issues relating to building quality, poor safety practices, and low competitiveness (Tam et al., 2004; Yang et al., 2017) have hampered the development of the Chinese construction industry. Today in China, development of the economy and protection of the environment take precedence. The General Office of the State Council (GOSC) of the People’s Republic of China has pointed out that it is necessary to promote sustainable and healthy development of the construction industry and create a ‘China-built’ brand (GOSC, 2017). To address these challenges, LC has started to attract increasing attention from scholars and the industry in China. Within this context, this chapter aims to explore the evolving progress and characteristics of LC in China using the systematic literature review method. To achieve the aims of this chapter, two research questions were formulated: 1 What are the characteristics, influencing factors, and implementation status of LC in China? 2 What are the contributions of and gaps in the development of LC in China? Literature review The basic theory of LC originated from the Lean production theory. According to Koskela (1992), the conventional production view predominates in construction and focuses only on the DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-36

Lean construction in China  399 transformation of inputs into outputs. Lean production acknowledges non-value-adding activities as opposed to value-adding activities. Based on that, Koskela (1992) pointed out that the core of Lean production contains not only ‘transformation’ processes but also flow processes. He then integrated the transformation (T), flow (F), and value (V) generation views into a TFV production theory, which has become an integrated perspective that underpins LC (Koskela, 2000). Koskela and Howell (2002) reconstructed the basic theory of project management by combining TFV theory and project management theory as the new foundation of project management. ­Abdelhamid (2004) proposed that the TFV theory and the new project management theories would, sooner or later, self-destruct in project-based production environments, and that a new theory would therefore be needed for the construction industry. Even so, the TFV theory has been developed as the basic theory of LC, leading to many research achievements (Feng and Ballard, 2008; Rooke et al., 2010; Abou-Ibrahim and Hamzeh, 2016; Khalife and Hamzeh, 2019). With increasing attention being paid to LC around the world, many technologies and tools are being implemented to achieve LC goals, and the research perspectives on LC are becoming more diverse. Ballard (2000) first put forward the Last Planner® System (LPS), which is a collaborative system for project planning and control. Lookahead planning, an important element of LPS, is able to shape workflow and provide matched labour and resources (Ballard, 1997). As the most popular LC tool, LPS has been implemented on multiple continents (Hamzeh and Aridi, 2013; Daniel et al., 2017). As flow is emphasised in Lean, Tommelein (2017) pointed out that an ideal trade flow would be one in which trade moves in line with the matching takt1 time through space without variability. Several scholars proposed the synergy of LC and other innovations such as prefabrication and BIM. For example, Pasquire and Connolly (2002) pointed out that off-site manufacturing is an improvement in the application of Lean theory in the construction field. Bertelsen (2005) suggested a third strategy based on the use of modularisation to make construction Lean. Sacks et al. (2010) proposed the concept of ‘kanBIM,’ which enables the use of LPS based on a building information model (BIM) platform. Ahuja et al. (2014) developed a conceptual integration framework for Lean and green philosophies based on BIM. Research methodology Search strategy and the selection of studies

The Web of Science core collection, Scopus, IGLC, and the China National Knowledge Internet (CNKI) databases were used to search for relevant literature. For the first-round of retrieval, we collected all studies related to LC from the four databases. For the second-round of retrieval, we filtered the result by ‘China.’ After two rounds of retrieval, two researchers independently screened the remaining articles for title, abstract, keywords, and the actual content of the papers. Inclusion and exclusion criteria were applied as follows:

• Duplicated literature should be excluded. • Literature that was unrelated to LC in China should be excluded. • Literature that mentioned LC in China but did not elaborate was excluded. After applying these criteria, 307 articles remained. Content analysis

To investigate the contributions of the published articles with regard to the development and possible future content trends in China, this chapter analyses the topic groups. Not surprisingly,

400  Y. Fang and S. Gao the collected articles cover a wide range of topics and were encoded by title, abstract, and keywords. If the required information could not be obtained from the aforementioned, the full text was read and encoded. The XMind tool was used to build a topic tree; each topic was a new branch, and each topic was developed into multiple subtopics until the subtopics became saturated. At the same time, we used Microsoft Excel to manage the articles. Articles on the same subtopic were placed in one sheet, and subtopics that belonged to the same category were marked with the same colour. Subsequently, four categories of topics emerged: (1) LC theory and application, (2) LC research areas, (3) LC influence factors, and (4) the effect evaluation of LC. Results Evolution of LC in China

Three stages of evolution started to emerge when analysing the selected articles. As the first literature on LC in China, Li et al.’s ‘Lean Production Strategy of China’s Construction Industry in the Face of WTO’ appeared on 18 July 2001 and marked the beginning of the first stage, which extends from 2001 to 2007. We called this stage the infancy stage of LC in China. One characteristic of this stage is that the number of papers published each year is in single digit. Because the concept of LC had only recently entered China and had not attracted academic attention during that period, a total of only 26 articles were published. The second stage spans 2008 to 2012. The number of published articles increased to 22 in 2008, and the number of articles published each year stabilised at between 20 and 30 per annual. We coined this period as the early stage of LC in China. The third stage of LC in China covers 2013 to the present and accounts for 60% of the total number of studies; therefore, we named this stage the high-speed development period of LC in China. The content of research into LC has also evolved. In the first stage, given the concept of LC had only recently been introduced to China, the content of the research included mainly the introduction of the transformation–flow–value (TFV) theory, LC principles, and LC technologies at the conceptual level without discussing any practical applications. In the second stage, the practical application of LC tools during the construction process begins to flourish, and much research associates LC with other concepts and practices, such as sustainability, BIM, integrated project delivery (IPD), safety management, and supply chain management. In the latter period of this stage, scholars began to explore how LC technologies could be better adopted; that is, to understand the factors influencing the adoption of LC. The driver behind this was perhaps the policy push on building industrialisation and prefabricated buildings, which led to numerous discussions on building industrialisation, BIM, and IPD. In the past five years, in particular, many studies have investigated obstacles to the localisation of LC. Additionally, studies on the evaluation of impact of LC, LC adoption maturity, and LC capability evaluation have started to appear. Research into the integration of smart construction and LC also appears, there are increasing studies on BIM and LC, and the number of articles on prefabricated construction and LC is also on the rise. Based on the encoded articles, we marked the critical time nodes and landmark studies, and drew an evolution map of LC in China, dating from 2001 (see Figure 32.1). Clearly, LC is still an emerging field in China, but established companies or institutions that implement LC are still challenging to be found in China. This finding also proves that there is great potential for research into this field in China.

Lean construction in China  401

Figure 32.1  Evolution map of LC in China.

402  Y. Fang and S. Gao LC theory and application in China

Fifty-eight percent of the total number of studies fall into the category of LC theory and application in China. We break down this category into two subtopics: application of LC theory and application of LC method and tools. Application of LC theory in China

In China, research on LC theory began in 2003. For a start, the individual element of TFV theory (i.e., transformation, flow, and value) were discussed as three separate theories. Huang and Yang (2006) reiterated that TFV theory is the integration of these three theories. Feng and Liu (2008) stated that the process of construction production has common characteristics with the general process of production, and that TFV theory and project management theory should be combined. However, domestic research on the basic theory of LC is limited; most domestic scholars concurred that TFV theory is the theoretical foundation of LC, and there is scant research on the development of TFV theory and its application. The application of LC theory in China has gone through the process from understanding the theoretical model to actual implementation in projects. Most applications of LC projects in China are in public infrastructure projects, which are large, complex, and involve a large number of stakeholders. This includes power plant projects (You and Yuan, 2015), large commercial projects (Fu et al., 2015), hydropower projects (Sun et al., 2015), railway station projects (Han et al., 2016), and an airport project (Chen et al., 2018). Application of LC is also found in highrise residential projects (Xing et al., 2020); however, interestingly, research into LC in residential projects is much less popular than in large projects. Application of LC method and tools in China

In the past decade of rapid development of LC in China, LC methods and tools have become the focus of LC research. Lean production methods and tools may not be applicable to the construction industry due to the unique, on-site production and temporary multi-organisation state of the construction industry. The construction industry needs more than mere technological innovation; more importantly, it needs destructive progress (He et al., 2013). The LPS proposed by Ballard (2000) has become one of the most effective LC methods. He established the Lean Project Delivery SystemTM (LPDS), which is considered to be a representative work of LC. LC methods and tools in China include the ‘basic techniques’ from Lean production improvement and the ‘key techniques’ that are unique to the construction industry (Jiang et al., 2018). LC basic tools application in China include Value stream mapping (VSM), Total quality management (TQM), 5S/6S, Standardisation, Mistake-proofing, JIT, PR (process reengineering), CE (concurrent engineering), Visualisation, Attach importance to cooperation and the human role, and Lean Six Sigma. Key LC tools include LPS, LPDS, Value management techniques, and Process management techniques. Research areas of LC in China

The research areas in this study refer to areas in which LC is adopted. As can be seen in ­Table 32.1, five research areas emerged, including sustainability and BIM. This aligns with the research trajectories from a global perspective, where these five areas are also the popular areas. Arguably, researchers in these five areas are also exploring innovations and acknowledge that LC has the potential to be integrated within.

Lean construction in China  403 Table 32.1  Research areas of LC in China Category

Findings from the research

Sustainability

The goals of LC and sustainability are mainly concluded from economic, environmental, and societal viewpoints (Qin and Zou, 2012) The barriers and countermeasures for LC and sustainability are analysed, and the LC and green construction models are proposed (Liu and Lu, 2010) The definition of the LC supply chain is provided (He and Lu, 2010) The differences in the LC supply chain compared to the traditional supply chain are discussed The management models of an LC supply chain are proposed (Wu et al., 2008) Supply chain optimisation management is developed (Zeng et al., 2013), and core competitiveness under the LC supply chain is analysed (He and Lu, 2010) The LC supply chain performance is evaluated A theoretical framework for LC in industrial applications is proposed (Li and Li, 2016) The synergy between construction industrialisation and LC is analysed (Li and Li, 2016) The feasibility and necessity of implementing LC in prefabricated buildings are analysed Improve the unsafe behaviours of people, proposing that behaviours and states of non-value-added activities are more likely to generate safety risks, and construct identification and control models of safety risks (Lin et al., 2012) Build a KanBIM construction quality control system based on LPS theory (Liu and Shi, 2017) Theoretical framework construction of BIM, IPD, and LC is developed (Xu and Su, 2017) Research value stream theory and informationisation from the perspective of the BIM life cycle (Luo et al., 2017)

Supply chain management

Construction industrialisation

Safety management Building information modeling (BIM)

Factors influencing LC in China

In the literature, the expressions used for LC influence factors are ‘the influence factors of LC,’ ‘the influence factors of LC implementation,’ and alike. Through the literature review, we can further understand their connotations. After sorting and summarising, factors influencing LC in China can be divided into two parts: (1) the factors influencing LC adoption, including the willingness to adopt, the implementation intention, and the barriers that impact LC implementation, and (2) the factors influencing the implementation effect of LC after it has been adopted. The detailed influence factors are shown in Table 32.2. Effect evaluation of LC in China

In the literature, there are many ways of expressing the evaluation of LC effects in China, such as ‘project performance evaluation,’ ‘LC capability evaluation,’ and others. We identify the evaluation of China’s LC effects as evaluation objects, evaluation methods, and main conclusions, as shown in Table 32.3. Discussion The achievement of LC in China

Findings showed an increasing progress of LC adoption in China; however, its development is somewhat unbalanced in terms of region, company size, and the type of projects. Geographically,

404  Y. Fang and S. Gao Table 32.2  The influence factors of LC in Mainland China Category

Factors

(1) The factors influencing LC technology adoption

Environmental factors Pressure from the government, market competition, the media and the public, the supply chain, and those who have adopted LC (Gao and Low, 2014a; Li et al., 2014a, 2014b) Organisational factors Risk control, resource readiness, enterprise information technology infrastructure conditions, supervisor support, LC culture, regulations to facilitate the adoption of LC, and LC training (Gao and Low, 2014a; Li et al., 2014a, 2014b) Technical factors Technical compatibility, technical complexity, the advantage of LC technology, perceived ease of use, perceived usefulness, and technology promotion (Gao and Low, 2014a; Li et al., 2014a, 2014b) Personal factors Recognition of LC, knowledge of LC, operational skills, and experience of LC (Gao and Low, 2014a; Li et al., 2014a, 2014b)

(2) The factors influencing the implementation effect of LC after it has been adopted

The extent of LC adoption Influence factors of LC capability, including enterprise size and ownership, information level, knowledge of LC, organisational structure and culture, and market factors (Gao and Low, 2014a; Li et al., 2013)

for example, the Cailiang model2 has attracted significant attention from academia and the industry, but this model has been successfully implemented only in pilot projects in Jiangsu, an affluent province (Su et al., 2018b). On the contrary, in areas which are less developed in China, LC has been rarely reported. In terms of company size, the adoption of LC technology, in particular, has mainly occurred in large state-owned enterprises, whereas the level of awareness of LC among small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) is rather low. Regarding project Table 32.3  Mainland China’s LC effect evaluation Evaluation objects

Research methods

Main conclusions

(1) LC tools’ implementation effect

Structural equation modelling; The hypothetico-deductive method; Based on the design structure matrix; Case studies; Qualitative methods.

(2) LC capabilities

Analytic network process-set pair analysis; Analytic hierarchy process-grey relational analysis process; Analytic network process.

The important role of the knowledge management process in the application effect of LC tools was confirmed; The issue of how perceived project performance in terms of quality and productivity was impacted by Toyota Way–style practices was explored; The LPS process effects were evaluated; An evaluation index for LC, including six LC tools, was proposed (Gao and Low, 2014b; Li et al., 2017; Zhang et al., 2017). The LC technology adoption maturity index system was established; The LC capability evaluation index system was established (Jing et al., 2018).

Lean construction in China  405 type, as noted in the literature, LC seems more prevalent and is likely to be accepted in large and complex government projects in China. Although studies have reported LC being applied in residential projects, it is reasonable to assume that the promotion of LC residential projects is still inadequate. It is evident that LC is not sufficiently well known in actual construction projects in China, and its implementation lacks a systematic approach. Reportedly, the application of LC is often limited to the use of certain LC tools. LC, BIM, and prefabricated construction in China

The relevant policies of the Chinese government relating to promoting BIM and PC in the past five years are conducive to the implementation of LC in China. The application of BIM facilitates the implementation of LC. The 3D-modelling function, among other functions of BIM, helps practitioners better understand the practical aspects of LC in areas in relation to process management, visualisation and standardisation. Additionally, the Chinese government has started the promotion of prefabricated construction in practice. Clearly, prefabrication as a modern-day construction method has its merits, but it often faces various technical and management problems in China. The literature review concluded that these problems eventually lead to higher costs, longer construction periods, and poor seismic performance of prefabricated buildings as opposed to traditional buildings, which also draw the attention of researchers (Li and Li, 2016). Overall, the application research on the integration of BIM, LC, and prefabricated construction is still relatively new in China. Emerging trends and gaps in LC research in China

To clearly present future research trends and gaps in LC research in China, an LC research prospect tree is drawn (see Figure 32.2). The directions worthy of further research are presented in the tree diagram with dotted lines according to the four themes of LC theory, the research areas of LC, influencing factors of LC, and evaluation of LC effect. The existing research on LC theory is somewhat lacking

Basic LC theory as the TFV complemented by project management practices dominates. Hence, more research is needed to widen the theoretical grounds of LC. Further, key techniques—LPS and LPDS—need to be further researched regarding operating conditions, evaluation standards, and applications that enable integration with other technologies. A user guide on LC tools needs to be created. At present, LC is mostly applied to large, state-owned enterprises in China. In the near future, it is worthwhile promoting LC from an SME perspective (Tezel et al., 2018). There are emerging trends and gaps in areas of research into LC in China

According to Su et al. (2018a), the application of LC based on BIM technology will become an inevitable trend as the construction industry is under constant upgrade. This represents a good opportunity for BIM implementation in China. In the supply chain management area, a definition of the LC supply chain is still lacking, and the complex characteristics of the LC supply chain environment require further study. As for construction industrialisation, more and more scholars have expressed concern regarding the role of BIM in prefabricated construction but have neglected the role of LC in overcoming obstacles in BIM application and prefabricated construction. LC and construction industrialisation are supplementary in many ways (Li and

406  Y. Fang and S. Gao

Figure 32.2  LC research prospect tree.

Lean construction in China  407 Li, 2016). Arguably, prefabricated technology needs LC as a foundation for better development. Another area is safety management, and research into the relationship between safety performance resulting from LC adoption is scarce. It is still unclear what LC tools will be useful to boost safety performance. From the resource efficiency perspective, Lean thinking is regarded as a critical but not fully utilised approach in the context of modern industrialisation (Caldera et al., 2017). Therefore, it is necessary to strengthen industry standards, develop innovative management models, and analyse ROI from the sustainability perspective in LC. Last but not least is the technology. There is a huge potential to examine the role of LC in technology advancement and vice versa. Technologies such as big data, cloud computing, virtual reality, 3D-printing technology, and IoT (Dave et al., 2016), to name a few, fall under the spectrum of Construction 4.0. Research into this area is just taking off, but the general perception is that technologies are a natural facilitator of LC adoption. China has been rolling out smart construction sites for a while, and it is timely and worthy to examine the role that LC has played in the development of smart construction sites in China. The drivers of LC need to be strengthened

The existing research into the factors that influence the maturity of LC implementation and the improvement of LC capability is insufficient. The analysis of human/psychological factors should be strengthened, and the dynamic factors should be further analysed from the perspectives of organisational evolution, social capital, and social networks. At the organisational level, regulations governing LC adoption promote the implementation of LC technologies to some extent. To better promote LC adoption, customised LC rules and regulations for different organisations in China might be a way ahead. It is recommended that the Chinese government strengthen LC implementations, which includes proposing regulations to promote LC, enhancing the effectiveness of LC rules, and creating a better policy environment to encourage enterprises to adopt LC in China. The evaluation of LC effects needs to be deepened

Based on the existing literature, it was determined that the evaluation of the effects of LC was mainly focused on the evaluation of the effects of LC tools, which is a rather narrow focus. In other words, limited studies have evaluated LC capability, and the content has mainly focused on the dimensions of LC capability or on the building of an indicator system for each capability. However, there is a lack of research into the LC maturity model for the Chinese construction firms. Fuzzy evaluation methods have proven to be a popular tool in LC performance evaluations in the existing literature, and future research should explore other methods based on the complex, non-linear project environment. Conclusion Through an objective review of 307 papers on LC in China, the research questions that were well dealt with. This review has clarified the evolution of the articles published on LC in China based on their number and content. The characteristics of each stage of the evolution are spelled out. We concluded that LC adoption in China is at a stage of rapid development. The literature content analysis was conducted based on four topic groups: LC theory and application, LC research areas, LC influence factors, and the effect evaluation of LC in China. The following gaps in LC in China were identified in this review: (1) The development of LC in China is unbalanced

408  Y. Fang and S. Gao based on geography, company size, and company ownership; (2) most companies in China do not have a clear idea of the LC concept; (3) the practical application of LC is limited to certain LC tools; and (4) there is a lack of a detailed LC technical guide for users to subscribe appropriate LC strategies for SMEs. As for future research, LC research perspectives and technologies should be enriched; the factors that influence SMEs’ LC adoption, the factors from the human side, the factors of social capital, and the factors of Chinese localisation culture merit exploration. Research into LC capability and evaluation methods should be developed. We expect all the gaps to be filled to achieve the continuous improvement of LC capabilities and performance. The core of LC is people, and the role of human behaviour in LC improvement should continue to be studied. It is expected that the review will stimulate further research and exploration in the LC field, and that it will provide some advice to countries that are at a similar stage of LC development. Notes 1 A German word meaning pace. 2 Launched by Changzhou Cailiang Architectural Technology Co., Ltd.

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33

Co-designing infrastructures Working with communities to create resilient cities Sarah Bell, Charlotte Johnson, Tse-Hui Teh, Kat Austen, and Gemma Moore

Infrastructure design and management is conventionally the domain of engineers, planners, economists, and accountants. Infrastructures are essential for the safe functioning of modern cities and are fundamental elements of the built environment, but they may not be what first springs to mind in association with creativity. The engineering creativity that is expressed in infrastructure design is largely hidden in technical calculations, digital models, and drawings beyond the recognition of other citizens and disciplines. Creativity in planning, governance, and financing is complicated by politics, power, and trade-offs. Expert-led models of infrastructure provision face significant constraints as cities respond to climate change, inequality, land availability, resource scarcity, and pollution. Resource extractive and carbon intensive infrastructures are not sustainable, nor are they resilient to uncertain and changing environmental, social, and political conditions. Developing and delivering infrastructures that support healthy, sustainable, resilient cities is an urgent task. While incumbent actors in infrastructure governance and delivery explore innovative approaches, a new role is emerging for urban communities. The importance of community participation in urban decision-making, including infrastructure development, has been recognised since at least the 1960s. Engaging communities is becoming essential to the success of infrastructure projects. This is partly due to the complexity of urban communities and project delivery, but it is also borne of necessity. There are no purely technical solutions to the infrastructural challenges facing cities. Infrastructure providers increasingly recognise that this means they need to engage with a broader range of stakeholders, including local communities, to identify and evaluate design and management options. Local urban communities then become a new site of creativity in infrastructure. Moving beyond participation in infrastructure decisions, communities have the potential to be involved in design. Community co-design of infrastructure involves local people working with engineers, scientists, and designers to explore technical as well as social and aesthetic choices about infrastructure systems that shape their environments and everyday lives. It provides a mechanism for technical creativity to be opened-up to citizens and for local knowledge and creativity to be incorporated in engineering decisions. The Bottom-Up Infrastructure research program at University College London (UCL) developed and tested methods for community co-design between 2014 and 2021 (Bell et al., 2023). A series of projects engaged communities on topics such as the water-energy-food nexus, air quality, urban drainage, housing, and transport. The program aimed to bring engineering knowledge and methods into the hands of local people to inform discussions and design of local solutions to complex urban problems. This chapter explores the intersection of creativity and the built environment in co-design, addressing the contested nature of urban communities and the obduracy of infrastructure systems. DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-37

412  S. Bell, C. Johnson, T.-H. Teh, K. Austen, and G. Moore The Bottom-Up Infrastructure model draws on movements and disciplines such as participatory design, metadesign, and systems engineering as the basis for a six-step design method and a set of associated tools. The method is demonstrated in the design of a rooftop garden on a socialhousing estate in London, which was also intended to operate as drainage infrastructure. This case study shows the potential for co-design, as well as the hard constraints on implementation in cities where communities have limited power and resources. It also shows the potential for digital tools to further enable to intersection of community and technical knowledge in creative co-design of infrastructure, and opportunities to incorporate more community creativity in formal design processes. Infrastructures Infrastructures are sociotechnical systems (Edwards, 2003). Both social and technical elements are needed for them to work (Star, 1999). The physical systems of infrastructure – the pipes, wires, cables, wind turbines, reservoirs, treatment works, recycling centres, roads, airports, and more – come to mind most readily. Infrastructures are also made up of the management and governance systems that keep things running, set standards for safety and performance, and pay for it all. Without the required legal and financial structures in place, the technical system starts to physically fall apart. Innovation in technology, governance, and business models have changed the boundaries of what is considered infrastructure and the actors involved in infrastructure provision. For example, where previously the electricity network stopped at the meter boundary, smart metering and demand management now mean that appliances and behaviour inside homes are considered part of the energy infrastructure. Decentralised systems, such as rooftop solar cells and batteries, and rainwater harvesting and water recycling, may now connect to larger systems of distribution. Households and communities may now be ‘prosumers’ of infrastructure services – ­becoming both producers and consumers – with a significant impact on resource sustainability (Vliet et al., 2005). The community energy movement, including community owned batteries and renewable energy technologies, demonstrates how infrastructure innovation has the potential to change models of ownership, governance, and decision-making, as well as technologies of supply (Hewitt et al., 2019). The drive to decentralise infrastructures is a response to environmental limits and a means to improve the reliability of access to services compared to increasingly vulnerable and unstable centralised networks. Rescaling infrastructure to a community level creates a sense that these two are aligned – the infrastructure will serve the community and the community will manage the infrastructure. This alignment will not happen unless systems are designed in that way – physically designed to allow for active participation, and supported by regulations, business models, and governance structures that allow for a group to take responsibility for a decentralised part of the system. Decentralisation has the potential to increase rather than decrease social inequality. Without appropriate management and policy, people with plentiful resources will exit large networks and receive cheaper, greener services. Meanwhile, poorer and more vulnerable people will be left paying higher prices for national-scale infrastructure networks, they may be disconnected or find themselves in an infrastructure black spot (Marvin and ­Graham, 2001). Infrastructures are not finished or bounded in space or time; far from being static, they are constantly changing socially and physically (Larkin, 2013). Thinking of urban infrastructure in this way highlights the co-evolution and interdependency between the social and physical infrastructures, with important implications for resilience and sustainability.

Co-designing infrastructures  413 Participatory design Community participation in decision-making takes many forms. The American urban planner Sherry Arnstein (1969) famously suggested that participation was a ‘progressive’ concept, describing eight stages of participation in the form of a ladder. Non-participatory processes (‘manipulation’ and ‘therapy’) were located at the bottom of the ladder, leading to the semi-­ participatory processes of ‘informing’, ‘consultation’, and ‘placation’. The higher stages of ‘partnership’, ‘delegated power’, and ‘citizen control’ were all levels where the public have more control in project processes, having some degree of power in influencing decisions. The top stages thus provided an opportunity for a two-way communication process between the public and the authoritative decision-making bodies. Nortje Marres (2012) extends traditional understandings of public participation in political processes to include the use of new technologies in everyday life, and engagement with demonstration projects such as display eco-homes. Her concept of ‘material participation’ recognises that values, needs, and aspirations are expressed through everyday choices, experimentation, and design, as well as through conventional political participation. Extending participation into the ‘material world’ of cities has implications for design of buildings, urban spaces, infrastructures, and technologies. Design is inherently social and political and begins with the definition of a design problem. Defining a design problem is highly subjective: it depends on a person’s experience of a particular situation (Rith and Dubberly, 2007). In the design of infrastructure this subjectivity is important. Infrastructure has traditionally treated users as homogeneous, concentrating on models and designs to fit assumed averages and peaks of demand while disregarding diversity of behaviour, expectation, and experience. As such, involving ‘end-users’ in infrastructure design not only shapes solutions but reframes the entire design problem space. Since the 1960s, designers have been interested in increasing end-user participation. They have developed methods ranging from user-centric design, where character-sketches of potential users have imagined interactions with designs, through to more radical social design and metadesign methods, which fall under the umbrella of co-design (Fuad-Luke, 2009). Social design principles, which are well established in architecture, urban, and industrial design, are of increasing relevance for infrastructure. Social design is commonly understood to be designed for improving human well-being and livelihood (Holm, 2006). It also implies a social model of design that addresses the interface between people – individuals or in groups – and environmental domains, including the environment and the built environment. Social design emphasises the need to identify stakeholders and to understand their motivations as the basis for socially useful innovation. In social design, the designer focuses on providing enabling solutions which extend the capability of the community or user. This includes building the capabilities of community members to reduce resource consumption and achieve sustainability goals. Co-design is based on the fundamental principle that an end-user of a particular design has the right to have a voice in the design process (Costanza-Chock, 2020). This premise acknowledges both the agency of the end designs – how a product, technology, or infrastructure changes how people can interact with both it and the world – and the consequent power of designers. The codesign process, at its most fundamental, is a challenge to the established dynamic of infrastructure provision, with all the intricacies of power, capital, exclusion, and inclusion that are built into it. Bottom-up infrastructure Bottom-Up Infrastructure was a research program at University College London during 2014– 2020. The purpose of the research was to investigate and test methods for engaging communities with infrastructure, including co-design. The Bottom-Up Infrastructure co-design method

414  S. Bell, C. Johnson, T.-H. Teh, K. Austen, and G. Moore

Figure 33.1  Bottom-up infrastructure co-design method.

evolved through a series of projects in collaboration with local communities in London, addressing issues including the water-energy-food nexus, air pollution, urban greening, and water management. The method follows six steps (Figure 33.1). In practice, the method is usually structured around three community workshops, which deliver the core functions of steps 3–5 (Capturing Requirements, Analysing Options, Crafting Solutions). Steps 1, 2, and 6 involve significant work before and after the workshops to gather data, prepare design tools, support community learning about technologies, governance, and management, and evaluating the process and outcomes (Setting Aims, Characterising Communities, Evaluation). Setting aims

The aims are defined at the beginning of the process to create a framework to measure success. This creates a shared understanding of the expected level of change, nature of the outcomes, level of community engagement, timeframes, values, and evaluation activities that review processes and outcomes. Community members may have different degrees of influence on a ­project. In cases where the process is less open or part of the outcome has already been established, this needs to be clearly agreed. Expectations and anticipated outcomes can evolve throughout the project, and these changes can be updated at each stage. Characterising communities

Community dynamics may be complex, requiring a good understanding of community members, relationships, and issues. Before working with communities, it is important to understand

Co-designing infrastructures  415 their strengths, needs, and aspirations. Characterising communities draw on conventional social science methods such as archival research, media analysis, interviews, surveys, and focus groups. Capturing requirements

The first co-design workshop aims to formalise the requirements for the infrastructure system design. This is a crucial step in bringing together different community members and stakeholders to collaboratively decide on the design directions and specific requirements to be explored in further steps. A clear list of requirements is the basis for choosing between design options and evaluating the success of the final system design and performance. Analysing options

The second co-design workshop presents options to meet community requirements and selects the preferred option for further development. Community requirements can typically be met by many different design options. Options are identified by the design team, accounting for the local context and values, or generated by the community. Community participants are then involved in choosing the best options to meet their requirements. This may be informed by engineering calculations or models to bring technical knowledge into community-based deliberation and design. Bespoke software tools enable complex engineering methods and data to be considered alongside local knowledge and preferences. Crafting solutions

Crafting solutions takes a preferred option and develops it into a proposal for change. This stage revisits the previous steps to review how the design was developed, and to confirm core values and requirements driving the process and decisions. It involves looking again at the local environment and community aspirations to decide how best to implement the solution. Software tools also support detailed development of proposals, enabling communities to utilise engineering knowledge to explore the feasibility, scale, and simple trade-offs in developing their designs. Evaluation

Evaluation occurs throughout the life of a project. This enables adjustment of the design and activities to better meet values, needs, and objectives. It also ensures that data is collected at the right time to be able to judge success of the process as well as outcomes. Co-designing the Kipling Garden The Bottom-Up Infrastructure program included a project to co-design a roof-top garden which also functioned as an element of water infrastructure on the Kipling Estate in central London. This case study was part of the Community Water Management for a Liveable London ­(CAMELLIA) program which aimed to enable water security and sustainability in London through participatory processes and a systems approach based on environmental science. The Kipling Garden project was based on the Bottom-Up Infrastructure co-design method and aimed to develop and test tools to engage communities in water management, including software to enable residents to interact with engineering models and calculations.

416  S. Bell, C. Johnson, T.-H. Teh, K. Austen, and G. Moore

Figure 33.2  Garage rooftop on Kipling Estate. Source: Credit goes to Joanna Vignola.

The Kipling Estate has almost 300 homes, a mix of low-rise buildings and tower blocks. The Kipling Garden project was initiated when community ambitions for a garden coincided with researcher and industry interests in sustainable water management in London. The focus of the collaboration was a large concrete playground built on top of a garage block in a 1960s housing estate (Figure 33.2). Residents had long wanted to turn the space into a garden and worked with researchers from CAMELLIA to co-design the garden and optimise its relationship to London’s water infrastructure. The researchers developed tools that helped communities link urban greening projects to water demand and surface water management. Community members and researchers worked together throughout, securing funding, recruiting people to join the project, and supporting further work on estate greening. Setting aims

The Kipling co-design process was intended to: 1 Bring together stakeholders interested in or impacted by the greening project to develop design options and investigate the benefits and limitations of different aspects. 2 Introduce scientific analysis of water impacts into the residents’ and stakeholders’ design decisions.

Co-designing infrastructures  417 Characterising communities

The research team interviewed residents and discussed how the space was currently used, as well as ideas and concerns about changing it into a green space. They spoke to relevant teams at the estate management organisation including the gardening team to get their perspective on how this might impact existing maintenance and gardening responsibilities. In parallel, they asked for relevant local contacts and identified stakeholders who had some power to influence the space. This included local councillors, staff from the flood risk and urban regeneration teams and the wastewater strategy team in the utility company, Thames Water. A number of key factors emerged from these conversations that would need to be addressed through the planned co-design process. These were:

• • • • •

Security of the space and the risk from things being thrown down. The load capacity and condition of the roof. Access to the space. Health and hygiene. Maintenance.

Capturing requirements

The ‘capturing requirements’ workshop took place on the estate. As people entered the room, they were invited to place stickers on a wall chart indicating their knowledge of the local water and drainage system. This was intended to show the diverse spread of knowledge, and later track any gains in this ‘infrastructural literacy’. After introductions and a brief overview of London’s combined sewer system participants took part in an Infrastructure Safari. The group of 19 residents, stakeholders, and researchers divided in to 2 mixed groups and set off on a walk around the estate. The objective was to build understanding of how water systems and green infrastructure interrelate but also to allow for this understanding to be produced collectively. Following the safari, the research team led a value elicitation game in which the group discussed their main interests and concerns for the space. All the participants were asked to write down things they wanted to see in the space on green index cards, and things they did not want to see in the space on yellow cards. They showed a diverse range of aspirations. Some wanted safe cycle storage, others wanted opportunities to grow plants, and the majority wanted to increase biodiversity. The main concern was ‘unrestricted access’, which could undermine security on the estate. The range of desired and undesired factors is shown in Figure 33.3. Analysing options

The objective for the ‘analysing options’ workshop was to think through pathways to implementation and focus on creating solutions. In preparation, the research team created maquettes of the roof garden, which could be used by workshop participants to realise their ideas. The first co-design activity was ‘macromoves’ which is intended to elicit enabling and constraining factors. Similar to the value elicitation task, the group individually listed factors on index cards and then collectively sorted them into themes. The group identified volunteering as key to successful implementation, while management of access was identified as the key limiting factor. The next activity was ‘landed’. Small groups worked together to produce maquettes of the garden and record a narrative about its realisation. Each group was given a scale model of the

418  S. Bell, C. Johnson, T.-H. Teh, K. Austen, and G. Moore

Figure 33.3  Results from the value elicitation.

roof, images related to the desires identified in workshop 1, Lego pieces, pens, paper, scissors, and glue. The groups had 30 minutes to develop a garden scenario together and then made a 5-minute presentation on how the garden had come to be realised (Figure 33.4). Two narratives were developed. The first focused on the exposed climate conditions of the roof and had a strategy of using temporary screens and planters to progressively try different arrangements that would protect the planting but also maintain the privacy and security of the flats immediately overlooking the space. The second narrative took a staged approach, progressively building up access and ending with a new ramp connecting the rooftop garden to existing gardens and providing water storage underneath. Common across both scenarios were:

• • • •

Phase the garden to get greenery quickly and to trial access, usage and interest. Manage security through phased access, using green roof in vulnerable areas, and netting. Create opportunities for water storage (tanks or green roof). Cover the perimeter walls and ventilation shaft walls early.

Following these presentations, the participants had a discussion on how each scenario had addressed the five main areas of concern (funding, safety & security, water management, community, environmental impacts) and identified the ideas they wanted to take into the detailed design phase. Between the workshops

In between the second and third workshops, the research team organised two garden visits, installed a rainwater harvesting prototype and developed a water impacts calculator to be used in the final workshop. The intention of the garden visits was to provide residents with some

Co-designing infrastructures  419

Figure 33.4  Model of garden scenario.

inspiration about what could be possible and hear from others what is required to create and run community gardens. The prototype rainwater harvesting unit provided residents with direct experience of the technologies that could be installed to irrigate the garden and reduce runoff to the local sewers. The water impacts calculator was a software tool that enabled participants to assess the water demand and runoff impacts of different garden designs. Crafting solutions

The objective for the final workshop was to develop a design brief that could be used to start fundraising for implementation. The workshop was also seen by the research team as the point at which the researchers moved from leading the co-design process to supporting residents in taking forward the outcomes. During the workshop, the participants visited the roof and used chalk and string to match real space to the scale of the calculator software used to quantify water impacts of garden designs (Figure 33.5). The calculator was then used in groups to lay out various garden elements and explore water infrastructure impacts. The group then decided on key elements to be included in the final design outline, and discussed how to raise funds and implement the project. Evaluation

The co-design process had two aims: bring together stakeholders to develop design options, and add scientific analysis of water impacts into the group’s design decisions. The researchers hoped this would support residents in changing the playground from grey to green infrastructure.

420  S. Bell, C. Johnson, T.-H. Teh, K. Austen, and G. Moore

Figure 33.5  Mapping the rooftop.

The Kipling Garden allowed the research team to pilot a co-design process and develop a new set of tools to be used in community–university collaboration. The research team evaluated the co-design process as it was being implemented. Their main focus was on the useability of the tools, the success of the process in engaging stakeholders and in supporting residents’ ambitions. First, the tools. The team made assumptions around levels and types of literacy and assumed ability to participate in writing activities and computer tasks. In the event, some people were not able to participate in the activities, such as the value elicitation game, which required them to write their own ideas on cards. Some found it hard to understand or use the calculator. The residents did recognise the value of considering the water impacts of their design. They found these calculations useful for logistics; planning the source and amount of water needed. They also recognised the intrinsic value of re-using rainwater. However, some found the tool itself hard to use and asked the research team to add the elements and interpret the outcomes on their behalf. Second, residents’ participation in the process. The research team took the decision to progress the project with a small group of dedicated residents with the hope that they would gain additional support from other residents. The research team tried to increase participation and took all opportunities to advertise and inform residents about the project, but broad-based support remained elusive. Third, the role of the stakeholders. The intention behind involving the stakeholders such as Thames Water and the local council was to provide them with insight into the residents’ motivations and aspirations. Unlike the research team, the stakeholders had access to resources that could be used to implement the designs. The research team’s ambition had been for the codesign process to align stakeholders’ interest in improving environmental outcomes with residents’ plans. Ultimately, the complexities of the site and broader institutional priorities meant this alignment was not achieved. This gives cause for concern about the possibilities of community-led green-blue infrastructure and points to the need for strong institutional and political support for the value of such projects. Challenges The Kipling Garden demonstrated that it is feasible to involve local urban communities in designing elements of infrastructure. It showed that communities are interested and capable of

Co-designing infrastructures  421 addressing infrastructural priorities in creative processes that deliver improvements to local environments. A range of tools, from Lego figures to bespoke software calculators, enabled creative engagement with complex social and technical systems. Co-design provides a mechanism to bring together technical and local knowledge and creativity to deliver multiple benefits from decentralised infrastructures. The Kipling Garden also showed the limits to such processes and infrastructures in achieving change within existing infrastructures and urban governance. The residents were able to use the design they produced and the calculations about the benefit of the garden to London’s water infrastructures to raise funds for the first phase of implementation from the Mayor of London. However, the garden was ultimately moved from the rooftop to a ground level site elsewhere on the estate. Concerns about the integrity of the structure beneath the rooftop were unable to be addressed because the funding was unable to pay for a formal structural assessment. While the project quantified potential benefits to the sewer network, the water utility Thames Water was unable to fund the rooftop garden due to the technical and commercial risks associated with operating and managing an isolated, small scale asset in a community setting. The co-design process demonstrated the feasibility of designing assets with communities, and the struggles with implementation highlighted the obduracy of existing socio-technical infrastructures. Future directions Co-designing provides a pathway for strong engagement between communities and the sociotechnical systems that underpin modern urban life. It holds the potential to bring technical and social creativity and knowledge together to solve complex urban problems. Creativity is most visible in co-design workshops, but these are enabled by a structured method that operates before, after, and between these moments of physical collaboration. Co-design is a process not an event. Digital tools used within the process provide a way to bring powerful technical knowledge into the hands of communities. The Kipling Garden project produced a beta-version calculator for analysing water impacts of community garden designs. Further versions of the calculator allowed users to choose their location within London and define their own garden site. Developing software that addresses common infrastructure problems and can be customised to specific community contexts would support further creative engagement between infrastructures and communities. The Kipling Garden and the Bottom-Up Infrastructure program were funded by the UK research councils. The funding to develop and test co-design methods and tools is much greater than funding available for typical community-based projects. Further development of the methods and tools is needed to allow them to be used in contexts without the resources of universitybased research projects. Infrastructures are central to addressing complex built environment challenges such as climate change, pollution, and inequality. Recognising the socio-technical nature of infrastructure reveals the possibility for creative solutions at the interface of technical and local knowledges. Co-design methods and tools are emerging to bridge knowledge systems that are usually isolated and often in conflict. Further engagement between communities and infrastructure designers can move beyond conventional participation frameworks towards deeper collaboration and co-production of the built environment. Acknowledgements The research reported in this chapter was funded by Research Councils UK through the following grants: Bottom-Up Infrastructure (EP/N029339/1), Community Water Management for a Liveable London (CAMELLIA) (NE/S003495/1).

422  S. Bell, C. Johnson, T.-H. Teh, K. Austen, and G. Moore This chapter is adapted from Bell et al. 2023. Co-Designing Infrastructures: Community Collaboration for Liveable Cities. London: UCL Press. References Arnstein, S.R., 1969. A Ladder of Citizen Participation. J. Am. Inst. Plann. 35, 216–224. https://doi.org/ 10.1080/01944366908977225 Bell, S., Johnson, C., Austen, K., Moore, G., Teh, T.-H., 2023. Co-Designing Infrastructures [WWW Document]. UCL Press. https://www.uclpress.co.uk/products/186915 (Accessed 12 May 2022). Costanza-Chock, S., 2020. Design Justice: Community-Led Practices to Build the Worlds We Need, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA Edwards, P., 2003. Infrastructure and Modernity: Force, Time and Social Organization in the History of Sociotechnial Systems, in: Misa, T., Brey, P., Feenberg, A. (Eds.), Modernity and Technology. MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Fuad-Luke, A., 2009. Design Activism: Beautiful Strangeness for a Sustainable World. Earthscan, London. Hewitt, R.J., Bradley, N., Baggio Compagnucci, A., Barlagne, C., Ceglarz, A., Cremades, R., McKeen, M., Otto, I.M., Slee, B., 2019. Social Innovation in Community Energy in Europe: A Review of the Evidence. Front. Energy Res. 7, 31. https://doi.org/10.3389/fenrg.2019.00031 Holm, I., 2006. Ideas and Beliefs in Architecture and Industrial Design: How Attitudes, Orientations, and Underlying Assumptions Shape the Built Environment. Arkitektur- og designhøgskolen i Oslo. Larkin, B., 2013. The Politics and Poetics of Infrastructure. Annu. Rev. Anthropol. 42, 327–343. Marres, N., (2012). Material Participation: Technology, the Environment and Everyday Publics. Palgrave Macmillan, London. Marvin, S., Graham, S., 2001. Splintering Urbanism. Routledge, London. Rith, C., Dubberly, H., 2007. Horst W.J. Rittel’s Writings on Design: Select Annotations. Des. Issues. 23, 75–77. Star, S.L., 1999. The Ethnography of Infrastructure. Am. Behav. Sci. 43, 377–391. https://doi.org/10. 1177/00027649921955326 Vliet, B.V., Shove, E., Chappells, H., 2005. Infrastructures of Consumption: Environmental Innovation in the Utility Industries. Earthscan, London

34

Creativity and innovation: Revitalisation experiences as strategies to foster areas of innovation in Brazil Ana Cristina Fachinelli, Suélen Bebber, Bianca Libardi, and Thais Zimmermann Suzin

Introduction Innovation and creativity have been elevated to the top of the hierarchy of critical issues for contemporary organisations. If, on the one hand, they represent a source of economic growth and sustainability of organisations, on the other hand, they are at the root of what some authors call the neophilia phenomenon, the cult of newness and novelty (Sievers, 2007). While in premodern times and in ancient times, the Old was generally considered better than the New, the modern age has inverted the hierarchy of the time. Since the 19th century, innovation has become, according to René Girard (2004), a god to whom we still pay homage daily. This means that innovation is a representation of modernity, and the speed with which the New is ageing has increased enormously. The half-life period of knowledge, the expiration dates, and the life cycles of many products have shortened dramatically (Sievers, 2007). This context imposes a new look at the New and the Old. Their temporal boundaries are permeated by meeting zones, where the essential dynamic for innovation processes is the flow of knowledge. In other words, the critical success factor of the innovation process requires at least the ability to access, maintain, and transfer knowledge from person to person based on continuous communication flows (Allen & Henn, 2007). It is a complex process in two closely linked dimensions, the spatial and the organisational. The built environment has a fundamental role because the configuration of space can start and influence social behaviour of interaction and communication, essential to the knowledge flows of innovation processes. The connection between space and social behaviour is familiar in studies on built environments. The monasteries of the Middle Ages presented two spatial elements of social behaviour, and the spaces were configured for concentration in individual cells and communication in the cloister. When we observe this space configuration, we perceive a meeting of temporal boundaries because for the innovation-driven organisations as well as in the monasteries of the Middle Ages, “the resource of knowledge is required in the work of nearly everyone” (Allen & Henn, 2007, p. 13). Innovation is, in fact, the result of collaboration and collective intelligence. In innovation processes, individuals interact with others to transcend their own barriers and change themselves, the organisation, and their environment. Therefore, knowledge is socially created in the synthesis of different visions of several people (Nonaka; Toyama; Hirata, 2008). Consequently, knowledge is born from the subjectivity of everyone, embedded in a context with the meeting of objectivity through social processes of information exchange. As a social process, it connects with our society’s evolutionary context. Looking back to our society’s economic and social evolution, throughout the 19th century and much of the 20th century, regions and cities concentrated industries in well-defined areas DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-38

424  A. C. Fachinelli, S. Bebber, B. Libardi, and T. Z. Suzin with industrial clusters with similar or complementary activities. This panorama began to change following the transformations that occurred during the 20th century, especially after World War II. The technoscience revolution introduced new and modern technologies that transformed the production process, the development model, and people’s lifestyles (Audy & Piqué, 2016). Thus, we have evolved from a development model based on primary production and industry to a new economy based on information and knowledge. New arrangements and development environments have emerged, replacing the old industrial districts, and becoming the leading players in economic and social development and generating employment and income. As a result of agglomeration effects, new metropolitan economy clusters comprise not only single firms but substantial clusters of dynamic industries that have become science parks or innovation areas (AOIs) (Massey et al., 1992; Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). This transformation gave place to a new configuration of information and knowledge exchange by creating innovation environments, particularly innovation districts (Audy & Piqué, 2016). Innovation districts are being developed in many cities worldwide, occupying the old, degraded industrial districts. The revitalisation in these districts allows the cities to have a region focused on creating a dynamic physical realm that strengthens proximity and knowledge spillovers (Katz & Wagner, 2014). While the existing literature has focused on the evolution of traditional science parks, a lack of research sheds light on the factors that explain the organic or induced development of areas of innovation (AOIs). Cities like Recife, Florianópolis, São José dos Campos, and Porto Alegre are examples of these areas in Brazil. While innovation is imperative for developed countries, in countries like Brazil, still developing, it represents a challenge to overcome with additional degrees of difficulty because of educational standards and investment capacity. On the other hand, creativity and business vision associated with public policies that assume reality as the basis for leveraging development have generated promising initiatives for accelerating innovation in some regions. These are examples where the new, represented by innovation, meets the old, represented by old buildings with recognised cultural significance. This study examines revitalisation experiences as strategies to foster AOIs to favour creativity and innovation from the flows of knowledge and technologies based on Brazilian cases. For this examination, we assume the lenses of the life cycle of innovation areas in cities proposed by Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent (2019) and of knowledge flows for innovation by Allen & Henn (2007), as well as the concepts of urban revitalisation. Theoretical background If, at any given moment in history, urbanism was marked by strands that required segregated zoning of the cities, separating them into residential, commercial, industrial, and institutional zones, today, the activities of the New Economy lead us to the opposite: it is necessary to integrate. Integrating uses, people, and cultures generates synergy among the agents, which is indispensable to innovation. At the end of the 20th century in Brazil, the expansion of cities, mainly due to the rural exodus, caused the occupation of the industry’s adjacent areas, limiting their expansion. Thus, industries migrated to the outskirts of the cities, to new industrial districts, or along highways, facilitating their further growth and the proper flow of goods. Consequently, large portions of the city fabric were abandoned, creating urban gaps often endowed with good infrastructure and a privileged location. Simultaneously, a new way of expanding the city is emerging, no longer beyond its peripheries, but densifying and “sewing” the urban fabric – a practice known as “infill”. At this point appears the significant problem of the urban requalification of

Creativity and innovation  425 degraded areas in a sustainable way without eliminating the place’s identity and generating a segregated space. In this regard, Ortegosa (2009) pointed out fundamental aspects of the life of a city: the architecture and the places as scenarios of memories that denote meaning to the place and the spacesynthesis as the awakening of “islands of affectivity” in its inhabitants. Memory generates the place’s appropriation by its community, which is indispensable for its success. To extract a place’s past is to define its legibility, and it is in this scope that the past must be considered, not only as a rescue of some missed time or of an already dead culture (Ortegosa, 2009). The rediscovery of cultural symbols can define the identity of city spaces in the built environment – the collective and subjective memory. Hauser (2005) offered as an alternative of urban requalification of degraded areas the implementation of technological parks or AOIs. They can be defined as planned and new industrial complexes arising from the information society. Therefore, scientific-technological based, rooted in research and development (R&D), and built from cooperative and formal character, attracting innovative and flexible companies. AOIs derive from public-private partnership real estate enterprises that connect companies, universities, government, and, nevertheless, its community, being promoters of the culture of information, innovation, synergy, competitiveness, and business empowerment. Thus, instead of urban renewal, as the Modern Movement practises, AOIs seek revitalisation, or urban requalification, valuing the context, diversity, sense of place, experience, and culture as conviviality. The knowledge economy originated a new paradigm of value generation since it is based on knowledge and technology, that is, on immaterial resources capable of ensuring continuous exploitation (Catarino; Faro; Vargas, 2007). Since then, urban planning has faced several challenges in playing a relevant role in this economy (Landry, 2000). From the turn of the century, the urban planners’ trend came to replace old factories and abandoned industrial metropolitan areas, most located in brown fields that call for several adaptations. These areas count on new knowledge environments, which arise from the balance between the productive system, the existing culture, and the natural environment (Scott, 2006). This way, revitalised cities, which stimulate various forms of knowledge, can attract a creative and highly skilled workforce favouring innovation. The development of these innovation areas is based on the dynamic governance model of the Triple Helix (Etzkowitz e Leydesdorff, 2000), which enhances the collaboration between public administration, universities, and companies to increase the competitiveness of the productive system, and assist in the creation, growth, and consolidation of jobs (Piqué; Miralles; BerbegalMirabent, 2019). In this context, the location of an AOI, as well as its built environment, plays an important role. The co-location of Triple Helix’s agents promotes synergies and collaboration among them and can even provide opportunities for the “mix & match” of products from various industries. In addition, the listed location should also function as a place of social interaction and housing (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). From an institutional perspective, enhancing a given area to create an urban innovation ecosystem requires the creation of a context that ensures the free flow of talent, technology, and capital (Etzkowitz e Leydesdorff, 2000). Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent (2019) pointed out two strategies for planning AOIs: the directed and the spontaneous. The difference between them lies in the desire to create something new or to exploit something pre-existing. The directed planning strategy consists of identifying underutilised spaces, subsequently enabling their occupation by adapting or creating infrastructures and spaces, giving them new purposes and use (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). The spontaneous planning strategy, in turn, results from an organic spatial concentration of innovative activity, originating from the sum of players located in a given area and, generally,

426  A. C. Fachinelli, S. Bebber, B. Libardi, and T. Z. Suzin under the aegis of institutional anchors. In the latter, basic services were initially provided to attract resources (people, technology, and capital). New infrastructure and services are created as these resources increase, including housing and real estate opportunities. Furthermore, Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent (2019) defined a Life Cycle for Areas of Innovation in which the agents of the Triple Helix act in different activities and at other times. This cycle starts with creation, launch, and growth until reaching maturity. Throughout the cycle, each stakeholder’s hard and soft factors are aligned to contribute to the mobility of resources of an innovation ecosystem: people, technology, and capital (Engel & Del-Palacio, 2011). Creating a specific area to enhance an urban innovation ecosystem requires identifying a ­local context that allows talent, technology, and capital to flow freely. The launch of the territory occurs when the basic infrastructure is prepared to receive its first tenants. At this stage, anchor institutions such as universities, hospitals, or large corporations take a leading role, acting as catalysts for innovation. When the AOI is well developed in urban planning, and the infrastructure is in place, it moves into the growth stage with the attraction of real estate investors, future tenants, and professionals. After expansion comes to the maturity stage, this stage focuses on developing activities that maximise the innovation ecology and the connection with other international innovation hubs. At each stage of the AOI Life Cycle, the role of each agent of the Triple Helix works to enable the subsequent stage. By defining land use, governance enables universities and companies to inhabit the AOI. Universities, in its turn, develop the key professionals and talent for the knowledge-based companies, as well as the new startups that will receive future investments from the large corporations responsible for absorbing the innovations generated (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). Each agent of the Triple Helix co-evolves its attributions from the moment each one adopts new roles, together with the innovation ecosystem they are part of. For example, in urban transformation, the government is initially required to invest in infrastructure and the first buildings. However, as one stage evolves, real estate investors can take over the construction of the new facilities, turning future government investments in this sphere unnecessary (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). Brazilian cases Urban space revitalisation associated with the development of technologies, innovation and creativity fit as success cases in numerous cities worldwide. In Brazil, it is no different, and several Brazilian cities have already presented transformations in this direction since the beginning of the century. This section will show successful examples of projects aimed at innovation districts, the creative economy, and social innovation through revitalising places in cities with innovation in their DNAs. Porto Digital Technological Park – Recife PE

The first example refers to the transformation that occurred in Recife: from an abandoned Historical Centre (see Figure 34.1) to a Technological Park. First, we shall know the city’s history: the settlement of Recife occurred due to the occupation of the Brazilian coast by the Portuguese forces from the colonisation process at the beginning of the 16th century. The arrival of the ­Portuguese culminated in the settlement and construction of the first urban facilities in the territory. Still, the growth of Recife occurred from the Dutch invasion between 1637 and 1654, a period in which the invaders had a substantial expansion of the city through the construction

Creativity and innovation  427

Figure 34.1  Degraded building in the historic centre of Recife. Source: Available at: acidadeeahistoria.blogspot.com.

of urban infrastructure equipment. Almost two centuries later, in 1817, after the Portuguese reconquered Recife, there was a strong growth of commercial activities in the city using the urban structures left by the Dutch. Thus, Recife became an important commercial centre on the Atlantic coast of the Northeast. From then on, Recife registered remarkable economic growth. This scenario enabled the city’s political power to increase, officialised as the capital of Pernambuco in 1827. Nowadays, Recife is one of the main metropolises of Brazil and is also known worldwide for its frevo – carnival celebrations. Recife started, in the year 2000, the construction of the Porto Digital Technological Park. The idea came from the need to create a new agenda for the economy of the State of Pernambuco, taking advantage of an attractive region to encourage innovation and stimulate economic and social changes to generate more wealth, employment, and income (Porto Digital, 2022). With an initial investment of 6 million dollars from the state government and 2 million dollars from private companies, the central area of the city, which was previously degraded and had little influence on the local economy, was revitalised in several ways: in its urbanism, in the real estate and in the recovery of the existing historical heritage. Since then, approximately 140,000 square meters of the historic centre have been restored, and another 171 hectares from other city districts were occupied in the expansion of the park (Porto Digital, 2022). At launch, anchor institutions were necessary but insufficient, so the innovation community (companies, universities, and government) needed to use its resources to leverage core competencies, interact with similar communities and experiment with innovation taking risks besides a global perspective. To make the project work, the innovation area needed managers all the time

428  A. C. Fachinelli, S. Bebber, B. Libardi, and T. Z. Suzin

Figure 34.2  Recife urban revitalisation in Porto Digital Technological Park. Source: Available at: www.vecteezy.com.

to promote and organise the changing environment. Along with reference buildings and incubators, housing units and the social dimension should be contemplated to retain and attract talent and investment from inception to maturity. The identity of the built environment was a critical factor in the success of the AOI (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). Over the years, the territorial expansion was notorious and Porto Digital received recognition from numerous national and international institutions. The Technological Park, the result of the coordination idealised by the Triple Helix, was initially formed by only three companies and 46 people. Today, it hosts over 350 companies, development organisations and government agencies, and almost 15,000 professionals and entrepreneurs, generating an annual turnover of approximately 1 billion dollars (see Figure 34.2). Porto Digital operates in the axes of software production, Information Technology and Communication Services, and Creative Economy, besides the focus on the future of cities through prototyping based on digital manufacturing, the Internet of Things, and the promotion of sustainability actions and improvement of citizens’ well-being (Porto Digital, 2022). Sapiens centre Creative District – Florianópolis SC

On the other side of Brazil, the city of Florianópolis, the capital of the state of Santa Catarina, in the South of Brazil, is known for its beaches and has an economy based on tourism, services and information technology. The region where Florianópolis is located was, since long before the arrival of the Portuguese colonisers in 1500, inhabited by the Tupi-Guarani indigenous people. In 1675, the settlement of the current capital of Santa Catarina began, intensifying with the arrival of immigrants from the country’s Southeast. The progress in the territory of Florianópolis also advanced the local economy, predominantly composed of primary activities and manufactures.

Creativity and innovation  429

Figure 34.3  School Museum Catarinense refurbished to house the coworking of the Creative District. Source: Available at: www1.udesc.br.

Florianópolis is today one of the main urban centres of Santa Catarina. The city is on an island of 424.4 km2 and a continental stretch. Due to its rich folklore and the legends that permeate the popular imagination, it is known as the Magic Island. But, as in so many other Brazilian cities, the historic centre of Florianópolis faced abandonment for a few decades. In 2015, the commercial and historical region was noted by different stakeholders, spotting new perspectives for creating a Creative District (Gomez; Warken; Rodrigues, 2017) (see Figure 34.3). A partnership between the private initiative and the Federal University of Santa Catarina, with support from the Municipality of Florianópolis, enabled the creation of the Centro Sapiens Creative District. The project was initiated in September 2015, with the expectation of efficiently using the Historic East Centre of Florianópolis and carrying out articulations towards a series of continuous actions and fostering territorial technological development aimed at promoting the creative economy with a focus on tourism, gastronomy, arts, design and technology, sectors with great potential in the city (Floripamanhã, 2020).

430  A. C. Fachinelli, S. Bebber, B. Libardi, and T. Z. Suzin

Figure 34.4  Revitalisation works in the historic centre of Florianópolis. Source: Available at: www.portal.iphan.gov.br.

The models developed in Barcelona, Bologna, Medellin, and London inspired Florianóplis to lead the project through a process of urban revitalisation and the promotion of the local creative economy. The main changes developed were prototyping workshops for revitalising streets that make up the Creative District; revitalisation of historic buildings; underground electrical cabling in the historic centre; improvement of pavements and urban planning and urban microinterventions for the rehabilitation of public spaces (Centro Sapiens, 2022). This initiative is connected to Sapiens Park, a vital innovation park in the capital of Santa Catarina, which brings together science, art, and environment in a single space intending to generate successful initiatives and experiences. From the development of the Sapiens Centre Creative District, Florianópolis, which already gathered several characteristics that made the city a propitious place for the development of the Creative Economy (Figure 34.4), started to be nationally and internationally recognised as one of the best cities for entrepreneurship, innovation, and quality of life (Centro Sapiens, 2022). The Innovation Area has extended its boundaries around the original perimeter and transferred its experience to other city areas. Because it does not precisely present an end or a conclusion, this process is called Life Cycle. The site is a mature innovation hub that connects with other Parks and Areas, creating International Networks. In the social dimension, the innovation area includes the society involved (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). Fourth district – Porto Alegre RS

Also, in the South of Brazil, Porto Alegre, the capital of Rio Grande do Sul, is another fine example of how cities are living organisms and are constantly transforming. The neighbourhoods Floresta, São Geraldo, Navegantes, Farrapos, and Humaitá – the Fourth District – form a strip that borders the Historic Centre of Porto Alegre. It is an area that was once the centre of social and industrial activity of the capital. Still, as the other examples presented, it suffered from

Creativity and innovation  431 abandonment and needed to reinvent itself. For this reason, Porto Alegre is the third example shown in this study: a social innovation case. Porto Alegre began with the migration of Azoreans in 1752, who settled in the region because of the agreements signed by the Madrid Treaty. Two decades later, Porto Alegre became the capital of the state. The intense migratory flow in Brazil in the 19th century was also directed to the city, which received German, Italian, African, Spanish, Lebanese, Jewish, and Polish immigrants. In this same period, the Farroupilha Revolution occurred, an internal conflict aimed to make Rio Grande do Sul a state independent from Brazil. This meant stagnation in the city’s urban development between 1835 and 1845. After the end of the conflict, and especially in the first decades of the 20th century, the city experienced an intense growth cycle. Today, Porto Alegre is the largest municipality in the state. In addition to the proximity to the rivers, a railway line connecting Porto Alegre to other regions of the state passed by the Fourth District; therefore, it was natural that industry development occurred in this region. However, this began to change in the 1970s, when industries migrated to other cities in the Metropolitan Region and the state, degrading this region (Wikihaus, 2019). Years of abandonment drew the attention of the public authorities, private initiatives, and academia, which in 2013 recognised the need to rescue the region’s importance, starting the Creative District project. The Creative District is an initiative to propose innovative forms of organisation to the community that has a social impact, bringing environmental, cultural, economic, and social values. In terms of area, it is a territorial cluster occupying around 250 hectares in Porto Alegre (Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, 2022). From the formation of this network, joint actions and small interventions were developed according to the territory’s specific needs. The public sector participates in the initiative by granting tax exemption to properties used by technologybased companies in this area (Prefeitura de Porto Alegre, 2022). At this stage, the challenge was attracting real estate investors for buildings that attract and retain future tenants and encouraging companies to choose the AOI as the right place to deploy (Figure 34.5). As for the social dimension, in the growth stage, professionals started to create communities and networks of people that generate synergies and a sense of belonging to the tenants of the innovation environment (Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent, 2019). This project has yielded for the city several initiatives and attractions that promote social innovation (see Figure 34.6), such as independent movements to transform the city into a more innovative and sustainable place; associations that promote social and cultural activities and also creative ventures in various areas; entrepreneurs and artists who help transform the neighbourhood into a creative economy hub; community coworking; collaborative production of beer products; high-level audiovisual production studios, as well as bars and places to hang out that attract various publics and, therefore, avoid stigmas and welcome the community (Wikihaus, 2019). Main learnings This study examined revitalisation experiences as strategies to encourage AOIs and foster creativity and innovation from knowledge and technology flows based on Brazilian cases to celebrate and prognosticate the reciprocal relationships between creativity and the built environment. In the three cases presented, we found evidence of the different performances of the agents of the Triple Helix and that all agents are necessary to fulfil the phases for the transformation of the environments into a creative and innovative space, in agreement with the study presented by Piqué; Miralles; Berbegal-Mirabent (2019).

432  A. C. Fachinelli, S. Bebber, B. Libardi, and T. Z. Suzin

Figure 34.5  Vila Flores architectural complex in the fourth district of Porto Alegre. Source: Available at: www.caurs.gov.br.

Figure 34.6  Caldeira Institute in the fourth district of Porto Alegre. Source: Available at: www.archdaily.com.br.

Creativity and innovation 433 The Recife case evidenced how important it was for the innovation community to take risks from a global perspective when restoring several buildings to adapt the neighbourhood’s infrastructure to receive modern companies while maintaining its architectural characteristics. To make this work, the Innovation area needed managers promoting and organising the changing environment. Besides the reference buildings and incubators, housing units and the social dimension were mobilised to retain and attract talent and investment from its inception to maturity. The identity of the built environment was a key factor for the AOI’s success. In the Florianópolis case, meeting the new and the old allowed the expansion of the revitalisation area and the connection with other technology parks. Therefore, the AOI should not be limited to the geographical area, avoiding physical boundaries and promoting relationships favourable to the flow of knowledge required for innovation. In Porto Alegre, the synergy and sense of belonging among the tenants of the innovation environment is the basis for the engagement of the AOI actors. Revitalisation for innovation made it possible to rescue the identity while promoting innovation. This relationship could consolidate a strong culture of innovation in the revitalised area, expanding the city. In the three cases, it was clear that a coevolution process is developed, interacting with Government, Universities, and Industry. Given what has been proposed in this chapter, it is possible to conclude that the built environment favours creativity and innovation from the flows of knowledge and technologies. Furthermore, the construction of physical spaces with urban infrastructure suitable for research, development, and innovation activities is structured to promote the meeting and sharing of projects and ideas. When planned for this purpose, environments contribute to innovation and creativity while representing a new work structure based on collaboration and sharing of knowledge and ideas aiming at an inclusive and sustainable economy, that is, creative rather than for the maintenance of a system in which human creativity is limited to economic interests. This provides conditions for the flourishing of innovation, whether in products, business models, or culture, which is forever changing the lifestyle of our society. Different spaces with different stakeholders may have other starting and functioning points. Still, revitalising areas for innovation always have a common goal: pursuing economic and social development through technology and innovation. References Allen, T., & Henn, G. (2007). The organization and architecture of innovation. 1st Edition. Routledge. London, UK, available at: https://doi.org/10.4324/9780080545370 (accessed 20 October 2022). Audy, J., & Piqué, J. (2016). Dos parques científicos e tecnológicos aos ecossistemas de inovação. Desenvolvimento social e econômico na sociedade do conhecimento. Anprotec – Tendências. Brasília, DF, available at: https://anprotec.org.br/site/publicacoes-anprotec/ebooks/ (accessed 18 October 2022). Catarino, J., Faro, C., & Vargas, J. (2007). Economia do conhecimento, Administração local 1st Edition. Princípia Editora. Parede, PT. Centro Sapiens (2022). Centro de Gestão e Estudos Estratégicos, available at: http://www.cgee.org.br (accessed 20 October 2022). Engel, J. S., & Del-Palacio, I. (2011). “Global Clusters of Innovation: The Case of Israel and Silicon Valley”, California Management Review, Vol. 53, No. 2, pp. 27–49, available at: https://journals.sagepub. com/doi/pdf/10.1525/cmr.2011.53.2.27 (accessed 20 October 2022). Etzkowitz, H., & Leydesdorff, L. (2000). “The Dynamics of Innovation: From National Systems and ‘Mode 2’ to a Triple Helix of University-Industry-Government Relations”, Research Policy, Vol. 29, No. 2, pp. 109–123, available at: https://doi.org/10.1016/S0048-7333(99)00055-4 (accessed 21 October 2022).

434  A. C. Fachinelli, S. Bebber, B. Libardi, and T. Z. Suzin Floripamanhã (2020). Notícias, available at: https://floripamanha.org/noticias-de-floripa/ (accessed 20 October 2022). Girard, R. (2004, 13 November). “Nachricht von Neuerung, die draufund drunter geht”, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, Vol. 266, p. 41. (accessed 21 October 2022). Gomez, L. S. R., Warken, D. D., & Rodrigues, R. B. (2017). “Centro Sapiens: economia criativa aplicada no centro histórico leste de Florianópolis”, e-Revista LOGO, Vol. 6, No. 2, pp. 84–102, available at: https:// www.sumarios.org/artigo/centro-sapiens-economia-criativa-aplicada-no-centro-hist%C3%B3ricoleste-de-florian%C3%B3polis (accessed 20 October 2022). Hauser, G. (2005). “Parques Tecnológicos como instrumentos de requalificação urbana de áreas degradadas”, Traços e Pontos de vista, Editora da Ulbra, Vol. 1, pp. 108–129, available at: https://dialnet. unirioja.es/servlet/libro?codigo=706798 (accessed 18 October 2022). Katz, B., & Wagner, J. (2014). The rise of innovation districts: A new geography of innovation in America. Brookings. Washington, DC, available at: https://search.issuelab.org/resource/the-rise-of-innovationdistricts-a-new-geography-of-innovation-in-america.html (accessed 19 October 2022). Landry, C. (2000). The creative city: A toolkit for urban innovators. Earthscan, Routledge. London. available at: http://memoriadasolimpiadas.rb.gov.br/jspui/bitstream/123456789/496/1/IU063%20-%20Charles %20LANDRY%20-%20The%20criative%20city.pdf (accessed 20 October 2022). Nonaka, I., Toyama, R., & Hirata, T. (2008). Managing flow: A process theory of the knowledgebased firm. Springer, London, UK. Ortegosa, S. M. (2009). “Cidade e memória: do urbanismo ‘arrasa-quarteirão’ à questão do lugar”. Arquitextos, Vol. 10, No. 112.07, São Paulo, SP, available at: https://vitruvius.com.br/revistas/read/arquitextos/ 10.112/30 (accessed 21 October 2022). Piqué, J. M., Miralles, F., & Berbegal-Mirabent, J. (2019). “Areas of Innovation in Cities: The Evolution of 22@Barcelona”, International Journal of Knowledge-Based Development, Vol. 10, No. 1, pp. 3–25, available at: https://upcommons.upc.edu/bitstream/handle/2117/360065/Paper%20UPC%20Commons. pdf?sequence=1 (accessed 19 October 2022). Porto Digital (2022). História, available at: https://www.portodigital.org/paginas-institucionais/o-portodigital/historia (accessed 18 October 2022). Prefeitura de Porto Alegre (2022). Programa de Regeneração Urbana Sustentável do 4° Distrito, available at: https://www.prefeitura.poa.br/smamus/planejamento-urbano/projetos/programa-de-regeneracaourbana-sustentavel-do-4o-distrito (accessed 20 October 2022). Scott, A. J. (2006). “Creative Cities: Conceptual Issues and Policy Questions”, Journal of Urban Affairs, Vol. 28, No. 1, pp. 1–17, available at: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1111/j.0735-2166. 2006.00256.x (accessed 19 October 2022). Sievers, B. (2007). “‘It Is New, and It Has To Be Done!’: Socio-analytic Thoughts on Be. Still, the Cynicism in Organizational Transformation 1”, Culture and Organization, Vol. 13, No. 1, pp. 1–21, available at: https://doi.org/10.1080/14759550601167222 (accessed 21 October 2022). Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul (2022). O Quarto Distrito de Porto Alegre como um caso de inovação social, available at: https://www.ufrgs.br/jornal/o-quarto-distrito-de-porto-alegre-como-umcaso-de-inovacao-social/ (accessed 18 October 2022). Wikihaus (2019). De olho no futuro: conheça o 4° Distrito de Porto Alegre, available at: https://wikihaus. com.br/blog/de-olho-no-futuro-conheca-o-quarto-distrito-de-porto-alegre/ (accessed 20 October 2022).

35

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus A case study of Bandung Julie T. Miao, Adiwan Fahlan Aritenang, and Nadia Gissma

State of the art This chapter is positioned within the discipline of urban studies. In particular, it is interested in how third place, as exemplified by coworking space, is coupling the virtual and physical environments to stimulate creativity. Third places refer to the social surroundings separate from the two usual environments of home (‘first place’) and the workplace (‘second place’) (Oldenburg, 1989). These may be informal gathering spaces for the community, such as cafes, bars, restaurants, bookshops, and also public spaces like churches, parks, recreation centres, hairdressers, gyms, and bus stops. The importance of third places for building civil engagement and community coherence has been well documented. Increasingly, the potential of third spaces to nurture creativity and innovation has been emphasised upon by city managers, particularly stimulated by the global rush to turn their city into a creative city, knowledge city, and lately, smart city. It is believed that the third places are important for cities to maintain their vitality through supporting certain disorders. These disorders may in the form of creating spaces that encourage discovery through organic changes to the modern grid to make it more expressive and promote public spaces into open systems by reducing control (Sennett, 1970, 1990). The result is a greater creativity vibe brought by the presence of people at different times and the compatibility of diverse activities ­(Jalaladdini and Oktay, 2011). Immediately, therefore, we see the connection between built environment and creativity. Among the various formats of third spaces, we focus on coworking spaces, which are arguably the best examples of built environments responding to creative needs. These spaces are commonly used by creative and digital workers, as a place of work for freelancers, a mailing address for start-ups, and also a gathering hub through workshops, meetups, and other networking events. Historically, the first coworking space, or ‘Schraubenfabrik’, was established in Austria in 2002 and was used as an entrepreneurial centre and start-ups activist headquarters. In Indonesia, the first coworking space was Hackerspace Bandung, founded by Forum Web Anak Bandung (FOWAB) in 2010 (Dailysocialid, 2018). Following the growth of start-ups in Indonesia, coworking spaces flourish in cities with emerging creative and digital sectors such as Jakarta, Bandung and Yogyakarta (CIPG and BC, 2017). There is a growth of literature on coworking spaces since the new century. Focus could be roughly divided into three strands. First set of literature is concerned with coworking as a business model and is mainly contributed by business school and property studies. Yang et al. (2019), for example, suggested three business focus of coworking spaces (revenue, synergistic, and customer contact), which can be used as a part of organisations’ corporate real estate strategies to build workplace flexibility and resiliency. Bouncken et al. (2018) argue that entrepreneurs in DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-39

436  J. T. Miao, A. F. Aritenang, and N. Gissma coworking spaces face coopetitive tensions of creating and appropriating values, which are in turn influenced by different institutions of coworking-spaces. Second strand of literature is led by social and urban scholars who are more interested in the network effect enabled by this built format (Peuter et al., 2017). Merkel (2015), for example, believes that coworking provides more than just ‘working alone together’ (Spinuzzi, 2012) but an urban social infrastructure enabling collaborations between people, ideas, and places. ­Capdevila (2014) further classified three collaboration approaches in coworking places, including costrelated, resource-based, and relational oriented. He noted that each coworking space tends to focus on one kind of collaboration, which in turn is influenced to a greater or lesser degree by the coworking space managers. The last strand of works pays attention to the physical design, structure, layout, and atmosphere in order to peak into the ingredients of a successful coworking space. These are often led by architects and designers. Balakrishnan et al. (2016), for example, classified coworking as part of the broader ‘servicescape’, a term that emphasises the physical service environment and its influences on consumer behaviours. The framework built upon the ‘stimulus-organismresponse’ (SOR) theory from Mehrabian and Russell (1974), which explains ‘stimulus’ represented by physical elements and ‘organism’ the customers’ experiences. The experiences then result in customer and employee ‘response’ in behaviour change depending on their reactions to the physical evidence. Here the physical evidence includes interior design and deco, ambience, equipment, signage, layout, air quality, and temperature. Many studies in the last strand, therefore, have been trying to identify the specific features of coworking spaces that make them attractive and sticky. In general, coworking spaces are designed homey and flexible. Some of the standard facilities and services provided are workspaces, meeting rooms, internet, printers, kitchens (often with free snacks and soft drinks), dining rooms, and relaxation/public areas. Some even provide games rooms and gym on site (Deskmag, 2012). As curated workspaces, coworking spaces are often prepared to accommodate specific work activities (Jakonen et al., 2017), such as demo rooms/gadget rooms where applications/devices ready for commercialisation are displayed, and creative corners where product development is still in progress. As a synergistic servicescape (Tombs and Mccoll-Kennedy, 2003), coworking helps entrepreneurs and professionals to develop their networks and generate new ideas (Damayanti, 2017). For this purpose, there are often meeting rooms, cafe corners, and lounges for formal and casual discussions. These design features have contributed to the popularity and effectiveness of coworking. Through surveying coworking members, Deskmag (2012), for example, noted that 71% of coworking participants had reported increased creativity and 62% with improved work standards. Perceiving the market potential, the proprietors of coworking spaces are spending substantial amount of money in designing, building, renovating, and refurbishing (Deskmag, 2013a). Yet, marketing of these spaces tends to refer to certain vocabularies repetitively to explain the nature and benefit of becoming a member. Those terms are such as ‘collaborative’, ‘community’, ‘co-creation’, ‘creativity’, and ‘innovative’. However, little is known about what and why are these environment factors promoted and their effect on the members. Balakrishnan et al. (2016, p. 841) therefore proposed a ‘coworkingscape’ concept, which refers to the design and management of physical and social elements in a coworking space environment where the members occupy, work, interact, and experience in achieving their desired goals. Some of the key physical and social stimulus are summarised in Table 35.1. Limitations of coworking studies, however, are worth noting. First, microlevel discussions on coworking spaces have not been fully integrated into the study on urban forms and functions on the meso or macrolevels. On the one hand, coworking scholars are concerned with concrete

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus  437 Table 35.1  Dimensions of coworkingscape Physical environment Ambience Facility aesthetics Space and spatial layout Functionality Signs and symbols Cleanliness Social environment Interactions Professional development activities Collaborations Culture practice

Customer feel more fascinated if venue managers could ensure a good ambience for guests including temperature, lighting, music, aroma, and air quality (Yee et al., 2012; Ryu and Jang 2008). Aesthetic appeal of the facility architecture and decor is identified as one of the primary determinants of perceived servicescape (Wakefield and Blodgett, 1996). The way furnishing and equipment, service areas, and passageways are arranged as well as spatial relationships among these elements (Bitner, 1992). Adequate ventilation, state-of-the-art audio-visual equipment, comfortable seating, and adequate restrooms could contribute to the influence of functionality (Siu et al., 2012; Wu and Weber, 2005). Intended to communicate the environment and offerings. Even more important in a post-COVID come-back. Among members and between members and facility managers. Value-added events, trainings, services. Between members in formal and informal collaborative activities. The six values of coworking culture are openness, accessibility, community, communication, collaboration, and creativity (Deskwanted, 2012).

Source: Adapted from Balakrishnan et al. (2016, p.841).

issues such as the specific business models developed, interior space configurations, tenant mix, and service provision; on the other hand, urban development scholars are occupied with the current and future trend of urban growth, development drivers, and the necessary infrastructures to make growth real. Various terms such as knowledge city, creative city, green city, and now smart city, are proposed to catch citizens’ imagines and support. Rarely, the small dot of coworking space is featured on this broad visioning map of urban futures. Second, to date, the role of social elements for the performance of coworking spaces is mostly discussed conceptually (Tombs and Mccoll-Kennedy, 2003). Related, the widely celebrated network effect of coworking lacks empirical evidence, especially in developing countries. In particular, little is known on whether, and how, coworking spaces are functioning as the network node within its broad metropolitan settings, especially for developing countries (Fahmi, Koster, and van Dijk, 2016). This chapter attempts to contribute by offering preliminary evidence to the above research gaps. It asks two crucial questions: first, what are the physical forms and facilities that are important for the presence of coworking spaces in the global south? Second, in a wider scale, what are the configurations of networks centred on these coworking spaces? In what follows, the methodological approaches used by scholars to explore the creativity-coworking interface are summarised first. It is followed by a case study of Bandung, the frontier of creative and smart city development in Indonesia. Long known as the art and creative city, coupled with more than 50 higher education institutions, the city’s development is highly influenced by creativity, youth, and its networks. The rising demand from these creative forces has stimulated a growing number of cafes and coworking spaces in the early 2010s. Yet detailed empirical studies of its coworking ecosystem is still limited. Conclusion reflects on the obstacles facing coworking spaces in general and their roles as potential creativity nurturer in particular.

438  J. T. Miao, A. F. Aritenang, and N. Gissma Research methodologies Studies exploring the creativity-coworking interface have deployed both qualitative and quantitative approaches in data collection. Literature review and secondary data analysis often start the research, which help to set up the conceptual framework and/or key indicators to examine. For qualitative approach, fieldwork is then followed and interviews conducted with targeted informants. Immediate stakeholders, including coworking users and operators, are the focused groups. Spinuzzi (2012), for example, conducted interviews with 17 coworkers and 16 coworking space proprietors at nine Austin coworking sites in order to understand how coworking is defined, who cowork, and why they cowork. Merkel (2015), on the other hand, conducted 25 semi-structured interviews with coworking hosts in Berlin, London, and New York for their views on how they facilitate collective work. Rarely, stakeholders from a wider urban development circle, such as planners, government officials, property investors, and community members, are interviewed for their views on the development and prospect of coworking, reflecting a narrow focus on the coworking businesses and space users per se. Quantitative approach tends to adopt surveys among coworkers and/or proprietors. Depending on the questionnaire designs and questions to be addressed, descriptive analysis or statistical analysis would then be conducted. Vanichvatana (2018), for example, surveyed 300 coworking space users from 6 coworking spaces in Bangkok in order to investigate the users’ characteristics, behaviours, and perspectives. Descriptive analysis was conducted with tables and diagrams to illustrate the findings. Bueno et al. (2018) have adopted more complicated data collection and analysis method. The authors first visited the company directory of the Coworking Wiki website (http://wiki. coworking.org) to generate a list of coworking spaces from North America, South America, Europe, Turkey, Egypt, Morocco, Russia, and Australia. They then contacted these coworking spaces via various multimedia channels (e.g., email, Twitter, and Facebook) to request collaboration on this study. A total of 518 invitations were sent to coworking space directors, and 75 agreed to participate. These agreed coworking spaces then activated their own procedures to distribute the questionnaires among their coworkers. In nine months’ time, a total of 193 completed questionnaires were returned. With these data, the authors adopted structural equation modelling with maximum likelihood estimation method to test their hypotheses. The result confirmed a positive impact of both the coworking environment and social interactions on the productivity of space users. Although existing works provide a rich information on the nature, operation, and potential benefits of coworking, there are few studies exploring the location choices of coworking spaces. Mariotti et al.’s (2021) work is a welcome contribution here. The authors investigated the location factors of the 549 coworking spaces located in Italy in the year 2018 with both descriptive and econometric analysis (a Zero-Inflated Negative Binomial model). Findings showed that coworking is mainly an urban phenomenon, and municipalities with better innovation and entrepreneurial environment (i.e., major cities) are especially preferred. With georeferenced data, Hölzel et al. (2022) investigated the spatial relations between coworking spaces and specific points of interest (POIs) that are daily destinations relevant for a common lifestyle of working people. The results show an accumulation of coworking spaces and POIs in non-peripheral regions and a higher number of specific POIs in their vicinity, thus demonstrating the convenience and urban-oriented considerations of coworking spaces. The case study presented in this chapter adopted a qualitative approach consisting of document analysis, on-site observations, questionnaire surveys of coworking space managers, and in-depth interviews with a broader range of stakeholders. The surveys were carried out among managers of the seven identifiable coworking spaces in Bandung from February to

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus  439 Table 35.2  Coworking spaces in Bandung No

Name

Establishment

No of employers

Address

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Eduplex Block 71 Lokasi Co&Co Sosiohub Workspace 53 Bandung Digital Valley

2016 2018 2018 2012 2014 2017 2011

–

Jl. Ir. H. Juanda No.84 Jl. Ir. H. Juanda No.108 Jl. Ir. H. Juanda No.92 Jl. Dipati Ukur No.5 Jl. Sukahaji (Bandung) Jl. Naripan (Bandung) Gegerkalong and UNPAD

4 15 13 2 5 15

Source: Authors’ analysis (2020).

December 2020 (Table 35.2) in order to obtain information on facilities, networks, and other stakeholders’ roles in the business. The semi-structured interviews were conducted both face-toface and online (since lockdown in April 2020) with various actors in the creative city ecosystem, including the city government, smart city command centre managers, start-ups, university researchers, community, and coworking space managers. Questions centred on the networks emanated from the coworking spaces, and the ecosystem supporting a broader creative/smart city in the making. A typical interview lasted for 30 to 60 minutes and all of them were recorded. Interviewee recruitment followed a snow-balling technique, where we first identified respondents from our present networks including alumni, friends, and university colleagues. These respondents were then asked to nominate and suggest other colleagues and professional contacts that were relevant for the study. Interview transcripts were coded and analysed thematically with NVivo to generate meaningful information. Analysis results were triangulated with content analysis using coworking space pamphlets and social media, and notes from field observations. Based on the interview and survey data, we also use stakeholder mapping, social network analysis (SNA), and spatial analysis to visualise the importance of actor networks and geographical proximity of coworking spaces. The SNA included the analysis of degree centrality, closeness centrality, and betweenness centrality to determine the influences of different actors on the network. The spatial analysis was used to map the locations of coworking spaces and POI such as schools, universities, main areas of student housing, and cafes, in order to depict the relation between coworking spaces and their wider urban amenity. Coworking space in Bandung, Indonesia The emergence of third place in Indonesia, including coworking, is stimulated by the creative city movement initiated in the mid-2000s by the arrival and support of British Council (BC). The cooperation has helped to advance creative industry mapping, skill training, industrial and business support, and networks among artisans in three cities: Bandung, Solo, and Jogjakarta. This support added to Indonesia’s strong entrepreneurship ecosystem, especially in terms of networking, product innovation, and cultural support and opportunity for start-ups (GEDI, 2019). With the growing number of start-ups and freelancers working in the creative and digital sectors in cities, demand for physical spaces to work and to socialise also increase. The first coworking space in Indonesia was established in 2010, and the number has been growing rapidly since 2015. The coworking space survey conducted by CIPG and BC (2017), for example, reported 68 coworking businesses in Jakarta, 22 in Bandung, 20 in Bali, and 12 in Jogjakarta. Moreover, the property industry is also highly supportive of the coworking spaces by offering purposely build

440  J. T. Miao, A. F. Aritenang, and N. Gissma spaces that ensure investment on ownership of the property and permanent office address. Coworking Indonesia was established in 2016 as the association of coworking companies throughout the country. It runs annual and regular events such as Temu Coworking Indonesia and Cowork Fest. As an association, Coworking Indonesia addressed some issues related to the culture of coworking, market education, human resources, and business strategy to ensure the sustainable growth of the coworking industry (CIPG and BC, 2017). As a creative and intelligent city, Bandung has great potential in the development of start-ups in Indonesia. The BC programs also contributed to the emergence of local artisans in Bandung that later collaborated with BC and local government for the establishment of Bandung Creative City Forum (BCCF) (Aritenang, 2015). Strong network thus emerged among various stakeholder groups in the city (Mayangsari and Novani, 2015). These include: first, the enablers, which comprise the the city mayor, city council, strategic committee, and the BCCF, who are responsible for providing finance and political support to Bandung creative/smart city. Second, the universities, research institutions, municipality agencies, and professionals are helping in reflecting and translating the visions of the city governors into concrete roadmaps and appropriate projects. This prepares for both top-down and bottom-up ICT-based services. Third, the service suppliers and utilisers, which include private sector companies like ICT companies and startups, consulting companies, and developers, who are developing and adopting new technologies and innovative products (e.g., smart house, e-commerce, education, and smart mobility) as the foundation of Bandung creative/smart city. The last stakeholder group, including citizens, NGOs, and tourists, could provide knowledge, skills, and capital as it is integrated with the enables, providers, and utilisers. Spatial features of coworking spaces in Bandung

Here, the spatial features are discussed on two levels. On the meso-level, we tried to understand the location of coworking spaces against their broad urban amenity, which is less discussed so far. On the micro-level, we examined the physical and social environments of coworking spaces, which could usefully posit the case of Bandung in the global literature on coworking. First of all, our study revealed that the spatial structure of a city could be critical for the emergence of coworking spaces. For instance, Bandung is relatively small and compact. Since its establishment, Bandung had been the retreat holiday site for Dutch plantation owners to enjoy the weather and scenic view. As such, the streets are narrower, and local residents are customed to a relaxing lifestyle as pointed out by an interviewee below. Bandung is a small city … the distances between locations are short and there is relatively less congestion. I think this is very convenient for creative and digital artists to mingle and collaborate. This layback attitude, coupled with the compact layout and easy access within the city, encourages the young university graduates to network and collaborate (Aritenang, 2016). With a growing number of graduates joining the gig economy and establishing start-ups, their demand for third places increases. As a result, coworking space users in Bandung are dominated by startups in the creative industry sector, including visual communication design, game development, interior design, advertising, animated filming, and videos. Coworking spaces allow these communities to work in flexible hours and to collaborate (Pramedesty et al., 2018). Figure 35.1 shows the location of coworking spaces (yellow marker) and its accessibility in relation to points of interests, including public facilities such as high schools (blue), universities

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus  441

Figure 35.1  Locations of coworking spaces in Bandung. Source: Authors’ analysis (2020) from batchgeo.com.

(red), and offices (light blue), and consumer facilities such as student housing (purple) and local restaurants (green). Immediately, we can see that coworking spaces in Bandung are concentrated in the city centre, especially in the Geger Kalong and Dago areas (Figure 35.1). Zooming in to these two hot spots, our result showed that coworking spaces are located near to the centre of gig-economy activities and labour such as schools and universities, start-ups offices, and freelancers, which echoes the findings of Hölzel et al. (2022). On building morphology, coworking spaces in Bandung are mostly located in renovated buildings instead of a building designed and built afresh (Delvianti et al., 2018). This is in line with the creative/culture-led urban regeneration initiatives in many other cities (Miao, 2020).

442  J. T. Miao, A. F. Aritenang, and N. Gissma Yet in comparison with the well-equipped and artfully decorated physical environment of coworking spaces found abroad, coworking operators in Bandung are facing challenges of spaces, so many auxiliary functions, such as kitchen, dining room, playroom, gym, small mosque, and break room, are often sacrificed. To compensate, coworking operators tend to choose a site near to coffee houses, fast-food restaurants, public transport, and universities. Most coworking space operators we interviewed also mentioned that they offered not only shared workspaces but also rental spaces that can be used by the community for events/activities. Services provided were similar across our cases (Table 35.3) but with different packaging and approaches in reaching their stakeholders, defined by their visions and characteristics. Interviewees also highlighted the services provided must be relevant to the needs of users, as measured by how easy and how often these services were used. It is also important that the services and programs provided were relatively inexpensive in order to attract wider users, as their customers were dominated by freelancers and graduates. In addition, because the main customers are millennials, the availability of the internet and discussion rooms was important. Networks of coworking spaces

Coworking space operators we interviewed recognised the importance of bringing together space users with professionals through workshops, training, mentoring, and other activities. This also better embeds the coworking within the community (Weijs-Perrée et al., 2018). Yet diversity was noticeable in terms of the form and scale of networks centred on different coworking spaces dependent on their size, ownership and history (Figure 35.2). On the top end of the spectrum, Bandung Digital Valley (BDV) provided funding and international and national mentorship to their start-ups (more than 160, many were established by Tel-U students). Their coworking space, DiLo, was formed out of a partnership between PT ­Telkom1 and the Indonesia Digital Creative Industry Society to improve the quality of digital Indonesia. BDV, therefore, could leverage the international business partnerships, financial strength, and reputation of Telkom, making it the venue least concerned with income among our cases. The networks centred on BDV were also the most comprehensive, ranging from knowledge sharing with universities, business support from the private sectors, and policy engagement from the government. Block71, Lokasi, Sosiohub, and Workspace 53 were on the other end of the spectrum. With a smaller size and weaker financial position, these coworking spaces tended to focus on core services for their clients. Block71 and Workspace 53 were able to provide incubating and mentorship via their specialise networks with Singapore businesses and the Ministry of Research and Technology, respectively. For even smaller coworking spaces such as Sosiohub, there was no incubating program beyond event space provided to its user communities. Similarly, Lokasi merely attempted to capture companies as new customers by providing spaces for work and meetings. In the middle, Eduplex and Co&Co were bigger, and offered both mentoring and incubator facilities as a creative and digital hub for their tenant start-ups. Both relied on cooperation with universities, companies, and specific communities in this sector on intermittent basis for their incubating and mentorship programs. Often, this relationship was derived from those of the existing actors who were already established when the coworking started. Once joining a coworking space, these actors became its main community who also defined its identity. Eduplex, for example, was initiated as an after-school tutorial class for students, which later grew into a coworking with classrooms, café, and incubating services for students who were interested in establishing a start-up.

Table 35.3  Details of coworking space in Bandung No Name

Neighbours

Establishment

Networks

Form

Facilities

Communities

Sharing University events

Government

Incubator Mentorship

Own building

• Workspace, office space • Incubator

Exclusive students

V

V

V

V

V

Bandung Digital Valley (BDV)

2

Block 71

Small building/ house

• Workspace, office space • Incubator • Cafe

Technology and creative start-ups

V

V

X

V

V

3

Co&Co

Small building/ house

• Workspace, office space • Incubator • Café • Meeting room • Classroom • Virtual

• Loose community V • Technology and creative start-ups

V

X

V

V

Small building/ house

• Workspace, office space • Incubator • Café • Classroom

• School students • University student

V

V

X

V

V

Small building/ house

• Workspace, office space • Café • Auditorium

• Loose community V • Technology and creative start-ups

X

X

X

X

Telkom University, local restaurants, coworking

Universities (ITB, Unpad, Unikom), schools (High School 1 Bandung, Christian High School Bandung), local restaurants, offices

4

Eduplex

5

Lokasi

6

Sosiohub

Telkom University, local restaurants, hotels

Small building/ house

• Workspace, office space • Classroom

• Technology and creative start-ups

V

X

X

X

X

7

Workspace 53

Local restaurants and offices, train station

Small building/ house

• Workspace, office space • Incubator • Event space

• Technology and creative start-ups

V

X

V

V

V

Source: Authors’ analysis (2020).

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus  443

1

444  J. T. Miao, A. F. Aritenang, and N. Gissma

Figure 35.2  Client and customer networks of coworking spaces. Source: Authors’ analysis (2020).

More detailed picture on their networks was captured via our questionnaire survey. Both close ties and loose ties were included. Close ties were approximated by their client and customer networks (Figure 35.2). Results showed that start-ups were the most important customers for coworking spaces, followed by communities, freelancers, and students, many of whom were working in the gig economy and were located within the surrounding neighbourhood. Interestingly, the graph also captured networks between coworking spaces and other stakeholders such as State-Owned Enterprises (SOEs), suggesting an integration of this third space with the mainstream economy. Loose ties were approached via the business contacts of coworking spaces (Figure 35.3). Our results seem to suggest that the size and ownership of a coworking space – important for their physical and social environments – does not interfere with the formation of loose tie. For instance, the contact networks of Lokasi and CO&CO were dominated by their internal stakeholders such as CEOs, program directors, and internal teams, while Eduplex and Block71 were more outward oriented, forming links with start-ups, academics, communities, and the Salim Group.2 Importantly, our analysis revealed that there were no networks formed among coworking spaces in Bandung, which might indicate a lack of collaboration within this sector. Discussion and conclusion This chapter examined the creativity and the built environment nexus from the discipline of urban studies. In particular, it focuses on the crucial role played by third spaces, and in particular, coworking spaces, in transforming and penetrating between creative ideas, human capital, physical spaces, and social networks. While existing literature has shed light on the microlevel features and contributions of coworking spaces, there are much fewer studies that try to link these microlevel explorations with meso- and macrolevel urban dynamics and configurations. Moreover, the networks centred on these physical clusters of gig workers are often assumed instead of explicitly depicted and tested. Both literacy limitations are exemplified even more noticeably in developing countries.

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus  445

Figure 35.3  Important contacts of coworking spaces. Source: Authors’ analysis (2020).

This chapter contributes by exploring the emergence and features of coworking spaces in Bandung city, which has growth rapidly as a result of its creative/smart city making initiative. On the urban scale, we noticed that the majority of coworking spaces were agglomerated in two areas that feature a high density of universities, schools, and creative businesses. This implies that without active planning intervention, the spatial distribution of coworking tends to intensify existing economic disparity within a metropolitan region. Regarding their networks, our analysis confirmed the importance of soft infrastructure and professional networks for the existence of coworking spaces. The quality of soft environment, however, diverged between coworking spaces depend on their size, financial standing, and history. Yet their networks, especially loose ties as measured by their business contacts, were less influenced by these factors. Importantly, our study also suggests a gradual integration of third spaces within the established economy in Bandung. Nonetheless, there are still obstacles facing this sector’s further development. First of all, there is a lack of clarity regarding business nomenclature such as licensing. For example, it was only in Jakarta that the regulation Number 6 of 2016 by the One-stop Service Agency (Badan Pelayanan Terpadu Satu Pintu/BPTSP) giving permit to the establishment of coworking spaces, which replaced its previous legal status as a virtual office. This regulation-practice gap needs to be catered for quickly as coworking has spread to even the remotest areas of Papua. Second and related, coworking space operators are troubled with meeting tax obligations as there are no rules defining the nature and calculation of this industry tax. Cases are variously treated as fitness centres, normal offices, internet cafes, and even restaurants for taxation purposes. Such inconsistency and ambiguity, inevitably, are discouraging coworking business in Indonesia, hence calls for policy actions. First, the need for clear and consistent regulation on coworking space licensing, and second, accelerate the implementation of Bandung Smart City Masterplan 2018–2023, especially related to smart economy, society, and governance (Supangkat et al., 2018).

446  J. T. Miao, A. F. Aritenang, and N. Gissma Acknowledgement The study was funded by the Indonesia–Melbourne Research Partnership Grant 2020 and the Ristek-BRIN 2020 Research Fund. Notes 1 An Indonesian multinational telecommunications conglomerate. 2 Indonesia’s biggest conglomerate and refers to companies where the Salim family held majority ownership.

References Aritenang, A. 2015. Transfer policy on creative city: The case of Bandung, Indonesia. Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences, 184, 40–45. Aritenang, A. F. 2016. The impact of state restructuring on Indonesia’s regional economic convergence, Singapore, ISEAS Publishing. Balakrishnan, B. K. P. D., Muthaly, S. & Leenders, M. 2016. Insights from Coworking Spaces as Unique Service Organizations: The Role of Physical and Social Elements. In: Petruzzellis, L. & Winer, R. S., eds. Rediscovering the essentiality of marketing, Cham, Springer, 837–848. Bouncken, R. B., Laudien, S. M., Fredrich, V. & Görmar, L. 2018. Coopetition in coworking-spaces: Value creation and appropriation tensions in an entrepreneurial space. Review of Managerial Science, 12, 385–410. Bueno, S., Rodríguez-Baltanás, G. & Gallego, M. D. 2018. Coworking spaces: A new way of achieving productivity. Journal of Facilities Management, 16, 452–466. Capdevila, I. 2014. Different Inter-Organizational Collaboration Approaches in Coworking Spaces in Barcelona. Available at https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=2502816 [Accessed 1 July 2022]. Centre for Innovation Policy and Governance and British Council (CIPG and BC). 2017. Enabling Space: Mapping Creative Hubs in Indonesia. Available at https://www.britishcouncil.id/sites/default/files/ mapping_creative_hubs_in_indonesia-_final.pdf. [Accessed 1 June 2022]. Dailysocialid. 2018. Coworking Space Awareness in Indonesia 2018. Available at https://dailysocial.id/ research/coworking-space-indonesia-2018. [Accessed 1 June 2022]. Damayanti, D. 2017. Corporate branding coworking space Di Bandung. Edutech, 16(2), 122–139. Delvianti, E., Maulida, U. I. & Asyarsinyo, D. F. 2018. Re-desain co-working space Bandung Digital Valley. e-Proceeding of Art & Design, 5(1), 507–514. Deskmag. 2012. 2nd annual global coworking survey, Deskmag. Available at https://smartcdn.gprod.postmedia.digital/calgaryherald/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/coworking_survey_booklet.pdf. [Accessed 15 May 2022]. Fahmi, F. Z., Koster, S. & van Dijk, J. 2016. The location of creative industries in a developing country: The case of Indonesia. Cities, 59, 66–79. GEDI. 2019. 2019 Global Entrepreneurship Index (GEI). Global Entrepreneurship and Development Institute: http://thegedi.org/global-entrepreneurship-and-development-index/. Hölzel, M., Kolsch, K.-H. & Vries, W. T. D. 2022. Location of coworking spaces (CWSs) regarding vicinity, land use and points of interest (POIs). Land, 11, 354. Jakonen, M., Kivinen, N., Salovaara, P. & Hirkman, P. 2017. Towards an economy of encounters? A critical study of affectual assemblages in coworking. Scandinavian Journal of Management, 33(4), 235–242. Jalaladdini, S. & Oktay, D. 2011. Urban public spaces and vitality: A socio-spatial analysis in the streets of Cypriot towns. Procedia – Social and Behavioral Sciences, 35, 664–674. Mariotti, I., Akhavan, M. & Rossi, F. 2021. The preferred location of coworking spaces in Italy: An empirical investigation in urban and peripheral areas. European Planning Studies https://doi.org/10.1080/ 09654313.2021.1895080.

Smart city in the creativity-built environment nexus  447 Mayangsari, L. & Novani, S. 2015. Multi-stakeholder co-creation analysis in smart city management: An experience from Bandung, Indonesia. Procedia Manufacturing, 4, 315–321. Mehrabian, A. & Russell, J. A. 1974. An approach to environmental psychology, Cambridge, England, The MIT Press. Merkel, J. 2015. Coworking in the city. Ephemera, 15, 121–139. Miao, J. T. 2020. Getting creative with housing? Case studies of paintworks, Bristol and Baltic Triangle, Liverpool. European Planning Studies, 29, 1050–1070. Oldenburg, R. 1989. The great good place, Boston, MA, De Capo Press. Peuter, G. D., Cohen, N. S. & Saraco, F. 2017. The ambivalence of coworking: On the politics of an emerging work practice. European Journal of Cultural Studies, 20, 687–706. Pramedesty, R. D., Murdowo, D., Sudarisman, I. & Handoyo, A. 2018. Co-Working Space Sebagai Solusi Kebutuhan Ruang Kerja Berdasarkan Karakteristik Start-Ups Kreatif. Jurnal Dialog, 3(1), 50–60. Sennett, R. 1970. The uses of disorder: Personal identity and city life, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press. Sennett, R. 1990. The conscience of the eye: The design and social life of cities. 2nd ed. New York, W. W. Norton. Spinuzzi, C. 2012. Working alone together: Coworking as emergent collaborative activity. Journal of Business and Technical Communication, 26, 399–441. Supangkat, S., Arman, A. A., Nugraha, R. A. & Fatimah, Y. A. 2018. The implementation of Garuda Smart City Framework for smart city readiness mapping in Indonesia. Journal of Asia-Pacific Studies, 32 (March), 169–176. Tombs, A. & Mccoll-Kennedy, J. R. 2003. Social-servicescape conceptual model. Marketing Theory, 3, 447–475. Vanichvatana, S. 2018. Investigating Users’ Perspectives of Coworking Space: Cases of Bangkok CBD. In: Tipurić, D. L., DAVOR, ed. 6th International OFEL conference on governance, management and entrepreneurship. Dubrovnik, Croatia: Governance Research and Development Centre. Weijs-Perrée, M., van de Koevering, J., Appel-Meulenbroek, R. & Arentze, T. 2018. Analysing user preferences for co-working space characteristics. Building Research & Information, 47(5), 534–548. Yang, E., Bisson, C. & Sanborn, B. E. 2019. Coworking space as a third-fourth place: Changing models of a hybrid space in corporate real estate. Journal of Corporate Real Estate, 21, 324–345.

36

Melbourne’s skyscrapers A case study in creative destruction Giorgio Marfella

The advancement of design relies on recognizing the importance of historical progress. While this may seem obvious to many, it should encourage more designers and clients to cultivate a nuanced understanding of their roles in the built environment. Design expertise is often associated with creativity and proficiency in managing technology. Creativity is regarded by most as an innate talent, the foundation of the mystery of design thinking. From this standpoint, equipping designers with technology seems primarily an instrumental matter subordinate to the power of creativity. These assumptions can be challenged by examining the relationship between design, technology, and creativity in the built environment from an alternative perspective. A less deterministic view emerges when considering the following questions: Firstly, how can we describe and explain the impact of technological change on creativity over time? Secondly, what type of relationship exists between the adoption of new technologies and the economic processes that demand and benefit from their implementation? This last question calls into question capitalist development, making it arguably the most ambitious to address. Indeed, both questions are challenging, but they become more manageable when tackled together. Difficulties can be tempered with the empirical and historical considerations posed by the first question. In other words, addressing technological change, creativity, and economics together can help to explain the relationship between capitalism and how design evolves over the long term. However, adopting such dynamic and longitudinal assumptions is more advantageous if they also serve a practical purpose, particularly for those aiming to effectively intervene in the built environment through regulatory measures or professional activities. The breadth of these questions makes it difficult to provide answers suitable for generalized application. Unless the field of investigation is narrowed, the intricate connection between design, creativity, and technology may face potential contradictions due to the vague interpretations commonly associated with these terms. The task can be further simplified by establishing temporal and geographic variables and focusing on a specific phenomenon within the built environment, such as a particular typological family or class of buildings. To yield more useful and applicable insights, it is preferable to study specific phenomena in the built environment where the influence of economic drivers and business activity can be more easily identified, as in the case of tall buildings (Thornton, 2005). DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-40

Melbourne’s skyscrapers  449 Historical patterns of change inevitably rely on circumstantial factors such as location, time, and social and cultural contexts. Although history is not sufficiently reliable for predicting future development, historical trends can still aid those seeking to intervene in the spontaneous and dynamic transformations of most high-rise urban environments. At the very least, historical insight can open research avenues through which historical trends can inform general theories or become the subject of valuable discussion by comparison of different geopolitical contexts. To meaningfully explore the relationship between creativity and technology in the built environment, the following analysis will therefore concentrate on the development of one building typology in a specific urban context and within a defined time frame: the evolution of tall buildings in Melbourne’s Central Business District from the 1950s to the early 2020s. Creative destruction: A theory of time, success, and failure Before delving into the case study, it is crucial to identify the connection between creativity and techno-economic change. The most relevant and valuable precedent for understanding this relationship is the concept of ‘creative destruction’. Austrian-American economist Joseph Schumpeter introduced the idea of creative destruction in his work Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (1943). Schumpeter proposed creative destruction as a counterpoint to Marxist socialism, which he perceived as an oversimplified and ineffective approach to explaining the inherently unstable nature of capitalism: the problem that is usually being visualised is how capitalism administer existing structures, whereas the relevant problem is how it creates and destroys them. As long as this is not recognized, the investigator does a meaningless job. As soon as it is recognised, the outlook on capitalists practice and social result changes considerably. (Schumpeter, 1943, p. 84) According to Schumpeter, the concept of creative destruction embodies an evolutionary understanding of economy based on the cyclical and regenerating behaviour of capitalism (Schumpeter, 1939). Capitalism can drive change and wealth accumulation, but by design, it also relies on processes that redistribute wealth and lead some activities to experience sudden decline and, occasionally, failure. Entrepreneurs who may have held a previously dominant position of economic advantage are not exempt from this process; on the contrary, they are more likely to be adversely affected by it. Schumpeter pays equal attention to explaining entrepreneurial activities that generate growth and success as well as those that result in decline and failure. A case study that explains well Schumpeter’s theory of creative destruction is the rise and fall of the American film and camera company Polaroid (Blout, 1996). Polaroid is renowned for introducing the innovative instant-development method of film printing in photography. After WWII, the company invested in product development and innovation, eventually thriving with the progressive refinement of camera and film products. Polaroid’s innovative efforts reached their zenith, attaining the pinnacle of success in 1970 with the launch of the iconic Polaroid model SX-70. This success was not merely due to the creation of superior products or a better-value option compared to the relatively expensive and difficult-to-operate conventional cameras of the time. Rather, it resulted from the introduction of a series of unprecedented design products. Once these products were refined into a reliable, compact, and user-friendly design, Polaroid made a breakthrough in the photography industry, making instant pictures accessible to a wider market.

450  G. Marfella In essence, Polaroid did not simply compete within the existing market of conventional photography. Instead, its success was due to the creation of a new market, reaching out to new customers, and providing access to the experience of self-made photography for people who had never considered owning a camera before. This consequently restructured the tech-heavy barriers of conventional photography, which until then was primarily marketing dedicated professionals or hobby enthusiasts. Polaroid’s trajectory of success, however, reversed sharply when digital photography was introduced for general consumption in the late 1990s. The company lost grip on the market it had established in the 1970s, failing to anticipate and manage the transition to a technology that had created an entirely new image acquisition and sharing process (Tripsas and Gavetti, 2000). The story of Polaroid demonstrates that the relationship between design and capitalism is not one-sided. It stems from a dynamic interplay that generates new products and business opportunities. Creative destruction initiates new growth processes while also bearing the seeds of a downfall, as their potential to create destabilizing trends may emerge in new market conditions at another point in time. Consequently, the concept of creative destruction can be beneficial for designers who seek to understand the impact of their role and influence in the public interest, including in speculative project endeavours. It is assumed here that capitalism is the economic paradigm pervading our cities. One may agree or disagree with the social and economic benefits of capitalism, yet capitalism remains an undeniable dominant facet of urban development. Ultimately, it is crucial to emphasize that the most valuable goal for a designer is not merely to state if but how the urban environment changes over time, interrelating with the forces of capitalism. Capitalism undoubtedly influences how design products are conceived, developed, used, and phased out. However, this relationship is not a unilateral mechanism where capitalism is the cause, and the provisional value of products is the inevitable effect. As the case of ­Polaroid demonstrates, the technological design of some products is the catalyst for significant changes in a capitalist market. Product design operates within the confines of the cyclical entrepreneurial patterns that Schumpeter described as creative destruction. In essence, it is the very nature of technology and its implementation through the design of new products that can act as the trigger for new business opportunities, as well as the cause and driver of the decline of others. Creative destruction and the inner city of Melbourne Creative destruction characterizes capitalism as a process of change. As demonstrated by the case of Polaroid, this idea is observable in business and technological innovation case studies, and its validity could be supported by numerous other examples (Nakamura, 2000). However, it remains to be determined how creative destruction, as an analytical interpretation of economic change, can describe accurately phenomena of the built environment. The idea that creative destruction can explain urban development has some precedents (Batty, 2007). Nevertheless, the extent to which Schumpeter’s theories on capitalism and business cycles can be transposed into studies of the built environment is potentially problematic and susceptible to oversimplification. There is a risk of transposing Schumpeter’s idea by overemphasizing the negative aspects rather than the regenerative aspects of his theory. It is easy to fall prey to an anti-capitalist narrative that highlights the negative side of creative destruction, taking the word ‘destruction’ in the literal sense of the inevitable process of demolition and renewal of cities. From this premise, one might argue that capitalism manifests itself not only as the unstable daily background of metropolitan life but also as a city’s collective consciousness

Melbourne’s skyscrapers  451 and identity. The relationship between creative destruction and the city has been argued along these lines, for example, in the case of New York (Page, 1999). At the other end of the spectrum, there is an alternative risk that arises if the forces of capitalist change are reduced to a preeminent position of creative dominance. These forces can be perceived as the generator of metropolitan urban development, embodied as an archetypal idea that is most apparent in growing skyline of high-rise cities (Barr, 2012). The most unmistakable mark of capitalism in cities is manifested through commercial buildings resulting from financial and real estate speculation. This justifies putting emphasis on the power of speculative financial activity as the primary cause of urban transformation, as Carol Willis argues under the famous dictum of ‘form follows finance’ (1995). Building on this perspective, it becomes possible to even celebrate capitalism as the endless generator of new design opportunities due to the perennially provisional state of the modern metropolis, a creative condition otherwise inconceivable within the constraints of the traditional idea of the European city, as notoriously posited by Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas (1994). Nevertheless, a less drastic reduction of the problem of capitalist influences on high-rise development can be considered. Without denying the essential contribution that speculative building activity plays in such developments, high-rise development stems from the convergence of two components that can be visualized through a longitudinal analysis of high-rise trends. Tall buildings are not simply the direct result of capitalism in the form of mere speculative activity. Tall buildings are generated by the encounter of innovative building technologies and architectural ideas with the entrepreneurial forces that foresee the benefits of their economic exploitation. A brief longitudinal and techno-economic analysis of high-rise buildings in Melbourne over the last seventy years can assist to highlight trends and themes helpful in understanding this argument. Like in most Australian cities, the Central Business District (CBD) of Melbourne has experienced rapid change since the 1950s (Marsden, 2000). The design of tall buildings in the city followed different phases of change, reflecting business cycles and transformations of the capitalist forces at play. These phases of change have materialized in different parts of the city. Highrise transformations started in the mid-1950s, primarily within the boundaries of Melbourne’s historical CBD, corresponding with the footprint of the earliest colonial settlement known as the Hoddle Grid. From the beginning of the 21st century, these changes have expanded to areas adjoining the inner grid, such as Southbank, to the south of the CBD, and the repurposing of the Docklands to the west. Over seven decades and limiting the observations on the design of skyscrapers as an indicator of the changing patterns of the city, four phases can be identified. For the benefit of brevity and intent to focus on the Schumpeterian idea of creative destruction, each phase is discussed here with reference to selected landmark projects as exemplars that embody the typological and developmental characteristics of their associated historical periods. For a broader analysis of the trends observable on the back of a data analysis that pertains to the entire stock of tall buildings in Melbourne, readers can refer elsewhere (Marfella, 2017). Melbourne, phase 1: Post-war modernity

The first phase corresponds to the two decades following WWII (1945–1965), a period identifiable with the rise of international modernism in Australia and influenced by new technical, aesthetic, and socio-economic agendas of urban development. The headquarters of the Imperial Chemical Industries (Bates, Smart & McCutcheon, ­1955–1958) a tall office building often referred to as Melbourne’s ‘first’ modern skyscraper,

452  G. Marfella

Figure 36.1  ICI House, Bates, Smart & McCutcheon, 1955–58 (Wolfgang Sievers, State Library of Victoria).

serves as a suitable example of this phase (ICI House, 1958a). Although not the very first of its kind, ICI House embodies the adoption of radical technological changes of the post-war years. The building ostentatiously showcased modernist construction systems, such as glass and aluminium curtain walls and prefabricated concrete panels, that were barely tested before in the city. Furthermore, the building integrated modern amenities such as air conditioning, a technology initially introduced in factories and later in office environments to improve indoor working conditions. These features were employed for the mutual benefit of the architects, who were eager to import an international design lexicon, and ICI, the owner and occupier of the building, with its proclivity to adopt progressive workplace ideas (ICI House, 1958b). (Figure 36.1) Looking beyond the architectural language, ICI House also contributed in a novel way to the city by creating public open space at its base. The ground floor plan included landscaped areas, artwork, and semi-public spaces for guests to attend public lectures, combining private interest with civic aspirations by shifting the creation of workspace overhead. Melbourne, phase 2: Transition

The first phase of modernism in Melbourne’s Central Business District represents the pioneering phase of modern high-rise development, with ICI House as a prime example that catered to a combination of private and public interests. The second phase, spanning from the late 1960s to the early 1980s, marked an amplification of the design trends exemplified by ICI House through the increasing production of office towers, the consolidation of high-rise technologies, and the experimentation with large-scale urban transformation projects, including mixed-use developments. From a real estate development perspective, the second phase was a transition period characterized by more speculative emphasis, contrasting with the owner-built ethos of most postWWII office buildings. Two key buildings, BHP House (Yuncken Freeman, 1968–1972) and Collins Place (I.M. Pei and Partners with Bates, Smart & McCutcheon, 1971–81), exemplify the

Melbourne’s skyscrapers  453

Figure 36.2 From left to right: BHP House, Yuncken Freeman, 1968–72; Collins Place, I.M. Pei and Partners with Bates Smart & McCutcheon, 1971–81; Rialto Towers, G. De Preu with Perrott Lyon Mathieson, 1984–86 (Giorgio Marfella).

urban changes during this period and the cultural controversies that arose about these large-scale developments. (Figure 36.2) BHP House represents the transitionary character of this second phase. It was constructed on land owned by the Australian Mutual Providence Society (AMP) but specifically designed to meet the lessee’s requirements of a corporate giant, the Broken Hill Proprietary Group, which entered into a 50-year-long rental agreement with the landowner (RP Data, 1977). Despite its efforts towards showcasing technological efficiency and long-term investment horizons (New Concept, 1969), the uncompromising modernist and technological ethos embodied by BHP House as a new city landmark stirred controversy and criticism, particularly from local architects and planners eager to dismantle modernist ideas and pave the way for the rise of postmodernism (Tanner, 1975; Corrigan, 1976; Goad, 2001). Similarly, a cold reception and debate ensued surrounding Collins Place (Pei and Partners, 1971), which introduced a new functional approach to building tall: city block-wide mixed-use development. The project consists of two towers – an office tower occupied by the owner and a mixed-use tower with speculative offices on the lower levels and a hotel. The high-rise towers are integrated into a retail podium with a generous provision of public space at street level. The innovative approach to the urban design of Collins Place, including the sky-high hotel and the complex’s public access, reiterated the modern ethos of integrating private interest and speculation with public access and amenities (Collins Place, 1981). Melbourne, phase 3: Postmodern bull market

The third phase of skyscraper design in Melbourne occurred from the 1980s to the mid-1990s. It was characterized by a postmodern reform of built-form control. Planning reforms went hand in hand with large-scale development activity, made possible by technological innovations introduced in the previous periods. The implications of these changes on the city’s skyline and the proliferation of tall buildings were profound, leading to an unprecedented explosion of speculative tall office building projects. Postmodernism had a significant impact on the skyline. Buildings incorporated more complex facades and ornamentation with shallow references to historical styles that attempted to pay

454  G. Marfella tribute to the city’s late 1800s built fabric, which had been largely obliterated in the previous decades. Despite these cosmetic stylistic camouflages, these buildings continued to significantly alter the historical city while remaining modernist in a typological sense, but with a much higher emphasis on speculative purposes that superseded the prevailing post-war tendency to build tall buildings as corporate headquarters (Georgiev, 1991). Buildings in this decade were taller than their predecessors and more prominent in terms of rentable area, inflated by the construction of street-aligned multi-storey podiums imposed by new urban design regulations (Victorian Department of Planning, 1982). However, these podiums lacked the civic emphasis and programmatic success of earlier developments such as Collins Place. From the late 1970s, the Australian high-rise industry experienced a significant shift due to the introduction of critical technological innovations that made all-concrete structures possible and more affordable than in the past. The transition from steel to concrete as the primary structural material allowed for more widespread opportunities for high-rise buildings among new contractors, who could benefit from the use of semi-automatic methods of construction, such as self-climbing formwork systems, the fine-tuning of long-span floor construction, and generally, a less adverse industrial context (Egan, 1984). For example, the Rialto Towers project, built as an all-concrete structure, is the most representative example of this shift, becoming, during the 1980s, the tallest building in the city and the second tallest concrete high-rise structure worldwide (Kowalczyk et al., 1995). (Figure 36.2) The outcome of the building frenzy of the 1980s was an oversupply of office space that fuelled a real estate crash and national recession. A hiatus in building activity followed in the aftermath of the 1992 recession. The period between 1995 and 2005 saw limited development of new high-rise buildings in Melbourne due to the surplus of commercial space created during the postmodern phase. This gap set the stage for the emergence of a new type of skyscraper: the residential high-rise. Melbourne, phase 4: Residential boom

The city’s fourth phase of skyscraper design leads to recent developments. This period spans roughly from the early 2000s to the early 2020s and marks the abandonment of the modernpostmodern tall office building model in favour of high-rise apartment developments. This shift can be partly attributed to developers seeking greater profits from residential projects and Victorian planning authorities opening to residential development and foreign capital investment after the Global Financial Crisis, especially from China and Southeast Asia (Marfella, 2016). Slender residential towers, such as Eureka Tower (Fender Katsalidis, 2002–2005) and ­Australia 108 (Fender Katsalidis, 2018–2021), exemplify the new generation of residential skyscrapers (Marfella, 2021). These buildings differ from their commercial counterparts not merely in their intended use. Melbourne’s residential high-rises tend to be taller than their commercial predecessors and exhibit more formal design variations than office towers. These buildings benefit significantly from technical prowess, which must address the extraordinary challenge of wind resistance posed by the slenderness of tall structures with a small footprint. This technical challenge leads to the incorporation of curved plan profiles that mitigate the adverse aerodynamic effects of wind. A robust and heavy central core of reinforced concrete surrounded by a shallow ring of apartments is a common feature in these buildings, made possible by the familiarity with all-concrete high-rise technologies that contractors have mastered since the 1980s using self-climbing formwork, unitised curtain walls, and post-tensioning slab construction. But new expertise and technologies play a role, too, such as advancements in enhancing the

Melbourne’s skyscrapers  455

Figure 36.3  Australia 108, Fender Katsalidis Architects, 2015–2021 (Giorgio Marfella).

properties of concrete with superplasticizers that allow higher strength and pumping at greater heights. A common feature of all residential high-rises is the inclusion of communal spaces within the buildings, such as pools, libraries, gyms, shared home theatres, and function rooms. These spaces are shared by the residents and, in some cases, are overtly emphasized on the exteriors. These ostentatiously visible private spaces in the sky mark the terminus of the historical trend that began in the city after WWII. In the 2020s, the focus has shifted decidedly from the public-private joint venture of the office towers of the mid-1900s to the exclusive amenities of residential luxury. The will to provide civic amenities, characteristic especially of the earliest tall buildings of the post-war period, has faded with the extinction of the corporate owner-built office tower. (Figures 36.3) Speculative drifting and the techno-economics of high-rise The fourth development phase marks a point of rupture with the previous three. Despite some crucial differences, the first three phases can be seen as part of an evolutionary line that saw the affirmation of tall office buildings in which speculative drivers progressively overshadowed the modest civic ambitions of the post-war examples. The marked differences between the dynamics of the 20th century and recent trends warrant comparative observations on building typologies, materials, structural systems, and investment horizons, giving particular attention to the transition from office buildings to residential towers. In the past, office buildings dominated Melbourne’s CBD. These buildings were typically built on larger sites, often on corner blocks, allowing for the creation of public spaces at street level. The predominant typology featured a central core housing building services. However, formal invariance and repetition contrasted with the material and technological systems: structural systems varied, including a variety of all-steel, composite, and all-concrete solutions. Similarly, despite the relatively austere and functionalist appearance of most office towers, their

456  G. Marfella building envelopes experimented with various facade systems, including aluminium-glass curtain walls and precast concrete panelling concerned with energy efficiency. Office spaces were open and well-lit, with most of the buildings spaced apart well enough to provide outside views without overcrowding each other. These squarish office towers may have looked bleak on the outside but were more than often designed for medium to long-term investment horizons, with companies committing to owner-occupation or, as in the case of BHP House, rental agreements spanning several decades. In contrast, the current architectural trend in Melbourne’s CBD is dominated by residential towers built on smaller sites. These buildings typically retain the central core typology also used by office towers but adopt a more slender, curvy footprint with interiors occupying large shear walls necessary to resist wind loads. The facades are almost always fully glazed with prefabricated curtain walls manufactured overseas. Due to their slender design, these buildings are less spatially efficient and flexible than office buildings. Moreover, they are built from a speculative rationale, selling apartments off the plan before construction begins. The economic rationale of tall buildings can be characterized by their ownership type (ownerbuilt or speculative) and prevailing attitude towards long or short-term investment horizons. Owner-built projects are constructed by organizations intending to occupy the space, whereas speculative residential buildings are developed to profit from short-term investments. While both types aim for a speculative return on investment, owner-built projects are typically more concerned with longer-term quality, as the occupants will use the space themselves. This comparison reveals the contrasting effects and motives of high-rise development between the post-war and present times and is also symptomatic of the opposing agendas of modern and postmodern cultures. The modern materialization of the skyscraper emphasizes owner-built projects that are open to and reliant on technological experimentation to project a progressive corporate image. Public space and civic emphasis were ways to counterbalance the inevitable private drivers of capitalist development. However, as the postmodern era emerged, speculative office buildings became more prevalent, accompanied by an increased focus on private spaces, abdicating from the idea that open space is the necessary public countermeasure for high-rise projects. (Figures 36.4 and 36.5) In contemporary residential towers, speculation is unsurprisingly dominant since the buildings are almost entirely private. However, the comparative trend with their historical precedents (the corporate office tower) points to the dire consequences of some postmodernist urban planning strategies, which have traded the imperfect modernists idea of public space for skin-deep aesthetic celebration of the local culture. This comparison may induce to read the shift as the simple result of unbridled capitalism. On the back of the analysis of the changes in the built form that have affected Melbourne’s tall buildings, however, it is possible to draw a more articulate conclusion about the twofold causes behind this trend. The progressive transition from corporate owner-built towers to private residential can also be explained as the result of technological changes that have enabled this shift. The introduction of modern industrial methods in Australia in the mid-20th century was a radical transformation of the construction industry that required extraordinary efforts of investment and risk-taking on the part of clients as much as technical competence and spirit of adaptation from the designers. The remarkable feat of this historical period was the nexus between the economic growth of private interest and the willingness to embrace an agenda of public amelioration of cities. This aligned with better working conditions for white-collar employees and the search for more efficient building systems, not only during the construction phase but also during the operation of buildings, which often had to be owner-occupied and represent the civic and progressive values of their owners.

Melbourne’s skyscrapers  457

Figure 36.4 Melbourne CBD; 1955–1995. Line chart, annual time series of net lettable area produced by tall office buildings (Giorgio Marfella).

Figure 36.5 Melbourne, tall buildings 1955–2020. Four quadrant chart, qualitative summary of tall building trends (Giorgio Marfella).

458  G. Marfella

Figure 36.6  Joseph Schumpeter’s process of creative destruction (Giorgio Marfella).

As these high-rise-enabling technologies became less reliant on the single-handed risktaking of large corporate or financial clients and cutting-edge technical experimentation and design, they became more widespread, offering lower risk development exposure en masse for entrepreneurs with lower capital backup but access to borrowing (Figure 36.6). When observed over the long term, this trend conforms with the pattern of creative destruction described by Schumpeter, which, in the case of Melbourne, between the mid-1950s and 1990s, also shows a correlation between high-rise office building production and business cycle activities that amplified in waves that eventually led to the crisis of the early 1990s. The pertinence of the Schumpeterian model with the history of tall buildings in Melbourne expands into present times. A novel process of creative destruction has begun in the 21st century, first due to the entrepreneurial intuition of some developers and builders able to experiment with super-slender concrete residential towers. Due to the relatively simple and mature nature of concrete high-rise technologies and ease of borrowing after the GFC, this development opened the floodgates to a proliferation of similar projects throughout the 2010s. Conclusion Schumpeter’s concept of creative destruction is applicable not only to products and capitalism but also to the understanding of long-term dynamics in central business districts, particularly for the development of tall buildings. Over extended periods, the evolution of tall buildings can be linked to broader societal shifts, such as the transformation of capitalism from heavy-duty industrial manufacturing to financedriven developments. Schumpeter’s concept of business cycles further illustrates that the development of tall buildings is a complex and dynamic process, featuring periods of growth, stagnation, and decline. Entrepreneurs introduce new ideas and processes, leading to expansion

Melbourne’s skyscrapers  459 and oversupply, which are then followed by market adjustments and periods of recession and hiatus. This cyclical pattern influences the architectural landscape and mirrors wider economic forces as well as technological breakthroughs. Analyzing the phenomenon of skyscrapers solely from an aesthetic perspective is limiting. Tall buildings are primarily driven by economic and technological factors, which constrain and guide their development yet still necessitate an active role for design. Furthermore, skyscrapers can serve as potent indicators of urban transformation over time, reflecting trends in ownership, speculation, and the evolving balance between public and private agendas in city governance. For instance, Melbourne’s skyscrapers reveal a clear shift from owner-occupied properties to speculative projects, and a notable transition that has surpassed attempts to balance public and private interests in large corporate high-rise developments, ultimately yielding to a multitude of private interests held by numerous speculative players. Although skyscrapers are primarily private enterprises, some historic landmarks demonstrate that they can still incorporate public design agendas. Design plays an essential role in contributing to change, whether via industrial manufacturing, such as Polaroid’s designers who refined their user-centric products and granted widespread access to photography for a new market, or through clients, architects, and structural engineers who, in the post-WWII years, implemented innovative architectural and technological systems while striving to merge public space amenities with improved working conditions indoors. Designers have the potential to be catalysts for creative destruction, on par with the market forces that shape their environment. They play a crucial role in determining the success of a product, whether it is a camera or a skyscraper. This responsibility carries personal risks and often involves collaborating with clients who bear another critical responsibility: to share a positive belief in the power of design and technology to drive change, including in commercially driven architecture and urban design. References ICI House (1958a). ICI House, Melbourne. Architecture Today 1(2), [monographic issue]. ———. (1958b). Melbourne’s First Skyscraper. Architecture and Arts (61), pp. 24–29. Barr, J. (2012). Skyscraper Height. Journal of Real Estate Finance and Economics 45(3), pp. 723–753. Batty, M. (2007). The Creative Destruction of Cities. Planning and Design 34, pp. 2–5. Blout, E. (1996). Polaroid: Dreams to Reality. Daedalus 125(2), pp. 39–53. Collins Place (1981). Collins Place. Constructional Review 54(4), pp. 12–21. Corrigan, P. (1976). The BHP Building. Architect Victoria 3(41), pp. 16–17. Egan, D.E. (1984). Climbing Forms. Constructional Review 57(1), pp. 30–37. Georgiev, P. (1991). The “Big Six” Office Buildings. Architect Victoria (August), pp. 5–11. Goad, P. (2001). “BHP House, Melbourne” in Taylor, J. (ed). Tall Buildings, Australian Business Going Up: 1945–1970. Sydney, Craftsman House, pp. 260–281. Koolhaas, R. (1994). Delirious New York: A Retroactive Manifesto for Manhattan. New York, Monacelli Press. Kowalczyk, R.M., Kilmister, M.B. and Sinn, R. (1995). Structural Systems for Tall Buildings: Systems and Concepts. New York, McGraw Hill. Marfella, G. (2016). “The Future of Skyscrapers in Melbourne: From Hyper-Density to the Uplift ­Principle” in Wood, A. et al. (eds). Cities to Megacities: Shaping Dense Vertical Urbanism. Chicago, Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitat, pp. 405–415. Marfella, G. (2017). Inside the Square Box: Skyscrapers and Techno-Economic Developments in Melbourne CBD (1955–1995). PhD thesis, University of Melbourne. Marfella, G. (2021). An Architectural Pas de deux: Australia 108. Architecture Australia (3), pp. 46–62. Available at https://architectureau.com/articles/australia-108/

460  G. Marfella Marsden, S. (2000). Urban Heritage: The Rise and Postwar Development of Australia’s Capital City Centres. Canberra, Australian Council of National Trusts and Australian Heritage Commission. Nakamura, L.I. (2000). Economics and the New Economy: The Invisible Hand Meets Creative Destruction. Business Review (July/August), pp. 15–30. New Concept (1969). New Concept in Building Construction: BHP’s New National Headquarters. Contracting and Construction Engineer 23(5), pp. 13–14. Page, M. (1999). The Creative Destruction of Manhattan. Chicago, University of Chicago Press. Pei, I.M. Partners (1971). Collins Place Development Plan. Bates Smart Archives. RP Data (1977). Cityscope: Melbourne CBD. Map 28, Property 1. Schumpeter, J. (1939). “How the Economic System Generates Evolution” in Business Cycles: a Theoretical, and Statistical Analysis of the Capitalist Process. New York, McGraw-Hill, pp. 72–129. Schumpeter, J. (1943). “The Process of Creative Destruction” in Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy. London, Allen and Unwin, pp. 81–86. Tanner, H. (1975). Glazed Idylls/Idols? A Look at Some Antipodean Versions of the American Skyscraper. Architecture Australia 64(4), pp. 77–85. Thornton, M. (2005). Skyscrapers and Business Cycles. Journal of Austrian Economics 8(1), pp. 51–74. Tripsas, M. and Gavetti, G. (2000). Capabilities, Cognition, and Inertia: Evidence from Digital Imaging. Strategic Management Journal 21, pp. 1147–1161. Victorian Department of Planning (1982). Melbourne Central City Development Manual. Melbourne Victorian Department of Planning. Willis, C. (1995). Form Follows Finance: Skyscrapers and Skylines in New York and Chicago. New York, Princeton Architectural Press.

Section V

Governance and Planning

37

The multifunction polis An urban idea and its end Paul Walker

The multifunction polis: An urban idea and its end The MFP idea

The Multifunction Polis (MFP) was a proposal for a new city to be built at a location in ­Australia, made by a Japanese government minister in Canberra in January 1987 at a meeting of the Australia-Japan Ministerial Committee.1 The move took the Australians by surprise, but despite widely held scepticism, the idea was pursued vigorously within the Department of Industry, Trade and Commerce of the Australian federal government. Within a month of first putting the MFP proposal to their Australian colleagues, Japan’s Ministry for International Trade and Industry (MITI) produced a document of eleven pages, ‘A Multifunctionpolis Scheme for the 21st Century (Development Plan for an International Futuristic and Hi-Tech Resort Through Australia-Japan Co-operation)’. It stated that ‘Japan and Australia located at the northern and southern tips of the Pacific Rim, will cooperate to build a multifunctioned and futuristic cosmopolis to become a forum for international exchange in the region and a model for new industries and new lifestyles looking ahead to the twenty-first century’.2 Further elaboration was made in a 65-page document produced by MITI in September 1987. The new city would have an ultimate population of around 100,000 people; it ‘would be a prototype for cities of the 21st century, combining leading-edge industries such as computer and information technology, biotechnology and health sciences, with activities based on leisure, resorts, conventions and tourism’. In the language widely adopted in discussions of the MFP, it was both ‘high-tech’ and ‘high-touch’, the latter term referring to elements of the MFP proposal entailing high levels of human interaction: leisure, tourism, and education. MITI also outlined how the MFP was to entail a next step in evolution of urban environments, which they grandly called the ‘Leap to the Fifth Sphere’. The first ‘sphere’ was characteristic of pre-industrial cultures in which ‘home’ and ‘workplace’ were combined, the second ‘sphere’ involved separation of work and home, and the third was the emergence of ‘recreation’ as a distinct realm. The fourth ‘sphere’ implied the further development of leisure: ‘Urban residents now find it necessary to liberate themselves from psychological and physical stresses and to restore health by escaping from everyday life and immersing themselves in nature for a certain length of time’.3 The fifth sphere – ‘the realization of a multifunctionpolis’ – was vague as an urban proposal: it ‘must have all the elements of the four spheres but at the same time be a city not classifiable under anyone [sic] of them ….’4 The high-tech industries MITI envisaged as being facilitated by MFP were: biotechnology; new materials and rare metals (Australian deposits were noted to be extensive); energy (coal liquefaction and vaporisation, solar energy, fuel cells, biomass); software; and space (launch DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-42

464  P. Walker and associated facilities). High-touch industries were the ‘convention services industry’ – the building of convention centres in Australian cities was a major enterprise in the 1980s5 – and the ‘resort industry’, including an academy to study the ‘hardware’ and ‘software’ needed for the development of sports, education, and culture.6 The version of MITI’s September document generally circulated in Australia excluded the sections on energy and space, the latter being revealed in the Sydney Morning Herald in June 1988 as suggesting the construction of an artificial mountain 2.1 km high to be used to catapult space vehicles into orbit!7 Despite its spurious conceptions about urban history and development, MITI’s initiative was enthusiastically endorsed by the Australian federal government. Less interested in its urban proposals than its industrial ones and mostly oblivious to MITI’s ideas about energy and eccentric propositions about space projectiles which were in any case dropped8 – the government saw the MFP proposal as complementing their endeavours to reform the Australian economy to make it more competitive and dynamic.9 Reaction and response

Commentary on the MFP published in Australia both by Australian and Japanese writers often drew attention to the close association of Japan’s construction and real estate industries to its political apparatus. For example, Yuki Tanaka, pointing out the inroads of construction company Kumagai Gumi into Australia, wrote of the ‘emergence in Japan of a close and often corrupting relationship between large construction companies and politicians and bureaucrats – what might be called a political-construction complex. This has led to massive public works, profitable for the companies but of little value to the public’. Tanaka suggested the Sydney Harbour Tunnel, built by Kumagai Gumi, was such a project.10 Kumigai Gumi was at the time involved in another Australian nation-building project, the Very Fast Train proposal.11 In Japan, Tanaka wrote, investment in public works was 16% of the government budget, at least three times as much as in the United States.12 These works included rail and road infrastructure, public buildings such as museums, nuclear power plants, and, in the 1980s, the setting up of resort towns throughout Japan. Here, perhaps, were the foundations of MITI’s interest in incorporating resort thinking into their ‘fifth sphere’. Another critic of the MFP noted that the proliferation of recent resort development in Japan ran the risk of ‘creating environmental havoc’.13 The implication that was to be taken from this commentary on the Japanese construction industry in relation to the MFP was that the new city was to be a bridgehead for Japanese building conglomerates to expand their unscrupulous political influence into Australia. But these concerns about a Japanese ‘political-construction’ complex were not the most prevalent worries about the MFP in Australia. Rather, the wider public anxiety was that Japan’s intention was through the MFP to establish exclusively or predominantly Japanese population centres in Australia. Pre-war Japanese imperialist expansion and particularly its colonisation of Manchuria were often invoked. Gavan McCormack, Professor of Asian History at the University of Adelaide, referred to this history intending to illustrate Japan’s naivete about utopianism, technological innovation, and its relations with its neighbours.14 But the frequency with which the Japanese occupation of Korea and China was mentioned in discussions of the MFP must give pause.15 While there is little doubt that this concern about Japanese settlement in Australia reflected prevalent and long-term racism, it also had an immediate trigger in a Japanese proposal made shortly before the MFP to establish communities of Japanese retirees in Australia. This was called ‘Silver Columbia’.16 While Silver Columbia had been rejected by the Australian government just before the MFP initiative there was a common apprehension that the MFP was another attempt to create exclusively Japanese precincts. These fears were stoked in the

The multifunction polis  465 Australian media. They were also exploited by the Liberal Party during the 1990 general election in Australia when its leader, Andrew Peacock, expressed opposition to the MFP for the putative potential it had to create Japanese enclaves.17 Departing somewhat from MITI, the Australian government developed a suite of principles to guide preparatory studies for the MFP to be undertaken in 1988 and 1989. The nine principles emphasised technological and economic imperatives. The first noted that ‘The MFP should be developed as a way of assisting structural change in the Australian economy geared towards the development of an internationally competitive and export oriented industry structure’. The second and third, respectively emphasised the development of ‘leading edge infrastructure’ (tele­ communications, information, education) and that the MFP would be international in its links, sources of investment, and people. Several of the principles referred to funding (not public) and governance (the relationship with Japan was to be in the federal government’s purview; relationships with commercial entities in the states’). Principles 4 and 7 addressed the concern about the prospective settlement of Japanese populations: ‘The MFP should be developed as an entity which is not an enclave but is linked with the remainder of the Australian economy, providing a leading edge test bed and technology transfer’; ‘The feasibility study should investigate a range of urban development options, including those involving multiple sites, all of which assume that the MFP would not be a cultural enclave, but would be integrated within the remainder of Australian society’.18 While the first principle formulated by the Australian Department of Industry, Trade and Commerce mentioned ‘education and training, leisure and tourism’, none of the others alluded directly to the ‘high-touch’ industries to which MITI had devoted much attention. The principles also suggested confidence on the Australian side that it would benefit from collaboration with Japan through technological transfer. But it is not clear that this was the Japanese understanding: there is no direct mention of technology transfer in MITI’s key statements in February and September 1987. One Japanese commentator, Shinobu Ohe, held that: ‘Japan’s MITI dislikes the transfer of Japan’s high-technology to other countries’. Ohe noted the Japanese perception that South Korea’s textile and ship-building industries had ‘overwhelmed’ Japan’s; Korean steel and car manufacture were heading in the same direction. Technology transfer would lead to the repetition of such economic humiliations.19 Ohe even suggested that the educational aspects of MITI’s MFP proposals would be quite low-level, potentially involving the training in Australia of relatively subordinate operatives for Japan’s manufacturing operations in Southeast Asia.20 The MFP feasibility studies conducted from November 1988 to December 1989 were principally in the hands of the consulting firm Arthur Andersen. These addressed commercial and marketing issues associated with the MFP project and the development of the overall concept; technical aspects of the project were investigated by Kinhill Engineers. Meanwhile, the ­Australian and Japanese Joint Steering Committee for the MFP and the Australian Department of Industry, Trade and Commerce commissioned specific studies of the MFP’s economic viability, urban development, and governance. They also commissioned a study of the MFP’s social aspects in which David Yencken of the University of Melbourne criticised the lack of attention to this aspect of the MFP, and the lack of a strategy for public consultation.21 As Hamnett notes, ‘It was in this period that the MFP derived a reputation for secrecy and a highly selective approach to the presentation of information ….’22 In 1990, the National Capital Planning ­Authority – the agency responsible for Canberra’s development – was tasked with developing urban design principles for the MFP which suggested development at densities higher than those typical of Australian urban developments, and emphasis on public transport, cycling, and walking for transportation rather than cars.23

466  P. Walker In 1989, as the feasibility studies continued and the MFP’s high-level steering committee sought commercial collaborations, the state governments were invited to develop proposals for the MFP’s realisation. In May 1990, New South Wales, Victoria, Queensland, and South ­Australia made submissions, and a proposal for Far North Queensland was submitted privately.24 Victoria’s was to be centred at Docklands. NSW’s was to be administratively headquartered at Pyrmont but connected to three other locations in the metropolitan area, including a flagship site at Homebush Bay – later to be the principal location of facilities for the 2000 Olympics.25 An ACT proposal suggested a Canberra ‘satellite’ to the NSW MFP ‘hub’ connected to it by the Very Fast Train.26 Queensland was widely considered to be the favoured location of the MFP given the extent of Japanese investment in the real estate market in that state. Moreover, the Queensland government had been engaged in discussions about the MFP project with the ­Japanese authorities since they had first suggested it to their Australian colleagues.27 In June 1990, the Queensland government’s submission was selected: the MFP’s location was to be a site on the ‘Brisbane-Gold Coast corridor’.28 Most of the land covered by the Queensland proposal, however, was in private ownership, one of the owners apparently facing charges of corruption for alleged bribery of a member of Queensland’s government.29 As the state was unable or unwilling to purchase the site or to produce assurances that the benefits of the MFP development there would not unduly advantage the existing landowners, the offer to Queensland was withdrawn. McCormack has suggested the Queensland government may have been relieved as not only were there political complications from the ownership of the land but there was also wide public concern in the Gold Coast area about the level of Japanese ‘financial domination’ in the region. The prize was instead awarded to South Australia.30 Japanese precursors

The MFP can be viewed as an extension of Japanese urban ambitions that had already produced several development programs in Japan itself. McCormack noted that ‘the MFP is a concentrated embodiment of a recurrent Japanese propensity for utopianism. The MFP was heir to such Japanese projects as “Super City”, “Green City”, “Intelligent City”, “Sunshine City”, ­“Portopia”, and even “Teletopia”’.31 Ohe outlined a history of national urban development proposals in Japan relevant to the MFP starting with the New Industrial Towns program initiated in 1962 to promote heavy industrial output in regional locations. This was followed in 1969 by the ‘New Comprehensive National Development Plan’, which addressed the adverse impacts of distance by promoting enhanced transportation infrastructure and communications networks. In 1977, the Third National Comprehensive Development Plan promoted residential environments in the regions to restrain population flows to the big cities, and the development of ‘technopolises’, new cities based on high-tech industries, such as the manufacture of semiconductors. This was followed in 1987 by the Fourth National Comprehensive Development Plan which emphasised information and networks rather than the manufacturing of high value goods. Ohe did not rate any of these as particularly successful strategies, though individual cities and regions may have gained some advantage from each.32 Within each of these overarching national development strategies, different government ministries promoted different programs which frequently overlapped. Thus, under the last of the schemes discussed by Ohe, MITI promoted a program called ‘New Media Community’, while the Ministry of Posts and Telecommunications promoted an almost identical thing called ‘Teletopia’, and the Ministry of Construction ran another under the title of the ‘Intelligent City’.33 Most directly relevant to the MFP proposal were two of the Japanese urban programs belonging to MITI. The first, originating in 1980 and legislated in 1983, was for a series of

The multifunction polis  467 ‘technopolises’ – new urban areas based on high-tech manufacturing, education, and applied research, which, on the one hand, were supposed to produce a Japanese rival for Silicon ­Valley, and thus promote the Japanese economy internationally, and on the other were to promote technological and economic development of lagging Japanese regions outside the Tokyo-NagoyaOsaka corridor.34 Up until 1990, 26 such projects were developed through this program, to varying degrees of success.35 Each of the new technological cities had an identified ‘mother city’ – an established city nearby with strong transport links (expressway and shinkansen) to Japan’s economic heartland. The second Japanese precursor for the MFP was in programs which MITI had developed to promote leisure and recreation among the Japanese population, many of whom lived under notoriously stressed and crowded conditions. In part, this was a reaction to the outflow from Japan of capital invested aboard in hotels, resorts, and tourist facilities in places like Hawaii and the Gold Coast where Japanese tourists flocked: ‘… Japanese funds flowed into the Gold Coast at the rate of over $1 billion a year in the 1980s, rising in 1990 to $A7.25 billion in Surfer’s Paradise alone’.36 The controversial proposal to support the retirement of Japanese abroad in the Silver Columbia plan was a particularly sensitive aspect of MITI’s thinking about leisure.37 The South Australian proposal

Throughout 1988 and 1989, a plethora of documents commissioned by the MPF Steering Committee made conflicting or contradictory proposals of what industries the project would facilitate.38 These partly reflected the different views of the parties involved of high-tech and high-touch. Presumably, as the states developed their own proposals this uncertainty must have been disquieting. NSW identified future growth industries as ‘education, health, telecommunication and information services, media and entertainment, leisure and the environment’.39 Victoria emphasised six core industries in which Melbourne had a ‘comparative or natural’ advantage: ‘information and telecommunications; media and entertainment; advanced transport services; health, medical and agricultural research; environmental management; and education and training’.40 In its proposal, Queensland – having worked on the MFP from early in 1987 – named specific industry initiatives: an International Institute for Advanced Studies; Pacific Rim Centre for Regional Education; Pacific Film and Television Complex; Advanced Transportation Corridor Corporation; Centre for Advanced Material Processing; Centre for Advanced Construction and Design.41 Unlike the proposals from the other states, the South Australian one did not emphasise which industries it would foster. South Australia’s submission was, rather, focussed on a strong urban design proposal. This was illustrated at a highly conceptual level in words and drawings. It noted, ‘We have found in our discussions with a number of community groups that descriptions of our plans for the MFP are best based in an appreciation of where the new settlement will be and what it will look like. These spatial and visual images have proved useful in appreciating how MFP-Adelaide will operate economically, socially and environmentally’.42 The possible economic activities to be supported by the MFP were explained in the South Australian submission in relation to this urban construct. Polis outweighed (multi)function. The design that featured in the South Australian proposal was by the Sydney architectural practice Edwards Madigan Torzillo and Briggs (EMTB), led by its principal design Lionel Glendenning. EMTB and Glendenning were, however, not acknowledged. Their design consisted of three conceptual elements dispersed over a vast area in Adelaide’s north, about 12 km from the central city. First, a system of two grids – one an extension of the north-south, east-west

468  P. Walker road grid of central Adelaide, the other an extension of the diagonal grid of the post-war new suburb of Elizabeth to the north-east of Adelaide – organised the locations of a series of ‘villages’, separated from each other by green space. Second, three axes crossed the site, connecting key locations in the Adelaide metropolitan area. The ‘monument/technology’ axis linked the centre of Port Adelaide to the west to Technology Park Adelaide to the north-east of the MFP site, and while this axis would be used to locate monuments and institutions across the new city, the other two axes would be realised as open, turfed landscape malls, each many kilometres long and edged by avenues of trees. Third, a series of landscape zones between the axes and the gridlocated villages would have different environmental characters – areas of water to be realised as lakes and marinas for recreation and wetlands for wildlife; rehabilitated mangrove stands; parklike fields, ‘urban forests’, and gardens for local food and horticultural production. How this overlay of grids, axes, and landscape zones would facilitate specific developments was demonstrated through two projects: a communications hub and a ‘World University’ ­(Figure 37.1).43 They lacked concrete detail. The South Australian MFP was not only distinguished by its strong design orientation but also by its environmental credentials. The Premier, John Bannon, commented in his letter to the MFP Joint Steering Committee that accompanied his state’s proposal that South Australia had ‘outstanding prospects as a prosperous high-technology world centre in such field as health, education, media, information services and environmental management’. Environmental management had not previously appeared on any list of MFP functions or industries. In part this was a response to the degraded nature of the MFP Adelaide site centred at Gillman and Dry Creek.44 It was degraded through industrial waste and heavy metals deposited by water run-off from large parts of the surrounding area.45 Environmental remediation was urgent. However, the environmentalism that subtended the South Australian MFP scheme was, like its later uptake of the space industry,46 also a reflection of the state’s history. In the 1970s, another new city project for South Australia had been proposed. This was Monarto, floated by South Australian Labor Premier Don Dunstan in 1970. Considerable work was also done on this scheme: a Monarto Development Commission was established in 1972, followed by design work undertaken by the planners Shankland Cox and the architects Boris Kazanski and John Andrews. It was abandoned in 1979. Despite significant differences between Monarto and the MFP – the MFP’s location within the metropolitan boundaries of Adelaide notably distinguished it from its South Australian predecessor, which was to be built 70 km to the east – they shared a fundamental environmental and ecological ethos.47 At Monarto, this was a response to degradation through poor agricultural practices; at the MFP site, the ecological damage was industrial and urban rather than agricultural. Not only was the MFP Adelaide site contaminated, it was also adjacent to suburbs disadvantaged socially and in environmental health. These factors suggested to Stephen Hamnett that the proposed resort functions of the MFP would not feature strongly in its realisation in Adelaide.48 However, the South Australian state government had already backed the development of casino, conference, and exhibition facilities in a controversial development on North Terrace in the central city. These had been built by Kumagai Gumi. These facilities were certainly predicated on developing tourism and leisure as key planks in the state’s economy.49 So while the main site of the MFP was to be at Gillman, the MFP-Adelaide Management Board early on commissioned a study for the development of resort facilities at Pelican Point, north of Port Adelaide, the western-most part of the MFP’s extensive site, or series of sites.50 This proposal was a local and specific application of Glendenning’s overall strategy. It was apparently the only detailed study completed in the MFP’s South Australian odyssey.

The multifunction polis  469

Figure 37.1 Lionel Glendenning of Edwards Madigan Torzillo & Briggs, Multifunction Polis drawing, published in ‘Adelaide: A Submission to the MFP Joint Secretariat by the South Australian Government’, May 1990.

470  P. Walker The end of the MFP

The urban design ideas for Adelaide’s MFP were dismissed by critics of the project’s economic and social credentials as ‘Arcadian’ and a ‘seeming cross between Noddyland and the background to Thomas the Tank Engine’.51 Such was and is the standing of design in Australia’s public discourse. Nevertheless, an administrative apparatus was established to take the Adelaide MFP forward. Here, I draw on the work of Stephen Hamnett to trace the MFP’s demise. The MFP Adelaide Management Board was created in August 1990 with negligible Japanese involvement. The new board presented interim and final reports (dated December 1990 and May 1991, respectively) to South Australian state and Australian federal governments, reorienting the project to questions not of design but industry. While the idea of a mosaic of villages was maintained from the 1990 Glendenning proposal, their density was dramatically cut and the settled urban area consequently increased; the MFP’s target population was reduced to 50,000. In July 1991, the federal government provided $12 million to fund staff and administration for the MFP Adelaide project; the following year, they injected a further $40 million. In April 1992, the South Australian parliament passed legislation establishing the MFP Development Corporation, but a new metropolitan planning strategy for Adelaide released in July questioned the priority given to the MFP’s Gillman site in relation to other residential developments in Adelaide’s north.52 Further intimations of the MFP’s decline came next year when the Liberal-National coalition adopted a policy for the February federal general election that would have abandoned the Gillman site and refocussed the technopolis development on existing sites and projects in the Adelaide area, such as Technology Park to the northwest of the MFP’s designated location, and Science Park in the city’s south. While the Labor Party narrowly won the election, later in the year, the incoming Liberal state government in South Australia abandoned Gillman in the short term to begin the development of the MFP at The Levels, adjacent to the South Australia Technology Park. Gillman would be remediated to deal with industrial contamination, ready for later development. In May 1994, expressions of interest were called from developers interested in carrying out the first stage of a much-reduced MFP at The Levels. Lend-Lease and Delfin submitted the winning bid.53 In 1996, the newly elected Liberal-National federal government decided to discontinue MFP funding on the grounds that it had become a state-based development initiative rather than being of consequence to the nation as a whole. In November, the South Australian government finally approved the first stage of development at The Levels, for 3700 dwellings and industrial sites for high-tech enterprises. The Levels was renamed Mawson Lakes. Then, a month after work started on site in July 1997, the South Australian premier announced the abolition of the MFP Development Corporation.54 The MFP was dead. Conclusion Peter Droege commented in 1999 that ‘Today, the MFP figures as one of Australia’s disappointments and great missed opportunities’.55 Mawson Lakes was to be much more modest than the original intentions for the MFP – a population of fewer than 10,000 rather than the 100,000 first envisaged, with houses built in a manner akin to those in any other suburban development. But Mawson Lakes nevertheless maintained a strong commitment to environmental innovation in its treatment of site and landscape issues. Conceptually, this was a significant outcome of the MFP, a demonstration of how ecology could help shape suburban development in Australia. But it was modest.

The multifunction polis  471 Perhaps a propensity to consider urban development environmentally, developed in South Australia through Monarto, survived to resurface in the proposals for the Adelaide MFP. The close chronological conjunction of these projects suggests such a possibility. Australian and Japanese critics of the MFP commented at length on how the 20th-century Japanese pattern of urban strategies was relevant to understanding the MFP proposal, and – as we have seen – MITI predicated the MFP project on its own ideas of urban history. Australia’s own history of urban thinking in projects like Monarto was disregarded. An Australian history of racism and xenophobia was, however, sometimes admitted as relevant to the local reception of the MFP. What lessons could have been learned from the history of Australian urbanism? This is too large a question to canvass here, but it is clear that both Monarto and the MFP failed through a lack of political will. The MFP was mired from the beginning in different expectations – and unreasonable desires – on the part of its Japanese proponents and the Australians as its proposed hosts. These differences were most pronounced in relation to the balance of high-tech versus high-touch industries that the MFP would facilitate, and it seems that this difference was never directly discussed by the relevant parties in an effective way. This was a political failure; the viability of the urban strategies developed for the MFP – by comparison – was never tested. Notes 1 Manuel Castells & Peter Hall, Technopoles of the World: The Making of 21st Century Industrial Complexes, London: Routledge, 1994, p. 206. 2 Walter Hamilton, Serendipity City: Australia, Japan and the Multifunction Polis, Crows Nest: ABC Enterprises, 1991, p. 30. 3 Ministry of International Trade and Industry MFP Planning Committee, ‘A Multifunctionpolis Scheme for the Twenty-First Century’, September 1987, published as an appendix in Gavan McCormack, ed, Bonsai Australia Banzai: Multifunctionpolis and the Making of a Special Relationship with Japan, Leichhardt NSW: Pluto Press, 1991, p. 187. 4 Ibid. 5 See Paul Walker, ‘Convention Centers’, in Walker, ed, John Andrews: Architect of Uncommon Sense, Cambridge, MA: Harvard Design Press, 2023, pp. 336–357. 6 MITI, ‘A Multifunctionpolis Scheme’, pp. 205–208. 7 Gavan McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan: The MFP Proposal and the Australian Response’, in ­McCormack, ed, Bonsai Australia Banzai, p. 40. 8 Ibid, p. 40. 9 Stephen Hamnett, ‘The Adelaide Multifunction Polis in 1993: From Technopolis to Enterprise Zone’, in John Brotchie, Mike Batty, Ed Blakely, Peter Hall & Peter Newton, eds, Cities in Competition: Productive and Sustainable Cities for the 21st Century, Melbourne: Longman Australia, 1995, p. 311. 10 Yuki Tanaka, ‘The Japanese Political-Construction Complex’, in Paul James, ed, Technocratic Dreaming: Of Very Fast Trains and Japanese Designer Cities, Melbourne: Left Book Club, 1990, p. 71. On Kumagai Gumi, see also Peter J Rimmer, ‘Kumagai Gumi in Australia: The Second Phase of Development’, in James, ed, Technocratic Dreaming, pp. 87–105. 11 Rimmer, ‘Kumagai Gumi in Australia’, p. 104. 12 Tanaka, p. 77. 13 Tessa Morris-Suzuki, ‘Futuristic Cities in Japan: Lessons for Australia’, in James, ed, Technocratic Dreaming, p. 185; see also Shinobu Ohe, ‘Future City Planning: The Japanese Experience and the MFP’, in McCormack, ed, Bonsai Australia Banzai, p. 98. 14 McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan’, pp. 43–44. 15 See, for example, Peter J. Rimmer, ‘Global Techno-Belts in the Twenty-first Century’, in McCormack, ed, Bonsai Australia Banzai, pp. 104–105; Ian Inkster, The Clever City: Japan, Australia and the Multifunction Polis, Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1991, p. 131. See also Morris F Low, ‘Japan’s Shinkansen: Should Australia Bite the Bullet?’, in James, ed, Technocratic Dreaming, pp. 167–168. 16 Castells & Hall, p. 206; Hamilton, pp. 8–9; Hamnett, 1995, p. 310; McCormack, ‘Coping with ­Japan’, p. 38; Ohe, pp. 85–86, 93; Masayuki Sasaki, ‘Japan, Australia and the Multifunctionpolis’, in

472  P. Walker

1 7 18 19 20 21 2 2 23 24 25

2 6 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 4 0 41 42 43 4 4 45 46 47 4 8 49 50 5 1 52 53 54 55

­ cCormack, ed, Bonsai Australia Banzai, pp. 139–140; Inkster, p. 25; Hamilton, pp. 7–8, 38, 54–55, 89. M While the plan to export Japanese retirees dated back to the 1970s, it apparently was reactivated by MITI in 1986 – see Janet Snyder ‘Japan to encourage elderly to retire overseas’, UPI, August 6, 1986, https:// www.upi.com/Archives/1986/08/07/Japan-to-encourage-elderly-to-retire-overseas/9720523771200/; and Glen St J. Barclay, ‘The Oyabun Does Not Dance on Stage: The Queensland Government and the Multi-Function Polis’, Meanjin 49:4, 1990, p. 690. McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan’, p. 48. Hamnett, 1995, p. 311; McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan’, p. 45. Ohe, p. 93. Ibid, pp. 101–102. David Yencken, Multifunction Polis: Social Issues Study, Canberra: Department of Industry Technology and Commerce, 1989. Hamnett, 1995, p. 312. Stephen Hamnett, ‘The Multi-Function Polis 1987–1997’, Australian Planner, 34:4, 1997, p. 228. Hamnett, 1995, p. 313. Paul James, ‘The Multifunction Polis as a “Utopian” Technocracy’, Transition, 31, Summer 1990, p. 13. Brief descriptions of the state submissions and that from northern Queensland are in Appendix II of ‘Multifunction Polis Feasibility Study: Report by the Joint Steering Committee to the Australian and Japanese Governments’, 1990. James, p. 13. Barclay, p. 693. ‘Queensland Multi-Function Polis: The Natural Choice’, May 1990. McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan’, p. 31. Hamnett, 1995, p. 313. McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan’, p. 43. Ohe, pp. 93–99. Morris-Suzuki, p. 179. Castells & Hall, pp. 115–116. Castells & Hall, p. 117. Castells & Hall, p. 208. Castells & Hall, p. 206; Hamilton, pp. 8–9; Hamnett, 1995, p. 310. McCormack, ‘Coping with Japan’, p. 49. Multifunction Polis Feasibility Study: Report by The Joint Steering Committee to the Australian and Japanese Governments, 1990, p. 105. Ibid, p. 109. Ibid, p. 118. ‘Adelaide: A Submission to the MFP Joint Secretariat by the South Australian Government’, May 1990. On Glendenning’s design, see Frank Lowe, ‘Multifunction Polis, Adelaide’, The Architecture Show, Oct/Nov 1990, pp. 19–26; and ‘MFP: The Generic Village’, Architecture Australia, February 1992, pp. 37–41. Hamnett, 1997, p. 228. Norma Carter and John Brine, ‘The MFP – catalyst for environmental improvement’, Town and Country Planning, September 1994, pp. 252–253. MFP-Adelaide Management Board, ‘Report on the Feasibility of the MFP-Adelaide’, May 1991, pp. 9/10-9/14. Paul Walker, Jane Grant & David Nichols, ‘Monarto’s Contested Landscape’, Landscape Review, 16:1, 2015, pp. 20–35. Hamnett, 1997, p. 228. Walker, ‘Convention Centers’, pp. 339–343. ‘MFP-Adelaide, Tourism/Leisure Consultancy, NewPort Village – Pelican Point, Interim Report’, March 1991. Inkster, p. 61; Hamnett, 1997, p. 228. Hamnett, 1997, p. 229. Hamnett, 1997, p. 230. Hamnett, 1997, p. 231. Peter Droege. ‘Virtualisation Takes Command’, Australian Planner, 36:2, 1999, p. 108.

38

The creative city in Australia Where are we now? Emma Felton

Introduction The idea of the creative city is now in its third decade. During the mid-1990s, it was developed as a set of policy initiatives, initially in the United Kingdom during the term of the Blair Labour government (1997–2007), and was spearheaded by Charles Landry and Franco Bianchini from the British think tank Demos. Their influential book, The Creative City, promoted the role of culture in urban regeneration, and cities that moved away from instrumentalist planning to one whose focus was on the human and ‘messy’ dimension of urban experience. As a set of policy initiatives, it signalled a shift in urban policy with a focus ‘on the production of cultural/­creative products, creative workers and infrastructure’ and an alliance with tourism and events such as festivals (Comunian 2011: 1158–1159). More broadly, it became associated with economic growth through increased cultural infrastructure, an enhanced urban image, and improvements in city living. There is extensive literature on creative cities which offers localised and national accounts and critiques. Although creative city policies covered a broad template, outcomes are as varied as the cities in which they were located and implemented. The creative city phenomenon was accelerated and shaped by the processes of globalisation and a tipping point in cities from the early 1990s. In Australia as in many cities globally, inner-urban areas had been in a period of decline and transition for several years as large-scale industries such as manufacturing plants, dockyards, and power stations were either in rundown or had shifted out of inner-city areas. At the same time, mass migration to cities across the world produced cities of increasing scale and density. By 2007, more than 50% of the world’s population was living in cities (United Nations 2022). Technological advancements further increased the connectivity between cities, services, and information as well as the creative industries. Global capital investment had been pouring into cities for years, but now there was even more sources and scope for investment. At a policy level, the idea of the creative city became central to the language of regeneration experts, urban planners, and urban policymakers (Edensor et al 2009). Regeneration included the development of large-scale cultural precincts and iconic cultural buildings dotted across the post-industrial urban landscapes. Decommissioned industrial areas, power stations, dockyards, and other disused facilities offered the site for a new cultural infrastructure, with a reactivation and renovation of these spaces. Bilbao’s Guggenheim cultural centre (1997) led the charge, with the phenomenon becoming known as the ‘Bilbao effect’. Many such cultural centres followed in cities across the world – Changsha’s International Cultural and Art Centre and waterside cultural precincts such as in London, Melbourne, and Brisbane’s South Banks to name a few. Cultural buildings and precincts became part of an arts led regeneration strategy aimed at attracting talent and tourists to regenerate urban centres, and a growing service DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-43

474  E. Felton economy and workforce developed. Cultural strategies were concerned with city branding and developing spaces of consumption. Early into the early twenty-first century, US-based Richard Florida promoted the idea of the ‘creative class’ (2002), these were the types of people encouraged to move to the urban core of cities and who, according to Florida, contributed to the development of the creative city. Typically educated professionals working in the design, technology, arts, and architecture sectors were supported by ‘creative professionals’, those working in finance, law, and other allied industries. In Florida’s thesis, they were attracted to inner-city locations for the buzz, diversity, and tolerance. These so-called ‘lifestyle districts’ proliferated across cities globally and were celebrated in urban policy discourse and marketing material. Backed up by economic metrics and indexes, Florida’s creative city championed the new cultural infrastructure which tended to be amenity focussed – bars, cafes, and restaurants – which all became indices of the creative city’s success. Urban policies, fortified by ubiquitous marketing rhetoric produced a template of a desirable, cosmopolitan inner-city sanctuary and encouraged their transformation. Property prices surged. The growth in amenities, new developments, and dwellings made the inner-city a desirable place to live as people moved in from the suburbs and from interstate – and from overseas. One of the less desirable results was the displacement of lower-income residents from inner-cities, no longer able to afford rising rents and rates, a phenomenon that occurred on a global scale. Other factors were at play in a complex narrative of political and economic forces. Throughout this period, cities were re-shaped, producing the type of city we experience today. The creative city agenda began to recede some years later, muted by neoliberal economic forces, which has seen an increase in global corporate influence into public space. Globalisation and its upshots are complex, but its influences are evident in the realm of public/private space where multi-national interests have contributed to a certain homogenisation of the urban environment. Urban-based businesses, services, and products are ubiquitous throughout many cities across the world. ‘Starchitect’ buildings, those designed by prominent architects for their ‘look at me’ style, are also a feature of the creative city. Creative cities in Australia: A different story Although cities have always been the locus of innovation and commerce, the creative city is associated more specifically with arts and cultural led innovation and aesthetic experience. Emphasis is on the development and support of cultural and creative industries and, of course, their consumption. While cultural precincts housed traditional forms of culture such as galleries and museums, as an aspiration, the creative city aimed to democratise traditional forms of art to embrace everyday creativity and culture in the city (O’Connor & Andrejevic 2017). What became known as the creative industries were seen to fuel the creative city, both through its workforce and output. Australia adopted the United Kingdom’s broad definition of the creative industries which includes advertising, architecture, design, craft, fashion film, television and video, music, the performing arts, and publishing. Now legitimised by UNESCO, through its UNESCO Creative Cities Network (UCCN), creative cities around the world are registered with the aim of fostering co-operative relationships between cities – with over 246 cities included in the network. Cities are scattered across the globe and include Melbourne, Shanghai, Delhi, Barcelona, and Dakar. Nevertheless, creative city policies are a complex amalgam of the private, non-profit, and public sectors, with a focus on the imaginative and experiential role of culture in urban settings.

The creative city in Australia  475 Urban cultural policy and government authorities have long declared the value of the creative city with its focus on economic development, but critiques have pointed to the problems facing the cultural, creative workers who power the creative economy (see, for example, Banks & O’Connor 2017). Cultural workers, whether artists or employees in cultural institutions, are part of what has become an increasingly ‘precariat’ labour economy, in which labour conditions have become even more tenuous, contract driven, and with wages remaining low. Over the subsequent years, insecure and poorly paid work in the sector, diminishing government support for arts and culture, have re-shaped the patterns of creative production and consumption in Australia. Overall, given the refocus of government policies, this shows little sign of changing in the short term. The impact of the creative cities agenda in Australia, to some extent, has been similar to other Western nations. Of particular note is the case of Brisbane, where the establishment of the Urban Renewal Task Force, a tri-government entity established in 1991, with a mandate to revitalise inner-suburban ex-industrial precincts and which had a significant impact in the development of the city. At the time, Brisbane was morphing from a large country town to a city, and was widely regarded as something of a cultural backwater. A new cultural infrastructure, the activation of the Brisbane River with the establishment of kilometres of boardwalks, and the redevelopment of South Bank’s riverside industrial area into large-scale parklands, all helped to transform the city. Interstate population also raised the city’s profile as funds were poured into the city’s public spaces, new buildings, and aesthetic enhancements. Amid the excitement of the creative cities’ agenda, Australian researchers pointed to an oversight in its analysis, which was specific to Australia. Although one of the most urbanised countries in the world, with over 71% of its population living in cities (ABS 2018), the majority of Australians live and frequently work in the suburbs. A 2009 study found that in in Melbourne, Australia’s second largest city, 86% of the population both live and work in the suburbs (Davies 2009). Yet the focus of creative cities analysis was on inner-cities, where living and working in close proximity to one another is seen as critical to the development and flourishing of creative industries. Aside from enlivening an area, close proximity is important because of the reliance of ‘clustering’ for industry development, supply chains, and broader networks of development (Bathelt et al 2004; Pratt et al 2007). Yet the creative cities agenda is, by default, place specific, drawing on the wider notion of a creative economy which ‘represents a distinctive regional economic imaginary with a complex assemblage of spatial, economic, social and political characteristics’ (Taylor 2015: 363). While there are similarities in the way creative industries are shaped by economic and policy settings, the significance of place-based factors cannot be overlooked either. Each place or region has its unique influences and interdependencies, as shown in the patterns of creative industry development when they are located in suburbs and their peripheries. For a highly suburbanised country such as Australia, urban restructuring since the early 1990s, has seen iterations of land re-zoning transforming the morphology and use of the suburbs. How people live and work in many inner-cities and suburbs has changed notably since this period of urban consolidation. Several mid to large scale research projects (see Collis et al 2010; Felton & Collis 2012; ­Gibson & Brennan-Horley 2006), including one the author was involved in, revealed some interesting data about the location and type of work in Australia’s creative workforce experienced. In summary, researchers found a variety of creative activity in suburban and outer suburban areas, including ‘traditional’ commercial type creative work such as graphic design and advertising, to activity that is more artisanal and some that requires large-scale buildings for sculptural and fabrication work. One of the main reasons that creative workers chose to remain in the suburbs or outer suburbs was for their affordability and for lifestyle reasons. Value was seen in

476  E. Felton a quieter, greener, and more spacious environment than the city. Another consideration related to the type of creative work undertaken, such as metal fabrication or sculpture, and this required the use of larger accommodation in industrial-type sheds readily found and more affordable in some outer suburbs. Networks still mattered, but there were different consequences and actions due to their distributed nature. For instance, several people concurred that they had to travel further for networking events, but the trade-off for more affordable and convenient work and living accommodation was desirable. The post-creative city A lot has changed since the 1990s formulation of the creative city. The global pursuit of neoliberal economic policies, where ‘the market’ is left to determine social and cultural outcomes has altered the public and cultural landscapes irrevocably. Neoliberalism, a concept which can be contentious in its application, essentially defines citizens as consumers, maintaining that the ‘market’ delivers benefits that can’t be achieved by planning. There are several widely documented outcomes of this economic and political shift. First and most evidently is that urban culture has intensified its role as a vehicle for consumption and place branding, as the previously discussed large scale cultural institutions are testament to. The tendency towards the commodification of culture and public space has resulted in somewhat homogenous global urban landscapes and institutions. Another is the shift to the promotion of creative work as ‘creative industries’ in an attempt to document the fiscal benefits of art and culture. While this might have begun as an argument for the value of culture, for critics, it detracts from discussions about other benefits, such as social and cultural and therefore reduces its value. The third major outcome is urban gentrification, as previously discussed, and one whose effect was to remove low paid residents out of inner-urban areas and producing a tendency towards homogenisation of cultural resources and amenities. As has occurred globally, the enthusiasm and policy initiatives of the earlier creative city have receded in contemporary Australia, and support for the arts has diminished. A recently published review into the arts and cultural sector across the various levels of governmental authority shows that cultural expenditure is not matching population growth. Nationally, arts and cultural support is enduring something of a crisis due to continual erosion of the Federal arts budget and the impact of the pandemic (Eltham 2022; Stevenson & Magee 2017). Without policy settings that support artistic and cultural development, the creative city is left to the impulses of the free market. Artists and arts workers are among the lowest paid in the country, with the average artist earning $18,800 per year according to an Australia Council report (Eltham 2022). Yet the arts and entertainment sector is economically significant, employing around 230,000 people, and contributing $17 billion in value-added (GDP) in 2018–19. The previous federal government post-Covid, continued to reduce its arts stimulus packages, reducing funding by 19%, equivalent to a $190 million dollar loss (Pennington & Eltham 2021). The bulk of public funding and philanthropic support is channelled into the country’s twentyeight performing arts organisations and cultural institutions such as museums and art galleries. Local, state, and federal programs also channel some funds into smaller scale cultural projects such as festivals and other cultural activities. However, urban arts and cultural spending has not kept pace with population growth since the beginning of the twentieth century. In the period between 2007–08 and 2019–20, there has been a 6.9% decrease in per capita expenditure on arts and culture, less than is spent on recreation and religion (ibid). In 2015, the major arts funding body, The Australia Council for the Arts had its funding cut by $100 million causing a 70% reduction in grants to artists. Needless to say, this was a significant loss for a sector which has now

The creative city in Australia  477 been struck by the impact of COVID-19. While some government support was supplied in the form of JobKeeper and Boosting Cash of Employers schemes, around 50% of creative cultural workers missed out on financial aid. Since the peak of the creative city moment, Australia’s city and state authorities, in whose jurisdiction urban development typically resides, have maintained cultural programs of varying scale and diversity. Initiatives and the types of support vary across state and regional territories and range from small-scale individual artists’ grants to support for large festivals and cultural organisations. Festivals have become allied with tourism, they are successful in attracting people to a city, feeding into the tourism economy and establishing a mobile festival culture. Typically arts based, they are widespread events attracting large audiences whose money is also spent in other sectors of the city. Book, film, music, and, more latterly, comedy festivals feature annually in capital cities and a scaled down version can be found in several regional areas. In addition to these festivals, Australian cities host their own festival, showcasing a range of arts-based events and activities. Perhaps not surprisingly, Adelaide as Australia’s first festival city, commits the most funding to the event at around $9 million annually (Rentschler & Lee 2020). The financial spin-off in cultural tourism is well recognised, with participants frequently attending other events and travelling further afield in the region. While support for these events is important to the cultural life of a city, the current picture points to a void in whole of cultural city policies in the manner of the original creative city agenda. Moreover, as previously discussed, the diminishment of support for individual and small cultural organisations, together with the corporatisation of public space works against original idea of the creative city. As Australian planner David Yencken observed, ‘A creative city must be … concerned with the material well-being of all its citizens, especially the poor and disadvantaged. But it must be much more than that. It should be at the one time an emotionally satisfying city and a city that stimulates creativity among its citizens’ (in Kyrre 2021). What the current cultural landscape offers is a diversity of small scale and differentiated strategies and programs throughout the country that are reliant on the commitment of local authorities and, in some cases, even individuals to spearhead creative projects. How these impact on urban life is as variable as the locations in which they are situated. The organisation Renew Australia is one such example. It has been active across the country’s cities and regions with a range of urban renewal projects for over a decade. Renew Australia is private-public partnership which works with councils, businesses, and property owners to reactivate streets and the built environment, with a focus on developing the local culture of the area. It was established by Marcus Westbury, whose Renew Newcastle project of the mid2000s, provided a model for street animation in urban areas that were in a period of decline. Stores and buildings that had been vacant for long periods in Newcastle were given a new lease of life in an arrangement which saw property owners agree to reduced or free rent to creative enterprises for a short period of time. The idea was to attract people into an area which was run down and provide a trial period for newly established creative businesses. Renew Australia currently has several urban renewal projects occurring across Campbelltown NSW, Cairns, and Melbourne, working with local councils to activate vacant shopfronts to increase the diversity of products and services and encourage the local creative community. Westbury has developed a model which is transferable across the country, and Toowoomba Regional Council in Queensland is a regional council who are adopting the strategies. It is interesting here to note that this type of thinking and innovation comes from outside the planning and governmental sectors. Another significant development in creative city-based ideation has been the establishment of the maker movement and Makerspaces over the last decade or so. Makerspaces have their origins in the technology-based hackerspaces that built on the hacker subculture and focused

478  E. Felton on problem-solving using technology with an ethos of openness, sharing, distrust of authority, freedom, and learning (Budge 2019). Their viability depends upon similar types of ecosystems and networks as the creative city. Moreover, urban policy shifts of recent years have helped facilitate this type of manufacturing or cultural work. The promotion of an ‘Industry 4.0 agenda’, and the focus on technological innovations in production through robotics, automation, and data analytics, and other forms of fabrication and inclusive of craft type activity, has encouraged this development – rhetorically at least (Grodach & Martin 2021). The site of activity is frequently, but not always, in Australia’s outer suburbs, where industrial sheds can accommodate this type of small scale manufacturing or activities such as sculpture and artistic reproduction. Makerspaces can be found scattered throughout Australian capital cities, some in the inner-city and others in the periphery. Makerspaces have been growing globally for the last decade or so. With the changing dynamics of manufacturing, they are seen to build capacity in fostering creativity and innovation, where the focus is on local cultural production and the growth of the maker movement. They have been likened to a small-scale creative city that typically comprises complex ecosystems involving the intersection of people, capital, skills, and place (Budge 2019). A study in the United Kingdom found that the main reasons people used Makerspaces apart from making things, was for socialising and learning (Budge 2019: 80). In a Sydney-based case study, Makerspaces most typically consisted of digital fabrication tools and technologies, general hand tools, electronics, and woodwork tools. Also in the mix, though not as prevalent are tools for printmaking, photography, ceramics, and sculpture. A growing movement in people who want to make things has helped fuel the growth of Makerspaces. There are many reasons for this – the focus on design and aesthetics of the last two decades, the rise of a broader ‘doit-yourself’ and craft movement, and a concern about environment and sustainability issues. It might also be seen as a reaction to the digital era and the ephemera of the digital age. By contrast, Makerspaces are places that provide connection through shared activity and learning. Most Makerspaces run workshops on how to make and do things, and promote their value for both the social and learning by, as one Sydney Makerspace in Marrickville states on its website they ‘… foster an environment of creativity, collaboration and learning for people from all walks of life to embark on projects’. They share the aims and rhetoric of the creative city as an incubation hub for new ideas and products, as places where people can make and bring products to market with the benefits of collaboration and knowledge sharing. The utopian impulse is also shared with the creative city, as offering social benefit through community building and developing social networks. This type of manufacturing developed here is sometimes termed ‘low tech and high touch’ (in Grodach 2017), and it has been argued, provides quality employment through labour intensive production and high value design driven products. The inclusion of craft and cultural manufacturing with a strong focus on aesthetics, as well as the product’s functionality, such as fashion design, furniture, jewellery, and ceramics, serves a growing arena of niche markets. ­Urban local supply chains and labour are important in this type of manufacturing for the efficiency of production. Makerspaces rely on a combination of funding sources, such as local business sponsorships, government and university grants, and membership fees. And despite their growth and popularity, their existence is often precarious due to the nature of this financial support. Buildings may be subject to the vagaries of short-term leases; grants are short term and may not roll over and they are staffed by a combination of paid and volunteer roles. For Makerspaces in exindustrial but now desirable inner-city areas, their location presents an added vulnerability as attractive sites for property developers. Across the country, there are many types of Makerspaces representing a diversity of financial arrangements and activities. One of the earlier models is

The creative city in Australia  479 in Sydney’s Marrickville, Makerspace and Co is situated in Marrickville’s old light industry area and is supported by the NSW Small Business Council and membership fees. Similarly, in ­Brisbane, HSBNE and Brisbane Makerspace rely on a combination of State government and corporate funding, typically among the technology sector. Researchers have pointed to a policy gap in planning for these quasi-creative precincts (Budge 2019; Martin & Grodach 2022), and while cities and their state and local governments respond in various ways, overall the ongoing viability of Makerspaces remains somewhat precarious. Nor are they integrated into an arts and culture framework. Conclusion The city has always been the locus of creative endeavour and culture. Human ingenuity and creativity are evident in built form, in cities, in their architecture, urban plans and cultural resources, and daily interactions. As history demonstrates, culture’s flourishing is dependent on the types of support provided for creative and artistic activity – governmental, commercial, and philanthropic. In Australia, as elsewhere, policy responses to the creative city have undergone a prolonged period of decline, although people’s enthusiasm for cultural activity has not waned, as attendance at cultural events and initiatives such as Makerspaces suggests. While a range of localised strategies has helped support cultural programs and endeavour, it is somewhat idiosyncratic and patchwork. As urbanist Charles Landry observed, ‘creativity is the lifeblood of cities’, and art and culture should not be treated as an ‘add on’ or an ‘unnecessary extra’. It is not appropriate to revive the tenets of the 1990s creative city thinking and policy, as urbanism and how we live in cities and suburbs have changed significantly since that period. It is time though, to rethink how we live in cities and suburbs, and the ways in which creativity and culture can be reasserted as a central force. References ANA Report. 2022. The Big Picture Public Expenditure on Artistic and Cultural Activity in Australia. https://newapproach.org.au/insight-reports/the-big-picture-public-expenditure-on-artistic-cultural-andcreative-activity-in-australia/ret. Retrieved 1.07.22. Australian Bureau of Statistics. 2018. https://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/[email protected]/Lookup/2071.0main+ features1132016. Retrieved 12.08.22. Banks, J. and O’Connor J. 2017. Inside the whale (and how to get out of there): Moving on from two decades of creative industries research. European Journal of Cultural Studies, Vol 20, (6) pp. 637–654. Bathelt, H., Malmberg, A. and Maskell, P. 2004. Clusters and knowledge: Local buzz, global pipelines and the process of knowledge creation. Progress in Human Geography, Vol 28, pp. 31–56. Budge, K. 2019. The ecosystem of a Makerspace: Human, material and place-based interrelationships. Journal of Design, Business & Society, Vol 5, (1) pp. 77–94. Collis, C., Felton, E. and Graham, P. 2010. Beyond the inner city: Real and imagined places in creative place policy and practice. The Information Society, Vol 26, (2) pp. 104–112. Comunian, R. 2011. Rethinking the creative city: The role of complexity, networks and interactions in the creative economy. Urban Studies, Vol 48, (6) pp. 1157–1179. Davies, A. 2009. The Structure of Suburban Employment in Melbourne. Unpublished doctoral thesis, Faculty of Architecture, Building and Planning, University of Melbourne. Edensor, T., Leslie, D., Millington, S., Rantisi, N. and Leslie, S. 2009. Spaces of Vernacular Creativity: Rethinking the Cultural Economy, London, Routledge. Eltham, B. 2022. ‘Want to Make Art? You Better Be Rich. How Australian Culture Locked Out the Working Class’. https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2022/may/16/want-to-make-art-you-better-be-rich-howaustralian-culture-locked-out-the-working-class?CMP=share_btn_tw.

480  E. Felton Felton, E. and Collis, C. 2012. Creativity and the Australian suburbs: The appeal of suburban localities for the creative industries workforce. Journal of Australian Studies, Vol 36, (2) pp. 177–190. Gibson, C. and Brennan-Horley, C. 2006. Goodbye pram city: Beyond inner/outer zone binaries in creative city research. Urban Policy and Research, Vol 24, (4) pp. 455–471. Grodach, C. 2017. Urban cultural policy and creative city making. Cities, Vol 68, pp. 82–91. Grodach, C. and Martin, D. 2021. Zoning in on urban manufacturing: Industry location and change among low-tech, high-touch industries in Melbourne, Australia. Urban Geography, Vol 42, (4) pp. 458–480. Kyrre, O. 2021. The Creative City: How Creativity Can Transform Urban Planning & Design. https:// medium.com/the-urban-condition/the-creative-city-how-creativity-can-transform-urban-planning-design-46943468b9b8. Feb 2021 Retrieved 12.06.22. Landry, C. https://charleslandry.com/themes/making-great-cities Retrieved 12.06.22. Martin, D. and Grodach, C. 2022. Placing production in urban cultural policy: The locational patterns of cultural industries and related manufacturing. Journal of Urban Affairs, Vol 44, (1–5) pp. 567–587. O’Connor, J. and Andrejevic, M. (2017). Creative city, smart city … whose city is it? The Conversation. Available at http://theconversation.com. Our World in Data. https://ourworldindata.org/urbanization#:~:text=of%20future%20trends.-,Summary,urban %20than%20in%20rural%20areas. Retrieved 12.05.22. Pennington, A. and Eltham, B. 2021. Creativity in Crisis: Rebooting Australia’s Arts and Entertainment Sector After COVID, The Centre for Future Work, Australia Institute. Pratt, A., Gill, R. and Spelthann, V. 2007. Work and the city in the e-society: A critical investigation of the socio-spatially situated character of economic production in the digital content industries in the UK. Information, Communication and Society, Vol 10, (9) pp. 22–42. Rentschler, R. and Lee, B. 2020. COVID-19 and arts festivals: Whither transformation? Journal of Arts and Cultural Management, Vol 14, (1) pp. 35–46. Stevenson, D. and Magee, L. 2017. Art and space: Creative infrastructure and cultural capital in Sydney, Australia. Journal of Sociology, Vol 53, (4) pp. 839–861. Taylor, C. 2015. Between culture, policy and industry: Modalities of intermediation in the creative economy. Regional Studies, Vol 49, (3) pp. 362–373. UNESCO Creative Cities Network. https://en.unesco.org/creative-cities/home. Retrieved 13.1.22 United Nations 2022. Sustainable Cities and Communities. https://unstats.un.org/sdgs/report/2019/goal-11/ #:~:text=Since%202007%2C%20more%20than%20half,per%20cent%20of%20global%20GDP. Retrieved 14.5.22

39

Suburbs by design Design and its antithesis in the Australian suburb Alan Pert and Nicholas A. Phelps

Introduction A version of suburb bashing is apparent in the uncritical rendering of the suburbs as a Subtopia (Nairn, 1955) or ‘blandscape’ (Maginn and Anacker, 2022), in which creeping conformity (Harris, 2004) is made visible in a highly uniform landscape of residential subdivision design, standard lot sizes and a limited variety of housing typologies. As with many things urban, such simplifications often conceal more than they reveal. For example, residential suburbs have historically supported any number of local artists and craftspersons (Crowther, 2010). In the post Second World War era, the suburbs have also been the preferred location for displays of corporate statement architecture (Mozingo, 2016). Moreover, regardless of the precise complexion of the suburbs under consideration, the very valid question of doing better in our use of land with the technologies available to us (Nairn, 1955) comes with its counterpart: of whether we shouldn’t be planning with more purpose for our last landscapes (Whyte, 1968) and with the in between, ‘Subtopian’, landscapes that have come into being (Sieverts, 2003)? The stereotype of the boring uniform suburb has never been completely accurate as a label. Indeed, since developers, including visionary developers, have always had an eye on those places physically and imaginatively outside of the regulatory constraints of the city (Phelps, Maginn and Keil, 2023), the suburbs have always been locations for greater experimentation with regard to the built environment than is commonly recognized. Moreover, governments have at times themselves been important developers or, as regulators, instigators of experimentation in suburban housing, as was the case with the London County and Greater London Councils (Phelps, Mace and Jodieri, 2017). This is perhaps truer in Australia than in many other national contexts where critique of suburban landscapes has also tended to come with less of an opposition between town and country than in Britain, for example. Drawing on examples from greater Melbourne in the State of Victoria, Australia, we discuss how experimentation and innovation continue in the present, though it is as true as ever also that it pales in comparison to unthinking planning, design, and business models aimed at the bureaucratic bottom line of efficiency and corporate bottom line of profit. In this chapter, we uncover some of the experimentation apparent in the post-war era suburbs of Victoria, Australia, amidst a landscape that might otherwise all too easily be regarded as part of The Australian Ugliness (Boyd, 1960). These examples of experimentation remind us of the possibilities of planning, designing, and building better suburbs – suburbs by design rather than accident or lowest common denominator compromises. The stakes are high. Better design is integral to more environmentally, socially, and economically sustainable suburbs., However, experimentation is so rarely licensed, let alone incentivized within the increasingly expansive public-private bureaucratic systems with which we now build our suburbs (Phelps, Buxton and Nichols, 2023). DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-44

482  A. Pert and N. A. Phelps The suburban blandscape and beyond As the first suburban nation (Horne, 1964) and a vast ‘overspill’ suburb of sorts for the Imperial homeland (Davison, 1993; Phelps, 2022), it was perhaps inevitable that Australian suburbs became a target for professional architectural critique. Robin Boyd (1960) was chief among critics of the aesthetics of Australian suburbs and their distinctive ugliness. The critique was cemented a little later with the collection of essays under the title Look Here! (Button, 1968). Button in his editorial noted how ‘Australians generally seem unconcerned about the appearance and quality of their environment … As a local product it perhaps adds to our sense of national uniqueness’ (Button, 1968: 1). The collection of chapters in Look Here! lamented the poor quality of architecture, planning, and design of the suburbs. Boyd himself elaborated on how the Australian ugliness had been a result of aggressive pursuit of commercial imperatives, carelessness, and the unintentional (Boyd, 1968: 35). Much of this can be dated to invasion and settlement of Australia since: Two assumptions which were applied to the earliest efforts at Australian town planning have been apparent continually ever since. The first is that the main aim of planning is to prepare the way for the private ownership of land. … The second assumption fundamental to the Australian scene has been that town improvements are a local responsibility, but that local government should not be entrusted with money for this purpose. (Saunders, 1968: 47) The continual flow of immigrants has fuelled the growth of suburbs and that has increased: such insatiable demand has only ensured that there are ‘design margins’ to profitability in which ‘Many succeed with poorly designed products, indifferently packaged and advertised’ (James, 1968: 97).1 Such indifference on the part of consumers and producers of Australia’s suburbs must surely relate in some way to the uniquely egalitarian complexion of the Australian dream of a suburban home (Gleeson, 2006), distinct from the bourgeois retreat from the city represented by suburbs in Britain (Fishman, 1987) and the social transition offered by suburbs in the United States (Perin, 1977). The lines of critique of the suburbs established in the 1960s remain largely valid today, even if Australian suburban living has become shorn of some of its egalitarian credentials. The contemporary critique of the poor design of many Australian suburbs centres on features that arguably are the product of an increasingly large, complex public-private system administering growth in states such as Victoria (Phelps et al., 2023; Phelps and Nichols, 2022). The features include the effects of growth management measures such as an urban growth boundary which, despite establishing a developable land supply very large by international standards, have actually heightened speculation for greenfield land within and outside that boundary (Ball et al., 2014; Phelps and Miao, 2023; Taylor, 2016). Rising land prices tethered to an increasingly restrictive lending environment have resulted in decreasing lot sizes partly as a result of what is a widely understood but rarely challenged assumption regarding the price inelasticity of outer suburban residential buyers but also the limited range of housing typologies offered by volume house builders. These lots and houses are found in subdivisions often poorly designed by developers to fit standardized precinct structure plan regulations and guidelines that have only recently been revised in light of their unintended effects in terms of stunting innovative design solutions. The effect of these interrelated features has been a perpetuation of the Australian ugliness – a lack of beauty now being rediscovered as an aspiration for new community-building in Britain

Suburbs by design  483 but also the proliferation of oversized but squat and muted versions of the sorts of ‘McMansion’ vulgarity found across the United States (Knox, 2008). Just as troubling, the deficit of design in Victoria’s outer suburbs has worsened the environmental effects associated with the latest vintages of suburbanization. Those vulgar houses now occupy almost all of the lots where once they may have competed for attention with extensive gardens (Buxton et al., 2020), and, as a result of the heat island effects, the vulnerability of Melbourne’s outer suburbs to bushfires has increased. All this being said, unlike similar laments of the quality of the built environments and setpiece attempts to shock the vast bulk of professions and the general public into caring, the Australian auto-critique also was more purposeful. Unlike its British counterparts such as How to Play the Environment Game (Crosby, 1973), Look Here! came with constructive suggestions for how to improve suburban ugliness. Housing typologies have long been the subject of government sponsored expositions, small-scale experimentation, trials, and demonstrations internationally. Although Australia and the State of Victoria have less of a tradition in this regard (Newton et al., 2015), State government in Victoria has periodically sought to encourage experimentation and innovation in suburban housing design as we illustrate below. Important individuals too took it upon themselves to contribute to the better design of suburbs, or at least parts of them. Of note here was Robin Boyd himself but also David Yencken and associates in the establishment of Merchant Builders whose express aim was to design with the ‘total environment’ in mind (Pert and Goad, 2023). The credentials of the suburbs as in between or transitional places lying somewhere between urban and rural seem clear (Phelps, 2017). And the Australian suburb, in particular, has never been treated in quite the same disparaging way as it was in Britain – as a sort of substandard extension of historic cities or a waste of a green and pleasant countryside. In England, elite societal and professional interests joined forces in the inter-war years to assert themselves in the design of the post war planning system, creating a ‘normative geography of distinct urbanity and rurality … over an England-in-between of suburb, plot land, and ribbon development’ (Matless, 1998: 32). In contrast, Australian suburbs took on a unique in-betweenness as thresholds between the urban and the rural (Pert, 2023) and prompted a degree of reflection and constructive designing of habitats by the likes of David Yencken mentioned before. Australian suburbs have also been said to be where a ‘dilemma of diversity’ has been most apparent with regard to the design of the built form. Stretton (1971) has argued that ‘Maximum diversity between them may mean maximum monotony within each’: suggesting a trade-off between design quality and variety across subdivisions and neighbourhoods of ostensibly new outer cities and design quality and variety within them. However, as we illustrate in the example of Caroline Springs below, there do exist examples of new community building that appear, at least to an extent, to transcend this dilemma. Suburbs by design: Examples from greater Melbourne As we saw above, arguably Australian suburbs have come to be charged with a greater sense of meaning and, as a result, contain more patches of design innovation as habitats than is commonly recognized. It is to consideration of some of these instances of suburbs by design in greater Melbourne that we now turn. Merchant builders’ cluster housing anomalies at Elliston, Winter Park and Vermont Park

For David Yencken and associates at Merchant Builders, suburbanism was not seen as an inferior way of life nor suburbs necessarily the producers of conformity. Suburbs were places

484  A. Pert and N. A. Phelps

Figure 39.1  Vermont Park cluster development. Source: Aerial photograph by John Gollings, Aug 2021.

for connecting the urban and the rural in a distinctive Antipodean approach to this embattled middle landscape. The influence of William H. Whyte’s (1968) ideas for cluster housing typologies sowed the seeds of early conversations with Graeme Gunn prior to the establishment of Merchant Builders and their distinctive agenda met the opportunity presented by changes to the regulations in Victoria in the 1960s. These regulatory changes gave Merchant Builders the perfect excuse to experiment with suburban housing typologies and arrangements at Elliston (Rosanna), Winter Park and Vermont Park. Elliston extended to a planned 300 houses, compared to Winter Park’s modest 24 units. These developments were more akin to a modern village as opposed to a loose grouping of standalone private houses. Key in each of these experiments was the principle that the landscape dictated the shaping of the architecture around it, on it, and through it (see Figure 39.1). Merchant Builders set out not to simulate nature in wild or manicured forms but to create associations between nature and architecture. Each development was shaped to the existing tree cover and topography of the site as found. At Elliston, Graeme Gunn curated a group of architects who sought variety in unity rather than strict uniformity. Buildings had a common design vocabulary of flat and pitched roofs, pergolas, patios, post-and-beam construction, carports, brick, large windows, and glass walls featuring strong horizontal lines. The houses’ floor plans varied considerably, with some more experimental than others. Elliston and Winter Park were conceived under Victoria’s Strata Titles Act 1967. Vermont Park (20km to the east of Melbourne’s CBD), however, was fully designed under the provisions of the state’s Cluster Titles Act 1974 and Model Cluster Code (1975). Buyers had a choice of nine different house designs but with many of the same common features pioneered at Elliston. The Vermont Park sales brochure presented it as ‘A new way of suburban living for people tired

Suburbs by design  485 of living in the suburbs’. Tempering that statement with the thought that ‘If you want to keep to yourself you can do so. And just as easily, if you feel like being with your neighbours you can do that too’. In this regard, the curation also of a structure of governance for the communities Merchant Builders physically developed might seem excessive. But the planning of activation and the curation of community governance are both very much neglected aspects of the design of successful creative places as Miao (2021) illustrated with the Bristol Paintworks work-live development. Merchant Builders would not have succeeded with its cluster housing developments if David Yencken had not had the foresight to design the governance arrangements for these subdivisions. At Vermont Park, for example, he implemented a committee structure with at least 3 and not more than 12 member owners of the total 43 lots to be elected by a ballot. This governance arrangement remains in place at Vermont Park today and facilitates a democratic process and sense of cohesion. The philosophy of integration of built environment discipline perspectives advanced by Merchant Builders in its suburban developments across greater Melbourne presents the case for the benefits of a holistic and whole-of-site approach to the planning of suburban subdivisions. Those developments remain benchmark projects that could, and should, have changed the face of our suburbs. Vermont Park certainly had the capacity to be a prototype for building community and rethinking practice to include native vegetation, multipurpose shared-use streetscapes, integrated design, communal facilities, and housing affordability that we are still striving to get right. In the end, Merchant Builders, like their cluster developments, have become something of an anomaly: a housing and landscape laboratory containing so much talent and so many ideas that the danger is that it might never be repeated. There is just a glimpse of their legacies in the example of Bent Architecture’s cluster social housing project that we describe below. Boyd’s antidote to ugliness at Fountain Gate

The arch critic of the ugliness of Australian suburbs himself was handed a small parcel of land in the outer suburban City of Casey, which is situated 45 km to the Southeast of Melbourne CBD. Developer Isador Magid handed over this small part of a much larger set of land holdings (destined to become associated with the Fountain Gate shopping centre at Narre Warren) to Boyd to experiment with suburban housing design. It is a small patch of what is an outer suburban city of nearly 350,000 and a city that is still growing with the addition of several precinct structure plans’ worth of suburban housing surrounding district centres and employment zones. Boyd and other architects were not able to produce much, and this little subdivision is largely forgettable as an antidote to the sea of surrounding suburban development. The Fountain Gate estate was designed by Boyd along Radburn principles which, although in existence for some time by then with little influence in their homeland of the United States, had found favour in New Town planning in Europe (Kostof, 1991: 82). It contained a number of prototype houses, some of which have heritage listing while the estate itself is described in the City of Casey Heritage Scheme as ‘an innovative and imaginative housing development’ and as ‘being of local significance and possibly State significance’. It was to have a parabolic shaped water fountain at the entrance to the estate on Princes Highway, which – legend has it – ran for the opening of the estate but not after since it flooded the highway.2 Several of the houses on the estate have been encroached upon by subsequent developments. Boyd’s Simon House, designed for the then Mayor of Berwick, now has a block of townhouses next to it after the City of Casey’s attempts to block development were overturned by the Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal (VCAT). Another late 1960s demonstration home designed by Daryl Jackson and Evan Walker has at points been threatened with demolition.

486  A. Pert and N. A. Phelps State government sponsored innovation in Dandenong: Bent Architecture’s ‘Living places’ cluster social housing and Habitat 21

Dandenong (35 km from the Melbourne CBD) is the location for two state government of Victoria sponsored projects intended to stimulate innovation in housing design for social needs and to address the increasing lack of affordability in the outer suburbs. Bent Architecture’s Living Places development in Dandenong (applies some of the same cluster housing principles adopted in the cases of Merchant Builders’ Elliston and Winter and Vermont Parks to social housing needs. It ‘attempts to dissolve boundaries – some of them physical, others social’ (Calzini, 2012). Living places derives from a competition initiated jointly by the Office of Housing in the Department of Human Services and the Office of the Victorian Government Architect to encourage innovative design on one large site consolidated from six suburban blocks. The state government’s intention was for Living Places to be a medium-density demonstration project to showcase good design and development principles in the face of several pressing needs that have gradually asserted themselves in the outer suburban housing market of ­Melbourne. Those pressing needs include: the need for greater density of development and intensity of land use in strategic parts of the city, improvements in housing affordability, and the provision of new forms of accommodation to suit changing demographics. Notably, in terms of those demographics this includes demand for smaller, accessible units for people who might otherwise have to live in care and, simultaneously, larger units for the extended families who make up a portion of the population in Dandenong. Context presents a challenge to the innovative provision of social housing in the outer suburbs, as both the use and the cluster format are at odds with suburban residential ownership and typological norms such that ‘a degree of borrowing or playful reconfiguration is required’ to reconcile these somewhat conflicting pressures (Ranger, 2012: 2). The challenges to suburban residential convention are most apparent in the spaces outside of the individual housing units. There are no fences dividing the units. Tenants, therefore, have to cooperate when using and maintaining common facilities such as the shared barbecue. There is also no barrier to entering the site so that surveillance of shared space becomes as community affair. The development reproduces the sense of neighbourliness found in, say Melbourne’s inner suburban Brunswick, or perhaps informally forces a sense of community ownership without the governance structures found in Merchant Builders’ Vermont Park described above. Also located in Dandenong was the Sustainable Affordable Housing Initiative (SAHI, later named Habitat 21), instigated by VicUrban in 2006. The initiative saw seven architectural practices partner with a volume builder in order to develop models of affordable, sustainable housing (Penn, 2011). The conditions of the SAHI initiative were that designs had to result in the construction of demonstration houses with a seven-star environmental efficiency rating and affordable (with construction costs of around $200,000), have adaptable designs accommodating different household types, and be attractive. As reported elsewhere, the architects involved were somewhat constrained to operate within a design envelope that had to include ten suburban housing ‘must haves’ (Phelps et al., 2023), while broader constraints, resulting from risk averse policies attached to the use of the public money at stake and the conservatism of marketing advice regarding what suburban residential consumers wanted in a house, have all played into the eventual designs (Penn, 2011). The five houses produced under the Habitat 21 Initiative appear ‘conservative and unlikely to inspire in quite the same way’ as the famed Case Study Houses (CSH) scheme of Los Angeles (commencing in 1945 and running until 1966) with which Penn (2011) compares them.

Suburbs by design  487 Delfin’s master planned community at Caroline Springs

More recently, the master planned community of Caroline Springs in the City of Melton, 30 km to the Northwest of Melbourne CBD, could be said to be one high point of outer suburban community-building in the past 30 years and one that transformed the reputation of Melbourne’s Western suburbs in comparison to the more sought-after suburbs lying to the city’s Southeast. Caroline Springs has been referred to as something of a ‘city within a city’ (O’Toole, 2006). It won an award from the industry body the Urban Development Industry Association (UDIA) in 2006 as the best master planned community but is likely unrepeatable under the present Precinct Structure Plan system given its scale, the consultation effort undertaken, and design thought put into it. Delfin is said to have funded over 40 community groups (O’Toole, 2006). The community of approximately 25,000 contains greenways, signature signage and a lake adjacent to a district centre (see Figure 39.2). The greenways and lake make use of the naturally occurring water courses and flood prone parts of the existing landscape. However, the central lake is also reminiscent of the celebrated master planned garden suburb communities of ­Tapiola, Espoo in Finland and Lake Ann, Reston, in the United States – Robert E. Simon’s design of the latter itself influenced by Heikki von Hertzen’s Tapiola (Phelps, 2015). Caroline Springs contains several distinct residential neighbourhoods or villages that are remarkably diverse in terms of housing architectural styles, resonating with Stretton’s ideas of a requisite diversity as part of uniformity. Delfin (now Lend Lease) developed it from 1997 onwards to have amenity, walkability, a variety of demographics, lot sizes, and housing choices. It contains quirkiness too, as some of the streetscapes were designed deliberately to echo those appearing in the television programme ‘Desperate Housewives’ (Nichols and Lewi, 2008). Even so, Caroline Springs has also been demonized as standing for conformity and the artificial and aspirational (Nichols and Lewi, 2008) – something that reminds of the precarious tenure that even notable experiments of the past have in the consciousness of the avante-garde in the present. Conclusion This chapter has sought to illustrate some of the patches of innovation and even residential design beauty in what might otherwise be characterized as greater Melbourne’s suburban blandscape. Utopian elements are not entirely reducible to suburbanization and vice versa in the form of Subtopia as Nairn (1955) would have it. As with the flat and seemingly empty and indistinguishable bush of Australia (Watson, 2014), it takes careful scrutiny and some research to uncover those patches of genuine design innovation and aspiration. These creative visions of better suburbs by design have sprung from the initiative of individuals but also development corporations and even governments, which should provide hope for a future of creativity in the production of the suburban built environment. Nevertheless, these fragments of creativity that were carved from the larger outer suburban expanses of Melbourne with design intent serve as a reminder that: ‘In our hearts we all know the sort of cities we have created in our ignorance. By and large we have got what we deserve’ (Ledger, 1968: 91). If designs of all sorts must inevitably reflect the historical-material realities of capitalism (Forty, 1986), this surfeit of ‘business as usual’ may be little surprise. Then again, that business-as-usual designs do have their intended effects should alert us to the many alternative, lost, suburban histories that failed to come to fruition. The unintended effects of those same business-as-usual designs alert us to the possibility of alternative suburban futures. It is to these alternative suburban histories and future possibilities that we must look if our (sub)urban planet (Keil, 2017) is to have a habitable, enjoyable, and sustainable future.

488  A. Pert and N. A. Phelps

Figure 39.2  Greenways and signage in Caroline Springs. Source: Authors’ photo.

Suburbs by design  489 Notes 1 Economic geographer David Smith (1966) used the term ‘spatial margins to profitability’ to explain that many businesses could survive and be profitable in locations that were sub-optimal. Likewise, in design terms, we might say that many poor designs can be profitable. Indeed, the routine design and ‘business as usual’ found in suburbs is the best indication that there are indeed such design margins to profitability. 2 https://caseycardinialinkstoourpast.blogspot.com/2014/04/fountain-gate-housing-estate-estate.html

References Ball, M., Cigdem, M., Taylor, E. and Wood, G. (2014) ‘Urban growth boundaries and their impact on land prices’, Environment and Planning A 46: 3010–26. Boyd, R. (1960) The Australian Ugliness. Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire. Boyd, R. (1968) ‘The nineteen sixties in focus’, In Button, J. (ed.) Look Here!. Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, pp. 33–45. Button, J. (ed.) (1968) Look Here! Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire. Buxton, M., Cooper, M., Echberg, B., Falk, G., Holdsworth, J., Pelosi, S., Scott, M. and Thorne, S. (2020) Growing Pains: The Crisis in Growth Area Planning. Melbourne: Charter 29. Calzini, J. (2012) ‘Living Places’ Architecture Australia, 27 September. Available at: https://architectureau. com/articles/model-housing/ Crosby, T. (1973) How to Play the Environment Game. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Crowther, L. (2010) ‘Et in suburbia ego: A cultural geography of craft in the London suburbs’, Journal of Modern Craft 3: 143–60. Davison, G. (1993) ‘The past and future of the Australian suburb’, Australian Planner 31:2, 63–9. Fishman, R. (1987) Bourgeois Utopias: The Rise and Fall of Suburbia. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Forty, A. (1986) Objects of Desire: Design and Society Since 1750. London: Thames and Hudson. Gleeson, B. (2006) Australian Heartlands: Making Space for Hope in the Suburbs. Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin. Harris, R. (2004) Creeping Conformity: How Canada Became Suburban, 1900–1960. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Horne, D. (1964) The Lucky Country. Harmondsworth: Penguin. James, R.H. (1968) ‘The expert eye’, In Button, J. (ed.) Look Here!. Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, pp. 93–107. Keil, R. (2017) Suburban Planet: Making the World Urban from the Outside in. Cambridge: Polity. Knox, P.L. (2008) Metroburbia, USA. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Kostof, S. (1991) The City Shaped: Urban Patterns and Meanings Through History. London: Thames & Hudson. Ledger, F. (1968) ‘The expert eye’, In Button, J. (ed.) Look Here! Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire. Maginn, P.J. and Anacker, K.B. (2022) ‘Suburbia in the 21st century: From dreamscape to nightmare’, In Maginn, P.J. and Anacker, K.B. (eds.) Suburbia in the 21st Century: From Dreamscape to Nightmare? London: Routledge, pp. 1–22. Matless, D. (1998) Landscape and Englishness. London: Reaktion Books. Miao, J.T. (2021) ‘Getting creative with housing? Case studies of paintworks, Bristol and Baltic Triangle, Liverpool’, European Planning Studies 29:6, 1050–70. Mozingo, L.A. (2016) Pastoral Capitalism: A History of Suburban Corporate Landscapes. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Nairn, I. (1955) ‘Subtopia’, The Architectural Review, June: 364–72. Newton, C., Gilzean, I., Pert, A., Alves, T. and Backhouse, S. (2015) Housing Expos and the Transformation of Industry and Public Attitudes. Background Report for Transforming Housing: Affordable Housing for All. Melbourne: University of Melbourne. Nichols, D. and Lewi, H. (2008) ‘Caroline Springs’, Landscape Architecture Australia 119: 46–8.

490  A. Pert and N. A. Phelps O’Toole, C. (2006) ‘Planned paradise reshapes lifestyles in Melbourne’s aspirational west’ Australian Financial Review, 15 December. available at: https://www.afr.com/life-and-luxury/arts-and-culture/ planned-paradise-reshapes-lifestyles-in-melbournes-aspirational-west-20061215-jey5s Penn, S. (2011) ‘Habitat 21’, Architecture Australia, 24 August. 100:3, 66–70. Perin, C. (1977) Everything in Its Place: Social Order and Land Use in America. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pert, A. (2023) ‘The antipodean suburb through the eyes of David Yencken and the writings of William Whyte’, In Pert, A. and Goad, P. (eds.) The Total Environment: Merchant Builders. Melbourne: The Miegunyah Press. Pert, A. and Goad, P. (eds.) (2023) The Total Environment: Merchant Builders. Melbourne: The Miegunyah Press. Phelps, N.A. (2015) Sequel to Suburbia: Glimpses of America’s Post-Suburban Future. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Phelps, N.A. (2017) Interplaces: An Economic Geography of the Inter-Urban and International Economies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Phelps, N.A. (2022) ‘The first suburban nation in a suburban world’, In Phelps, N.A., Bush, J. and ­Hurlimann, A. (eds.) Planning in an Uncanny World: Australian Urban Planning in International Context. Abingdon: Routledge. pp. 133–48. Phelps, N.A., Buxton, M. and Nichols, D. (2023) ‘Melbourne’s suburban landscape: administering population and employment growth’, Built Environment 49:1, 132–49. Phelps, N.A., Mace, A. and Jodieri, R. (2017) ‘City of villages?’, In Phelps, N.A. (ed.) Old Europe, New Suburbanization: Land, Infrastructure and Governance in Europe. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Phelps, N.A., Maginn, P.J. and Keil, R. (2022) ‘Centring the periphery in urban studies: Notes towards a research agenda on peripheral centralities’, Urban Studies 60:6, 1158–76. Phelps, N.A. and Miao, J.T. (2023) ‘“It’s the hope I can’t stand”: planning, valuation and new communitybuilding’, Journal of Property Research https://doi.org/10.1080/09599916.2023.2183887 Phelps, N.A. and Nichols, D. (2022) Can growth be planned? The case of Melbourne’s urban periphery. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 0739456X221121248. Ranger, C. (2012) ‘Social, housing, complex’, Architect Victoria Winter: 1–4. Saunders, D. (1968) ‘Flashbacks’, In Button, J. (ed.) Look Here!. Melbourne: F. W. Cheshire, pp. 47–62. Sieverts, T. (2003) Cities without Cities: An Interpretation of the Zwischenstadt. Abingdon: Routledge. Smith, D.M. (1966) ‘A theoretical framework for geographical studies of industrial location’, Economic Geography 42:2, 95–113. Stretton, H. (1971) Ideas for Australian Cities. Melbourne: Georgian House. Taylor, E.J. (2016) ‘Urban growth boundaries and betterment: Rent-seeking by landowners on Melbourne’s expanding urban fringe’, Growth and Change 47:2, 259–75. Watson, D. (2014) The Bush. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Whyte, W.H. (1968) The Last Landscape. New York: Doubleday.

40

Innovation districts and the physical environment of knowledge-based economic development Joshua Drucker

Why should innovation districts interest us? Introduction When I first started to study innovation districts in early 2014, they were a relatively new phenomenon. The concept and term were initiated in Barcelona, Spain, where the city rezoned nearly 200 hectares of mostly obsolete industrial land in the Poblenou neighbourhood into the 22@ innovation district. A private management organization was established to administer and coordinate substantial public and private infrastructure investments; develop collaborative networks among firms, universities, and research institutions; and aggressively publicize the district. The innovation district swiftly attracted firms and workers, especially start-ups and entrepreneurs. With the visibility of 22@ and the chronic aspiration for new ideas in economic development, it did not take long for the idea of innovation districts to begin to intrigue ­local policymakers and economic development practitioners. Innovation districts appeared across ­Europe and in the United States and many other nations, becoming a surging fad within regional and urban economic development.1 This diffusion of innovation districts was accompanied by typical local variation and experimentation, broadening the scope and range of application (Katz et al. 2015). By the time the COVID-19 pandemic began to spread globally in early 2020, I was aware of more than 50 active innovation districts in the United States (Figure 40.1), with many more located in the British Isles, continental Europe, North America, Australia, Colombia, Israel, and elsewhere. These innovation districts ranged from extensive efforts—involving combinations of investments in facilities, personnel, and infrastructure; worker and firm recruitment; specialized programming for entrepreneurs and start-up firms; generalized services for small business ventures; networking support; and staging or sponsorship of cultural associations and events—to others that focused nearly entirely on location promotion. In addition, numerous attempts to establish or brand innovation districts existed in an embryonic stage. Although the pandemic froze or negated the progress of many innovation districts (as with nearly all else in local economic development), by the time of writing there was anecdotal evidence of localities returning to the approach, some resuming the development of established innovation districts and some seeking to leverage new innovation districts as part of an economic recovery strategy (Smart Belfast n.d.; Edge 2021; Ruiz 2021; Wagner 2021; Cherry 2022). This chapter does not attempt to examine innovation districts in depth.2 Rather, my purpose is twofold. First, I present a broad overview of innovation districts—what they are, what we know and do not yet know about them, the purpose they fulfil within urban economic development, and some of the challenges that have arisen in their implementation and operation. Although the examples I share come mainly from the United States, drawn from my own research, the discussion is germane to innovation districts internationally. In accordance with the overall DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-45

492  J. Drucker

Figure 40.1  Innovation districts in the United States.

theme of this book, my second aim in this chapter is to describe how innovation districts relate to creativity and to the built environment. Innovation districts are intrinsically dependent upon creativity as the mechanism for generating economic development. The potential for innovation districts to succeed in this endeavour is rooted in their physical and spatial aspects; therefore, it is vital for economic development planners and policymakers to pay attention to the physical dimension of innovation districts. What are innovation districts? Defining innovation districts and identifying their key features What do innovation districts consist of? One of the more expansive definitions of innovation districts comes from Katz and Bradley (2013) (Box 40.1). Katz and Bradley characterize innovation districts by referencing the economic development goal of expanding innovation-based economic activity. They also list many of the constituent elements of innovation districts that are observed in various cities. This definition is quite malleable. Is any particular component indispensable? Are some features substitutable for each other? Although Katz and Bradley describe three types of settings, the commonality among them is an urban environment (or aspiration to an urban environment) that offers conveniences and amenities demanded by skilled workers and desired (cutting-edge) firms. An attractive and effective urban environment is an essential ingredient of innovation districts’ efforts both to attract innovative firms, workers, and entrepreneurs, and to boost the creativity and economic performance of those innovative actors. The next section of this chapter describes in more detail how the urban environment relates to these objectives.

Innovation districts and the physical environment   493 Box 40.1  A broad, flexible definition of innovation districts “Innovation districts cluster and connect leading-edge anchor institutions3 and cuttingedge innovative firms with supporting and spin-off companies, business incubators, mixed-use housing, office and retail, and twenty-first-century amenities and transport. Some can be found in the downtowns and midtowns of cities like Cambridge and Detroit, where the existing base of advanced research universities, medical complexes, research institutions, and clusters of tech and creative firms is sparking business expansion as well as residential and commercial growth. Others can be found in Boston and Seattle, where underused areas (particularly older industrial areas) are being reimagined and remade, leveraging their enviable location near waterfronts and downtowns and along transit lines. Still others can be found in traditional exurban science parks like Research Triangle Park in Raleigh-Durham that are scrambling to urbanize to keep pace with workers’ preference for walkable communities and firms’ preference for proximity to other firms and collaborative opportunities.’’ (Katz and Bradley 2013, p. 114)

Read (2016, p. 3) asserts that the strategic aim of innovation districts is to produce concentrations of innovative firms and entrepreneurial activity within relatively small geographic areas of cities. Indeed, the word “district” signifies a contiguous and bounded space, one that is distinguishable from neighbouring areas. Thus, innovation districts are, or at least ought to be, constrained in terms of their physical extent. Although perceptions of distance and propinquity differ across cultures and geographic regions, innovation districts operate best at a scale that is walkable or otherwise easily traversable, with spaces that are integrated or connected by design. Read also contrasts areas that evolve organically over time from innovation districts that are created through a strategic planning process, which is a useful distinction for economic development practitioners.4 As with these two definitions, most descriptions of the approach do not specify the actors that establish and manage innovation districts. This omission fits with the wide range found in practice. (See Tables 40.1 and 40.2 for examples of the features of innovation districts.) Many innovation districts are directed by local governments or quasi-governmental organizations. Others are administered by non-profit organizations, a few are spearheaded by for-profit developers or large private sector firms, and some are led by coalitions joining multiple kinds of entities. Most, though not all, innovation districts boast the support and engagement of anchor institutions— whether located within the district or elsewhere in the region—as leaders or key stakeholders. Explanations of innovation districts also typically leave the ostensibly central concept of innovation undetermined, or else they provide only a vague sort of outline of what is meant by innovative activities. This absence or imprecision is not at all odd if viewed from the perspective of the innovation districts themselves. A flexible characterization provides innovation districts with full latitude to encompass the wide variety of innovative activities, to embrace the creativity of entrepreneurs and other actors in permitting them to determine how best to take advantage of opportunities that the innovation district offers. Some innovation districts do target one or more technological or economic sectors, either as a marketing tactic or as a way to concentrate or sequence economic development efforts. Such targets are classified broadly, e.g., life sciences or information and telecommunications, and the idea of innovation remains essentially unconstrained within the expansive sector or sectors.

City

Name

Established

Size and location

Location type

Management

Anchor institutions

Target sector(s)

Be’er Sheva, Israel

2018

647 acres, mostly in Daled and Gimmel 65 acres in Avondale

Remade area

Local government

Existing activity

University

Remade area

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, United States St. Louis, Missouri, United States

Pittsburgh Innovation District Cortex Innovation Community

2017

164 acres in Docklands 1100 acres in Oakland

Local government Non-profit organization

Ben-Gurion University, Soroka University Medical Center University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center None

None

Dublin, Ireland

Be’er Sheva Innovation District Cincinnati Innovation District Silicon Dock

Carnegie Mellon University, University of Pittsburgh

None

2010a

187 acres in Midtown

Remade area

Non-profit organization

Life sciences

San Diego, California, United States

I.D.E.A. (Innovation + Design + Education + Arts)

2011

93 acres in East Village

Remade area

Private developer

Washington University, St. Louis University, BJC HealthCare, Missouri Botanical Garden NewSchool of Architecture and Design, University of California, San Diego Division of Extended Studiesb

Cincinnati, Ohio, United States

2020 2012

Existing activity

Notes a Founded in 2002 as Cortex; reimagined and renamed in 2010 as an innovation district. b University of California, San Diego East Village location opened in May 2022. Sources: Drucker et al. (2019); Wagner et al. (2019); City of Be’er Sheva (2020); Kayanan (2022); Madden (2022); Cincinnati Innovation District (n.d.).

None None

Arts and design, information technology

494  J. Drucker

Table 40.1  Examples of innovation districts and features

Table 40.2  Examples of former innovation districts and features Name

Established

Size and location

Location type

Management

Anchor institutions

Target sector(s)

Boston, Massachusetts, United States

Boston Innovation District/Seaport

2010

Remade area

Local government

Detroit Innovation District

2014

Existing activity

Coalition led by non-profit organizations

Convention Center, Contemporary Art Institute Wayne State University, College of Creative Studies, Henry Ford Health System

None

Detroit, Michigan, United States

1000 acres in South Waterfront 2750 acres in Downtown, Midtown, and New Center

Sources: Drucker et al. (2019); Kayanan (2022). Note: These areas are no longer being advanced as innovation districts.

Healthcare, manufacturing, design

Innovation districts and the physical environment   495

City

496  J. Drucker What are innovation districts likely to accomplish? Relationships among innovation, creativity, and the built environment Innovation districts differ from other local economic development strategies, even those that focus on innovation and entrepreneurship, in fashioning and advocating for a particular sort of urban environment. A densely built and occupied landscape, combining or closely adjoining locations for work, residence, recreation, and entertainment in what now is often referred to as a “live-work-play” environment, is central to the appeal of innovation districts for workers, businesses, and entrepreneurs (Moretti 2012; Esmaeilpoorarabi et al. 2018a, 2018b). Highly educated and creative workers tend to be more mobile and also more discriminating with regard to their location preferences than in previous years and decades. Many crave the stimulation and opportunities of urban locations (Polese 2014). Knowledge-intensive companies, eager to be able to attract and retain high-quality workers who are often relatively youthful, demand locations that will appeal to their labour force as well as suit their business operations (Forsyth 2014). In addition, innovative and creative endeavours increasingly take place in a different manner than in earlier times. More and more, they engage transitory groupings of personnel, occur without fixed schedules, and take place outside as well as within standard workplaces (Miao 2022). Entrepreneurs and many firm employees are expected to perform or anticipate performing work tasks interspersed with or in conjunction with other daily activities (Kubicek et al. 2017). Thus, both workers and employers seek built environments that support this overlapping and blending of life components. Locations are in demand that are conveniently accessible, preferably by multiple transportation modes including mass transit; that possess the infrastructure to supply reliable and speedy communications; and that offer a variety of workspace designs and types, preferably flexible and scalable to accommodate rapid or unforeseen changes in the scope of operation and workforce. The importance of proximity for innovation activities provides a second reason why the urban environment plays a key role in innovation districts. Innovative enterprises and creative actors benefit from locating near to other innovative activities and individuals. Extensive scholarship in the fields of economic geography and industrial organization as well as entrepreneurship has first theorized and then documented empirically the agglomeration advantages that are produced by spatial assemblages of innovative activities. (See Drucker et al. 2019 for a short summary of this literature.) Knowledge spillovers, or the diffusion of specialized information and understanding, take place more frequently and are more effective where distances between people are small, face-to-face contacts are readily arranged, and chance meetings occur that help to extend professional and social networks (Fang and Drucker 2021). Businesses can more successfully tailor their operations or products for particular (proximate) patrons. These observations apply to entrepreneurial networks as well. Spatial proximity enlarges the opportunities for entrepreneurs to create and make effective use of contacts with other entrepreneurs and more experienced mentors (Motoyama 2019). Many innovation districts host networking events and mentoring programs to further increase the likelihood of forming beneficial relationships and to connect new and potential entrepreneurs to available entrepreneurial support services. These considerations translate into preferences for the built environment. Innovation districts aim to place innovative and entrepreneurial activities in proximity to each other, and often to significant knowledge-producing institutions as well. They strive to create a robust “live-workplay” environment: a vigorous mix of land uses and events, many active around-the-clock, to match the work, consumption, and recreation lifestyles of the innovation workforce (Drucker et al. 2019). A rich assortment of activities taking place in a compact and accessible setting is likely to produce a vibrant and even expectant atmosphere, the “buzz” that has been acclaimed

Innovation districts and the physical environment   497 by economic geographers and others as valuable in spurring innovation (Florida 2002; Carlino and Saiz 2008; Miao 2022). Thus, an innovation district ideally encompasses not only office buildings but also mixed-use structures containing housing and retail, convenient public transit stations, and enjoyable public and event spaces. The Cortex Innovation Community in St. Louis, Missouri, provides an excellent example of an innovation district that takes full advantage of proximity. Cortex occupies a relatively small area sandwiched between three research anchors (St. Louis University, the medical campus of Washington University, and BJC HealthCare), ensuring that substantial innovation is transpiring nearby. (Unsurprisingly, the innovation district does target the life sciences sector, though not exclusively.) The location is by no means an accident, but rather the foundation upon which Cortex was first established in 2002 as a convenient and accessible site to house spin-off ventures and other entrepreneurial activity derived from research conducted at the anchor institutions. As innovation districts came into vogue in the 2010s, Cortex leadership embraced many of the built environment elements of the strategy, adding retail (restaurants, shops, a fitness centre, food trucks), indoor and outdoor event space (concerts, art shows, social networking events), and public transportation (a MetroLink station). Cortex does not encompass all of the design features of the archetypal innovation district. Plans to include a small number of housing units within the innovation district have not so far come to fruition, and the site, though it is increasing in density, still caters to automobile commuters and (in my opinion) continues to exude an office park ambiance (Figure 40.2). The I.D.E.A. (Innovation, Design, Education, and Arts) District in San Diego illustrates the application of urban design to attract creative and innovative individuals. Most of the life sciences innovation in the region takes place well north of the city centre, at the main campus of the University of California, San Diego, and in the surrounding La Jolla and Torrey Pines neighbourhoods. After much deliberation, the founders of the innovation district decided to focus instead on sectors such as software and information technology, along with arts and design, that tended to favour the city’s central neighbourhoods. The innovation district’s East Village location is a short walk or a quick public transit ride from the central business district or the bustling retail and tourist-oriented areas of downtown San Diego. The opening stage of development consisted of preparing and then promoting the Makers Quarter, six square blocks featuring a coworking facility, a fabrication workshop geared toward amateur “makers”, a community garden, a brewery, and an outdoor event space. Following the location’s “activation”, the I.D.E.A. District has shifted to developing space for co-locating residents, entrepreneurs, small businesses, and established innovative firms. The range of activities taking place and the decidedly urban texture (transforming a gritty post-industrial landscape) feature prominently in the innovation district’s marketing. What distinguishes innovation districts from other economic development strategies? Many strategies within local economic development pursue innovation and entrepreneurship as a source of dynamism and resilience and to fuel regional economic expansion. These include research and science parks, incubators and accelerators, research tax credits, industry-targeted incentives, and entrepreneurial networking, among others. The successes and failures realized by other approaches inform innovation districts. I contend that what makes innovation districts different is its intentional grouping of multiple elements. Innovation districts combine networking opportunities, entrepreneurial assistance, and other innovation support services, packaging them together within a circumscribed and thickly clustered space, the physical features of which catalyze knowledge spillovers and networking opportunities while motivating and gratifying workers and entrepreneurs. Research parks come closest to innovation districts in terms of linking the physical environment to innovation, but they take the opposite approach by segregating

498  J. Drucker

Figure 40.2  Views of Cortex Innovation Community, St. Louis, Missouri.

Innovation districts and the physical environment   499 innovators in unified, pastoral settings to sustain single-minded focus (Mozingo 2011). Not only does isolation sacrifice spillover and networking advantages, but bucolic locales largely have also fallen out of favour, as described by Katz and Bradley above. It is unusual for physical characteristics to be recognized as having a pivotal influence in an economic development strategy. Aspects such as district boundaries and components of the built environment more commonly are treated as secondary administrative attributes or constraints than as integral pieces of the strategic design of economic development policy. Therefore, it behooves planners and policymakers to be resolute in keeping physical considerations securely in the forefront of planning for innovation districts. For example, several derivative ideas or offshoots of innovation districts have arisen for which the physical dimension may be determinative. These include virtual innovation districts and multiple innovation districts, either adjacent to each other or separated within a metropolitan region but connected through institutional or collaborative networks (Maher 2022). I judge it quite unlikely that, using currently available technologies, a virtual space could generate the stimulation and allure of a live-work-play environment. Distance would weaken the benefits realized across multiple linked innovation districts. What do we know and what do we not yet know about innovation districts? A summary of research, strategic challenges, and future directions Rigorous, systematic examination of innovation districts has been limited so far. Most innovation districts have not been active long enough to observe their influences on economic outcomes of interest, or to validly assess relationships between those outcomes and particular features of the districts. Descriptive categorization is a useful approach: organizing contrasts based on evident features of innovation districts or their surroundings. Katz and Wagner (2014), for example, compare innovation districts across the three types of locations identified by Katz and Bradley (Box 40.1), whereas Flint (2016) contrasts the positions of innovation districts in booming versus struggling cities. Yigitcanlar et al. (2020) propose a classification template based on function, features, context, and spatial and governance aspects. A handful of journal articles delve deeply into individual cases to explore policy motivations, implementation mechanisms, and perceptions of impacts (e.g., Battaglia and Tremblay 2011; Charnock and Ribera-Fumaz 2011; March and Ribera-Fumaz 2016; Esmaeilpoorarabi et al. 2018c; Morrison and Bevilacqua 2019; Berglund 2020). Unusually, Esmaeilpoorarabi et al. (2020) survey resident perceptions of innovation districts in three Australian cities. Much of the attention paid to innovation districts has come from practitioners and practiceoriented research organizations. Bruce Katz of the Brookings Institution has energetically promoted innovation districts along with several of his current and erstwhile colleagues (Katz and Bradley 2013; Katz 2014; Katz et al. 2015; Vey et al. 2018; Wagner et al. 2019; Vey and Wagner 2020). The Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation (Drucker et al. 2019), the Urban Land Institute (Clark et al. 2016), RTI International (Lawrence et al. 2019), NAIOP5 (Read 2016), and the Global Institute on Innovation Districts (Wagner et al. 2019) are among the organizations that have conducted or sponsored studies. These efforts, most of which emphasize practical advice for urban policymakers or economic developers, have helped galvanize the interest in innovation districts. Reports and statements authored by innovation districts themselves abound, announcing partnerships, highlighting milestone achievements, and gaining valuable publicity. The variety in innovation district settings and approaches makes a summary of lessons learned so far seem rather generic. Some ingredients of thriving innovation districts mirror those typical of economic development strategies in general: effective and cohesive leadership; a consistent

500  J. Drucker vision shared by policy leaders and community stakeholders; substantial, reliable, early-stage funding; and a robust governance model (Drucker et al. 2019; Wagner et al. 2019). Evaluating these factors for a prospective innovation district, however, is a complex and context-dependent judgment. Other findings are more specific to innovation districts. A threshold level of economically relevant knowledge production (typically contributed by anchoring research institutions) may be required to catalyze a fledgling innovation district (Katz et al. 2015). The size, spatial setting, and physical qualities of an innovation district are crucial to its functioning, so the steps of selecting a location and developing the site are vital. Where creating an innovation district involves land development and erecting or renovating structures, the surrounding real estate market shapes the process. A strong regional real estate market places pressure on the pace and character of development, particularly in the absence of substantial unrestricted financial resources (Drucker et al. 2019). In contrast, a relatively weak market permits more control but provides fewer opportunities to leverage demand, including in the areas surrounding the innovation district. In the last several years, both academic and non-academic literature have featured criticisms of the underlying motivations and social implications of innovation districts. As with other urban economic development actions, the success of an innovation district can lead to neighbourhood change and displacement (Zandiatashbar and Kayanan 2020). Policymakers and innovation district champions often claim inclusion and expanded community opportunity as goals, but these are hard enough to achieve as standalone objectives, and are especially tricky to balance with the fundamental purpose of fostering innovation and long-term economic vitality. Innovation districts may find it difficult to persist in supporting innovation and entrepreneurship in the face of conflicts with policy ambitions such as urban revitalization or short-term economic development (i.e., jobs and tax revenue) (Kayanan 2022). Moreover, the live-work-play environment is aimed toward highly educated creative and professional individuals, with service and other lower-skill workers largely an afterthought. How well innovation districts can and do perform with respect to furthering equality, diversity, and community inclusivity constitutes an ongoing area of investigation and policy guidance (Innovation Quarter 2022; Kadyrova et al. 2022; Kayanan et al. 2022). There is more to learn about the physical characteristics of innovation districts as well. Are there an optimal extent and density of the built environment for encouraging desired innovation activities? If so, how are they mediated by local traits such as regional size, economic structure and conditions, and entrepreneurship culture? One of the most interesting questions about innovation districts is how well they may withstand the test of time. Will face-to-face exchanges and spontaneous interactions continue to be critical for creativity and innovation? If the preferences of the creative individuals and innovative firms that innovation districts are designed for shift away from busy, dense urban environments, such as occurred at least temporarily due to the COVID-19 pandemic, what will that mean for the future prospects of innovation districts? Notes 1 Innovation districts did not spring forth from a vacuum in terms of local economic development approaches; they have numerous antecedents in policy and practice—see Drucker et al. (2019) for more discussion. 2 For that objective, I direct readers to some of my own and co-authors’ research, as well as to other excellent publications referenced here and throughout this chapter—for example, Katz and Wagner (2014); Drucker et al. (2019); Lawrence et al. (2019); Wagner et al. (2019); Yigitcanlar et al. (2020); Kayanan et al. (2022).

Innovation districts and the physical environment   501 3 Anchor institutions are sizable and relatively immobile organizations that, therefore, have a vested interest in the performance of the region and its economy [not in original]. 4 My research has focused on the latter category of innovation districts in order to be able to investigate deliberate policy and planning efforts. 5 Formerly an acronym for the National Association for Industrial and Office Parks, the organization now refers to itself as NAIOP, the Commercial Real Estate Development Association.

References Battaglia, A., and D.-G. Tremblay. 2011. 22@ and the innovation district in Barcelona and Montreal: A process of clustering development between urban regeneration and economic competitiveness. Urban Studies Research, 2011: 568159. Berglund, L. 2020. The shrinking city as a growth machine: Detroit’s reinvention of growth through triage, foundation work and talent attraction. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 44(2): 219–247. Carlino, G. A., and A. Saiz. 2008. City Beautiful. Working Paper 08-22: Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia. http://www.philadelphiafed.org/research-and-data/regional-economy/regional-research Charnock, G., and R. Ribera-Fumaz. 2011. A new space for knowledge and people? Henri Lefebvre, representations of space, and the production of 22@Barcelona. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 29(4): 613–632. Cherry, N. 2022. Innovation Districts, Affinity Districts, and the City of the Future. Gensler innovation districts blog series. https://www.gensler.com/blog/innovation-districts-affinity-districts-and-the-future-city Cincinnati Innovation District. n.d. The Cincinnati Innovation District. https://cincyid.com City of Be’er Sheva. 2020. Be’er Sheva Innovation District: Re-Conceiving Innovation “On the Edge of the Negev”. Be’er Sheva, Israel. https://www.gov.il/BlobFolder/news/news_beersheva020220/he/ news_beershevaeng101220.pdf Clark, G., T. Moonen, and J. Couturier. 2016. Building the Innovation Economy: City-Level Strategies for Planning, Placemaking, and Promotion. Case Study: San Diego. London, United Kingdom: Urban Land Institute. https://europe.uli.org/report/building-innovation-economy-city-level-strategies-planningplacemaking-promotion Drucker, J., C. M. Kayanan, and H. C. Renski. 2019. Innovation Districts as a Strategy for Urban Economic Development: A Comparison of Four Cases. Prepared for the Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation. https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3498319 Edge, S. 2021. Startups Deliver Economic Boost to Pandemic Recovery. The Well, October 21. https:// thewell.unc.edu/2021/10/21/startups-deliver-economic-boost-to-pandemic-recovery Esmaeilpoorarabi, N., T. Yigitcanlar, and M. Guaralda. 2018a. Place quality in innovation clusters: An empirical analysis of global best practices from Singapore, Helsinki, New York, and Sydney. Cities, 74: 156–168. Esmaeilpoorarabi, N., T. Yigitcanlar, M. Guaralda, and L. Kamruzzaman. 2018b. Evaluating place quality in innovation districts: A Delphic hierarchy process approach. Land Use Policy, 76: 471–486. Esmaeilpoorarabi, N., T. Yigitcanlar, M. Guaralda, and L. Kamruzzaman. 2018c. Does place quality matter for innovation districts? Determining the essential place characteristics from Brisbane’s knowledge precincts. Land Use Policy, 79: 734–747. Esmaeilpoorarabi, N., T. Yigitcanlar, L. Kamruzzaman, and M. Guaralda. 2020. How does the public engage with innovation districts? Societal impact assessment of Australian innovation districts. Sustainable Cities and Society, 52: 101813. Fang, L., and J. Drucker. 2021. How spatially concentrated are industrial clusters? A meta-analysis. Journal of Planning Literature, 36(4): 526–542. Flint, A. 2016. Are “Innovation Districts” Right for Every City? CityLab, April 29. http://www.citylab. com/tech/2016/04/are-innovation-districts-right-for-every-city/480534 Florida, R. 2002. The Rise of the Creative Class. New York, New York: Basic Books.

502  J. Drucker Forsyth, A. 2014. Alternative forms of the high-technology district: Corridors, clumps, cores, campuses, subdivisions, and sites. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 32(5): 809–823. Innovation Quarter. 2022. How Innovation Districts Realize Diversity and Inclusion. Winston-Salem, North Carolina. https://www.innovationquarter.com/articles/innovation-districts-realizing-inclusion Kadyrova, A., K. Flanagan, P. Shapira, and E. Uyarra. 2022. Can Innovation Districts Be More Inclusive? Research Professional News, April 6. https://www.researchprofessionalnews.com/rr-news-politicalscience-blog-2022-4-can-innovation-districts-be-more-inclusive Katz, B. 2014. Innovation Districts Catch on. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. http://www.­ brookings.edu/blogs/the-avenue/posts/2014/08/05-innovation-districts-catch-on Katz, B., and J. Bradley. 2013. The Metropolitan Revolution. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. Katz, B., J. S. Vey, and J. Wagner. 2015. One Year After: Observations on the Rise of Innovation Districts. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. https://www.brookings.edu/articles/one-year-after-observationson-the-rise-of-innovation-districts/ Katz, B., and J. Wagner. 2014. The Rise of Innovation Districts: A New Geography of Innovation in America. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/ 07/innovationdistricts1.pdf Kayanan, C. M. 2022. A critique of innovation districts: Entrepreneurial living and the burden of shouldering urban development. Environment and Planning A, 54(1): 50–66. Kayanan, C. M., J. Drucker, and H. C. Renski. 2022. Innovation districts and community building: An effective strategy for community economic development? Economic Development Quarterly. doi: 10. 1177/08912424221120016 Kubicek, B., M. Paskvan, and J. Bunner. 2017. The bright and dark sides of job autonomy. In C. Korunka (ed.), Job Demands in a Changing World of Work: Impact on Workers’ Health and Performance and Implications for Research and Practice: 45–63. Cham, Switzerland: Springer International. Lawrence, S., M. Hogan, and E. Brown. 2019. Planning for an Innovation District: Questions for Practitioners to Consider. Research Triangle Park, North Carolina: RTI International. https://www.rti.org/ rti-press-publication/planning-innovation-district Madden, M. 2022. An Innovation District in Pittsburgh? Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: Pittsburgh Region. https://pittsburghregion.org/2022/06/01/an-innovation-district-in-pittsburgh Maher, A. 2022. Can Neighborhood Innovation Districts Spur Sustainable Economic Growth in Boston? Boston, Massachusetts: ICIC. https://icic.org/blog/can-neighborhood March, H., and R. Ribera-Fumaz. 2016. Smart contradictions: The politics of making Barcelona a selfsufficient city. European Urban and Regional Studies, 23(4): 816–830. Miao, J. T. 2022. Interface of property and knowledge-based economic development. In P. Tiwari, and J. T. Miao (eds.), A Research Agenda for Real Estate: 41–57. Cheltenham, United Kingdom: Edward Elgar. Moretti, E. 2012. The New Geography of Jobs. New York, New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Morrison, A., and C. Bevilacqua. 2019. Balancing gentrification in the knowledge economy: The case of Chattanooga’s innovation district. Urban Research and Practice, 12(4): 472–492. Motoyama, Y. 2019. From Innovation to Entrepreneurship: Connectivity-Based Regional Development. Cheltenham, United Kingdom: Edward Elgar. Mozingo, L. A. 2011. Pastoral Capitalism: A History of Suburban Corporate Landscapes. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press. Polese, M. 2014. Why (Some) Downtowns Are Back. City Journal, Winter. https://www.city-journal.org/ article/why-some-downtowns-are-back Read, D. C. 2016. Case Studies in Innovation District Planning and Development. Blacksburg, Virginia: NAIOP, the Commercial Real Estate Development Association. https://www.naiop.org/research-andpublications/research-reports/reports/case-studies-in-innovation-district-planning-and-development/ Ruiz, L. 2021. Martin County Eyes Innovation District to Bounce Back From COVID-19 Economic Losses. TCPalm, September 14. https://www.tcpalm.com/story/news/2021/09/14/martin-county-eyesinnovation-district-recover-economic-covid-19-losses/8314256002 Smart Belfast. n.d. Innovation City Belfast. https://smartbelfast.city/innovation-city-belfast

Innovation districts and the physical environment   503 Vey, J. S., S. Andes, J. Hachadorian, J. Wagner, and N. Storring. 2018. Assessing Your Innovation District: A How-To Guide. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution. https://www.brookings.edu/research/ assessing-your-innovation-district-a-how-to-guide Vey, J. S., and J. Wagner. 2020. How Investments in Innovation Districts Can Combat the Country’s Regional Divides. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, January 24. https://www.brookings.edu/blog/ the-avenue/2020/01/23/how-investments-in-innovation-districts-can-combat-the-countrys-regionaldivides Wagner, J. 2021. The Global Institute in 2021: Harnessing Innovation Districts to “Build Back Better”. Brooklyn, New York: Global Institute on Innovation Districts. https://www.giid.org/the-globalinstitute-in-2021-harnessing-innovation-districts-to-build-back-better Wagner, J., B. Katz, and T. Osha. 2019. The Evolution of Innovation Districts: The New Geography of Global Innovation. Brooklyn, New York: Global Institute on Innovation Districts. https://www.giid.org/ the-evolution-of-innovation-districts Yigitcanlar, T., R. Adu-McVie, and I. Erol. 2020. How can contemporary innovation districts be classified? A systematic review of the literature. Land Use Policy, 95: 104595. Zandiatashbar, A., and C. M. Kayanan. 2020. Negative consequences of innovation-igniting urban developments: Empirical evidence from three cities. Urban Planning, 5(3): 378–391.

41

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures Carla Maria Kayanan

Introduction The history of the growth of the industrial city, the subsequent rise of suburbs, and the redevelopment of the post-industrial city is well rehearsed (Hall, 1998). Within the disciplines of economic geography and economic development planning, much of the focus has centred on optimal firm location decisions and the advantages of agglomeration economies to generate wealth. Why do firms locate where they do? What are the benefits of clusters? Do people follow firms or do firms follow people? From as far back as Alfred Marshall (Marshall, 1890) theorising on the localisation of industrial districts to more contemporary work analysing the competitive advantages of post-industrial business clusters and innovation districts (Katz & Wagner, 2014; Krugman, 1995; Porter, 1990), scholars have raised questions about the potential of agglomeration economies as wealth generators across all scales: from the local, to the regional, to the global (Krugman, 1995; Porter, 1990; Scott, 2008; Storper, 2013). As a theory (economic geography) and a practice (economic development planning) both disciplines work together to inform and shape the landscape of the city. Along with agglomeration economies and wealth generation, a key component of the research focuses on innovation and creating ripe environments to spur innovation. However, theories around where innovation can best happen have changed across time. For Marshall (1890), long-lasting localisation (i.e., the ability for a firm to embed in place) generated the milieu conducive to innovation (Belussi & ­Caldari, 2009). With the decentralisation of the city, the post-World War II science and research park evolved as the ideal. These sprawling campuses favoured pastoral landscapes and seclusion and were purposely designed to separating work-life from home-life through spatial layouts that kept employees in competing firms from fraternising with each other (Mozingo, 2011; O’Mara, 2005). Today, the city – or at least an urban-like environment – holds prominence as the optimal location to strategically engineer agglomeration economies based on the knowledge economy (Carrillo et al., 2014). The dominant paradigm of today’s urban ideal is that innovation requires complete integration (Chakrabarti, 2013; Moretti, 2013). Face-to-face interaction, networking, inter- and intra-firm collaboration, and a seamless interaction between work and leisure are cited as beneficial to the innovation process (Glaeser, 2011; Porter, 2001; Storper, 2013; Storper & ­Venables, 2004). As the importance of urban science and technology industrial innovation gains in prominence, the imagery of the remote and disconnected science and research park becomes replaced by an urban ideal. The new urban model reverses the strategies utilised in its pastoral predecessor. Supported by leading economic development policy recommendations ­(Chakrabarti, 2013; Katz & Wagner, 2014; Van Winden, 2014; Wolfe, 2014), today’s key stakeholders influential in the development of local innovation systems emphasise the importance of a dense, walkable, amenity rich, urban fabric where live-work-play conditions serve as catalyst for the DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-46

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures  505 spontaneous interactions cited as integral to innovation. At the core of this new model is the creation of an ‘innovation ecosystem’ – a term referring to the coupling of the network of people, institutions, resources, and activities frequently cited as integral to the innovation process within a dense and tightly integrated contiguous space (Jackson, 2012). Actors such as entrepreneurs and venture capitalist; assets such as accelerators, incubators, research universities, and anchor institutions; the physical makeup of the space, which includes transportation connectivity, cultural and entertainment amenities, and open or dedicated spaces for recreation are policy recommendations that have emerged to attract the individuals and firms that pertain to the innovative sector. The renewed interest in the city conforms to existing research on the local competitiveness of the city and its role in national economic performance (Brenner, 2004). Endowed with talent, capital, and advanced infrastructure, cities are now strategic destinations for knowledge-based industries (Yigitcanlar & Bulu, 2015). Urban policymakers, economic developers, and planners have taken note and have created policies, incentives, and funding mechanisms to build innovation ecosystems within their cities. This transition towards tech in the city is visible in Ireland, particularly within the Dublin Docklands. Since the 2000s, Ireland’s capital city, Dublin, has conformed with global trends on the growth of tech-sector led development, particularly from established tech-multinationals. Tech-­companies have a long-standing presence in Ireland due to Ireland’s low corporate tax rate policies for foreign direct investment (Regan & Brazys, 2018): IBM and Ericsson established facilities in the 1950s, HP arrived in the 1970s, and Apple, Microsoft, Intel, and Oracle arrived in the 1980s. However, what differed in the early noughties from previous decades was the shift of the large tech-­companies into the city centre. Google’s decision in 2003 to build their Europe, Middle East, and Africa (EMEA) headquarters in the Dublin Docklands marked a shift in the locational preferences of the tech-sector. The arrival of these tech-companies further spurned the development of related activity, such as financial institutions, Class A offices, condos, short-term apartment-hotels. That Google, Facebook, and Airbnb, amongst others, lay claim to the Dublin Docklands as their EMEA headquarters is worth celebrating for certain stakeholders. However, urban restructuring accommodating the desires of the tech-sector creates new material, cultural, and social tensions. This is particularly true with multinational corporations and their impact on public space. Large multinational corporations wield a considerable amount of power in the location where they embed themselves. And though the idea of a pastoral and isolated research campus may be more closely associated with the post-World War II era, today’s urban tech-campus shares the similarity of being inward looking and privacy focused. So even though companies are embedded in the city to benefit from proximity to talent and the potential for innovation generation, arguably they do little to contribute to the social life at street level, thus possibly curtailing possible benefits to other proximate, smaller tech-sector firms and creative companies (Jacobs, 1969). This chapter highlights the problems that the multinational companies create in Dublin for public space and for the long-standing communities living in the Docklands. It also discusses the design strategies used by tech-companies to circumvent urban policies. In this way, the chapter highlights the challenges tech-companies pose to the institutions with a public remit and their inability to limit these powerful companies. Methodology This chapter is based on a mixed methods research project conducted from 2020 to 2022 designed to capture and understand the changing dynamics of the Dublin Docklands. The Dublin Docklands was assessed via a spatial analysis to visualise changes to the built environment over time. Datasets incorporated vacancy, building use, and tech firm locations. To contextualise

506  C. M. Kayanan spatial findings and gain a better understanding of the impacts of the tech-sector on the city, a total of seven interviews were held with high-level executives and managers in the tech firms. Furthermore, two interviews were held with Dublin City Council (DCC) urban planners as the local authority for the Dublin Docklands to discuss economic development and planning drivers in the city and their process for interacting with tech-sector developers. Finally, one interview was held with the Industrial Development Authority (IDA), the institutional body responsible for foreign direct investment in Ireland, to discuss the process of catering to the needs of the tech-sector. History of the Dublin Docklands: From maritime activity to Europe’s Silicon Valley The Dublin Docklands are located on the east side of the city along the north and south sides of the River Liffey in what was formerly Dublin’s port. Like many other capitalist industrial cities, the economic base of Dublin is marked by a legacy of suburbanisation in the mid-20th century that shifted industry to the outskirts of the city and left a series of unemployed blue-collar workers in the city centre. In this transition, the Dublin Docklands experienced compounded loss of port employment (Williams et al., 2010). Over the past three decades, the Dublin Docklands underwent repeated and stuttered development attempts by construction and real estate growth interests, often resulting in the long periods of large abandoned, vacant, and derelict spaces (Moore, 2008). From the mid-1990s through mid-2000, the Celtic Tiger period, marked by a low corporate tax regime, a housing and construction boom, a strong export market, deregulated markets, and growth in the service sector, forced a renewed interest in the city and accelerated development in Dublin (Breathnach, 1998; Kitchin et al., 2012). This resulted in various property-led urban regeneration programmes, to include the Dublin Docklands (MacLaran & Kelly, 2014; Williams & MacLaran, 2003). It was in 2003, in the period following the development of the Dublin Docklands, that Google announced its move into the city centre. A handful of other tech-companies followed suit and growth ensued until the 2008/2009 Global Financial Crisis put a halt to the development activity in Ireland. Around the same time period, cities such as Barcelona and Boston were experimenting and witnessing success in urban regeneration through the promotion of tech-sector led development (Kayanan, 2022). Recognising that prior to the 2008/9 recession multinational techcompanies desired locating in the Dublin Docklands, institutional bodies intervened to create mechanisms favouring growth in the area. Three particular institutions played a key role in the reinvigoration of tech-sector development in the Dublin Docklands (Kayanan et al., 2018). Dublin City Council (DCC), the National Asset Management Agency (NAMA), and the Industrial Development Authority (IDA). NAMA, as Byrne (2016) terms, ‘the bad bank’ became the principal land owner of the parcels in the Dublin Docklands when the 2008/2009 recession halted all construction activity in Ireland. NAMA used its influence and its ability to court foreign direction investment to tailor development towards the tech-sector. The tech-sector was a viable candidate for land purchase, not only because they had previously demonstrated an interest in the area but also because of the parcel sizes sold by NAMA, parcel sizes that were a legacy of the port activity and large warehouses that existed to stock material goods, were conducive to the tech-campus ideal (discussed below). As one DCC representative said of the parcel selling process: They shouldn’t have sold it all off in one piece. You know, they should’ve sold it off to different types of builders, with different types of delivery, and different policies about

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures  507 how each piece should be delivered. They just sold the whole thing, lock, stock, and barrel just to get the money. (DCC representative, personal interview, Dublin 2021) The creation of a strategic development zone overlayed on the North Lotts and Grand Canal Docks (SDZ) aided NAMA’s ability to quickly turn around the buying and selling of parcels. Proposed and managed by DCC, the SDZ fast-tracked development by preventing the appeals process. The ability to direct development of prime real estate created favourable conditions to maintain and entice the attention of the tech-sector: No big tech company is going to want to come to a city that doesn’t have any culture, music or arts or places to go out and eat because they’ve all gone out of business and it’s all half [sic] the streets are boarded up. You know, it’s more kind of from that side of things that the emphasis is at the moment, is trying to maintain Dublin as being a good place to be. And particularly in the tech sector, because it’s worth so much money to the local authority, the amount of rates they all pay. It’s phenomenal, you know? (DCC representative, personal interview, Dublin 2021) The IDA played an important role in transitioning the Dublin Docklands into a tech-focused neighbourhood by launching a €2 million branding campaign pushing the rhetoric of building the ‘Silicon Valley of Europe’ to drive talent to the area. Advertisements on display in bus stops across the city featured messages such as, ‘Facebook found a space for people who think in a certain way. It’s called Ireland.’ and ‘Google searched the planet for the perfect location for their business. They came up with Ireland’ (Newenham, 2015). Collectively, NAMA, DCC, and the IDA recognised the benefit of targeting tech-sector development in the area to reignite capital investment: The whole country was just dying with economic recession, it created a huge opportunity effort [for] the IDA to go and sell Ireland as super competitive, great access to talent because people are looking for new jobs, and really cheap for office, it was, I think one of the most competitive sites for office. Gone from one of the most expensive to one of the most competitive in a very short period of time. (DCC representative, personal interview, 2016) More recently, in line with developments in the direction of building a tech-ecosystem conducive to the creative class, in 2018, Trinity University announced the development of the Grand Canal Innovation District, a multi-stakeholder initiative overlapping Silicon Docks and extending the boundary further west to be in closer alignment to the Trinity campus. These various initiatives overlaid on the existing SDZ reflect sustained attempts to expand the boundary and continue catering to a particular demographic. Big tech’s impact on the production of Dublin Docklands today Between a focus on property-led regeneration followed by tech-sector led development, the Dublin Docklands has been completely transformed. From maritime blue-collar activity, to attempts to create Europe’s Silicon Valley, to attract the tech-workers of the knowledge economy, the firms that hire them, and the lifestyle and living amenities that support them. However, this spatial transformation has not been inclusive of the longer-standing populations in the Dublin Docklands.

508  C. M. Kayanan

Figure 41.1  Tech firms in the SDZ before 2002. Source: TechIreland dataset with author modifications and ESRI basemap. Map units at 1:10.

While only revealing a small part of the story, spatial and demographic data provide a sense of changes to the Dublin Docklands over time. The maps below illustrate the growth of techcompanies from before 2002 to 2021 (see Figures 41.1 and 41.2). While the maps project the image that plenty of space remains within the Dublin Docklands, maps demonstrating building usage provide a deeper story. Ireland’s Geodirectory is a good indicator to determine the land uses of each building in Dublin as represented by building address points (Figure 41.3). For over 20 years, Geodirectory has maintained a dictionary of addresses categorising building usage into four building types: vacancy, residential, commercial, residential, and commercial. The building usage map of the SDZ for 2021 starkly displays the sparsity of the area in relation to its surroundings. In the early stages of planning careers, students and urbanists are introduced to Jane Jacob’s (1961) thesis on the obstruction of superblocks to flows across buildings and within space. Demonstrating large blocky building structures with singular dots representing individual companies, the Geodirectory map clearly illustrates the potential disruption of flowing innovative activity due to the tech-companies in the Dublin Docklands spanning large building footprints. Large building footprints are a strategic design decision that provide the space to function as a type of all-inclusive destination for tech-employees. Planning attempts to increase the circulation of traffic on the ground floor are circumvented through sky bridges that connect one building to the next. When Facebook purchased one lot and decided to expand onto another, building a sky bridge allowed the company to expand its ground floor footprint while simultaneously keeping employees within the walls of the building. This type of building designs prevents employees from entering and circulating within public space. Add to this the range of amenities the tech-companies provide for their employees (i.e., coffee, canteen, dessert station, gym, bar) and there is little incentive for the employees to leave work.

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures  509

Figure 41.2  Tech firms in the SDZ 2021. Source: TechIreland dataset with author modifications and ESRI basemap. Map units at 1:10.

Figure 41.3  Building use in the Dublin Docklands, 2021. Source: Geodirectory, 2021.

510  C. M. Kayanan When the large parcels of the Dublin Docklands are designed to be inward focused they contribute to creating empty spaces deplete of vibrancy. According to economic geography theories around innovation, vibrancy, or ‘buzz’ as Marshall (1890) termed it, is necessary to spur innovation. Yet, these sprawling buildings prevent this from happening within the public sphere. One DCC planner describes it as such: They are demanding. They do want a lot. They do. They start in one building. Then they move to another building. Everything is inward looking and they want everything to be connected, they’re doing buildings and everything has to be linked by bridges. Their problem is they want all their staff to be inside from the time they arrived until the time to go to bed, and never to leave the building. (DCC representative, personal interview, Dublin 2021) Through the time demands of their employees, tech-companies impose their culture on the space of the Dublin Docklands. Being in proximity to the office increases the availability of the tech-employees. Yet, proximity to the company is not cited by tech-executives or by employees as contributing to innovation, as the economic geography and innovation studies literature discusses. Rather, more important is availability, efficiency, and meeting the time demands of their employer. Real estate and construction decisions follow the demands of tech-culture so that the types of amenities and housing built into the Dublin Docklands are conducive to the tech-workers who have the capital to afford living in the Dublin Docklands. This then creates the issue of creating, as one respondent named it, a ‘Google ghetto’ (tech-executive, personal interview, 2021). This respondent recognised the structural forces at play in the creation of the exclusive and privileged neighbourhood: … it wasn’t necessarily that there was a desire to stick so closely to a Google community, but that they just didn’t have the opportunity to integrate any further than that … there is a perception that the people were coming to the company and just staying within this bubble by choice, I don’t really believe that that’s the case. I believe it was just the circumstance that led to that. (tech employee, personal interview, Dublin 2021) In this case, circumstances can include dealing with long work hours and the desire to build up CVs. Various tech-sector executives explained that the Dublin Docklands is known as a type of launchpad; a destination to cultivate networks and build experience before launching to more reputable locations. This can be explained by considering the type of services offered in the tech-companies offices (mostly sales and security) and the desire to move to more researchintensive sites. Tech-workers are willing to put up with the demands of the tech-sector because working in these companies builds their CVs. Building their CVs allows these individuals to move up the ladder and travel to a different destination for work. Another circumstance is the lack of diversity in demographics (see Figure 41.4). Demographic data reveal transition in the area towards a knowledge economy. In comparison to the remainder of Dublin, the demographic data of those living within the SDZ represent a shift towards a younger, educated, professional, and childless demographic. The concentration of a particular demographic impacts housing. Various tech-sector respondents stated that most employees of the large tech-companies located in the Docklands lived within a 2 km radius. Access to verify this data was not available from the tech-companies due

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures  511

Figure 41.4  Demographics SDZ and Dublin city. Source: Census 2002–2016.

to General Data Protection Regulations. However, having people live close to work certainly benefits the tech-companies that want to ensure productivity by keeping employees within the building or in close proximity to it. Planning policies further exclusivity by preventing a diversity of housing, amenities, and office options that would bring a mix of families and diversity of sectors to disrupt the exclusivity of the Dublin Docklands. Even for the tech-workers who would consider remaining in the Dublin Docklands for a longer term, the housing and amenities for growing families are not readily available: condominiums and office buildings have overtaken houses conducive to family-living, and sufficient schools are not built into the area. Corporate logics defy planning interventions Urbanists have a long history of discussing the production of public space and the power of elite individuals directing development decisions (Harvey, 2009; Lefebvre, 1992). The case of the Dublin Docklands conforms with the scholarship on the role of dominant forces shaping space, with the strongest component in this case attributed to the tech-sector. The idea of creating a space, whether it is the inside of a building, a district, or a neighbourhood, focused exclusively on generating new ideas and sparking innovation has at its foundation the logic that density and connectivity are a necessary component for today’s collaborative, crosssector, high-tech, open nature of innovation (Chesbrough, 2003; Glaeser, 2011). The result of this logic, when applied by tech-companies with high privacy and work demands, is an inward-looking environment that is evident in the design choices used by the Dublin Dockland’s tech-companies. Private and extremely secure entrance ways are another aspect of these large tech-­ multinationals. From experiences with site visits, entry into any of these buildings requires prewarning, an escort, and a series of measures (scan of a photo ID, name on a list of guests, a nametag). Private entrances and tight security measures hinder the ability for planning authorities to push for ground floor retail (DCC representative, personal interview, 2021). The combination of the sky bridges, private entrances, and a disinterest in housing a company in a shared building means that circulation on the street is extremely limited. These real

512  C. M. Kayanan estate prerogatives do not negate existing planning policies and thus cannot be controlled, but they do influence the use of space, pushing it towards exclusivity. This last point is critical. The planning apparatus ends up either meeting the demands of the tech-sector or finds that they do not have the means to achieve the type of comprehensive Dockland’s neighbourhood envisioned in the Dublin Dockland’s master plan. The following quotes are quite telling of the power of the tech-sector on the public sector: I’m sure they have Owen Keegan’s [Dublin City Council, CEO] cell phone number. The chief executives, the CEOs of all of the big companies have a representative group, or they have a group where they meet and discuss issues that are relevant to them. (DCC representative, personal interview, 2021) So the Google [sic] would come along with a proposal, say for a food market, ‘aren’t we fantastic’ but ignore the 20 times before that we’ve asked them to do something and they haven’t. So they’ll do it when it suits them. (DCC representative, personal interview, 2021) In the Dublin Docklands, the majority of the enterprises are large tech-multinationals that are inward looking and bottom line focused. The culture of the tech-multinational impacts the planning process and can circumvent any logics that aim to be in the service of the public good. The buying power of the tech-companies, coupled with the cache that they bring to a city, gives them access to channels that will let them thwart existing planning processes. Conclusion Legitimate pressures to compete for capital investment exist and these drive development paradigms that prioritise the livelihoods and experiences of certain individuals at the expense of others. Cities are constantly under transition. As highly populated spaces, interventions within cities will impact large quantities of individuals. How urban practitioners go about shaping the city is important. As this chapter highlights, the tech-sector has an extensive influence on urban development. Determining how to create inclusive and lively neighbourhoods can be difficult when faced with needs and demands of the tech-sector. This chapter has also argued that the production and governance of space cannot always be handed to the public sector as there may be little capacity to circumvent tech-sector demands. In terms of policy prescriptions, there are several factors that policymakers and planners need to consider when dealing with tech-sector related economic development and planning. The first is transparency. Within the current Irish planning framework, it is not easy to determine who the end user of the office build will be. There also exists a lack of transparency in the homeless data and the ability to geolocate from where housing and homeless pressures derive. The second is evaluating the buying power and resultant persuasion from tech-companies. In Ireland, tech-companies are catered to because they are generators of big revenue, a reality that the quote below aptly depicts. Google was the golden child in Ireland at that time, and remained so for a long time. I don’t know if that’s a cultural thing about Ireland where there was just this kind of like ‘oh thank you for the jobs kind of attitude. We’re really happy to have any foreign investment in our country so let’s not upset everybody’. (tech employee, personal interview, 2021)

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures  513 The third is the recognition that a bubble mentality exists between the tech-companies and the communities where they are embedded. Through their time demands and inward-looking culture, tech-companies can act as gatekeepers of physical space. This can then prevent or dissuade planning policies that seek to create more complete communities. Finally, the fourth is speed. Development plans do not align with the speed of technology. This is further compounded by the purchasing power and purposeful obscurity tech-companies and their contracted developers can use to circumvent planning policies. Pressure to speed up the planning application and monitoring process can be revisited but only with an eye to ensure the well-being of the residents and not to favour real estate development and construction companies. In terms of disciplinary research and scholarship, the area in most need of attention is on corporate culture. Interview respondents for this project were quite selective with the material shared, some requesting transcripts to redact material and ensure both their anonymity and observation of non-disclosure agreements. One tech-executive explained that information flowed freely within the walls of the tech-companies because of the agreements in place to protect internal information from leaking out (tech-executive, personal interview, 2021). Accordingly, an inward-looking building design strategy plays a critical role in creating a culture of trust within the walls of the company. Consequently, the fortress-like design and mentality of the techcompany is a bulwark to deeply interrogating the inner-workings of tech-companies. Absent this knowledge, reigning in corporate power to the benefit of proximate, long-standing neighbourhoods is incredibly challenging work. Despite polarising critiques of Jane Jacob’s (1961) ideologies, her argument continues to ring true: super-building blocks prevent urban flow. Urban flow is a requirement for creativity. Scholars in economic geography and economic development planning who seek to understand innovation in a geographical context recognise the importance of mixed-use and diversity. Yet, the spatial demands of tech-companies can circumvent policies and bend them in their favour. Obtaining the research to fully document how this is happening remains limited. Large tech-multinationals can certainly contribute to a city-region’s economy by creating jobs and opportunities. However, for creativity to flourish, and for companies to benefit from creative outputs, places need to have the capacity to inspire and provoke individuals through exposure to a wide variety of inputs. This requires careful attention to the role and influence of large techcompanies who have an interest in being in proximity to talent. Through its suggested policy prescriptions and awareness on the needs of the tech-sector and the limits of planning bodies, this research is a first step in ensuring the production of public space actually serves the needs of the public. The next step, which is also the more challenging endeavour, is to expose the innerworkings of the tech-company so that economic development planning and other institutions with a public remit can formulate appropriate tools and policies to protect public space for all. Acknowledgement The author would like to acknowledge the Irish Research Council’s New Foundations Scheme for supporting this work. References Belussi, F., & Caldari, K. (2009). At the origin of the industrial district: Alfred Marshall and the Cambridge school. Cambridge Journal of Economics, 33(2), 335–355. https://doi.org/10.1093/cje/ben041 Breathnach, P. (1998). Exploring the ‘Celtic Tiger’ phenomenon: Causes and consequences of Ireland’s economic miracle. European Urban and Regional Studies, 5(4), 305–316. Brenner, N. (2004). Urban governance and the production of new state spaces in Western Europe, ­1960–2000. Review of International Political Economy, 11(3), 447–488.

514  C. M. Kayanan Byrne, M. (2016). Entrepreneurial urbanism after the crisis: Ireland’s ‘bad bank’ and the redevelopment of Dublin’s Docklands. Antipode, 48(4), 899–918. https://doi.org/10.1111/anti.12231 Carrillo, F. J., Yigitcanlar, T., García, B., & Lönnqvist, A. (2014). Knowledge and the City (1st ed.). ­Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315856650 Chakrabarti, V. (2013). A Country of Cities: A Manifesto for an Urban America. Metropolis Books. Chesbrough, H. W. (2003). The era of open innovation. MIT Sloan Management Review, 44(3), 35–41. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0015090 Glaeser, E. L. (2011). Triumph of the City: How Our Greatest Invention Makes Us Richer, Smarter, Greener, Healthier, and Happier. Penguin Publishing Group. Hall, P. (1998). Cities in Civilization. Pantheon Books. Harvey, D. (2009). Social Justice and the City. University of Georgia Press. Jackson, D. J. (2012). What Is an Innovation Ecosystem? https://doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781107415324.004 Jacobs, J. (1961). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. Vintage. Jacobs, J. (1969). The Economy of Cities. Vintage. Katz, B., & Wagner, J. (2014). The rise of innovation districts: A new geography of innovation in America. The Brookings Institute. https://www.brookings.edu/articles/rise-of-innovation-districts/ Kayanan, C. M. (2022). A critique of innovation districts: Entrepreneurial living and the burden of shouldering urban development. Environment and Planning A, 54(1), 50–66. https://doi.org/10.1177/03085 18X211049445 Kayanan, C. M., Eichenmüller, C., & Chambers, J. (2018). Silicon slipways and slippery slopes: Technorationality and the reinvigoration of neoliberal logics in the Dublin docklands. Space and Polity, 22(1), 50–66. https://doi.org/10.1080/13562576.2018.1488556 Kitchin, R., O’Callaghan, C., Boyle, M., Gleeson, J., & Keaveney, K. (2012). Placing neoliberalism: The rise and fall of Ireland’s Celtic Tiger. Environment and Planning A, 44(6), 1302–1326. https://doi. org/10.1068/a44349 Krugman, P. R. (1995). Development, Geography and Economic Theory. The MIT Press. Lefebvre, H. (1992). The Production of Space. Wiley-Blackwell. MacLaran, A., & Kelly, S. (Eds.). (2014). Neoliberal Urban Policy and the Transformation of the City: Reshaping Dublin. Palgrave Macmillan. Marshall, A. (1890). Principles of Economics. Macmillan and Co., Ltd. Moore, N. (2008). Dublin Docklands Reinvented: The Post-Industrial Regeneration of a European City Quarter. Four Courts Pr Ltd. Moretti, E. (2013). The New Geography of Jobs. Mariner Books. Mozingo, L. A. (2011). Pastoral Capitalism: A History of Suburban Corporate Landscapes. The MIT Press. Newenham, P. (Ed.). (2015). Silicon Docks: The Rise of Dublin as a Global Tech Hub. Liberties Press. O’Mara, M. P. (2005). Cities of Knowledge: Cold War Science and the Search for the Next Silicon Valley. Princeton University Press. Porter, M. E. (1990). The Competitive Advantage of Nations. Free Press. Porter, M. E. (2001). Clusters of Innovation: Regional Foundations of U.S. Competitiveness. Council on Competitiveness, Washington, DC. (Report) https://www.hbs.edu/faculty/Pages/item.aspx?num=47438 Regan, A., & Brazys, S. (2018). Celtic Phoenix or Leprechaun economics? The politics of an FDI-led growth model in Europe. New Political Economy, 23(2), 223–238. https://doi.org/10.1080/13563467. 2017.1370447 Scott, A. J. (2008). Social Economy of the Metropolis: Cognitive-Cultural Capitalism and the Global Resurgence of Cities. Oxford University Press. Storper, M. (2013). Keys to the City: How Economics, Institutions, Social Interaction, and Politics Shape Development. Princeton University Press. Storper, M., & Venables, A. J. (2004). Buzz: Face-to-face contact and the urban economy. Journal of ­Economic Geography, 4(4), 351–370. https://doi.org/10.1093/jnlecg/lbh027 Van Winden, W. (2014). Urban Innovation Systems: What Makes Them Tick? Routledge.

Tech-development, public space, and planning failures  515 Williams, B., & MacLaran, A. (2003). Dublin: Property development and planning in an entrepreneurial city. In Making Space: Property Development and Urban Planning (pp. 148–171). Hodder Arnold. https://doi.org/http://dx.doi.org/10.1680/geot.2008.T.003 Williams, B., Walsh, C., & Boyle, I. (2010). The development of the functional urban region of Dublin: Implications for regional development markets and planning. Journal of Irish Urban Studies, 7(9), 5–30. Wolfe, D. A. (Ed.). (2014). Innovating in Urban Economies: Economic Transformation in Canadian CityRegions. University of Toronto Press. Yigitcanlar, T., & Bulu, M. (2015). Dubaization of Istanbul: Insights from the knowledge-based urban development journey of an emerging local economy. Environment and Planning A, 47(1), 89–107. https:// doi.org/10.1068/a130209p

42

The planning of creative Paris Jacob Thomas Simpson

Introduction Long reputed as a mecca for artists – musicians, writers, filmmakers, dancers, and fashion designers, the idea that Paris has historically hosted creativity is undisputed. The city’s identity as an international cultural capital is largely built on this reputation, with its consistent ranking among the world’s top tourist destinations to show for it. Paris is also widely praised for the quality of its built environment – its tempered uniformity of scale and density, its mix of historic and avant-garde architecture, and its disposition of urban amenities. That Paris’ artistic culture and urban form have always shaped one another is obvious, just how they do so is not. To meet this book section’s objective to “discuss the social and cultural norms and standards that shape and are shaped by urban forms”, this chapter presents literature and empirical research examining the role of property market actors – property consultants, developers and managers, public authorities and multinational firms – in shaping the quality of the built environment. It questions the extent to which old creativity, exemplified by the historic built environment, and new creativity, exemplified by creative industries, are framed by these actors in the context of contemporary Paris. The chapter pulls from the author’s doctoral thesis, which focused on how qualities of Paris’ built environment – the density, age, listed status, and environmental certification of its buildings – contribute to the types of economic activities setting up within it. From the thesis’ initial hypothesis that certain qualities attract certain firms, results revealed the greater importance of property market actors in framing the quality of the built environment according to their perceptions of its value. This chapter uses these results to gain insight on how some actors are using historic Paris as a source for creativity. It argues that in preserving historic Paris, planning policies and actors are also defining the firms locating there. Literature on creativity in urban regeneration A vast literature explores how creative, innovative, digital, and knowledge-based industries have similar spatial requirements. Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture praised the merits of complex urban streetscapes and confronted ideas about Modernist architecture encouraging single-use spaces (Venturi, 1966). Venturi argued that architectural complexity contributes to the richness and quality of place, with diverse programs, styles and history making for more interesting places. Successive work of urban theorists suggested that certain economic activities are attracted by “urban qualities”, including a dense mix of functions, a diverse population, and urban street life, but also “an historically grown urban morphology that combines old and new buildings” (Jacobs, 1961; Zukin, 1995; Florida, 2002; Kloosterman, 2011, p. 456). “With DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-47

The planning of creative Paris  517 the disappearance of manufacturing industries facilitating urban regeneration, culture came to fill the void as the basis of cities’ tourist attractions and their unique competitive edge” (Zukin, 1995, pp. 1–2). Culture became “the magic substitute” for all lost factories and warehouses, and “a device to create a new urban image” (Hall, 1998, p. 640). The ensuing urban, social, and economic changes have made cities attractive to new capital and professional workers, and the cultural and creative industries increasingly important in urban planning and development. The term “creative economy” was coined in the late 1990s to describe the advertising and marketing, information technology, software and digital arts, music, film and new media, and design industries and professions (Howkins, 2001). Literature from this time called economic well-being as dependent on creative industries, with “human creativity the ultimate economic resource” (Florida, 2002, p. xiii) and creative industries “starting off from what already exists” (Scott, 2004, p. 479) dependent on the built environment. This grouping has come to be seen as an instrument of urban and regional growth, with local culture and authentic character seen as forging innovation districts and creative milieux. In efforts to understand their emergence, research has examined the importance of mutability, amenities, rawness, and historic character of existing built forms for creativity, innovation, and entrepreneurship. This literature assigns importance to different qualities in the formation of creativity economies: the relics of the industrial past as core elements of a reprogrammed landscape of production and consumption. (Scott, 2004, p. 479) the intimate spatiality of inner districts, vernacular building types, and the “look and feel” of former factories, warehouses, institutional and residential structures available for adaptive re-use. (Hutton, 2008, p. 13). a unique industrial heritage provides some expertise and resources that might constitute the basis for innovation, technical advance, and sustainable competitive advantage. (Feldman & Francis, 2004, p. 133). high ceilings, ornamental façades and stuccowork of turn-of-the-century Grunderzeit buildings, especially prized by creative workers. (Hutton, 2016, p. 258) These authors and others describe existing built forms and spaces as playing a role in knowledge production and as shaping new, creative, and cultural activities locating within them. A mix of land uses has been described as facilitating symbiotic relationships between different creative activities (Helbrecht, 2004; Wood & Dovey, 2015) as well as “providing conditions in which entrepreneurs can self-optimize” (Zapalac, 2015, p. 38). Flexible spatial configurations have been described as providing value for creative production (Scott, 2004: Hutton, 2006; Wood & Dovey, 2015; Zapalac, 2015) whilst “overly-prescriptive built forms and policies may attempt to preserve particular configurations of creative activity” (Stevens, 2015, p. 3) and ­“urban conservation may undermine efforts to create distinct urban landscapes to enhance place identity” (Gospodini, 2004, p. 230). Focusing on Jacobs’ research, the economic culture of cities was seen as self-producing or naturally occurring, “with new work being built from old work” (Jacobs, 1970; Froy, 2018, p. 1) and the existing physical properties of buildings and streets both enabling and constraining economic growth, innovation, and entrepreneurship. In her defence

518  J. T. Simpson of the natural evolution of cities, she opposed state intervention in planning (Callahan & Ikeda, 2003; Froy, 2018). Decades later, both state and local intervention in planning continue to be involved in the economic growth of cities, with preservation policies to both safeguard historic urban qualities and to prevent the “natural evolution” Jacobs praised. This is the point of departure for investigating the role of historic Paris in framing creative Paris. The research summarised above relates creative industries to historic qualities of the built environment including urban density, industrial fabric, mixed-use, and flexibility. Although loosely defined, creative industries have become indicators of successful urban regeneration. “Cities utilise the creative quarter/knowledge hub as a panacea to implement broader city expansion and regeneration plans” (Evans, 2009, p. 1003). Understanding how exactly cities do this requires attention to the specific actors and policies creating, transforming, and using the built environment within the context of one geographic and regulatory context. A recent analysis of an obsolete office building’s transformation into an artists’ community in the Paris suburb of Saint Denis provides a case in point. Its authors claim that government support for creative industries is never an urban project’s goal, but its tool for successful regeneration, and that “the broad and fuzzy conception of the creative economy generates misunderstanding and expectations” (Aubry, Blein, Vivant, 2015). By funding the site’s occupation by cultural and artistic activities, the municipality is giving itself a role in defining creative industries. In other research, analysis of artists’ perceptions of cultural places in Paris is used to describe creativity as “an intangible concept that city leaders seek to objectify to construct policy objectives” (Ferru, Rally, Cariou, 2022). Focused on persons who self-identify as artists, the research highlights the subjectivity with which cultural and creative places are both defined and supported financially by local governments. The authors place blame on urban policies for “imposing standardized models of creative places which reduce creative pathways” (Ferru, Rally, Cariou, 2022). Their conclusions, aligned with the previous authors’, show how creativity may be framed by actors and policies to shape the built environment. The key question to emerge from this literature review is to what extent do preservation policies in Paris, in place to recognise and protect built heritage, itself the fruit of creativity, influence creative pathways? Before examining empirical findings, it is important to look at some of the policies most relevant to Paris’ historic context. Paris’ reputation as a creative city cannot be dissociated from the planning and preservation of its built form. Like all major cities, Paris’ current urban scale, morphology, and aesthetic is largely the result of a cumulation of successive policies and regulations. These have been explored in various literature by urban and architectural historians (Olsen, 1986; Loew, 1998; Sutcliffe,1993; Jallon, Napolitano, Boutté, 2017). Compared to other global cities such as New York or London, whose buildable spaces increased in the 20th century through changes in zoning, the height and density of Paris’ built forms have largely remained the same. The initiation of colossal physical transformations of the capital city in 1852, carried out by Napoleon III and his prefect Baron Haussmann to prevent social uprising, improve circulation and modernise housing and commercial spaces, only slightly raised the elevation of constructions whilst opening the street level for greater public space and amenities (Lapierre, 2013). The resulting urban morphology did not increase the pre-existing density of buildings, instead emphasising the “liveability” of the urban blocks, with the penetration of natural light and fresh air to the lower floors carefully calculated to maximise comfort (Jallon et al. 2017). The Haussmannian building was one of the first widespread construction typologies whose conception anticipated flexibility by providing accessible commercial space at the ground floor and contiguous residential quarters above. Developed in the 1850s to house all three classes of French society, it

The planning of creative Paris  519 became the primary host for Parisian office-based business by the end of the 1920s. Nearly 100 years later, this typical Parisian building type still houses a portion of the capital’s economic activities. Whereas land-use regulations, including height restrictions, since the 17th century are responsible for creating much of Paris’ existing built form, its preservation is the result of more recent policies and laws. Legislation on listed buildings, known as the Loi de 1913, facilitated the preservation of thousands of buildings in Paris by offering special funding to their owners for restoration works, and by restricting incentives for redevelopment. The law created a new publicly trained body of architects to oversee modifications to all new construction susceptible to alter the historic character of designated sites. This was complemented in 1962 by the Loi Malraux to preserve not only specific buildings and sites but entire districts of central Paris. The law reinforced the Ministry of Culture’s authority in designating new heritage sites and in monitoring existing ones. A supplemental inventory was introduced in 1973 with hundreds of additional sites, and new sites have been continually added since this time (Loew, 1998). As a result, historic Paris is one of the largest single continuous conservation areas in any city in the world (Tung, 2001). As a finite resource whose preservation aims to save both buildings and whole cityscapes, historic Paris frames contemporary notions of creative Paris. The following section will look at how historic qualities are perceived by actors involved in the location decisions of foreign firms. Findings on actor perceptions of the importance of historic Paris Analysis of Foreign Direct Investment (FDI) in Paris Ile-de-France between the years 2010 and 2020 reveals a prevalence of historic buildings among 1,500 firm locations, with seven out of ten first-time investors locating in buildings built before 1948 (Simpson, 2022). Interviews with 75 actors involved in site selection – property consultants, developers and managers, public authorities, and firms – were conducted to explore the relevance of the built environment to inward investment. This section presents the feedback of the property market actors who associate site attractiveness (for different reasons, including creativity) with its historic qualities. In questioning whether such qualities are intentionally sought during the site selection process, findings differentiate between the roles of public and private actors framing historic Paris, to be discussed in the following section. Four of the fifteen property consultants interviewed referenced the age of the buildings that foreign firms occupy. Two interviewees described this prevalence: “Newly arrived firms don’t go to old buildings of poor quality but to recent ones responding to their culture” (Interview, CSI, 2017) and “Firms are looking for new or renovated spaces. They get leased before they’re even completed. Firms are willing to pay more for new building” (Interview, Advenis, 2018). Such feedback also suggests that historic buildings are less attractive even within the city centre. “Renovated is accepted in historic city but not outside. Dated facades even renovated are dated. It’s a lot about image” (Interview, Cushman, 2017; Simpson, 2022). Another consultant stressed the high amount of constraints associated with atypical and old buildings, which property owners must standardise to make them easier to rent (Interview, Colliers, 2018; Simpson, 2022). Only one consultant provided an alternative view, stating: “There’s always a client interested in older buildings, looking for savings. Despite firm requests for a quality built environment, not all can afford it” (Interview, BNP, 2018). The provision of lower-cost premises can be seen as an advantage of the historic built environment by firms with limited resources. However, this still emphasises new qualities as the ideal and the old as “second best”. One consultant cited

520  J. T. Simpson the “trend among law offices away from Haussmannian and towards buildings reflecting modernity – buildings with glazed facades” (Interview, Cushman, 2017; Simpson, 2022). He also described Paris’ Cité financière for its advantage of having big buildings with big floor plates as well as the listed façades of the Centorials - it’s combining the panache and the style aspect with the actual efficiency that is the key. There is very limited stock of this. (Interview, Cushman, 2017; Simpson, 2022) Feedback from property consultants suggests a preference for purpose-built office buildings over the more traditional Parisian mixed-use residential building which does not permit the flexibility many firms desire. This is essentially due to technical constraints, as most buildings built before 1914 have interior bearing walls, rendering them costly to reconfigure for open floor plans. Two consultants spoke of the challenge of finding suitable premises for firms within the historic built environment: It is difficult replacing old buildings with new ones because of France’s laws on listed buildings. It’s very hard to tear down buildings to rebuild. Land is rare. It is difficult to makes changes and to make buildings evolve. In Versailles everything is protected, there are many constraints, as a result we don’t have the culture of razing to rebuild. It’s the history. (Interview, CSI, 2017; Simpson, 2022) We are looking at an enormous shift over the next ten years with a whole raft of buildings that just don’t match criteria and will be converted to residential and then anything with the right ingredients and with money thrown into it will bring it up to standard. (Interview, Cushman, 2017; Simpson, 2022) Feedback from property consultants indicates recognition of the value of older buildings primarily for lower rents compared to new ones. Consultants see the supply of premises as being imposed by preservation policies and the transformation of the historic built environment as a potential source of profit for the commercial property industry. None of the interviewees associated creativity with the quality of the built environment, which may reveal biases among actors from the property sector. Three of ten property developers recognised the value of the historic built environment in attracting new investment. All three associated the importance of the existing built environment with the workplace: The idea to work in a place that hasn’t destroyed the environment but that fits in a harmonious way. This generation doesn’t accept what’s imposed. It doesn’t want to go to a building that doesn’t conform with its values … that doesn’t have a soul. (Interview, Altarea, 2018; Simpson, 2022) Pretty Simple’s choice of a masterpiece of Art Deco shows the importance of the artistic and cultural value of SFL’s Parisian heritage to a new economy firm whose mission is oriented towards creativity and numeric content. (SFL, 2014, para. 5)

The planning of creative Paris  521 The ambitious restructuring program that we (property investment firm STAM Europe) have implemented has triggered many expressions of interest from users. We are proud to welcome Adobe France in this building which will offer an exceptional work experience and environment and will encourage Adobe employees to collaborate, create creativity, innovate and perform. (BusinessImmo, 2019) Such feedback shows recognition by property developers of the value of built heritage to certain firms and their employees. These actors can be considered part of the creative industries and creative class explored in the literature actors. Although the majority of developers interviewed work primarily on new construction, the three cited above have learned to capitalise on their understanding of the added-value of built heritage. This is exemplified by developer SFL and investor STAM investing in prime-located refurbished buildings to market them to high-end firms. Twelve out of sixteen of the firms interviewed are located in areas built before 1948, onehalf of whom referred to the historic built environment in their location strategy. For a human resources executive at Adobe, whose new Paris headquarters are depicted in Figure 42.1, the “cachet of the old building shows the culture of Parisian life” and serves as “a showcase for the firm’s clients and community” (Interview, Adobe, 2019; Simpson, 2022). In moving from one building of historic character and identity to another, Adobe kept with a strategy that allowed it to grow steadily since its initial set-up in France in 1989. Similarly, Google suggested that historic character implicitly contributes to the standing of the MNE’s first building in Paris, around which it has expanded considerably since 2012. One of the firm’s

Figure 42.1  New headquarters of Adobe France. Rue Laureston, Paris 16th. Source: Google Maps, 2021.

522  J. T. Simpson engineering executives spoke of part of the premises which dates to the early 19th century and serves both as a lounge area for employees and for public events. They also highlighted how the firm’s premises derive cachet and soul from the technicity and complexity of local regulations and building codes. The interviewee cited the technical challenges of retrofitting buildings “ten times that in the firm’s home region of Silicon Valley”, which may ultimately contribute to employee satisfaction and well-being (Interview, Google, 2019; Simpson, 2022). Another decision maker from the University of Chicago emphasised the strong Parisian identity of its new site in the 13th arrondissement, whose “urban and industrial past evoke the University of Chicago’s industrial origins” (Interview, UofC, 2019; Simpson, 2022). This investment along with Adobe’s and Google’s, all appear to use the historic built environment to meet objectives to attract world-class employees, researchers, or students. The extent to which the perception of each individual interviewee is representative of their employers’ strategy is the subject of further research. Asked if the historic character of the building was a boon or a bane for their set up, one foreign tech start-up interviewee in the Silicon Sentier said: I’ve no idea if the building has historic character or not, we chose to be here for the quality of the premises and the environment and the proximity to public transportation at a cost that was still reasonable at the time of our set-up. (Interview, PlumeLabs, 2019; Simpson, 2022) Such remarks reflect the dissociation of a location and its intrinsic physical attributes. Asked if the “quality” came in part from building’s age – built in 1909 – the interviewee replied “the quality comes from the pedestrian street and the high ceilings and large window bays” (Interview, PlumeLabs, 2019). Although not identified by the interviewee as being “historic”, such character-defining features are part of older built forms as opposed to new, energy-conscious offices. This lack of explicit interest in historic qualities was also observed with a firm whose country manager described the “pleasant, calm feeling of Haussmannian buildings” as attractive for his business (Interview, FTI, 2018; Simpson, 2022). Another interviewee discussed the shallow floor plates of its premises and their exposure to light and air, qualities commonly praised among the student artists that use the spaces (Interview, Parsons, 2018; Simpson, 2022). When asked if such space is conducive to creativity, the interviewee replied: Creativity doesn’t happen in a building - it happens outside - not between four walls. Inspiration comes from the street - not from this building. Paris is a living lab - an extension of school. There’s a pedagogical reason why we’re here, learning happens inside and outside. (Interview, Parsons, 2018; Simpson, 2022) Such testimony emphasises the importance of both the location and spatial configuration of Parsons’ facilities. Although the interviewee was not explicit about the location’s historic qualities, the building’s façades and shallow floor plates as well as the neighbourhood’s urban morphology are all evidence of them. Neither Plume nor Parsons associated the qualities they sought in Paris with features inherently historic. To give a final example, the existence of skylit atriums in Paris’ urban core is the result of the creation of workshop courtyards in the late 19th century which made the Sentier one of Paris’ most densely built districts. “Many entrepreneurs have the fantasy in mind of California start-ups and so search for old textile workshops” (Bregeras, 2017, para. 3). Although not explicit, the appeal of such unique spatial configurations

The planning of creative Paris  523

  Figures 42.2 and 42.3 Samsung France R&D in Le Centorial, 16–18 rue du Quatre Septembre, 75002 Paris. Source: Copyright GE Digital Foundry (left) and JLL (right).

for entrepreneurs and creative industries is difficult to dissociate with qualities of the historic built environment. Moving from private to public actors, findings show interviewees from the regional economic development agency Paris Region Entreprises (PRE) equally unaware of MNE interest in historic character despite their having helped many foreign firms to occupy historic sites (Interviewees 1–5, PRE, 2019; Simpson, 2022). Only one interviewee was able to cite an MNE whose location decision involved an old building. They described the case of the South Korean firm Samsung, who recently set up research and development operations in a listed building in central Paris “to be in the Silicon Sentier tech cluster” (Interview1, PRE, 2019; Simpson, 2022). For them, the MNE required a large surface area and the status of the cluster alongside prestigious start-ups. Despite Samsung’s choice of set-up in Le Centorial (Figures 42.2 and 42.3), one of the area’s most celebrated historical landmarks, the importance of heritage aesthetics could not be confirmed by the interviewee. Questioned on their roles in facilitating inward investment in listed buildings, interviewees representing the Ministère de Culture and the Direction régionale des affaires culturelles (DRAC) expressed concern about private investment’s potential damage to built heritage. The first called for prudence about matching listed buildings with investors when the Ministry’s goal is the buildings’ preservation (Interview, Ministry of Culture, 2015) whilst the second expressed mistrust in FDI, asking why subject vulnerable heritage to its precariousness (Interview, DRAC, 2015; Simpson, 2022). Neither perceived the potential of private investment to contribute to preserving built heritage. For the associate director of economic development at the Mairie de Paris, “architecture is a blind spot for them, they don’t see it as important” (Interview, Mairie

524  J. T. Simpson de Paris, 2019). Contrary to the positions of the Ministère de Culture and Direction régionale des affaires culturelles, they cited Google’s recent investment in buildings with historic character as “quelque chose de bien” (2019; Simpson, 2022) or something good – as this allows for the buildings’ occupation and preservation. Likewise, an interviewee from the Société du Grand Paris (SGP) expressed little concern about who occupies historic buildings. For them, the historic core is already well protected, facadism (the partial preservation of a building’s historic character, most notably its façade) is not an issue and there is no need to worry about the impact of MNEs on Paris’ built form (Interview, SGP, 2019; Simpson, 2022). Regularly cited are urban projects such as the conversion of Paris’ historic Rue du Louvre post office, whose newly installed high-end commercial space is seen as complementarity of long-standing preservation policies and private investment. Altogether, interviews with public authorities illustrate the challenge to maintaining a balance between the investment potential of newcomers and the desire to preserve historic fabric. Conflicting interests at different levels of planning policy show signs of the fragmentation of urban governance. Conclusions As stated in the introduction, the conclusions of the original research emphasise the importance of property market actors in framing the quality of the built environment. This chapter has focused specifically on the actors who associated site selection, either explicitly or implicitly, with historic qualities of the built environment – only six firms and three developers among all 75 interviewees. Despite the prevalence of foreign firms in old buildings, feedback from interviewees provides limited explanation for this finding. However, the interviews do help to understand differences among actor perceptions. Only two references to the words creativity were recorded without the author’s prompting, but both times they came from property developers. Both SFL – in describing its video game editor client Pretty Simple – and STAM in describing its software editor client Adobe – linked interest in the built environment to the firms’ workforce. Putting aside the idea that Paris’ intrinsic historic qualities attract investment, it is important to stress how the actors preserving past forms of creativity may play a role in defining new ones. In considering the ambiguity of the term “creative industries” described in the literature, Paris’ historic built environment may be an indicator of the creativity of the firms setting up within it. Paris’ preservation and land use regulations play a crucial role in limiting physical change and thus framing the city’s economy, although the public actors responsible for this were never cited by interviewees from the property industry nor foreign firms. Nonetheless, the qualities of Paris’ built environment result from their elaboration and application of regulations concerning building heights and street widths, listed buildings and districts, affordable housing and amenities. As in other cities today, public authorities aim to encourage the use of existing buildings as a sustainable approach to development, as “reusing existing space […] can accommodate growth and innovation while also valuing attachments to the artifacts and landscapes of the past” (Weber, 2015, p. 188). Whilst the importance of government intervention in spatial planning appears evident here, its consequences may be unclear. In addition to their role in the existence, management, and protection of Paris’ historic qualities, public actors influence who benefits from them. The regulatory framework in place favours certain investment and refurbishment schemes, economic sectors, and functions over others. Despite the vast literature suggesting built heritage as a source for new creativity, there is little evidence for this among the firms setting up in historic Paris. Certain entities may derive value from the identity projected by a stone façade or the inspiration wrought from an atrium, but this does not make such features essential to their set-up. However, some actors are better equipped

The planning of creative Paris  525

Figure 42.4 The white metal and red brick façades on the left host the headquarters of Facebook France at 6 rue Ménars, Paris 2nd. Source: https://architizer.com/idea/1501801/.

than others to derive value from such features. To cite one example, Facebook was a tenant of SFL in one Parisian building until SFL developed a new building – shown in ­Figure 42.4 – in a prime location in the Silicon Sentier. Here Facebook could relocate its French headquarters to the top floors of a newly renovated building with roof terrace. The success of this operation took several years of planning as well as expertise and patience with local planning authorities, which not all firms have. Only high value users can afford the cost of comprehensive facility upgrades, which includes the long wait for building approval. Demand (for high-end premises) is very strong because available money for innovation pushes start-ups to search for beautiful premises. This helps them to attract the best talent, and we record new requests every day. The past decade has seen some of the world’s newest and highest profit firms – many big tech – locating within Paris’ historic core, often in buildings built over one hundred years ago. In the words of one architect who works for Silicon Valley-based firms in Paris: “All these companies have tremendous financial means and can afford to buy anything” (Interview, Studios, 2019). The extent to which the need for such means to set up in Paris results from highly restrictive preservation regulations is a source of further research. Creative Paris has for long been largely framed by those in power, be they monarchs, emperors, presidents, or mayors. France’s top-down tradition is still present with high expectations for government to intervene in the quality of the built environment. This chapter

526  J. T. Simpson argues that the types of investment taking place in historic Paris are framed by planning and preservation policies. For John Howkins, “governments need to intervene, and when they intervene they need to define things” (Adobo, 2019). In Paris, having a role in preserving heritage means having a role in shaping the qualities of the built environment and the activities they host. How the complexity of the city’s historic palimpsest and the constraints imposed by its preservation contribute to new creativity depends on how creativity is defined. To what extent does? The questions for further research aren’t so much how built heritage stifles or stimulates creativity or how creative industries regenerate urban fabric, but whose creativity, and whose regeneration? Such inquiries reveal the subjectivity with which the quality of the built environment is defined. List of interviewees Group 1 – Consultants, developers and managers of commercial property

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Interviewee, Les Grands Voisins (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, 1 February. Interviewee, AP Conseil (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 30 November. Interviewee 1, CSI (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 30 November. Interviewee 2, CSI (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 30 November. Interviewee 1, Estate Consultant (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 30 November. Interviewee 2, Estate Consultant (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 30 November. Interviewee, JLL (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 December. Interviewee, Regus (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 5 December. Interviewee, Euro Disney (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 15 December. Interviewee, Cushman & Wakefield (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 20 December. Interviewee, Remix Coworking (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 21 December. Interviewee, Advenis (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 11 January. Interviewee, BNP Real Estate (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 12 January. Interviewee, Atland (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 12 January. Interviewee, Altarea Cogedim (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 9 March. Interviewee, Euro Disney (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 23 March. Interviewee, CFC Développement (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 27 March. Interviewee, Plateau Urbain (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 3 July. Interviewee, Acte Vélizy (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 5 July. Interviewee 1, Colliers (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 5 July. Interviewee 2, Colliers (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 5 July. Interviewee, Sercib (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 9 July. Interviewee, Société foncière Lyonnaise - SFL (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 19 July. Interviewee 1, Icade (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 28 Septembre. Interviewee 2, Icade (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 28 Septembre. Interviewee, Covivio (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 18 October. Interviewee, Colonies (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 22 November. Interviewee, Ekina (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 31 July. Interviewee 1, Gide Loyrette Nouel (2020). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 13 March. Interviewee 2, Gide Loyrette Nouel (2020). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 13 March.

The planning of creative Paris  527 Group 2 – Actors involved in inward investment and planning (Public authorities, planners, economic development facilitators, architects)

1 Interviewee, Direction régionale d la culture de la région Ile-de-France (2015). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 20 April. 2 Interviewee, Ministère de la Culture (2015). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 20 April. 3 Interviewee, IAU (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 10 July 4 Interviewee 1, Business France (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 27 July 5 Interviewee 2, Business France (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 27 July 6 Interviewee, Conseil départemental des Hauts-de-Seine (2017). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 12 December. 7 Interviewee, Ville de Paris (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 11 December. 8 Interviewee, Paris Region Entreprises (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 15 February. 9 Interviewee, Paris Region Entreprises (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 3 June. 10 Interviewee, Paris & Co. (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 12 June 11 Interviewee 1, Paris Region Entreprises (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 13 June. 12 Interviewee 1, Paris Region Entreprises (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 13 June. 13 Interviewee, Paris Region Entreprises (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 10 July. 14 Interviewee 1, Studios Architecture (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 August. 15 Interviewee 2, Studios Architecture (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 August. 16 Interviewee 3, Studios Architecture (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 August. 17 Interviewee 4, Studios Architecture (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 August. 18 Interviewee, Communauté urbaine Grand Paris Seine Ouest (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 12 August. 19 Interviewee, Ville de Paris (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 13 August. 20 Interviewee, Communauté d′agglomération Melun Val de Seine (2019). Interviewed by ­Jacob Simpson, UCL, 4 September. 21 Interviewee, Mairie du 17e arrondissement (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 19 September. 22 Interviewee, Chambre de commerce de Paris (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 3 October. 23 Interviewee, Etablissement public d′aménagement Paris-Saclay (2019). Interviewed by ­Jacob Simpson, UCL, 3 October. 24 Interviewee, Société du Grand Paris (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 10 October. 25 Interviewee, Société du Grand Paris (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 15 October. 26 Interviewee, University of Cambridge (2021). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 21 February. Group 3 – Occupiers of commercial property

1 Interviewee, Cellmer (2014). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, Conseil Départemental des Yvelines, 20 October. 2 Interviewee, Boston University (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 4 October. 3 Interviewee, HDI (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 18 October. 4 Interviewee, Parsons (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 23 October. 5 Interviewee, FTI Consulting (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 12 November. 6 Interviewee, Roki (2018). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 28 September

528  J. T. Simpson 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Interviewee, Adobe (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 27 May. Interviewee, WiredScore (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 4 June. Interviewee, Samsung (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 6 June. Interviewee, Sistema (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 11 June Interviewee, Plume Labs (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 27 June. Interviewee, Google (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 July. Interviewee, Urban Land Institute (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 1 July. Interviewee, The Conversation (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 11 July. Interviewee, Top Employers Institute (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 19 July. Interviewee, University of Chicago (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 11 September. 17 Interviewee, Uber (2019). Interviewed by Jacob Simpson, UCL, 30 September. References Adobo Magazine (2019). “John Howkins, the father of the creative economy”. Retrieved 15 September 2022 from https://www.adobomagazine.com/the-magazine/people-professor-john-howkins-the-fatherof-creative-economy-on-how-creative-talent-and-unique-cultural-values-are-leading-the-world-intothe-21st-century/ Anna Aubry, Alexandre Blein & Elsa Vivant (2015). “The Promotion of Creative Industries as a Tool for Urban Planning: The Case of the Territoire de la culture et de la création in Paris Region”. International Journal of Cultural Policy, 21(2), 121–138. DOI: 10.1080/10286632.2014.890602 Bregeras, G. (2017, July 7). “Silicon Sentier au coeur de la French tech”. Les Echos. Retrieved from https://www.lesechos.fr/2017/07/silicon-sentier-au-coeur-de-la-french-tech-1235390 BusinessImmo (2019, March 28). “Paris 8e: Givenchy installera ses équipes créatives au sein du 16 George 5”. Retrieved from https://www.businessimmo.com/contents/108403/paris-8e-givenchy-installerases-equipes-creatives-au-sein-du-16-george-5?utm_medium=email&utm_source=depeche&utm_ campaign=depeche-108403 Callahan, G., & Ikeda, S. (2003, June 20). “Jane Jacobs, the anti-planner”. Mises Daily Articles. Retrieved 7 May 2021 from https://mises.org/library/jane-jacobs-anti-planner Evans, G. (2009). “Creative Cities, Creative Spaces and Urban Policy”. Urban Studies (Edinburgh, Scotland), 46(5–6), 1003–1040. DOI: 10.1177/0042098009103853 Feldman, M. P., & Francis, J. L. (2004). “Homegrown Solutions: Fostering Cluster Formation”. Economic Development Quarterly, 18(2), 127–137. DOI: 10.1177/0891242403262556 Ferru, M., Rallet, A., & Cariou, C. (2022). “A Topological Approach to the Creative City: Artists’ Perceptions of Cultural Places in Paris”. Journal of Economic Geography, 1–24. DOI: 10.1093/jeg/lbab049 Florida, R. L. (2002). The Rise of the Creative Class: and How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. New York: Basic Books. Froy, F. (2018). “Is new work really built from old work? And if so what does this mean for the spatial organisation of economic activities in cities?” Proceedings of the Conference Jane Jacobs 100: her legacy and relevance in the 21st century, Delft. Gospodini, A. (2004). “Urban Morphology and Place Identity in European Cities: Built Heritage and Innovative Design”. Journal of Urban Design, 9(2), 225–248. DOI: 10.1080/1357480042000227834 Hall, P. (1998). Cities in Civilization: Culture, Innovation, and Urban Order. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Helbrecht, I. (2004). “Bare Geographies in Knowledge Societies – Creative Cities as Text and Piece of Art: Two Eyes, One Vision”. Built Environment (London. 1978), 30(3), 194–203. DOI: 10.2148/ benv.30.3.194.54299 Howkins, J. (2001). The Creative Economy: How People Make Money from Ideas. London: Allen Lane. Hutton, T. (2006). “Spatiality, Built Form, and Creative Industry Development in the Inner City”. Environment and Planning A, 38(10), 1819–1841. DOI: 10.1068/a37285

The planning of creative Paris  529 Hutton, T. (2008). The New Economy of the Inner City: Restructuring, Regeneration and Dislocation in the Twenty-First-Century Metropolis. London: Routledge. Hutton, T. (2016). Cities and the Cultural Economy. London: Routledge. Jacobs, J. (1961). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Random House. Jacobs, J. (1970). The Economy of Cities. London: Cape. Jallon, B., Napolitano, U., & Boutté, F. (2017). Paris Haussmann. Paris: Pavillon de l’Arsenal. Kloosterman, R. C., & Trip, J. J. (2011). “Planning for Quality? Assessing the Role of Quality of Place in Current Dutch Planning Practice”. Journal of Urban Design, 16(4), 455–470. DOI: 10.1080/13574809. 2011.585863 Lapierre, E. (2013, June). “Paris, un cas d’école” Constructif, numéro 35. Retrieved 12 December 2019 from http://www.constructif.fr/bibliotheque/2013-6/paris-un-cas-d-ecole.html?item_id=3331 Loew, S. (1998). Modern Architecture in Historic Cities: Policy, Planning, and Building in Contemporary France. Oxfordshire: Routledge. Olsen, D. (1986). The City as a Work of Art. London: Yale. Scott, A. (2004). “Cultural- Products Industries and Urban Economic Development – Prospects for Growth and Market Contestation in Global Context”. Urban Affairs Review, 39, 461–490. DOI: 10.1177/ 1078087403261256 Simpson, J. (2022). The Importance of Qualities of the Built Environment in Inward Investment to Paris Ile-de-France. London: UCL. Société foncière Lyonnaise SFL (2014, January 6). Immeuble du 6 Hanovre entièrement loué. Retrieved from http://www.fonciere-lyonnaise.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/CP060114VF.pdf Stevens, Q. (2015). “Creative Milieux: How Urban Design Nurtures Creative Clusters”. Journal of Urban Design, 20(1), 1–7. DOI: 10.1080/13574809.2015.981393 Sutcliffe, A. (1993). Paris: An Architectural History. London: Yale. Tung, A. M. (2001). Preserving the World’s Great Cities: The Destruction and Renewal of the Historic Metropolis. New York: Clarkson Potter. Venturi, R. (1966). Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture (1st ed.). London: Architectural Press. Weber, R. (2015). From boom to bubble: how finance built the new Chicago. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Wood, S., & Dovey, K. (2015). “Creative Multiplicities: Urban Morphologies of Creative Clustering”. Journal of Urban Design, 1–23. DOI: 10.1080/13574809.2014.972346 Zapalac, L. (2015). Historic Maritime Cities as New Places for Entrepreneurs and Innovators: Lessons from Venice, Amsterdam and Boston. Doctoral dissertation in Urban and Regional Planning, MIT. Zukin, S. (1995). The Culture of Cities. Oxford: Blackwell.

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University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation The case of the Macquarie University Incubator Sha Liu and Kristian Ruming

Introduction Large cities and their city-regions have been characterised as the pivotal points of innovation and creativity (Florida, 2005), and there have been growing calls for cities to use their “knowledge assets”, such as universities, to drive innovation and economic performance (Charles, 2011; Addie & Paskins, 2016). Universities, as actors “capable of diluting distances between the various nodes of innovation systems” (Fernández-Esquinas & Pinto, 2014, p. 1464), are identified as crucial knowledge infrastructure fostering creative cities (Lazzeroni & Piccaluga, 2015). It has long been recognised that universities and cities are deeply interconnected, however, the exact relationship between universities and cities is mediated by a series of physical, institutional, governance, and policy frameworks (Charles, 2011). The idea that certain urban environments are conducive to creative and innovative practice is not new. Yet, difficulties arise for efforts to create or operationalise creative practice in the city (Goddard et al., 2012). Variegated streetscapes, historical buildings, cheap properties, along with spaces for causal interactions are often identified as criteria for urban creativity (Amcoff, 2020). In many ways, universities are the antithesis of these spaces, as they are often highly regulated, policed, and often inaccessible to the public. Nevertheless, there is a growing expectation within both academic literature and policy that universities enable innovative cities, and produce “creative and successful students, researchers and innovators” (Amcoff, 2020, p. 182). It is now common practice for universities to seek to encourage creativity and innovation, both within the university and via connections with the wider environment (Amcoff, 2020). Universities draw together people, ideas, and resources that are required for creativity. They facilitate interactions between diverse individuals and groups, enabling the development of new ideas, tacit knowledge, and creativity (Soares et al., 2022b). Direct investment in creativity and innovation has emerged as a mechanism for universities to drive local economic growth (Andersson et al., 2009) and there is a long history of universities seeking to foster regional economic development and innovation by providing physical infrastructure, such as incubators, and educational programs, such as mentoring schemes, to, typically, start-ups from the private sector or spinouts from university staff or students (Benneworth & Charles, 2005). Creativity has been defined as “the ability to come up with ideas or artefacts that are new, surprising and valuable” (Boden, 2004, p. 1). Further, Shalley et al. (2000, p. 215) argue that “creativity involves the production, conceptualisation, or development of novel, original, and useful ideas, processes, or procedures by an individual or group”. Thus, creativity is about generating new and valuable ideas (Soares et al., 2022b). Creativity differs from innovation, which is seen to relate to the implementation of these ideas (Harris & Holley, 2016). However, the boundary between creativity and innovation, particularly in universities, is fluid. Indeed, DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-48

University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation  531 universities tend to emphasise innovation. In practice, the term innovation, as used in universities, is often shorthand for creativity and innovation, as efforts focus on both the generation and implementation of new ideas. In this chapter, we explore the Macquarie University (MQU) incubator (MQi), located in ­Sydney, Australia, as a site of creativity and innovation. Drawing on interviews with key stakeholders, we explore how the MQi encapsulates the ideals of creativity and innovation. The purpose is not to assess the success (or otherwise) of the MQi, but rather reveal how ideals of creativity and innovation have informed the planning, design, and construction of the MQi. The MQi case study is situated within wider literature on entrepreneurial universities, creativity, and innovation. Entrepreneurial universities, creativity, and innovation In the knowledge-based economy, the roles of universities have been changing, expanding from teaching and research to include economic and social development, innovation, and employability (Etzkowitz et al., 2000). The change is driven by both internal dynamics of universities and external conditions, including increased global economic competition, pressures to access funding, and government initiatives encouraging collaboration between universities and external partners (Abreu & Grinevich, 2013; Gibb et al., 2013). The so-called “third mission” of universities has reconfigured their role, with economic development prioritised (Brown, 2016; Etzkowitz et al., 2000). The organisational structure of universities now emphasises an entrepreneurial model, stressing capitalisation of knowledge “with the objective of improving regional or national economic performance as well as the university’s financial advantage” (Etzkowitz et al., 2000, p. 313). The activities of entrepreneurial universities are wide ranging, including research commercialisation (Becker, 2022), consultancy activities (Perkmann & Walsh, 2006), and support for new firm creation via technology transfer offices and incubators (Gibb et al., 2013). These activities help universities to coordinate their traditional activities (teaching and research) with entrepreneurship, and “reduce the conflict that may exist between the roles of an academic and an entrepreneur” (Guerrero & Urbano, 2014, p. 62). The university has been placed at the heart of the innovation system, playing a leading role in technology development and transfer, firm formation, and employment (Addie, 2020; Audretsch, 2014). The university increasingly interacts with government and industry, the relations of which have been characterised as the tripe helix model (Etzkowitz & Zhou, 2017). Through various university-industry partnerships, an “entrepreneurial ecosystem” with different interconnected stakeholders (e.g., venture capitalists, business angel syndicates) is seen to emerge (Brown, 2016), which enables actors to better communicate and collaborate to enable local and regional economic development. Governments acknowledge the importance of universities as a vital stakeholder producing knowledge capital, leading to local competitive advantage (Guerrero & Urbano, 2012). Specifically, universities are a source of knowledge workers. They produce high-level skilled graduates serving in the creative or other knowledge intensive sectors, enabling knowledge and innovation transfer between academia and industry (Kotb, 2020). It is believed university students/­graduates play a crucial role channelling research breakthroughs from the laboratory into industry and society (Faggian & McCann, 2009). Due to the increasing importance of the well-educated “creative class” in the development of creative economy, Florida (2004, 2005) argues that all levels of governments should work closely with universities to create inclusive and stimulating environment to attract and retain global talented workers who can contribute to competitive knowledge economies. This approach leverages universities as engines for economic growth and highlights their roles in the construction of innovative and entrepreneurial

532  S. Liu and K. Ruming cities (Lazzeroni & Piccaluga, 2015). However, the concept of creative class has been criticised by scholars who claim empirical evidence for the positive relationship between creative individuals and economic growth is lacking (Hoyman & Faricy, 2009), while others argue that Florida’s creative-class concept exaggerates socio-economic polarisation (Peck, 2005). Nevertheless, the idea has permeated urban policy and remains central to arguments for universities in driving economic development. Further, universities provide physical infrastructure for innovation activities (Brown, 2016). Universities act as landowners and property developers. They construct science and technology parks, innovation precincts, and incubators to support the formation of knowledge clusters, host talent and investment, and create a platform for dialogues between diverse stakeholders (Becker, 2022; Pancholi et al., 2020). Universities have emerged as vital anchor institutions, essential to the success of innovation districts. Innovation districts and strategic planning Universities are increasingly central to city visions, as the idea of the innovation district has emerged as core to contemporary strategic urban planning. Innovation districts are defined as “geographic areas where leading-edge anchor institutions and companies cluster connect with start-ups, business incubators, and accelerators” (Katz & Wagner, 2014, p. 1). Innovation districts seek to blur the boundaries between living and working areas; possess easy access to scientific, financial, technical, and educational infrastructures; and enable tacit knowledge transfer through social networking and places of interaction (Yigitcanlar et al., 2008). The innovation district, as envisaged in urban policy, often embodies the idea of the entrepreneurial university, where the university takes a lead in regional economic development (Audretsch, 2014). At the centre of the innovation district thesis is the idea of knowledge spill overs, where knowledge created within the university is shared with industry (Andersson et al., 2009). The innovation district emerges as a spatial manifestation of the triple-helix model, where innovation is the outcome of a partnership between universities, state, and private sector actors (Fernández-Esquinas & Pinto, 2014). Over the past 20 years, universities have emerged as central urban infrastructure in metropolitan plans for Sydney, promoted by governments as drivers of innovation and economic growth (Ruming, 2023). Specifically, metropolitan strategic plans for Sydney have characterised universities as forms of anchor institutions with the capacity catalyse local economic development, trigger regeneration initiatives, and provide social infrastructure: Innovation districts… have incredible knowledge producing assets… particularly around health and education anchors that we can utilise that knowledge and use that to attract other members of an innovation ecosystem. (Regional Commissioner, Greater Cities Commission) Importantly, proximity between the university and other (outside) stakeholders is central to the notion of the innovation district (Smith, 2007), with emphasis placed on the physical, social, and institutional spaces that enable connections. Nevertheless, the capacity to work across university, government, and private sector boundaries remains a challenge: A lot of it’s about how do you get that knowledge that exists and the capacity and capability that exists within those anchor institutes out. (Regional Commissioner, Greater Cities Commission)

University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation  533 It is here where incubators emerge as vital infrastructure that potentially enable connections between stakeholders. While innovation districts are central to urban planning strategies, this is not to say that they are easy to establish, maintain, or govern. Indeed, Macquarie Park – Australia’s first designated innovation district (Freestone, 1996) – has a tumultuous history which, along with contemporary planning frameworks and government funding arrangements, sets the context for the establishment of the MQi. Macquarie University and Macquarie Park Inaugurated in 1964, MQU was Sydney’s third university. Originally developed on a greenfield site in the north-western suburb of North Ryde, later renamed MQP, MQU was established as a fringe campus servicing a growing suburban population. Around the same time, the area was identified as designated “science park” in planning documents (Freestone, 1996), with a spatial structure seeking to replicate the model of Stanford University and its connection to business in the area that would become known as Silicone Valley. However, stakeholders from across the university, MQP corporate tenants, and government have questioned the extent to which MQP has operated as an innovation district characterised by interconnections between stakeholders, citing the spatial configuration of the park as a barrier (i.e., primarily car oriented): [MQP has a] set of challenges … probably the spatial aspects of Macquarie Park. It does have more of a business park feel than an innovation district feel. (Regional Commissioner, Greater Cities Commission) From the mid-2000s, MQU initiated a series of reforms that sought to shift its research and teaching focus, emphasising science, engineering, and health, that was seen to better align with, first, the needs and experiences of MQP corporate stakeholders and, second, the research and teaching profile of highly ranked national and global universities: The university had sat here for many years not really engaging with anyone out in the park. Then the strategy said why the hell not, on multiple fronts. There’s been active engagement with industry. (Director MQU, Property) This institutional pivot is also a response to shift in tertiary education policy and funding that have progressively emphasised industry connections, commercialisation, and external funding (Forsyth, 2014). Further, university property emerged as way to facilitate connections between the university and MQP stakeholders, thereby promoting collaboration, creativity, and innovation: … the university and some of the things they’re trying to do, particularly with co-location of businesses on campus and they’ve obviously got the Macquarie University Incubator that’s out there. (Regional Commissioner, Greater Cities Commission) The university has attempted to draw in stakeholders and enable innovative practice on campus. These efforts are indicative of wider international trends, where universities are using their property assets to drive local and regional innovation (Goddard et al., 2014). However, the

534  S. Liu and K. Ruming physical assets (i.e., university buildings) were characterised as being of a poor quality and not fit for purpose: The first generation of [MQU] buildings really aren’t fit for purpose for what innovation districts want. (Regional Commissioner, Greater Cities Commission) Thus, MQU has embarked on a wide-ranging campus development program that commenced with a campus masterplan in 2014. While there is a growing critical literature that situates university development as a financial and investment practice (McNeill et al., 2022), campus development is also characterised as a lever in enhancing university and business relationships (Goddard et al., 2014), especially through purpose-built facilities, such as incubators. In short, campus development is a way for universities to establish themselves as anchor institutions (Addie, 2019). A goal of the MQU campus master plan was to break down the borders of the campus, making the more open to the wider community. In terms of enhancing innovation and collaboration with corporate stakeholders, property was central: When we started looking at the bigger [property] strategy of going if you really want to get integration… you want a better degree of flexibility. (Director, MQU Property) Three key property strategies were implemented. First, MQU developed a private hospital on campus. Aligning with an institutional push to expand medical research, funding, and teaching, the MQU Private Hospital also emerged as a mechanism for collaborating with corporate stakeholders. Second, the role of the MQU campus as a Research Park was assessed. The MQU Research Park was first established in 1996, with several large commercial office buildings built on campus. These buildings had long served as a source of revenue, however, despite conditions in the lease that required engagement with the university, interaction was limited. Progressively tenancy arrangements were altered to emphasise collaboration with the university. The third property strategy was the establishment of the MQi. The incubator sought to provide a space for stakeholders to come together, collaborate, and engage in creative and innovative practice. Macquarie University Incubator: Space of innovation and creativity The university incubator has emerged as a key infrastructure of innovation, creativity collaboration, and commercialisation rolled out by institutions globally. This section argues that the MQi emerges as a physical, social, and educational infrastructure. Opened in 2017, the MQi is indicative of broader trends within the university sector that draws on triple helix understandings and emphasises the, so called, third mission of universities (Brown, 2016; Etzkowitz et al., 2000). The ability of the university to provide an incubator space was seen by stakeholders as a vital infrastructure that could not be provided by corporate landlords across MQP, given the need for commercial leases/rents. Such space, despite the potential collaborative, creative, or innovative outputs, was viewed as a financial risk for corporate landlords. Only the university (or possibly local government) could provide such a space. University incubators typically house both start-up firms generated from academic research within universities (spinoffs) and other nearby companies seeking a close connection

University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation  535 to universities (Etzkowitz, 2002). Access to the MQi is not limited to those with an existing relationship with MQU: The incubator taking is actually a bit agnostic … on who actually qualifies to be ­[involved] … it benefits the district [MQP] as a whole. (Director, MQU Commercialisation) For those not associated with MQU a small monthly membership fee is charged (AU$300). This monthly fee does not cover the MQi running costs. Further, the MQU does not claim any Intellectual Property or take an equity share of start-ups established/developed within MQi. Thus, the MQi does not generate direct revenue, in the short-term, for the university, although some schemes do receive government funding. So, the MQi emerges as a university response to pressures to facilitate local and regional economic development, specifically related to MQP, but not exclusively so, and to calls to enable collaboration across academia and industry. Three key aspects of the MQi are relevant: the physical, the social, and the educational. Physical: Infrastructure of innovation/creativity

There is an established literature on successful knowledge environments, with building and campus designs, along with precinct planning, seeking to encourage interaction between diverse individuals and groups and support the exchange of ideas (Amcoff, 2020). The physical make-up (i.e., type buildings) and spatial configuration (i.e., layout) of the university campus are vital in mediating interaction that lies at the centre of creativity (Soares et al., 2022a). However, enabling urban creativity and innovation is more complicated than just providing a particular built form, as there is an absence of an unequivocal and straightforward relationship between creativity and urban design (Amcoff, 2020). Nevertheless, universities continue to invest in new buildings, such as incubators, as key “material components” of creativity, innovation, and entrepreneurialism (Lazzeroni & Piccaluga, 2015). Further, incubators provide access to physical amenities linked to university campuses, such as subsidised space, conference facilities, laboratories, and libraries. The MQi is seen to operate as a physical space that enables creativity, collaboration, and innovation. The MQi – designed by architecture firm Architectus1 – is constructed out of timer, including laminated timber ceiling and structural beams, plywood walls, and spotted gum and cork floors. The MQi is designed around two pavilions with flexible layouts. Each pavilion is dominated by a large workspace, surrounded by several breakout rooms and smaller meeting rooms. The MQi has won several design and construction awards from the Australian Institute of Architects and the Master Builders Association. The design and construction approach mean that the building can be pulled apart, reconfigured, or relocated as the needs and objectives of MQU shift. The construction method and design of MQi, therefore, is a response to MQU’s objective of establishing a space of innovation and collaboration on campus, an attempt to deliver a physical infrastructure that enables connections. It was designed as a functional and flexible space to enable creativity and innovation: We’ve been very clear we don’t want to necessarily create iconic buildings where design is foremost rather than functionality. So, function needs to come first. (Director, MQU Property) The open and flexible space is seen to offer, first, opportunities for interaction across industry sectors, as start-ups (also scale-ups and spinoffs) are allocated workspaces next to start-ups from

536  S. Liu and K. Ruming other industries, where discussion across disciplinary boundaries are seen to open up spaces for innovation as participants come into contact with other paradigms and ways of thinking: … you’ve got people that may have an idea about a software as the service start-up that are going to be side-by-side with someone that’s developing gene therapy. (Director, MQi) Second, the space is designed in a way that allows multiple uses, from receptions and large presentations to small workshops and meetings. The built form is seen as conducive to diverse forms of interaction and working: … you have to have that open space, you’ve got to have that for education and for networking and for pitching, and then you have… our meeting rooms and our boardroom… It shouldn’t be underestimated, that environment that founders need to be creative. (Director, MQi) For the university, the flexible built form was seen to enable innovation and creativity to ­occur “organically”: There’s a whole lot of stuff we’re letting happen organically as well. You can’t design everything. (Director, MQi) More pragmatically, the incubator space is designed to provide start-ups with the physical infrastructure they need to develop their ideas/company/products, such as offices, lockable storage, and technical support. The incubator addresses requirements of research funders (e.g., security). Together, the incubator and campus are characterised as vital “third spaces” that address the: … difficulty for people to interact as a consequence of the built environment… So, it is important in third spaces how to address that. I would argue that a damn good coffee shop could be just as valuable as some of these creative programs. (General Manager, MDIP) Thus, the incubator is characterised as a physical space that enables social interactions and connections. Further, while university public spaces (i.e., those outside the classroom, laboratory, or office) have often been neglected, and their potential in enabling creative interactions downplayed (Soares et al., 2022a), in the case of the MQi, university cafes, library, museums, and parkland campus are recognised as vital infrastructure. The incubator (and wider campus) is a place that enables social connections, so vital to creativity, innovation, and collaboration. Social: Place of connection and collaboration

Interaction, social connection, and collaboration are seen to lay at the centre of creative and innovative practice. Universities are identified as sites of creativity that “foster encounters and unforeseen collaborations” (Amcoff, 2020, p. 179) and enable informal networking, especially via in-person, face-to-face interactions (Soares et al., 2022b). Purposefully designed creative spaces,

University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation  537 such as incubators, enable networking opportunities (Amezcua et al., 2013) and “minimise the feeling of isolation through the sharing of common values and norms” through the provision of a nurturing environment (McAdam & McAdam, 2008, p. 278). Incubators enable interactions and knowledge sharing between random contacts of the “right kind” people within and from outside of universities (Soares et al., 2020). The interaction between entrepreneurs and university staff and students connects universities with industries and surrounding communities (Lazzeroni & Piccaluga, 2015); promotes collaboration and knowledge transfer (Huggins et al., 2008); and supports the creation of innovation and economic growth (Addie, 2020). Universities enable social integration in innovation precincts (Becker, 2022; Pancholi et al., 2020). As a site of social connections, the MQi is seen to support several types of connection: We’re trying to bring all the parts of an innovation ecosystem together… We want to see everybody participating. (Director, MQi) What we do offer them [stakeholders in MQP] is a location whereby they can interact. (Director, MQ Commercialisation) First, the incubator facilitates interaction between those involved creative and innovation practice, drawing together participants with diverse backgrounds, experiences, knowledges, and skills. This interaction can take place organically through the use of the incubator or through programs designed to draw stakeholders together to encourage networking: Networking activity is really well run by our incubator. (Director, MQ Commercialisation) Examples of networking programs run by MQi include hosting Venture Café,2 along with social and awards events, such as a regular “Leaders, Innovators & Disruptors” events, which was attended by over 500 people in 2021 (Macquarie University Incubator, 2022): The Venture Café model is a global model, which you will meet every Thursday in the evening … I think the programs which bring people together are useful. (General Manager, MDIP) The uni was putting some of the real foundations of what would drive it forward, seeded the funding of a Venture Café to keep up the networking part of the asset. (Director, MQ Commercialisation) Second, MQi draws stakeholders involved in creative and innovative practices, such as entrepreneurs, into more formal programs and governance relationships. The MQi operates as a space that appeals to and engages with stakeholders that are often reluctant to engage with more formal governance structures. Especially relevant here are entrepreneurs who are unlikely to sit on governance committees or attend local planning workshops: [We] struggle with getting an entrepreneur to want to go to a workshop… because they’ve got better things to do … Entrepreneurs are really hard to keep engaged and we proxied it through involvement by our own incubator. (Director, MQ Commercialisation)

538  S. Liu and K. Ruming Third, the MQi is also seen to facilitate interaction between entrepreneurs and university staff and students, leading to collaborations and commercialisation of research: Entrepreneurs are really good at leveraging ideas but they’re not the people that invent the big change … but they’re the people that we want our researchers working with so that they can partner up. (Director, MQi) In 2021, 48% of start-ups using the MQi worked with MQU students (Macquarie University Incubator, 2022). While the MQi operates as a space for organic and assisted social interaction, so too is it a site of education and training support. Learning: Site of support, experimentation, and training

Universities export high-quality human capital through entrepreneurship education programmes (Brown, 2016). Thus, university incubators frequently provide business training and management services to ensure start-ups to have access to new knowledge, expertise, and networks (Ratinho & Henriques, 2010). These programs are typically viewed as contributing to the “third mission” (i.e., economic development) rather than the broader educational mission of the university (­ Etzkowitz & Zhou, 2017). Incubators provide “nascent entrepreneurs” with training programmes, helping them better connect with key industrial partners, laboratories, banks, and investors to increase their survival rates (Patton & Marlow, 2011). In short, the programs are designed to deliver direct economic outcomes, such as the establishment of start-up firms, staff spinoffs, or mentors in SMEs (scale-ups) in early development phases. The type of education provided by incubators can differ from more traditional undergraduate and postgraduate programs: It’s just someone that’s got an idea and the fact that you think that you have to be an expert or get a degree in business to be an entrepreneur is bullshit. Most of them only need just in time learning and just enough. (Director, MQi) University incubators can also offer continuing entrepreneurship education, exchange, and internship programmes to students and graduates, enabling them to polish skills and gain practical knowledge and experience (O’Connor, 2013). As a result, incubators are “boundary spanning” entities “as a means of improving the linkage and interface between regional knowledge supply and demand” (Huggins et al., 2008, p. 334). The MQi is a site of learning and education, which runs several programs focusing on startup participants (both early-stage and scaling), students, and staff. These programs seek to teach both the fundamentals of business development, such as funding, along with skills development around creativity, innovation, and experimentation. In 2021, the MQi provided more than 150 hours of entrepreneurial training (Macquarie University Incubator, 2022). A central program offered by the MQi was a mentor program (over 40 mentors involved) to provide support and networking opportunities for participants (Macquarie University Incubator, 2022). For those running the MQUi, teaching creativity thinking and, by extension experimentation, lies at the centre of the programs offered: Everything that we do has a creative element to it but calling it out and naming it and encouraging people to understand that they are creative, and they can come up with solutions and different ways of doing things. (Director, MQi)

University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation  539 Creativity is positioned in opposition to traditional forms of tertiary education, with programs and activities encouraging new ways of thinking, opening up understandings of creativity beyond more traditional arts-based readings, as a means of collaborating and innovating: [Our programs are] encouraging people to have the confidence to use these different creative methodologies to get back into understanding that you’re a creative person. (Director, MQi) Specifically, programs that teach design thinking and creative methodologies are emphasised. The importance of creativity and innovation means that failure is normalised, as failure is repositioned as a step in the creative/innovation process. Failure is something that renders visible problems but also new, alternative, collaborative, and creative solutions: Failure is not accepted, particularly once someone’s reached the tertiary education, but that’s where we’re all about. We’re about freedom from thought and re-teaching them that they are creative and using design thinking and other creative methodologies of being creative and developing solutions for things. (Director, MQi) These formal strategies around teaching creativity and design thinking are supported by the social aspects of the MQi, specifically, they bring together of established entrepreneurs/start-ups with those earlier in the process, where participants discuss the creative/innovation process: That’s pretty much just the mindset that we’re trying to instil in anyone that comes into contact with the Incubator and have the confidence to fail in a safe environment. ­[Entrepreneurs] celebrate failure more than they do success … that was their lightbulb moment … That’s why we talk about creativity. (Director, MQi) Another program run by the MQi that emphasises creativity is an expert-in-residence program, where the expert-in-residence is accredited through the Stanford d.school, which defines itself as a “place where people use design to develop their own creative potential”.3 The expertin-residence teaches: … specific techniques and design thinking [and] uses lots of different creative thought processes. (Director, MQi) These programs are open to all participants associated with the MQi. Further, educational benefits are seen to flow to undergraduate and postgraduate programmes, as students engage with entrepreneurs, potentially leading to innovation but also future employment. The MQi also runs training programs targeted to staff (Macquarie University Incubator, 2022). Conclusion Drawing on wider literature on the role of creativity and innovation in universities, we have provided a descriptive analysis of the MQi. Our focus has not been the measurement of success of the MQi and its programs or to reflect on the experiences of participants. Rather, what we reveal is that creativity and, especially, innovation have emerged as central ambitions of Australian universities. In the case of MQU, the drive towards innovation is a response to scaled urban and

540  S. Liu and K. Ruming tertiary policy trends that have seen innovation districts emerge as a powerful spatial planning discourse that, for the city, drives economic performance and global reputation, and, for the university, works as a mechanism that fosters connections with industry, thereby driving commercialisation and employment outcomes. While collaboration across sectors lies at the centre of creativity and innovation, the case of MQi illustrates how universities can take a lead role in initiating and coordinating connections, even in designated innovation precincts. The MQU case study reveals how university property is mobilised to deliver innovation outcomes. While there are multiple ways that university property can be used to stimulate collaboration, creativity, and innovation, the incubator has emerged as vital infrastructure. The incubator operates as a physical place for creativity and innovation, providing somewhere for start-ups/spinoffs/scaleups/entrepreneurs to undertake their work. The design and flexibility of the incubator allow for diverse forms of creative working. Further, the incubator is a social space, fostering interactions and connections, often across disciplinary or industry boundaries. The incubator enables both formal (e.g., networking events) and informal social connections. Finally, the incubator operates as a site of education and learning, where programs are delivered, providing participants with the skills to undertake creative and innovative practice. Notes 1 https://architectus.com.au/projects/macquarie-university-incubator/ 2 A non-profit organization that seeks to “connect innovators to make things happen”. Based on model developed by Cambridge Innovation Center (https://venturecafesydney.org/) 3 https://dschool.stanford.edu/ (accessed 21/11/2022).

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University incubators as sites of creativity and innovation  541 Brown, R. (2016). Mission impossible? Entrepreneurial universities and peripheral regional innovation systems. Industry and Innovation, 23(2), 189–205. Charles, D. (2011). The role of universities in building knowledge cities in Australia. Built Environment, 37(3), 281–298. Etzkowitz, H. (2002). Incubation of incubators: Innovation as a triple helix of university-industry-­ government networks. Science and Public Policy, 29(2), 115–128. Etzkowitz, H., Webster, A., Gebhardt, C., Regina, B., & Terra, C. (2000). The future of the university and the university of the future: Evolution of ivory tower to entrepreneurial paradigm. Research Policy, 29(2), 313–330. Etzkowitz, H., & Zhou, C. (2017). The Triple Helix: University-Industry-Government Innovation and Entrepreneurship. Abingdon: Routledge. Faggian, A., & McCann, P. (2009). Human capital, graduate migration and innovation in British regions. Cambridge Journal of Economics, 33(2), 317–333. Fernández-Esquinas, M., & Pinto, H. (2014). The role of universities in urban regeneration: Reframing the analytical approach. European Planning Studies, 22(7), 1462–1483. Florida, R. L. (2004). The Rise of the Creative Class: And How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. New York: Basic Books. Florida, R. (2005). Cities and the Creative Class. New York: Routledge. Forsyth, H. (2014). A History of the Modern Australian University. Sydney: New South Publishing. Freestone, R. (1996). The making of an Australian technoburb. Australian Geographical Studies, 34(1), 18–31. Gibb, A., Haskins, G., & Robertson, I. (2013). Leading the entrepreneurial university: Meeting the entrepreneurial development needs of higher education institutions. In Universities in Change: Managing Higher Education Institutions in the Age of Globalization, Altmann, A. & Ebersberger, B. (Eds.), (pp. 9–45). New York: Springer. Goddard, J., Coombes, M., Kempton, L., & Vallance, P. (2014). Universities as anchor institutions in cities in a turbulent funding environment: Vulnerable institutions and vulnerable places in England. Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society, 7(2), 307–325. Goddard, J., Kempton, L., & Vallance, P. (2012). The civic university: Connecting the global and the local. In Universities, Cities and Regions: Loci for Knowledge and Innovation Creation, Capello, R., ­Olechnicka, A., & Gorzelak, G. (Eds.), (pp. 43–63). Routledge. Guerrero, M., & Urbano, D. (2012). The development of an entrepreneurial university. Journal of Technology Transfer, 37(1), 43–74. Guerrero, M., & Urbano, D. (2014). Academics’ start-up intentions and knowledge filters: An individual perspective of the knowledge spillover theory of entrepreneurship. Small Business Economics, 43(1), 57–74. Harris, M., & Holley, K. (2016). Universities as anchor institutions: Economic and social potential for urban development. In Higher Education: Handbook of Theory and Research, Paulsen, M. (Ed.), (pp. 393–439). Switzerland: Springer International Publishing. Hoyman, M., & Faricy, C. (2009). It takes a village. A test of the creative class, social capital, and human capital theories. Urban Affairs Review, 44(3), 311–333. Huggins, R., Johnston, A., & Steffenson, R. (2008). Universities, knowledge networks and regional policy. Cambridge Journal of Regions, Economy and Society, 1(2), 321–340. Katz, B., & Wagner, J. (2014). The Rise of Innovation Districts: A New Geography of Innovation in America. Washington: Brookings Institute. Kotb, K. S. (2020). The features and roles of universities in creative cities. In Handbook of Research on Creative Cities and Advanced Models for Knowledge-Based Urban Development, Galaby, A. R. & ­Abdrabo, A. A. (Eds.), (pp. 284–304). Hershey PA: IGI Global. Lazzeroni, M., & Piccaluga, A. (2015). Beyond “town and gown”: The role of the university in small and medium-sized cities. Industry and Higher Education, 29(1), 11–23. Macquarie University Incubator. (2022). 2021 Report Card. Sydney: Macquarie University.

542  S. Liu and K. Ruming McAdam, M., & McAdam, R. (2008). High tech start-ups in university science park incubators: The relationship between the start-up’s lifecycle progression and use of the incubator’s resources. Technovation, 28(5), 277–290. McNeill, D., Mossman, M., Rogers, D., & Tewdwr-Jones, M. (2022). The university and the city: Spaces of risk, decolonisation, and civic disruption. Environment and Planning A, 54(1), 204–212. O’Connor, A. (2013). A conceptual framework for entrepreneurship education policy: Meeting government and economic purposes. Journal of Business Venturing, 28(4), 546–563. Pancholi, S., Yigitcanlar, T., Guaralda, M., Mayere, S., Caldwell, G. A., & Medland, R. (2020). University and innovation district symbiosis in the context of placemaking: Insights from Australian cities. Land Use Policy, 99, 105109. Patton, D., & Marlow, S. (2011). University technology business incubators: Helping new entrepreneurial firms to learn to grow. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 29(5), 911–926. Peck, J. (2005). Struggling with the creative class. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 29(4), 740–770. Perkmann, M., & Walsh, K. (2006). Relationship-based university-industry links and open innovation: Towards a research agenda. International Journal of Management Reviews, 9(4), 259–280. Ratinho, T., & Henriques, E. (2010). The role of science parks and business incubators in converging countries: Evidence from Portugal. Technovation, 30(4), 278–290. Ruming, K. (2023). Universities and metropolitan strategic planning: The case of Sydney, Australia. ­Tijdschrift Voor Economische En Sociale Geografie, https://doi.org/10.1111/tesg.12556. Shalley, C. E., Gilson, L. L., & Blum, T. C. (2000). Matching creativity requirements and the work environment: Effects on satisfaction and intentions to leave. Academy of Management Journal, 43(2), 215–223. Smith, H. L. (2007). Universities, innovation, and territorial development: A review of the evidence. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 25(1), 98–114. Soares, I., van Quoc, T. N., Yamu, C., & Weitkamp, G. (2022a). Socio-spatial aspects of creativity and their role in the planning and design of university campuses’ public spaces: A practitioners’ perspective. Data & Policy, 4, e35. Soares, I., Venhorst, V., Weitkamp, G., & Yamu, C. (2022b). The impact of the built environment on creativity in public spaces of Dutch university campuses and science parks. Journal of Urban Design, 27(1), 91–109. Soares, I., Yamu, C., & Weitkamp, G. (2020). The relationship between the spatial configuration and the fourth sustainable dimension creativity in university campuses: The case study of Zernike campus, ­Groningen, the Netherlands. Sustainability (Switzerland), 12(21), 1–21. Yigitcanlar, T., Velibeyoglu, K., & Martinez-Fernandez, C. (2008). Rising knowledge cities: The role of urban knowledge precincts. Journal of Knowledge Management, 12(5), 8–20.

44

Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure of cultural amenities Lessons from Amsterdam Robert C. Kloosterman and Jochem de Vries

Collective action and cultural amenities A branch of the Guggenheim or Louvre Museum (Abu Dhabi), a new opera house or concert hall (in Beijing, Busan, Guangzhou, Hamburg, or Oslo). Preferably designed by a starchitect (Ponzini, 2014). Urban policymakers across the globe are trying to put their cities on the map by planning and often at least partly funding these costly iconic cultural amenities. These highprofile amenities aim to enhance or even create a particular urban image by flagging a rich cultural life in their cities. They are also, in a broader sense, considered to be essential for the quality of place. Boosting the quality of place may result in becoming more attractive for high-skilled workers and tourists (Kloosterman & Trip, 2011). It is no surprise, therefore, that cultural amenities have undeniably become something of a hype among urban politicians and urban planners. Important though these eye-catching, large-scale, and expensive projects are, below we will argue that, on the one hand, rich cultural life in general and cultural amenities more specifically comprise much more than these. One should also consider smaller, grass-roots initiatives and more organically grown clusters of cultural amenities which may cater to different population segments. We also, on the other, contend that planning, realising, and, very importantly, maintaining these amenities requires a broader conception of urban governance. Thus, we contribute to current debates on cultural planning and governance, which, according to Hutton (2016, 80), constitute a “complicated polity, or arena for contentious politics about the character of the city and for whom it works”. Building on previous work (Pratt, 2008; Scott, 2006) on small cultural initiatives, we propose a novel way of looking at cultural urban planning by combining two conceptual approaches. First, we depart from a governance perspective, highlighting the distinction between collective action modes that directly provide cultural amenities and goods and those that aim to create favourable conditions for them. These actions may comprise direct provisions (such as the founding and subsequent exploitation of a municipal museum); providing legal and financial incentives to support cultural incentives (through zoning and grants); creating favourable physical conditions (such as transport facilities and upgrading public space); the constitution and maintenance of a network of relevant actors; or the construction of policy narratives. We then link this governance perspective to a framework for cultural planning which distinguishes between different ideal types of cultural amenities (Kloosterman, 2014). This framework enables us to structure the internally diverse policy object of cultural amenities. In line with this framework, we define cultural amenities as services or goods with a high semiotic or aesthetic value provided by organisations (public and private) such as museums, galleries,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-49

544  R. C. Kloosterman and J. de Vries zoos, theatres, festivals, and sports venues (Kloosterman, 2014). Furthermore, the framework subdivides services and goods into four types based on the kind of audience it attracts – niche or mainstream – and the scale of provision – large or small. After introducing these two perspectives, we present cases of how concrete collective action processes have impacted Amsterdam’s cultural amenities. These cases should serve as real-life illustrations of our proposal for a more comprehensive way of cultural planning. Amsterdam has been the cultural capital of the Netherlands for more than four centuries (Kloosterman, 2004; Schama, 1988; Prak, 2005), with a rich palette of cultural amenities. It has developed from a cosmopolitan pre-industrial trade and finance hub in the 17th century into an even more cosmopolitan advanced economy based on cognitive-cultural activities (Boterman & van Gent, 2023). In addition, the Netherlands and, notably, the city of Amsterdam have a long-standing planning tradition and a well-developed interventionist policy framework combined with active citizen participation (de Vries, 2015). This template, however, has shifted in recent years towards more market-oriented interventions (Dekker et al., 2012, 444–445). Hence, cultural planning in ­Amsterdam can be seen as an exemplary laboratory that displays the current quest for developing more comprehensive forms of cultural planning. We present four different ideal-typical categories to capture this variety of cultural amenities (Section 2). This is followed by looking at the key strategies in contemporary urban planning (Section 3). After that, we analyse how these can be linked to planning strategies and use cases from Amsterdam to illustrate our view (Section 4). Finally, we discuss the broader implications for urban cultural planning (Section 5). A typology of cultural amenities To get a more systematic handle on the variety of urban cultural amenities, we use the typology introduced by Kloosterman (2014, see also Figure 44.1). This fourfold typology is based on two dimensions: (i) the scale of provision, which can be large or small, and (ii) the market orientation, which can be towards mainstream audiences or smaller, niche-like audiences. We are aware that real-life amenities are much less neatly defined. We present ideal types to help structure thinking on urban cultural planning. The first type of cultural amenities, then, is “small scale and caters to niche markets which require a certain knowledge or cultural capital to grasp and appreciate what is on offer” (Ibidem, 2517). This type is strongly oriented towards dense neighbourhoods benefiting from the proximity of a sizeable clientele and being embedded in an intricate web of other amenities, cultural and otherwise, such as restaurants and cafés. These amenities, in other words, tend to form localised ecosystems held together by agglomeration economies, which develop more or less organically and form “… vortexes of social reproduction in which critical cultural competencies

Figure 44.1  A typology of cultural amenities. Source: Kloosterman (2014, 2517).

Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure  545 are generated and circulated” (Scott, 1999, 809). Local policies can usually be limited to creating and sustaining favourable conditions, leaving the rest to the cultural and other entrepreneurs. Sustaining is not self-evident as its very success may contain the seeds of the danger of what Jane Jacobs (1961) has called the “self-destruction of diversity” as rising rents push out less profitable activities, which are nonetheless essential for the whole ecosystem. The second type concerns small-scale cultural amenities “which do not put high demand on its users in terms of cultural capital and, accordingly, cater to local mainstream audiences” (Ibidem, 2519). This type is a rather tricky category in larger cities with rich cultural amenities. They will either be outcompeted by large mainstream amenities or develop their own niche to survive. In smaller cities with not much competition, they can survive. As we focus on large cities, we leave this category aside. The third type of amenities combines a large scale with a niche orientation. These comprise “… the kind of iconic projects so beloved by many urban policymakers: large scale and catering to the demanding taste of connoisseurs” (Ibidem, 2519). As these amenities offer something unique (niche orientation), the catchment areas of these amenities are often large – national and often even international. These large-scale amenities are often to be found in central locations where a cluster of other, small-scale, niche-oriented cultural amenities and (specialised) shops may arise (Ibidem, 2520). Much urban cultural planning is focused on these striking cultural amenities which contribute to a place’s identity and international image (place-making). They do not just require large buildings but are typically housed in high-profile flagship buildings (Ponzini, 2014). Given their potentially significant spillover effects and their impact on the quality of place, these amenities may make sense from an economic developmental perspective. Still, state support is usually needed to kickstart the process, fund the building, and guarantee the amenity’s day-to-day exploitation. The fourth type of cultural amenities also has a large-scale of provision but, instead, targets a mainstream audience. Theme parks, for instance, fall under this category. As with large-scale, niche-oriented amenities, good accessibility by car, public transport, or both is crucial for the functioning of these amenities. They are usually profit-oriented, private-sector endeavours, which are not located in expensive central locations, but, at least in the West-European context, on the outskirts near highways. This more peripheral location “… makes it, on the one hand, much easier to internalize the spillover effects of spending by visitors, but, on the other hand, diminishes the impact on the city itself” (Kloosterman, 2014, 2521). These mainstream offerings do not add much distinction or lift the quality of place. State intervention is limited to zoning and providing the physical infrastructure. Each of these ideal types has its specific business model with a particular audience, locational profile, local embeddedness, and public sector involvement. We now turn to the issue of how these cultural amenities can be linked to contemporary forms of urban planning. Governance and urban cultural planning Urban policymakers who want more inclusive urban cultural planning should address the issues of identity and pluralism and foster the establishment and preservation of small cultural amenities. An informed framework for urban cultural planning dealing with these issues should be based on distinguishing different cultural amenities. It should also depart from a proper understanding of current planning processes within the context of cognitive-cultural urban economies. Culture, as a field of collective action, is to an ever-lesser extent a separate domain and, from a policy perspective, has become ever more entwined with that of the requirements of

546  R. C. Kloosterman and J. de Vries cognitive-cultural urban economies in many Western societies (Mommaas, 2004; Evans, 2009). More fundamentally, the rise of the cognitive-cultural economy coincides with a transition in how societies deal with collective action problems, often referred to as the rise of (network or collaborative) governance (Hajer, 2009). This change has profound consequences for the rationales and implications of providing cultural amenities for cities. In many cases, the state has changed from a provider to an enabler of the cultural commons in a city. The “enabling State expresses the role of the State in facilitating the creation of urban commons and supporting collective action arrangements for the management and sustainability of the urban commons” (Foster & Iaione, 2017). The popular catchphrase “from government to governance” is often shorthand to refer to the fundamental and widely varied changes in collective action arrangements and practices in the past decades. The complex interplay of the transformation of the post-war welfare state, the transition from an industrial economy to a cognitive-cultural economy, increasing societal diversity across several dimensions, processes of globalisation, as well as the dominance of a political ideology of economic liberalism has profoundly transformed the role of government in collective action in general and more specifically in urban planning. According to Salet and de Vries (2019, 194) the “[c]haracteristic of this process is the importance of private and nongovernmental parties in the supply of public goods and common pool goods, previously provided by the state. This shift includes the spreading of power across more and diverse actors, resulting in a differentiated polity”. Seeing collective action in and for cities through the lens of a polycentric polity (Savini, 2019), has widened the array of practices that can be seen as urban planning. While before, governments could largely base their planning on r­ egulation – zoning an area for cultural use – and direct action – building a theatre, for ­example – today “policy actions or initiatives [need to be more often] intended to affect the decision environment (and, in turn, the behaviour) of market actors and to achieve desirable societal objectives” (Stead, 2021, 300). This shift towards governance implies that – in addition to more traditional planning interventions through regulation or the direct provision of public goods – planning has become more about creating conditions for (collective) action by actors, varying from public agencies, large and small private companies, and households (Stead, 2021). We distinguish three basic enabling strategies (see Table 44.1). Firstly, foster networks and create arenas that bring together relevant stakeholders to facilitate cooperation that provides cultural amenities and boosts agglomeration economies. Secondly, strategies may target the circumstances that support actors in establishing and sustaining cultural amenities. In urban planning, two sets of circumstances should be highlighted. Some spatial conditions enable or support the provision of cultural amenities, such as the quality of public space in the vicinity of an amenity or the accessibility of a good or service. Furthermore, we observe regulatory or financial circumstances impacting actors providing amenities. Table 44.1  Direct and indirect interventions Direct governmental interventions

Indirect governmental interventions

Directly establishing an amenity Zoning for a particular amenity

Creating networks and arenas Financial, regulatory, and spatial conditions Narratives

Source: Authors.

Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure  547 As commercial real estate in cities is often too expensive for cultural ventures, regulatory ­measures – zoning that excludes commercial uses – or financial compensation – subsidies or tax breaks – are essential in this respect. Thirdly, strategies may create favourable conditions for providing cultural amenities by developing a narrative that stakeholders share, mobilise, and unite. Gonzales (2006) describes these as “stories about changes in the spatial patterns of socio-political processes that are uttered by actors or groups embedded in specific historical and political contexts and which reduce the universe of political choices” (Gonzales, 2006, 840). This approach played an important role in paving the way for the iconic Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao (Plaza & Haarich, 2015). Lessons from Amsterdam Type 1 small-scale of provision and niche-oriented

In Amsterdam, a group of goldsmiths joined forces and developed a website and a flyer with a walking and cycling tour along eleven shops in the historical inner city.1 It is all “Dutch design” and “Made in Holland”. “The collections on display range from the ultra-modern to the semi-classical so that a wide spectrum of styles can be viewed in a matter of hours. The eight-­kilometre route is great for walking or cycling, especially if you visit one of the cafés or restaurants recommended in the flyer”.2 One goldsmith explained that they all know each others’ work. Customers can easily be referred to a colleague when they desire a different style,3 illustrating the agglomeration economies from which this type of amenities benefit. These agglomerations also comprise other activities, in this case, antique shops and up-market restaurants, which cluster in the same parts of the city as the goldsmiths. In recent years, this cluster has been under pressure – from 1980 to 2023, the number of antique shops decreased by 50 per cent. While there are different reasons for the decline – changes in taste, for example – changes in place characteristics such as the public space and the neighbourhood’s retail structure are also essential.4 Stores aimed at low-budget tourists, many in the food sector and often part of a chain, have become dominant and pushed up realestate prices. This has set in motion a process of (self-)destruction of diversity as retail spaces became increasingly unaffordable to traditional antique shops. Furthermore, crowded public spaces are at odds with strolling along different antique shops. The local antique shop owners have requested zoning that applies elsewhere in the city to restrict the establishment of tourist shops5 and the neighbourhood should be promoted as the Amsterdam “Art and Fashion District”.6 In recent decades, the transformation of cities – in the Global North – provided ample room for cultural amenities. De-industrialisation led to vacated industrial sites and buildings or “brown fields”. These developments created a significant, temporary rise in the supply of spaces suitable for (small-scale) cultural amenities. Destruction of diversity, however, loomed large as (many) cities successfully transitioned to an urban cognitive-cultural profile, and more profitable uses took over these spaces and, hence, became scarcer. Such a process undermines the innovative capacity of a city in the long run (Currid, 2007), notably as an incubator for cultural amenities and may erode the quality of place more generally (Kloosterman & Brandellero, 2016). To counter this trend, in 2000, the local government took the initiative to create room for culture and creative industries (Cnossen, 2021). Amsterdam has thus launched an active policy to create incubator spaces for working and living in former office buildings, schools, or warehouses (Cnossen, 2021). To rent a space there, applicants must show that they are active in the cultural and creative industries.

548  R. C. Kloosterman and J. de Vries The evolution of this policy is telling for the tension between planning and creating Type-1 cultural amenities. In the 1990s, the port area was redeveloped as a residential area, but according to the official mission statement from 2000: … these (living and) workspaces enlarge the quality, diversity and image of an area, they ‘produce’ culture, which adds to the cultural richness of the city […], and the social climate of the area is improved by offering facilities to the neighbourhood. (Cnossen, 2021, 398) When the financial crisis, which broke out in 2008, hit Amsterdam – politicians stressed the importance of a more direct contribution of the creative sector towards economic growth, “the art factory took on a more commercial approach, including small tech businesses and advertising agencies in its target audiences” (Peck, 2012, 469). In 1999 the municipality initiated a competition for temporary uses of the buildings of the former NDSM shipyard located at the northern banks of the IJ river, which closed in 1984 ­(Havik & Pllumbi, 2020). The artist collective Kinetisch Noord (Kinetic North) won the competition and has played a vital role in shaping the development of the area and still manages a former warehouse which offers workspaces for some 250 creative workers.7 This area also attracted high-end commercial uses with the arrival of MTV Europe in 2006, which was a kickstart for establishing similar companies (Savini & Dembski, 2016) and, later on, establishing the establishment of the headquarters of the Dutch department store chain HEMA. Bottom-up culturally directed initiatives have been gradually replaced by government and commercially led development, causing frustration with those who came before the market moved in. “It is a travesty that temporary projects that are successful and give identity and atmosphere to a location are not allowed to (co-)develop the place”, exclaims one opinion maker.8 Still, the municipality has acknowledged that the presence of the cultural entrepreneurs is crucial for keeping “alive the spirit and atmosphere of this rough and bohemian area” (Havik & Pllumbi, 2020, 301). The interventions in Amsterdam regarding the Type 1 cultural amenities can be seen as combining different strategies. The municipality has helped to create the conditions in terms of zoning but has also intervened by subsidising and, hence, (partly) decommodifying workspaces for workers in the cultural and creative industries. Type 3 large-scale of provision and niche-oriented

Large museums, significant places of remembrance and large cultural festivals are typical Type 3 cultural amenities. Their scale implies that they require a specific set of conditions and also that they significantly impact the urban context. They occupy scarce urban land and are often in central and popular locations. Their use might conflict with neighbouring urban functions. As said, being dependent on a large catchment area of visitors, good accessibility by public and private transport is a key condition. Moreover, additional facilities such as restaurants and cafés should also be located in close proximity. The fixed costs for establishing and maintaining Type 3 facilities often need considerable public sector support in terms of planning, zoning and funding. Their symbolism makes them powerful tools for place-making, and, at the same time, this symbolic power raises emotional debates (Kloosterman, 2014). In recent years, the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao is the most well-known example of a Type 3 cultural amenity that redirected a city’s economy (Grodach, 2008). This catalytic power remains a significant driving force for Type 3 amenities in Amsterdam. These projects speed up or direct the development of a specific part of the city, improve the conditions in its immediate

Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure  549 environment or change the city’s geography by giving new meaning to an area in the city or the city as a whole. In 2012, for example, the Dutch national film museum moved from Amsterdam’s historical inner city to a “gleaming iconic building” on a prominent location right behind Amsterdam Central Station on the other side of the IJ-river (Kloosterman, 2014). With its eyecatching architecture and 225,000 visitors a year, the museum is an important symbol of the transformation of former industrial northern part of the city into a hotbed for cognitive-cultural activities. For some time, the board of mayor and alderman wanted to build a large “Public Library Next” in Amsterdam’s financial district – South Ax – that developed on the edge of town in recent decades. “This multi-media initiative and laboratory for innovation would transform the business district into a living and working area with allure … and make the South-Ax a full part of the city”.9 After elections, a new board of mayor and aldermen decided that a new public library should be built in Amsterdam-Southeast; a working-class neighbourhood with many migrants from Suriname and (West) Africa. The case showed that projects as hobby horses for politicians are vulnerable. The South-Ax option was the personal preference of a powerful alderman but lacked a narrative that mobilised sufficient support. Nowadays, in an era of governance, decision-making typically occurs in networks of interdependent public and private actors. Within the Dutch institutional context, the municipal government often needs funding from the national government and private-sector actors to initiate and sustain Type 3 amenities. In addition, because of their potentially significant symbolic, social, economic, and cultural impact, many Type 3 projects are contested. A top-down intervention by policymakers to create grand projects may face serious obstacles. Broader decision-making arenas – part and parcel of governance practices with their participative processes – are often considered more suitable to deal with different voices and interests. A new theatre, a national slavery museum and the holocaust name memorial shed light on the dynamics involved in deciding about Type 3 amenities. The need to remember the more than 100,000 Dutch Jews (70,000 from Amsterdam), who died during the Holocaust is widely shared among Amsterdam’s citizens. The fact that the former Jewish quarters are an appropriate location for a place of remembrance is also hardly contested. Therefore, it might be considered surprising that the location and the design of a monument with all the victims’ names ended up in such a bitter dispute.10 Everything from the site to the monument’s design by internationally acclaimed architect Daniel Libeskind became controversial. The architect claimed the protest was “part of a worldwide denial of the Holocaust”. On the other hand, one of the protesters stated that “the Nazis tried to discard the Jews of their identity, and the monument does the same thing because it is too enormous”. Opponents denounced the authoritarian approach of Eberhard van der Laan, the former mayor of Amsterdam. These critics feared the effect of 200,000 visitors per year and decried the loss of green space in the densely built-up area in the inner city. Proponents considered the opponents, at best nimby’s and, at worst, deniers who do not want to be remembered of the fact that they lived in houses of Jewish Amsterdammers who were killed. While the example of the monument might be an extreme example, many large cultural amenities have enormous symbolic importance for many and have a profound impact on the daily living environment of many. A similar scenario seems to be in the offing for the planned slavery museum. According to the plans of the board of mayor and alderman of Amsterdam, this slavery museum must be housed in an iconic building in a “meaningful place” located at the waterfront.11 While, the location still had to be chosen, an alderman in 2022 still intended to12 open the museum in 2025 because that coincides with the symbolic moment of Amsterdam’s 750th anniversary. Under these conditions – a sensitive subject, outspoken architecture, urban sites that are high in demand, a considerable impact

550  R. C. Kloosterman and J. de Vries on the direct environment and time pressure – it is not hard to imagine that the decision-making process will lead to controversies like those on the holocaust monument. The case of a new theatre in the outlying disadvantaged neighbourhood of New West sheds light on another dimension of governance and Type 3 amenities. In the past, they were often developed as projects by themselves. Currently, establishing Type 3 amenities is often part of ­public-private area development projects. The existing nearly 50-year-old theatre will be replaced with a modernised and upgraded version. The plan fits the municipal policy goals of spreading tourism from the city centre to outlying districts and giving disadvantaged neighbourhoods their fair share of public facilities. Opponents are not against the new theatre but fear that nature and the quality of the public space will be harmed. The problem has become intractable because a hotel needs to be built at the current location of the theatre, and the lake is the only feasible alternative for the theatre. The new theatre is, in practice, part of a public-private partnership that redevelops the neighbourhood centre. A similar approach was suggested for the Public Library Next. “By adding offices on the top floors, the private sector will pay for the public facility library” the alderman promoting the plan, claimed.13 In the case of Type 3 amenities, just like regarding Type 1 amenities, the municipality has opted both for zoning interventions and also for providing funding to enable the establishment and the running of them. The Type 3 amenities, however, are not the result of bottom-up processes but of deliberate planning interventions. Their scale and social, economic, and cultural impact as well as their symbolic value requires the conscious creation of coalitions bounded by shared narratives that would appeal to a broad field of stakeholders. Type 4 large-scale of provision and mainstream-oriented

While Type 4 large-scale and mainstream cultural amenities, such as cinemas, concert halls, large theatres, stadiums, and event halls, share some of the characteristics of Type 3 amenities, they are in a class of their own for many reasons. While just like many Type 3 amenities, Type 4 amenities require specific purpose-made, large structures to accommodate large crowds. Frequently, the architectural design has to reflect the image of the offering of the amenity or the brand that runs the amenity. Fixed costs tend to be high, and consequently, economies of scale are prevalent. Driven by mainstream demand and commercial investment, Type 4 amenities adhere strongly to market needs and typically tend to locate not in the centres of larger cities but, at least in the West-European context, on the outskirts near highways or, as in the case of space-consuming theme parks. (Kloosterman, 2014, 2521). Land for development is cheaper, and it is less complicated to develop. Compared to inner-city locations, edge city developments often provide visitors with more affordable and convenient (car) access. Amsterdam provides a case in which the trend towards large-scale, out-of-town entertainment complexes has been avoided or at least strongly mitigated. A national law, dating back from the 1970s, basically prohibited the greenfield development of retail (Evers, 2004). Although Type 4 amenities are not retail, the development of entertainment complexes often includes large-scale retail to render them profitable. Investors in retail and entertainment complexes are often large international companies. Their financial muscle and access to legal expertise enable them in many countries to put pressure on local governments facilitate such greenfield developments. The fact that the prohibition is a national law pre-empts the danger of local governments being legally checkmated or “bribed” with financial promises by large investors. From 1980s, the city of Amsterdam accommodated the demand for large-scale e­ ntertainment – among others, a new stadium – and retail complexes by master planning a zone – the Arena Boulevard – within a 1960s urban extension – Amsterdam-Southeast (Evers, 2004). This area

Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure  551 was conveniently located vis-à-vis motorways and public transport (train and metro). As the Amsterdam-Southeast is a socio-economically disadvantaged area, it also provided opportunities to boost the neighbourhood’s economy with hosting several big-box retail shops, two concert halls, a big-box cinema, and a football stadium. National and Amsterdam’s planning policies combined various types of amenities. It also balanced the commercial demand for a peripheral location and the public desire to accommodate these functions within the urban fabric. Inserting these large-scale amenities in this vacant part of Amsterdam was relatively easy in marked contrast to creating a vibrant urban environment. Nevertheless, the advisory Amsterdam Art Council emphasises the area’s unrealised potential as a proper entertainment district.14 Conclusion Cultural amenities, in our view, comprise much more than these large-scale projects. Furthermore, at least in many Western cities, due to processes of splintering urbanism and shifts from state to more market allocation, the field of urban planning – the goals, the instruments, and the composition of the actors – has altered into one of governance with the involvement of multiple actors from the state, market and civil society. Ignoring the variety of cultural amenities and urban governance practices carries the risk that cultural planning is approached as a one size fits all exercise. The conceptual framework provided in this chapter combines a typology of cultural amenities with a palette of current urban planning strategies. This framework links particular types of cultural amenities to specific (packages of) interventions and is intended as a frame of heuristic devices. It allows for exploring insights between cultural amenities and urban governance (cp. Salet & de Vries, 2019). As heuristic devices, they need to be elaborated in empirically grounded categories, which can subsequently be turned into hypotheses (Kelle, 2010). The framework tentatively indicates the directions for this elaboration and applies to a wide range of urban contexts. We used real-life cases from Amsterdam to illustrate the framework. What are the takeaways from this first exploration? Analysing the four types of amenities through indirect interventions provides several insights. Different types of narratives are relevant for supporting cultural amenities’ creation and management. First, an identity narrative supports the joint mission of actors and, as a marketing tool, can attract clientele. The examples of promoting the Spiegelkwartier as Amsterdam’s “Art and Fashion District” or the Johan Cruijff Boulevard as an entertainment district are cases in point. Second, a legitimation narrative provides the local government with arguments to support specific cultural projects. These narratives are closely connected to the idea of cultural projects as catalysts. Legitimation in these narratives can have different origins. The South-Axe financial district library proposal was based on the idea that the urban government is responsible for creating urbanity in this new district. The subsequent move of the library to Amsterdam-Southeast is based on a justcity perspective. The changing relationships between the state, private sector, and civil society under governance and the shift to indirect governmental interventions have implications for the spatial logic of decision-making on cultural amenities. Under circumstances of direct intervention, the state could create solidarity on an urban-wide scale. It could assign public funds to projects anywhere in the city. Under conditions of indirect interventions, a direct relationship exists between private sector investments and cultural amenities. Therefore, the location of cultural amenities is more dependent on the ability to raise private funds, such as the theatre that is part of a commercial redevelopment program. Whereas a city-wide spatial logic might have led in the past, an area development logic currently seems more dominant (cf Hutton, 2016, who concludes

552  R. C. Kloosterman and J. de Vries that current cultural amenities are often part of larger urban development projects and thrive in mixed-use environments). The shift towards a more entrepreneurial city carries the risk that small-scale niche cultural amenities may fall victim to their success. These Type 1 cultural amenities are often catalysts of neighbourhood transformations but are often pushed out when the area becomes more attractive (as in the case of NDSM). The emergence and survival of these ecosystems are often threatened by profit-driven private-sector actors, which may drive up rents and push out less profitable activities. This may not be that much of a problem when other areas with cheap spaces in the city are available. Accessible physical spaces which allow the clustering of smallscale, niche-­oriented cultural amenities are a precondition for quality of place. When these are scarce, state or civil society sector actors should step in to keep the market at bay (Brandellero & ­Kloosterman, 2010; Currid, 2007). Governance networks should give room to these interests and, in doing so, contribute to the maintenance of type amenities. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

https://www.taminoautographs.com/blogs/autograph-blog/best-modern-opera-houses-of-the-world https://www.sieradenroute.nl/ Translation by the authors. Personal communication Jochem de Vries with a jewellery shop owner 10-09-2022. Het Parool 22-07-2022. Het Parool 22-07-2022. https://spiegelkwartier.nl/en/home https://ndsmloods.nl/broedplaats/ Het Parool 11-02-2020. Het Parool 22-10-2022. Het Parool 25-5-2019; NRC Handelsblad 17-10-2017. Parool 7-1-2023. Het Parool 26-1-2022 Het Parool 22-10-2022. https://www.kunstraad.nl/advies/hoofdlijnen-2017-2020/

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Planning and sustaining an inclusive urban infrastructure  553 Grodach, C. (2008). Museums as urban catalysts: The role of urban design in flagship cultural development. Journal of Urban Design, 13(2), 195–212. Hajer, M. (2009). Authoritative Governance: Policy-Making in the Age of Mediatization. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Havik, K., & Pllumbi, D. (2020). Urban commoning and architectural situated knowledge: The Architects’ role in the transformation of the NDSM ship Wharf, Amsterdam. Architecture and Culture, 8(2), 289–308. Hutton, T. A. (2016). Cities and the Cultural Economy. London/New York: Routledge. Jacobs, J. (1961). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Vintage Books. Kelle, U. (2010). The development of categories: Different approaches in grounded theory. In The Sage Handbook of Grounded Theory, edited A. Bryant and K. Charmaz, (pp. 191–213). Los Angeles/London/ New Delhi/Singapore/Washington, DC: Sage. Kloosterman, R. C. (2004). Recent employment trends in the cultural industries in Amsterdam, Rotterdam, the Hague and Utrecht: A first exploration. Tijdschrift voor economische en sociale geografie, 95(2), 243–252. Kloosterman, R. C. (2014). Cultural amenities: Large and small, mainstream and niche – A conceptual framework for cultural planning in an age of austerity. European Planning Studies, 22(12), 2510–2525. Kloosterman, R. C., & Brandellero, A. M. C. (2016). “All these places have their moments”: Exploring the micro-geography of music scenes: The Indica Gallery and the Chelsea hotel. M/C Journal, 19, 6. http:// journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1105 Kloosterman, R. C., & Trip, J. J. (2011). Planning for quality? Assessing the role of quality of place in current Dutch planning practice. Journal of Urban Design, 16(4), 455–470. Mommaas, H. (2004). Cultural clusters and post-industrial city: Towards the remapping of urban cultural policy. Urban Studies, 41(3), 507–532. Peck, J. (2012). Recreative city: Amsterdam, vehicular ideas and the adaptive spaces of creativity policy. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 36(3), 462–485. Plaza, B., & Haarich, S. N. (2015). The Guggenheim Museum Bilbao: Between regional embeddedness and global networking. European Planning Studies, 23(8), 1456–1475. Ponzini, D. (2014). The values of starchitecture: Commodification of architectural design in contemporary cities. Organizational Aesthetics, 3(1), 10–18. Prak, M. (2005). The Dutch Republic in the Seventeenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pratt, A. C. (2008). Creative cities: The cultural industries and the creative class. Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography, 90(2), 107–117. Salet, W., & de Vries, J. (2019). Contextualisation of policy and law in sustainable urban development. Journal of Environmental Planning and Management, 62(2), 189–204. Savini, F. (2019). Responsibility, polity, value: The (un)changing norms of planning practices. Planning Theory, 18(1), 58–81. Savini, F., & Dembski, S. (2016). Manufacturing the creative city: Symbols and politics of Amsterdam North. Cities, 55, 139–147. Schama, S. (1988). The Embarrassment of Riches: An Interpretation of Dutch Culture in the Golden Age. Berkeley: University of California Press. Scott, A. J. (1999). The cultural economy: Geography and the creative field. Media, Culture & Society, 21(6), 807–817. Scott, A. J. (2006). Creative cities: Conceptual issues and policy questions. Journal of Urban Affairs, 28(1), 1–17. Stead, D. (2021). Conceptualizing the policy tools of spatial planning. Journal of Planning Literature, 36(3), 297–311.

45

Global cities in the making Caitlin Morrissey and Michele Acuto

Introduction Creativity has, for the past few decades, been represented as a key asset to global city-making. As we detail more in depth below, it has led to a thriving genre of not only urban research engaged with creative industries but also to a more and more popular business of creativity-driven advising and policymaking in cities the world over. To this end, we would argue it is critical for the contemporary urban scholar and local decision-maker alike to consider the creativity-built environment nexus as a crucial urban development factor in global cities. In this chapter, we aim to introduce this nexus and sketch a brief guide to what the engagement with creativity encompasses in the global cities literature. We do so, however, also seeking to expand this vocabulary towards a broader sense of “global urbanism” (Lancione & McFarlane 2021) and towards an engagement with creativity that takes into account both the value of seeing it via an alternative “worlding” lens (Roy & Ong 2011). This is a “global urban” (Parnell & Robinson 2017) positionality that, whilst recognising the power of creativity in casting many cities’ and scholars’ gazes on urban development, can and should also be seen from broader and non-Western experiences like those of Southeast Asia or Sub-Saharan Africa, and in turn inform a wider more cosmopolitan (Lawhon & Truelove 2020) sense of global city-making. Creativity and the built environment: A global city view Creativity has a long history of being treated as a key feature of “global city” discourses and practices. It has shaped both the way we conceive of the globalisation of cities, as well as the focus of much of both practice and academic debate over a fair few decades at the very least (Harrison and Hoyler, 2018) This is also no peculiarity of urban studies, as the introduction to this compendium notes. Scholarship in cultural studies (Nelson 2010) has already pointed repeatedly at the extensive contemporary purchase of creativity and creative discourses across humanities and social sciences from at least the 1950s and their repeated (and often re-told) histories of influence in the way we conceive of world-making not least in the built environment. A similar argument can also be made for the equivalent influence of creative thinking in more STEM-based built environment disciplines like engineering (e.g. Cropley 2016), or indeed the touch points between these and social scientific and humanities approaches to urban questions (Björkman & Harris 2018). We can perhaps trace the lineage of the current “strand” of creative-fuelled globalisation of cities to the late-1980s and 1990s. In our corner of the world in Melbourne, David Yencken’s work on the Creative City (1988), or Charles Landry’s 1991 study on Glasgow, burgeoned an increasing attention to both this term and its practical implication, as more and more built DOI: 10.4324/9781003292821-50

Global cities in the making  555 environment disciplines begun diving and dissecting the relationship between creativity and urban development. In fact, STEM-based built environment disciplines and practitioners have also begun echoing the increasingly common association between creativity and innovation since the middle of the 20th century, with an increasing degree of interest in the power of the creative class and creative industries often fuelled by the popularity of those 1990s discourses but also propelled by a new generation of “thought leaders” and advocates of the creative class that took to the halls of city leadership the world over at the turn of the century. Poster child of this international success is, of course, the work of Toronto-based American urbanist Richard Florida whose work on the “rise” and power of the creative class as a positive driving force for economic development of post-industrial cities is now well-established credo across many countries and local authorities (Florida 2002). Whilst much could be said about the power of this approach to take to the halls of conferences, City Halls and urban development authorities worldwide, not least through (academic) consultants and urban experts like Florida, it is also important to underscore that much of this discourse also flourished into urban studies and economic geography scholarship. This expanded both into a focus on creative clustering and agglomeration in cities, as well as on the global circuits of talent and expertise (Florida 2008), but also ushered what are now ongoing and ingrained critiques of this approach and debates on its nature (Wilson & Keil 2008; Pratt 2011). Hence, the first decade of the 2000s witnessed a heyday of both academic discussions as to the creative underpinnings of the globalisation of cities, and a burgeoning industry of initiatives, strategies, and consultants focused on the creative dimensions of global cities (Pratt 2008; Chapain & De Propris 2009; Flew 2013). In this context, creativity has fuelled much of contemporary urban development practice across many contexts around the world and, at the outset of the 21st century, has taken a front seat in many development discourses internationally. The economics and planning implications of creativity for the globalisation of cities by scholars, practitioners, and scholar-practitioners (or vice-versa) have become a leitmotif of much conferencing and global city-making and a key feature of “global city speak” (McNeill 2016). At the same time, the evolution of this mode of thinking also brought about, as we noted, a now well-established space for critique. The 2010s, for instance, saw more and more calls for more nuanced appreciations of creativity and its role in shaping the urban governance of cities. This has, for instance, spurred discussions of the growing “creative policy gap” between policymakers and those engaged in all kinds of creative practice and a demand to better unpack how “creativity” is constructed, contested, and performed in specific urban contexts (Borén & Young 2013). At the same time, the strands quickly sketched above persist today in even broader facets that consider not only creativity but the relationship between knowledge (and knowledge economy) and globalisation in cities, reaching now in well-established ways into start-ups, innovation, technology (e.g. Adler & Florida 2021), and indeed in the context of post-COVID reconstruction (Florida, Rodríguez-Pose & Storper 2023). In short, we would therefore argue that we need to think even more broadly not just of creativity as an asset in the globalisation of cities but of creative thinking as a field of city-making in itself. Broadening global city worldviews Whilst the confines of a brief summary chapter might not allow us to do justice to such a widespread phenomenon, we would like the reader to pause and consider this story for a moment from an alternative worldview. In fact, much of the complex success of, and many would argue purchase by, creativity in global city-making is often told from a Northern-centric point of view and with reference, as we have done above, to major Euro-American characters. Alternative

556  C. Morrissey and Michele Acuto viewpoints are essential for anyone tackling the role of creativity in global city thinking today. Paramount here is, for instance, the work of Singaporean geographer Lily Kong in and about Singapore’s engagement with the creative economy. Kong’s investigations (often co-authored with colleagues from Singaporean academic institutions) have sought to point into tension and productive dialogue in the encounter of broader globalisation discourses, networks, and political economies with local practices and points of view in Asia. From that de-centred angle, Kong’s (2007) and others’ work has already made eloquent points about the power of creativity to embed itself at the heart of national identity projects, and global city status aspirations, with arts and culture on the one hand and creative thinking on the other as engines of not just globalisation of city-making in many contexts well beyond just Singapore. In a similar vein, the work of Jenny Mbaye on the role of culture-driven urban development in Africa also stressed important counterpoints to the often more popularised, and indeed gendered we would argue, narratives emanating from work like Florida’s. Mbaye, for instance, recently highlights through the prisms of Sub-Saharan Africa and also informal urbanism how the “much derided” (Mbaye & Pratt 2020) phenomenon of the “creative city” has held important places in the urban trajectories of many Southern and holds much promise in for instance opening up for more diverse views on what makes for urban development and in “recognizing southern complexity” (Mbaye 2014). We point here to the work of Kong or Mbaye as exemplars of a much broader movement to tell and re-tell the story above, often cited and practised through the voice of white male urbanists, through diverse lenses on the centrality (and problems) of creativity in the process of global urban development (e.g. Dinardi 2017). This, to us, means embracing the possibilities of broader views of global city-making of the kind chronicled by Kong and others and of the global urban trajectories urban development (McFarlane & Silver 2017) can take in diverse contexts around the world. Creativity, from this point of view, is not only a powerful asset and pervasive “ideas industry” in circuits of global city-making (Acuto 2022; Keidar & Silver 2022) but also a core component of the way we imagine the “global” in cities. It is in itself an essential piece of the act of “worlding” (Spivak 1999) of urban processes, cities, and urbanisation, which allows us to expand the vocabulary and practice of global(ly engaged) city-making from a more inclusive point of view. The sense of “worlding” cities then becomes central to this empirical and theoretical move but also highly influential to the ways in which practice can position itself vis-a-vis city-making. Notably, Ong (2011) asserts that it is through worlding processes, practices, and strategies that urban stakeholders articulate their aspirations for “global city” futures. Worlding operates a process-led view of global city-making, acknowledging that there are endless pathways that cities can take, multiple actors involved and intentional actions that they take in pursuit of global city status. It shifts away from thinking of “global” as a categorical trait possessed by a small number of cities, usually in the Global North, towards “globalising” which is a property that is inherent in all cities (Marcuse & van Kempen 2000). Ananya Roy and Aihwa Ong’s (2011) now well-established and highly cited conceptualisation of worlding was developed in response to the call for more a Southern and post-colonial urban theory that recognises the specificities and unique dynamics of urbanisation and globalisation in cities beyond the Global North (Beier 2019; ­Chubarov & Brooker 2013). Critically for the discussion at hand in this chapter, this approach is part of a lineage of analytical and theoretical innovations that have engaged on a project to foster a more inclusive and internationalised global urban studies by de-centring the Eurocentric and North American perspectives in urban theory (Governa 2021; Mouton 2021; Beier 2019; M ­ cCann et al 2013; Montero 2017; Connolly 2019). We would therefore argue it to be necessary for students and practitioners of creativity in the built environment to attend to the alternative views on these themes that have emerged from Southern, non-Western, non-Euro-American urbanists.

Global cities in the making  557 Creative thinking and the “making” of global cities Unsurprisingly, then, our own positionality owes much to these alternative worldviews on the role of creativity in the making of global cities. As we argue throughout this chapter, our is an approach aimed at expanding beyond but in dialogue with the “ordinary city” critique ­(Robinson, 2006), in collaborative debate with global city research but also much more explicitly pointing towards the value of a broader “global urban” angle when it comes to studying and practising global city-making as well as more specifically when it comes to questions of creativity as in this chapter. In fact, as we stress in the next section, creativity itself is a critical field of inquiry and practice where this re-balancing of points of view, practical traditions, and a more cosmopolitan sense of where the “global” in the “global city” can be found. We speak and write from a positionality, that of Melbourne, that as noted above has been often at the heart of espousing and promoting the “creative city” ideal, as with reference to Yencken’s 1980s work or the City of Melbourne’s and Victorian state government’s engagement with the creative economy as base for our own city’s globalisation. Yet we do so perhaps with a wider Asia-Pacific positionality in a more “global urban” sense that would better attend to the long history and critical contribution of, for instance, East Asian scholars and practitioners (as with Singapore to name but one such locale) and with insistence in pushing the reader here beyond the “metrocentricity” (Bunnell & Maringanti 2010) of creative global city discourses summarised at the beginning of the previous section. This leads us to a two-pronged reality we see in understanding the nexus of creativity and built environment in our experiences: creative thinking can be seen as a field of global citymaking, but also that creative thinking underpins creative global city-making. The connected practices of imagination and creativity are woven into conceptualising, aspiring towards and performing global urban futures (Dunn 2018), so much so that under worlding theory Aiwha Ong characterises these processes as “the art of being global” (Ong 2011, p. 3). We identify imaginaries and aspirations as the nuclei of creativity in global city-making. Our approach to the creativity-built environment nexus is premised on our understanding of creativity as a process where imaginaries are made up through deliberate interventions. Creativity is in our human nature, human ideas and imaginations inform the creative endeavour of city-making, and therefore, all cities are creative. As in art, imagined aspirations and ideals of the global future of the city contain the power to motivate acts of creation. In cities, this might take the form of new infrastructures, new institutions, new places, or new industries (Bunnell & Goh 2012). The urban imagination is informed by a combination of the city’s past, the city’s present, and an ideal of a “better” future for the city. For some actors in some cities, becoming “more global” is tied into their aspiration for the city to become better than it currently is. Much has been written about what “being global” means from different disciplinary and theoretical perspectives (see McNeill 2016). Informed by worlding, we argue that all actors in cities have the creative freedom to determine what “being global” means and what being “more global” looks and feels like to them. But we recognise that the capacity to materialise these ideas and visions is not so evenly spread. There is a coalition of actors that mobilise in the transformation of cities and it is worthwhile to consider whose creativity shapes city-making. In the introduction to Worlding Cities: Asian Experiments and the Art of Being Global, Ong (2011, p. 9) states her reluctance to map out actors “on the side of power” or “on the side of resistance”. O’Connor et al (2020) observe that the Creative City as an ideal has a particularly noticeable “affective buy-in” from beyond the urban political elite, making it unusually ripe ground for potentially democratic transformations. From an analytical perspective, mapping creativity in global city-making requires very contextually specific engagement with the power dynamics within in particular case studies and

558  C. Morrissey and Michele Acuto locales. However, many authors do observe and describe power relations and the divergences between those with the capacity to aspire and materialise their visions. Bunnell and Goh (2012) observe from their work in cities in Asia that the capacity to materialise global aspirations is often confined to society’s privileged actor groups. Dunn (2018) highlights the visionary capacity of particular built environment professionals, such as architects, planners, and urban designers. They might be thought of in addition to the policymakers, urbanists, academics, and consultants we mentioned earlier. These are the actors that often produce visionary imaginaries. In her assessment of urban transformation rhetoric and imaginaries in large Sub-Saharan African cities, Watson (2014) analyses what she describes as “urban fantasy plans” (p. 215): recently published planning documents, press releases, and development plans that mobilise smart city and ecocity rhetoric. She observes that the authors are often global private sector companies, with little democratic or participatory process involved in their making, even if the plans can be found on government websites. In locations earmarked for comprehensive renewal, Watson notes that those most at risk of eviction from proposed private development are the large numbers of urban dwellers living in informal settlements with unregulated tenure. Even for communities not living in locations marked for clearance, they are at risk of reduced investment in infrastructure, sanitation, power, and water as resources are directed to new cities and neighbourhoods. Here, the challenge is two-fold: the non-democratic process of plan-making obscures the capacity of the wider population to voice or vote for their aspirations, and the plan that is endorsed stands to enormously impact everyday lives in the city in multiple, potentially detrimental, ways. Critical scholars deeply lament the bind of imaginative lock-in that has emerged from a few individuals, representing a few social groups, who have produced, imposed, and shared hegemonic ideas about, in this case, globalness and creativity (Dunn 2018). Approaching global city-making as a field of creative practice creates the opportunity for urban scholars to think critically about how, where, why and by who the (global) future of cities is imagined and created (Bunnell & Goh 2012; Watson 2014; Dunn 2018; Zeiderman & Dawson 2021). Making the creative global city To frame creative thinking as a field of global city-making allows us to explore how urban imaginaries and dreams have real implications on spatial, political, social, and institutional worlds and futures in aspiring global cities (Bhan 2014). Worlding theory has been especially instructive here because of the way it recalibrates notions of creativity and global cities. It shifts the focus from creativity as an asset of global cities to being an essential dimension in the process of global city-making (see Table 45.1 for a comparative summary of creative city scholarship). Despite critiques and condemnations of notions of creativity that base its value on economic prosperity, this thinking is still very influential. As we have acknowledged at the beginning of the chapter, creativity is a “highly successful economic imaginary” in global city discourses and practices (Gerosa 2022, p. 132). As an ideal in itself, creativity has taken a prominent role in guiding and influencing urban development practices in city-making. The global mobility of “successful” creative policies and practices through conferences, consultancy, and media circuits means that normative neoliberal notions of the creative global city have become widely sought after (Pratt 2011; McCann et al 2013). The development goal of becoming more global by becoming more creative is premised on the idea that creative “vibes” are linked to more prosperity and more investment in cities (Banks 2022). This is shorthand for a vibrant urban cultural life that has the capacity to attract, sustain, and retain global flows of talent, investment, and ideas (Kong 2007). This is the connection between creativity and globalisation we described earlier. As Pratt (2011, p. 4) sardonically asks, “who would be unhappy with this?”

Global cities in the making  559 Table 45.1  Approaches to creativity and the built environment nexus in global cities Notions of creativity

Locating creativity in the global city

Evidence of creativity

Theories and literatures

Creativity as an asset for globalisation

Creativity as an outcome: An economic imaginary that approaches creativity as a characteristic that cities have or can acquire. Conflates more creativity with more attractiveness and prosperity Creativity in the process: The creative thinking that informs the making of global cities

Creative city policies, attempts to agglomerate creative economies, investment in large cultural infrastructures Aspirations, imaginaries, creative approaches to governance

Creative class thesis Innovation economics Creative economies World class cities

Creative thinking in the process of making the global city

Worlding theory Global urban futures Urban aspirations Globalising cities Ordinary cities

The notion that creativity can be amassed has led to the creation of policies to foster creative industries and support cultural amenities. Much has been written about the kinds of tactics intentionally deployed under creative city policy, like the creation of iconic locations for cultural consumption, clustering arts activities, investing in quality of life amenities, marketing urban heritage, and policies for place promotion (Doel & Hubbard 2002; Kong 2007; Gerosa 2022). These are seen as essential strategies for actors in a city seeking to affirm its global status, but critics argue that internalised notions of “success” have rather un-creatively produced repeated typologies of cultural institutions, spaces, and neighbourhoods in different cities around the world (d’Ovidio & Cossu 2017). The practice of using creativity to reposition a city’s global status and boost its image has been condemned because of the “creative policy gap” they produce between the spaces where global art is consumed and the communities where local art is produced (Borén & Young 2013, p. 1799; d’Ovidio & Cossu 2017). This is where the rhetoric of creativity is at odds with urban reality. One manifestation of the gap is when grassroots creative communities receive the support of policy and investment on a much smaller scale than highbrow or showcase creative endeavours (Strom 2020). On the other end of the spectrum, much more multi-scalar support for creativity can inadvertently produce a troubling contradiction. Where local articulations of creativity are preserved and nurtured alongside showcase projects, McNeill (2016) and Pasotti (2021) observe that this in itself can have the unintended consequence of becoming more attractive to capital and to organisations boosting the image of the creative global city and facilitating unintended waves of regeneration and gentrification (Storm 2020). O’Connor et al (2020) characterise the challenge of the creative city in the way it “articulates both utopian aspiration and the most brutal gentrification” (p. 4). Conclusions Our answer to the question “what is a creative city?” is all cities. In adopting a worlding theoryled approach to the creativity-built environment nexus, we demonstrate how taking up an alternative notion of creativity in cities can lead us to generate a more inclusive approach to creative cities. In this chapter, we explore the nexus of creativity and built environment of global cities in two ways. We argue that creative thinking can be seen as a field of global city-making, and

560  C. Morrissey and Michele Acuto that creative thinking underpins creative global city-making. There are countless lists of “the world’s most creative cities” which measure and compare the abundance of creativity in cities. Their rankings are based on methodologies, sometimes inspired by the Rise of the Creative Class (Florida 2002), which measure creativity by tallying characteristics such as the number of knowledge workers, number of start-ups, and the size and diversity of cultural infrastructures. Naturally, the implication is that only the small number of cities abundant in these specific assets or industries count as being creative. We argue that cities have not recently become creative simply because there are new and popular ways to “measure” urban creativity. Through worlding theory, we are recasting creativity as a dimension of all cities, but one that manifests itself differentially and uniquely. It is important that we contextualise our approach to creativity as an emerging alternative to the pervasive notion of creativity as an urban asset. We adopt this approach to support loud calls for the departure away from the “one size fits all mentality of the creative city” (Pratt 2011, p. 2) and, more broadly, to reinforce a cosmopolitan shift towards a more global urbanism. References Acuto, M. (2022). How to Build a Global City. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Adler, P., & Florida, R. (2021). “The rise of urban tech: How innovations for cities come from cities”. Regional Studies, 55(10–11), 1787–1800. Banks, D. A. (2022). “The attention economy of authentic cities: How cities behave like influencers”. European Planning Studies, 30(1), 195–209. Beier, R. (2019). “Worlding cities in the Middle East and North Africa – arguments for a conceptual turn”. Middle East – Topics & Arguments, 12, 28–34. Bhan, G. (2014). “The real lives of urban fantasies”. Environment and Urbanization, 26(1), 232–235. Björkman, L., & Harris, A. (2018). “Engineering cities: Mediating materialities, infrastructural imaginaries and shifting regimes of urban expertise”. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 42(2), 244–262. Borén, T., & Young, C. (2013). “Getting creative with the ‘creative city’? Towards new perspectives on creativity in urban policy”. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 37(5), 1799–1815. Bunnell, T., & Goh, D. P. S. (2012). “Urban aspirations and Asian cosmopolitanisms”. Geoforum, 43(1), 1–3. Bunnell, T., & Maringanti, A. (2010). “Practising urban and regional research beyond metrocentricity”. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 34(2), 415–420. Chapain, C., & De Propris, L. (2009). “Drivers and processes of creative industries in cities and regions”. Creative Industries Journal, 2(1), 9–18. Chubarov, I., & Brooker, D. (2013) “Multiple pathways to global city formation: A functional approach and review of recent evidence in China”. Cities, 35, 181–189. Connolly, C. (2019). “Worlding cities through transportation infrastructure”. Environment and Planning A: Economy and Space, 51(3), 617–635. Cropley, D. H. (2016). Creativity in engineering. In Corazza, G. E., & Agnoli, S. (Eds.). Multidisciplinary Contributions to the Science of Creative Thinking. Singapore: Springer, 155–173. d’Ovidio, M., & Cossu, A. (2017). “Culture is reclaiming the creative city: The case of Macao in Milan, Italy”. City, Culture and Society, 8, 7–12. Dinardi, C. (2017). “Cities for sale: Contesting city branding and cultural policies in Buenos Aires”. Urban Studies, 54(1), 85–101. Doel, M., & Hubbard, P. (2002). “Taking world cities literally: Marketing the city in a global space of flows”. City, 6(3), 351–368. Dunn, N. (2018). Urban imaginaries and the palimpsest of the future. In Lindner, C., & Meissner, M. (Eds.). The Routledge Companion to Urban Imaginaries. London & New York: Routledge.

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Afterword: From creative cluster to innovation complex Aspirational infrastructure for anxious cities Sharon Zukin

I still carry a black canvas shoulder bag embossed in white with the name of a conference I attended in Tokyo in 2015: the Innovative City Forum. Our discussions, according to a description I have read online, “provided compelling examples and projects demonstrating that innovation can potentially change the way we traditionally design and build our cities and urban communities.” Just a few weeks earlier, I could have got a similar bag at a similarly inspirational meeting—this one, in Fabriano, Italy, the UNESCO Creative City Forum. This conference focused on industrial cities relaunching themselves through “creativity.” In the following years, each of these conferences has seeded many more events and a multitude of organizations and networks to promote their concerns. But where did the discourse of creativity and innovation come from? How did these aspirational tropes become a mobilizing force in the built environment? Since the postindustrial age began, city leaders have searched for policy tools and promotional tropes that offer new strategies of economic growth. They have taken inspiration from business trends and trendy lifestyles, hoping to both mobilize local resources and attract outside investors. In the 1950s and ‘60s, competition in the service economy and the proliferation of consumer brands opened the business world to “creativity,” a concept that promised to produce distinction, and gradually, this idea caught on with urban leaders who also felt forced to compete—in this case, with other cities. Later, in the 1980s and ‘90s, the rise of the computer industry and the Internet revolution directed CEOs’ attention to “innovation,” a concept that prompted them to encourage change; city leaders caught on to this idea, too, after the financial crisis of 2008. When each of these concepts was spun into a new urban imaginary, it suggested that cities could capture a wide range of economic and cultural value. But this required a new vision of the built environment. From creative clusters, districts, and communities to the creative cities model, and from scientific innovation districts for “eds and meds” to an innovation complex for multiple uses and actors, the regeneration of physical forms would provide aspirational infrastructure for urban growth. Neither creativity nor innovation requires a specific type of built environment. Conceptually, however, each begins with a social space that brings together groups of highly skilled people who practice specialized forms of knowledge and craft. For work, each group has different spatial needs. While creative artists, dancers, and musicians need studio space, scientists and engineers work in offices and laboratories. Although both artists and scientists often work on their own, they all need a shared space to exchange ideas informally in a convivial setting. Earlytwentieth-century engineers at Bell Labs in New York City talked about their work over lunch in the company cafeteria. Late-twentieth-century artists in Lower Manhattan—not far from the original home of Bell Labs—argued about their work in bars. Whether these spaces only form the base of an ecosystem where insiders exchange ideas or they also develop into a “scene” that attracts outsiders, they become distinctive places. This distinction attracts more activities that

564  Sharon Zukin are designed to harmonize with, and capitalize on, the dominant theme; the areas grow an aura of suitably curated services. Then, after their promoters, the media, or urban planners label them as “creative” clusters and “innovation” districts, the social spaces that were created from the bottom up by artists or scientists generate a model that can be generalized and imposed from the top down. Local government, real estate developers, and public-private-nonprofit partnerships take charge of building new physical infrastructure to match the aspirational trope, even if the cost of doing so displaces the original place-makers. Creative workers occupy a precarious position in the built environment because they are usually renters. Because they can’t afford to pay high rents, they search for studio space in gritty, disinvested areas. By contrast, tech and science workers are often corporate or university employees whose workspace is provided for them. For this reason, they often work in newly built suburban office parks and research centers. If, in the late twentieth century, the industrial lofts of SoHo in Lower Manhattan represented the archetypal built environment for a creative district, the office parks and university labs of Silicon Valley, in the San Francisco Bay Area, formed the ideal type of innovation complex. But, after the 2008 financial crisis, tech firms and city leaders began to think about urbanizing the Silicon Valley model. Prodded by researchers at the Brookings Institution in Washington, D.C., and business consultants, elected officials turned toward the tech industry. In New York, for example, economic development officials and local business leaders thought encouraging the tech industry would reduce the city’s dependence on an increasingly unreliable banking sector. At the same time, tech companies began to see cities as both a huge market for their products and a reservoir of “talent.” Young college graduates who were disillusioned by big banks’ role in causing the financial crisis, as well as by diminished career prospects in finance, turned toward the tech industry too. Like most young artists, many young tech workers wanted to live in cities. The growing prominence of software in the tech industry and the demand for app developers gave cities a quick boost. Proximity to business customers drew both big tech firms and small startups to urban locations. Because cities are economically diverse, they offer many different opportunities for new businesses. Moreover, cities are socially and culturally diverse, which cross-pollinates new ideas and styles. These locational advantages have led the biggest, most cosmopolitan cities in each region of the world to position themselves as “supercities” for both artistic creativity and engineering innovation. During the 2010s, when creative city networks and innovative city forums emerged, city leaders from Barcelona to Brooklyn began to redevelop the built environment to match their aspirational image. Although real estate developers were initially suspicious of tech startups with no financial track record, the reuse of old industrial buildings for tech hubs and coworking spaces encouraged them to accept the new strategic plan. Within a few short years, the “triple helix” of business, government, and university partnerships that had laid a foundation for Silicon Valley inspired new urban growth alliances. “Entrepreneurial cities” would provide the built environment for “entrepreneurship and innovation,” and this would create new “value.” But what kind of value—and for whom? Elected officials sought value in jobs, especially tech “jobs of the future” that would offer their constituents both a middle-class income and career stability. They could not have predicted either the rise of the gig economy that digital technology enabled or the replacement of backoffice, white-collar workers by software bots. Neither could they have imagined a time when both creative workers and software developers might be replaced by artificial intelligence. Swiftly changing expectations about work and careers were accelerated during the COVID-19

From creative cluster to innovation complex  565 pandemic of the early 2020s, when remote work caused many firms to abandon their central-city offices and business districts emptied. To promote jobs, both creative clusters and innovation districts would need more funding from city governments. They would also have to reduce the commute to work; they would have to be integrated into residential neighborhoods, together with the social spaces of cafés, restaurants, and shops. Although the economic value of innovation districts may be clear to business leaders, elected officials, and real estate developers, the economic value of creative clusters is problematic. City leaders always praise creative workers, but there are never enough markets for their work. Few artists of any kind earn high incomes from royalties or performances. Fiscal constraints in the public sector reduce the number of teaching jobs for artists and musicians. Meanwhile, new real estate developments raise rents in the very districts these artists have seeded with cafés, bars, and shops. Yet few city governments consider studio space for artists, dancers, and musicians a public good that should be provided at public expense, and artists’ housing has an even lower priority. In the 1980s, critics blamed artists’ districts for causing gentrification, but a longer view might see them as temporary place-makers in the built environment, producing a new spatial imaginary for the ultimate profit of others. Artists’ studios in Hackney Wick in London and the original artists’ lofts of SoHo offer two recent examples of artists who are submerged in, and then displaced by, a tidal wave of real estate development by both private developers and the state. Unlike most creative work, the value of innovation is often linked to financial profit. This path leads from intellectual property, IP, to an initial public offering of stock, an IPO: entrepreneurial researchers are supposed to start a business that will generate marketable products and services and benefit their investors. When interest rates were low, in the 2010s, these expectations led to billion-dollar valuations of startup companies that had not even made a profit. But, after 2020, when macroeconomic and geopolitical pressures caused central banks to raise interest rates and it became much harder to raise investment funds, IPOs were threatened. No one questions the value of innovation if new vaccines can save lives, but who will pay for the research, and who will capture the financial gains? Most important for cities, who will provide the built environment for this kind of marketable innovation? Private investors who fund infrastructure for biotech, climate tech, and other worthy goals expect to reap a financial return. Entrepreneurial universities that join public-private-nonprofit research partnerships expect to profit, too, by capturing a share of royalties, expanding their campus, and becoming bigger players in the city’s innovation complex. At the very time when many people are struggling to buy food and pay for housing, and cities are challenged by climate change and swelling populations, building for creativity and innovation may seem like an aspiration they cannot afford. But without aspiration, there is no future. To imagine a better future, cities must move beyond the cycle of ideation, curation, and monetization that has characterized both creative clusters and innovation districts. The most sustainable strategies for creativity and innovation will depend less on profit and more on solidarity.

Index

Note: Page references in italics denote figures, in bold tables and with “n” endnotes. 21st-century Australian city: 22@Barcelona 271; challenges 273; conceptual age and urban designer/architect 270; driving innovation and equity in 269–281; essential infrastructure for Creative City 271; innovation in Creative City 273–274; innovation precinct for success 277–280; lessons learned 271–273; location for impact 274; Monash national employment and innovation cluster 274–277; quality affordable housing 271 22@Barcelona 271 Abdelhamid, T.S. 399 Abrahams, G. 386 access networks: creative clustering 308–310, 309, 310; mapping of 309–310, 310 Acharya, Manas 140 activist designer 322 Activity Based Working (ABW) 88, 90 The Act of Creation (Koestler) 312 Acumen Capital Partners 101 Acumen Resilient Agriculture Fund (ARAF) 101 adaptability 85, 124–125, 307 adaptive subletting 307–308 ADB 110; Action Plan for Healthy Oceans and Sustainable Blue Economies initiative 115; ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility (ACGF) 95, 101–102, 114; Asia-Pacific Climate Finance Fund (ACliFF) 115; ‘Blue Bonds Incubator’ 115; Blue SEA Finance Hub 114 Adobe 522, 524 affordable housing 14, 97, 152, 182–183, 186, 271, 273, 524 Agenda 2030 234, 252 Ahuja, R. 399 Airports Act (Australia) 319 Albahbah, M. 377 Alexander, Andre 147 Allam, Zaheer 227

Allen, T. 424 Altered Carbon (Morgan) 365 alternative built environments 173–174 Amazon 77, 82 ambivalence, creative clustering 310–311 Americanisation 261 Amin, Ash 227 Amsterdam: and collective action 544; and cultural amenities 544, 547–551; large-scale/ mainstream cultural amenities 550–551; large-scale of provision/niche-oriented amenities 548–550; small-scale of provision/niche-oriented amenities 547–548 anchor institutions 193–194, 493, 497, 501n3 Andersen, G. 228 Andrade, Elizabeth 161 Andrews, John 468 Anthropocene 221–228 Anthropogenic Global Existential Risks 224 Anti-Biennale 172, 173 Anti-Oedipus 393 anxious cities 563–565 Apple Park 293, 295–296 Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) 147–148, 150 architectural heritage: conserving and promoting 148–150; in Leh Old Town 148–150 architecture: emblematic 285–286; flagship 283–289; hostile 317–318; and virtual reality (VR) 388–389 areas of innovation (AOIs) 424–426 art: of dancing for urban design 205–215; doing in urban political 142–143; of everyday ordinary 138–142; in the Old Town 146–152; spectacular veneer of 135–137 Arthurson, K. 50, 51 “artificial hell” 261 Artificial Hells (Bishop) 262 artificial intelligence (AI) 221–222, 386, 391 artistic creativity 22–23, 27n9, 125

Index  567 artistic-driven normative changes: benefits of 126–128; side effects of 126–128 Artistic Mode of Production (Zukin) 145 artistic practice and life: as conception of human excellence 125–126; as conception of lifestyle 125–126 “artistic spirit of cities” 123 artists: and built environment 180–181; and city revitalization 180–181; and gentrification 180, 183 arts-based revitalization 182–184, 187 arts ecology 263–265 ASEAN Catalytic Green Finance Facility (ACGF) 95, 101–102, 114 Ashton, John 228 Ashworth, G. J. 20, 27n2 Asia Culture Centre (ACC) 173, 173–174 Asian Culture Hub (ACH) program 169–170, 173 Asian Development Bank 95, 113 Asian Paints 136 assemblage theory 386 asset management companies (AMCs) 109, 110–111, 111, 113 ATTAS-FRACTAL see FRACTAL Audirac, I. 290 augmented reality (AR) 10, 11, 376–377, 386; in built environment 377–379, 378; challenges for 382–383; creative opportunities for 382; in creativity 379–382 Australia: Airports Act 319; creative city in 473–479; MaaS trial in 341–342; multifunction polis in 463–470; post-creative city 476–479 Australia Council for the Arts 264, 476 Australia-Japan Ministerial Committee 463 Australian Bureau of Statistics 264 Australian Institute of Architects 535 Australian Institute of Project Management (AIPM) 319 Australian Mutual Providence Society (AMP) 453 Australian suburbs 481–488; blandscape 482–483; by design 483–487 The Australian Ugliness (Boyd) 481 authenticity 1, 126–127, 146, 300, 303, 305, 355 autonomy 88, 124–126, 252, 298; economic 156, 161, 163; epistemic 156; individual 126; intellectual 157; political 156, 161, 163 Awan, U. 252 axiology 314, 323 Baker, E. 49 Balakrishnan, B. K. P. D. 436 Ballard, H.G. 399 Baltimore: downtown redevelopment 284; flagship projects 284; public investment 284

Bandung, Indonesia: coworking spaces 436, 439, 439–444, 443 Bandung Creative City Forum (BCCF) 440 Bandung Digital Valley (BDV) 442 Bank of China 113 banks 110–111 Bannon, John 468 Bao, L. 389 Barcelona 286–287; flagship architecture 287; regeneration strategy 287 Baregheh, A. 221 Barro, R.J. 206 Bateson, Gregory 263, 265 Baudelaire, Charles 126 Baum, Scott 2 Baycan, Tüzin 2 BBVA 98 Belanger, R. 76 Bell Labs 293, 563 Benedict, M. A. 93 Benneworth, Paul 2 Bentley, R. 49 Berardi, F. 228 Berbegal-Mirabent, J. 424–426, 431 Berkeley start-up cluster 279 Berressem, H. 386 Bertelsen, S. 399 Bhan, G. 64 BHP House 452–453, 453 Bianchini, Franco 473 Bibliothèque Nationale de France 286 big data: characteristics 330; defined 329; restructuring urban transport systems using 330–331; and technology 329–333; use in changing climate 330 Bilbao effect 288–289, 473 Bishop, Claire 261–262, 265 Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG) 298–299 Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement 187 blandscape 482–483 Blazwick, Iwona 127 blended finance 99–100, 100 blue bonds 97, 113 blue economy: context 107–108; defined 107 blue economy financing: blue economy context 107–108; blue finance 108–116; creativity in 107–117; ecosystem development, creativity in 108–116 blue finance: blue themes in financial institutions 109, 109–111, 110; creativity in ecosystem development 108–116; creativity in structuring 115–116, 116; innovative instruments 113–114; institutional financing mechanisms 114–115; Seychelles blue bond 115–116, 116; taxonomies 111–113 BlueInvest fund 114

568  Index blue washing 113 Blumenberg, E. 51 BNP Paribas AMC 113 Boehnert, Joanna 264, 316 Boix, R. 21 Boix-Domenech, R. 21 Boltanski, Luc 123–128 Bonakdar, A. 290 bonds 97, 97–99, 98 Boston: Opportunities for All Making 76; Seaport district 78–81, 79, 80 Boston Convention and Exhibition Center 78 Boston Global Investors (BGI) 80 Boston Innovation District 76–78 Boston Redevelopment Authority 81 Bottom-Up Infrastructure research program 411–415, 414; aims of 414; analysing options 415; capturing requirements 415; characterising communities 414–415; crafting solutions 415; evaluation 415 Bouncken, R. B. 435–436 Bourdieu, P. 369 Boussauw, K. 51 Boyd, Robin 482 Bradley, J. 492, 499 Brazil: Fourth district – Porto Alegre RS 430–431; innovation in 423–433; Porto Digital Technological Park – Recife PE 426–428; Sapiens centre Creative District – Florianópolis SC 428–430 Brisbane Airport Corporation (BAC) 319–320 Brisbane airport’s new parallel runway 319–320 Broken Hill Proprietary Group 453 Brookings Institute 73 Brynjolfsson, Erik 368 bubble mentality 513 building information model (BIM) 399, 400, 405 built cultural heritage: and creativity 20–22; creativity as mediator between local development and 21; in existing literature 20–22; and local development 19–26 built environment 182–184; Anti-Biennale and May 18 places 172, 173; and artists 180–181; augmented reality in 377–379, 378; chequered histories 314–323; and city revitalization 180–181; concepts and indicators 33–34; and creativity 1–3, 314–316, 496–499; design historiography 316–317; global cities 554–555; Gwangju, South Korea 170–176; and innovation 496–499; overview 314–315; of regional innovation productivity 32–45; researching 182–184; virtual reality in 377–379, 378 Bunnell, T. 558 Bunshaft, Gordon 293–294 Burnham, Daniel 283

business innovation: CE credentials of kampungbased industry 69–70; at home 67–68; in the kampung 68–69; Semarang, Indonesia 67–70 Byeolgwan 174 Byrne, Sir Edward 275 Calatrava, Santiago 289 Cambodia: agricultural value chain competitiveness and safety enhancement project 102; Solar Park Project 95 The Cambridge Handbook of Creativity (Sternberg) 3 Campbell, C. 355 capitalism 449–451 Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (Schumpeter) 449 carbon credits 6, 96 Caroline Springs 487, 488 Carson, Rachel 264 Castells, M. 73, 366 Castelnovo, W. 391 Central Baltimore Partnership 185 Century City: Art and Culture in the Modern Metropolis (Blazwick) 127 Cerisola, Silvia 2 Chan, Janet 3 ChatGPT 221 Chattopadhyay, S. 134 Chiapello, Ève 123–128 Chiarini, A. 239 Children’s Investment Fund Foundation 101 China: evolution of LC in 400, 401; factors influencing LC in 403; LC in 398–408; LC theory and application in 402; prefabricated construction in 405 China National Knowledge Internet (CNKI) databases 399 Chitpur Craft Collective 6, 135, 138, 142 Chitpurer Chalchitra 6, 138–142, 143 Cho, S. 51 Chumhum 386 Chupin, J.-P. 316 circular economy (CE): credentials of kampungbased industry 69–70; principles 64, 245, 252, 253 cities: and creativity 123–131; described 283; and digital technologies 365–367; framework for creative city and human capital in 206–210; human capital in 206–210; preparedness for climate 223–225; promotion, and city branding 283; smart (see smart cities) “Cities and Climate Change” (Allam) 227 Cities and the Creative Class (Florida) 124, 128–129 Cities in Civilization (Hall) 2

Index  569 “The City and the Coming Climate” (Brian Stone) 227 city branding: innovative approaches to 289–290; as method of cities promotion 283; urban regeneration 285 city revitalization: and artists 180–181; and built environment 180–181; and creative city thesis 181–182 classification frame for urban image/activity spaces 207–208, 208 Clean Development Mechanism (CDM) 96 Clean Technology Fund (CTF) 95–96 climate: bonds 94, 97; city preparedness for 223–225 Climate Bonds Initiative 94; Green Bond Standards of 112 Climate Breakdown 225 climate change 93–94, 100–102; anthropogenic 225; and big data 330; and urban preparedness 226 climate crisis 223–224, 227–228 climate emergency 222, 224 “Climate Sensitivity” 225 Cluster Titles Act 484 Co&Co 442, 444 co-design/designing: defined 413; infrastructures 411–421; Kipling Garden 415–420, 416, 419–420 Cohen, Joel 227 collective action: and cultural amenities 543–544; and culture 545–546 Collingwood Yards 259–268; creative ecology 263–265; creative precinct 262–263; future ecologies 266–268; opening night 259, 260; setting the scene 259–262 Collins Place 452–453, 453 co-location spaces 85–86 community: creativity in 150–152; culture in 150–152; Semarang, Indonesia 67–70 community arts organisations 145–153 Community Water Management for a Liveable London (CAMELLIA) program 415–416 commute and housing 49–50 Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture (Venturi) 516 comprehensive place-making 174–176, 175 comprehensive place-making for media art 174–176, 175 Conceptual Age 274 Conceptual Art 126 concessional finance/financing 96–97 Conference of Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) 100 conflicts: in building renovation 173–174; emerging built environment for 172, 173 congestion costs 49

Connecticut Life Insurance Company 293–294 Connolly, G.E. 399 Contemporary Arts Precincts 260, 265, 267–268 Contemporary Arts Precincts Board 261 Cook, Peter 289 Cook, Tim 296 cooperative bread and right to the city 161–162 Coop Himmelb(l)au 288 Copenhagen Summit 94 coproduction 156; in Los Arenales 158–165; methods 391 corporate campus 293–300; 20th-century 293–294; future of 299–300; high-tech 295; overview 293 Cortex Innovation Community (St. Louis, Missouri) 497, 498 COVID-19 pandemic 62, 66, 70–71, 84, 175, 187, 214, 223, 259 coworking spaces 435–437; Bandung, Indonesia 436, 439, 439–444, 443; dimensions of 437; important contacts of 445; networks of 442–444; research methodologies 438–439; spatial features of 440–442 Creative Age 128–129 creative built environment in Helsinki, Finland 205–215 creative capital 128–129 The Creative Cities (Landry) 2 creative city 193; in Australia 473–479; challenges 273; creative lifestyle in 128–129; creative people in 128–129; essential infrastructure for 271; framework for 206–210; and human capital 206–207; innovation in 273–274; overview 473–474; policies 145; post- 476–479; quality affordable housing 271; thesis and revitalization 181–182 The Creative City (Landry and Bianchini) 473 creative class 21, 48, 474 creative clustering: adaptation 307–308; ambivalence 310–311; mix 304–307, 306; networks 308–310, 309, 310; overview 302; study 302, 303; urban design dimensions of 302–312; and urban morphology 302–303 creative destruction 458; concept of 449–450; and Melbourne 450–455 Creative Ecologies: Theorising the Practice of Architecture (Frichot) 264–265 creative ecology 263–265 creative economy 128–130, 170, 369, 426, 428–431, 475, 517 creative endeavours within informal urban territories 155–158 creative environment 19, 22, 170 “creative ethos” 128 creative hybrid-places 371, 371–372

570  Index creative industries 1, 13, 15, 21–22, 27n8, 92, 170, 190, 263, 267, 302–303, 367–369 creative intensity 27n8 creative lifestyle in the “creative city” 128–129 ‘creative location’ 206–207 creative neighbourhoods 302–303 creative people in creative cities 128–129 creative precinct: creative ecology 263–265; described 262–263; formation of 259–268; future ecologies 266–268 creative thinking: and global cities 557–558 Creative Urban Regions (Yigitcanlar, Velibeyoglu and Baum) 2 creativity 125, 221; augmented reality in 379–382, 380; in blue economy financing 107–117; built cultural heritage and local development 21; and built environment 1–3, 314–315; chequered histories examples 317–322; and the city 123–131; in the community 150–152; defined 530; design historiography to study 316–317; in ecosystem development 108–116; emerging built environment for 172, 173; in existing literature 20–22; global cities 554–555; Gwangju, South Korea 170–176; and innovation 496–499; and local development 20–21; multi-dimensional 19–26; overview 423–424; socio-spatial dimensions of 365–372; study of 315–316; in sustainable finance 93–103; unbundled 368–369, 369; and university incubators 530–540; in urban regeneration 516–519; as virtually universal capacity and limitless resource 128; virtual reality in 379–382, 380 Credit Suisse Rockefeller Asset Management (RAM) 113 Creocraft 136 Cruz-Machado, V. 244 cultural amenities: and collective action 543–544; small-scale 545; typology of 544, 544– 545; urban infrastructure of 543–552 Cultural Heritage, Creativity and Economic Development (Cerisola) 2 cultural policy as economic regeneration tool 285 culture: -based revitalization 182–184; in the community 150–152; -led regeneration 190–202; in the Old Town 146–152; and society 6–8; of uncertainty 127 Culture Crash: The Killing of the Creative Class (Timberg) 368 Currid, E. 182 cybernetic aesthetics 388 D’Aguilar Range 320–322, 321 Dallas Arts District 285 Dandenong 486

Dawson, Ashley 227 The Death and Life of Great American Cities (Jacobs) 1 de Dios, Anjeline 2 Deeley, S. J. 157 Delconte, J. 146 Deleuze, G. 386, 388, 393 Delfin 12, 487 Delgado, Davila 377 De Miguel-Molina, B. 21 Demirkan, H. 379 Denver Art Museum 289 Derrida, Jacques 390 Design Ecology Politics: Toward the Ecocene (Boehnert) 264 design historiography, and creativity 316–317 desiring-production: described 386; and virtual reality 392–394 Desmond, M. 51 Development Bank of Seychelles (DBS) 116 de Vries, J. 546 Dewey, John 157 digital Taylorism 368 digital technologies: and cities 365–367; and creative work 367–369; in form of ICT 366; urban infrastructures 367 DiLo 442 Diman, Joanna 294 Di Marino, M. 370 Direction régionale des affaires culturelles (DRAC) 523 disruption 221–226 Dodge, M. 366 Doherty, Gareth 264 Dourish, P. 323 Duarte, S. 244 Dublin City Council (DCC) 506–507 Dublin Docklands 13, 505–506; big tech’s impact on production of 507–511, 508, 509; history of 506–507; space creation 511–512 Dunstan, Don 468 Durante, G. 370 Dutta, Swarup 139 eco-critical writing 264 Ecological Urbanism (Mostafavi and Doherty) 264 ecology 263; arts 263–265; creative 263–265; defined 264; as scientific study 263 economic creativity 22–23 Economist World Ocean Summit 2018 108 economy: creative 128–130, 170, 369, 426, 428–431, 475, 517; Green Economy 108; knowledge-based 302, 531; and productivity 4–6

Index  571 ecosystem 263; blue finance 6, 109; creativity in development of 108–116; entrepreneurship 439; financing 102; innovation 15, 73, 190, 425–426, 505; marine 110; ‘regional innovation ecosystems’ 193; smart city 357–358, 362 EDSA Greenways Project 102 Eduplex 442 Edwards Madigan Torzillo and Briggs (EMTB) 467 Eichengreen, B. 222 Eisenman, R. 323 electric micro-mobility (EMM) 332–333 Elliston 483–485 emblematic architecture 285–286 Energy Protection Agency (EPA) 93 engaged research 157 England: built cultural heritage/local development in 23–26; territorial multi-dimensional creativity 23–26 ENI 197 Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) 329 entrepreneurial cities 564 entrepreneurialism 75–76, 145 entrepreneurial universities: and creativity 531–532; and innovation 531–532 environment: physical (see physical environment); and space 8–10 Environment Protection and Biodiversity Conservation Act (Australia) 319 epistēmē 314–315, 322–323 equity, in 21st-century Australian city 269–281 Ericsson 505 Esmaeilpoorarabi, N. 499 ethical questions 379 European Commission 22, 27n8, 93, 114 European Committee 108 European Environment Agency (EEA) 93 European Investment Bank 108, 114 European Union 244, 285 evil designer 322 Ewart, I. J. 383 Ewing Marion Kauffman Foundation 499 experiential lifestyle 128–129 exponential growth of green finance 94–96 “Extreme Cities” (Dawson) 227 Factories of Knowledge Industries of Creativity (Raunig) 392 factory city 192–194 Faggian, A. 21 Fallon, Joseph 79–80 Fallon Management Co. 80 Faro Convention 22 Farrell, J.R. 355 Feng, S. 402 finance: blended 99–100, 100; concessional 96–97

financial institutions: AMCs 110–111; banks 110–111; blue themes in 109, 109–111, 110; investment banks 110–111; multilateral/bilateral agencies 110; nonbanking financial institutions 110–111; other institutions 111 Finkel, Alan 275 First-Generation workplace 84–85 First Peoples Reference Group 267 Fishermans Bend 273 flagship architecture 283; Barcelona 287; led urban regeneration 283–289 flagship projects 284 Flint, A. 499 Florida, Richard 1, 21, 34, 73, 124, 128–129, 145, 206, 207, 261, 367, 474, 531–532, 555–556 followers: influencers 360–361, 361; smart cities 360–361 Foord, J. 369 formal knowledge 302 Forum Web Anak Bandung (FOWAB) 435 Foster, Norman 287 Foster + Partners 295, 296 Fountain Gate estate 485 Fournier, Colin 289 Fourth district – Porto Alegre RS 430–431 Fourth-Generation workplace 86–87, 87 Fourth Industrial Revolution see Industry 4.0 FRACTAL 161–163 Frank Gehry Architects 288–289, 297 Frauenberger, C. 323 Freire, Paulo 157 Frichot, Hélène 261, 264–265 functional mix 307 future ecologies 266–268 Gadwa, A. 183 Gandy, M. 372 Gautschi, David A. 354 Geertz, C. 63–64 General Foods Headquarters 294 General Office of the State Council (GOSC) 398 gentrification 7–8, 129, 134, 261, 268, 302, 305, 311, 565; and artists 180, 183; effects 182; neighbourhood 145–146, 182, 187; Smith’s theory of 180; socio-economic 207; super-gentrification 183; “third wave” 183; urban 221, 476 Geographic Information Systems (GIS) 158, 329 Ghobakhloo, M. 244 Gibson, C. 181 Gibson, William 365 Gibson-Graham, J. K. 161 Giordano, R. 227 Girard, René 423 Glasgow, Scotland 96, 286, 554

572  Index “Glasgow’s Miles Better” slogan 286 Glass, Ruth 261 Glendenning, Lionel 467 global cities: built environment 554–555; creative 558–559, 559; and creative thinking 557–558; creativity 554–555; making of 557–558; overview 554; worldviews 555–556 Global Commission on Adaptation 226 Global Environmental Facility (GEF) 95–96 Global Social Impact 101 Global South 14, 62–64, 69–70, 145, 153, 437 global urbanism 554, 560 global warming 222, 224, 252 Goh, D. P. S. 558 Goldhagen, Sarah Williams 2 Goldschmidt, G. 316–317 Gonzales, S. 547 The Good Fight 386 Google 333, 505, 522 Google’s Bay View see Mountain View and Charleston East (Google) governance: and planning 12–13; and urban cultural planning 545–547 Government Land Bank 76 Government of Seychelles 113 Graessler, I. 379 Graham, M. 371 Graham, S. 366–367 Grands Projects Culturelles 286 Graw, Isabelle 126 “Great Acceleration” 223 Green Bond Principles (GBP) of International Capital Markets Association 112 green bonds 94–97 Green Bond Standards of Climate Bonds Initiative 112 green camouflage 299 Green Climate Fund (GCF) 95–96, 100–101, 115 Green Economy 108 green finance: exponential growth of 94–96; ICMA definition of 94; in India 95 Green Growth Equity Fund (GGEF) 101 green infrastructure 93–94 green instruments 93–103 Guattari, F. 265, 386, 388, 393 Guembe, E. P. 388 Guggenheimization 290 Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao 288–289, 297, 548–549 Guha Thakurta, T. 136 Gumi, Kumigai 464, 468 Gunn, Graeme 484 Gurner Group 261 Gwangju, South Korea: alternative built environments 173–174; Anti-Biennale and May 18 places 172, 173; conflict in

building renovation 173–174; creativity and built environment in 171–176; creativity/built environment/memory 170–171; place-making for media art 174–176, 175; research design 171 Gyaoo House 147–150 “hacker” ethos 297 A Hacker Manifesto (Wark) 392 hacking 392 Hackworth, J. 183 Hadid, Zaha 388 Haeckel, Ernst 264 Haiven, Max 228 Halegoua, G. 354 Hall, Peter 2, 170, 367 Hamidi, S. 33 Hamnett, Stephen 470 Handbook of Creative Cities (Andersson, Andersson and Mellander) 3 Handbook of Research on Creativity (Chan and Thomas) 3 Handbook of Research on Entrepreneurship and Creativity (Krauss and Sternberg) 3 The Handbook of Urban Morphology (Kropf) 3 Handbook on the Geographies of Creativity (de Dios and Kong) 2 ‘happy coincidences’ 5, 77 Harty, C. 380 Harvey, D. 75, 290 Hauser, G. 425 Hayles, Katherine 365 health: housing and 48–49; mental 48–51, 87; physical 87, 90; sexual 151 Helsinki, Finland: built environment 210–213; creative built environment in 205–215; framework for creative city and human capital in 206–210; properties of the case 210–211; urban creative locations 210–213; visualisations/images depicting creative location 211–213 Henderson, Nelson 279 Henn, G. 424 Henry VIII, King of England 387 heritage-led regeneration: and LAMO 145–146; role of community arts organisations in 145–153 Hernández, R. R. 388 Hewlett, William 295 Higgins, E. 88, 89 high-rise, techno-economics of 455–458 Hipp, J. R. 50 Historic England 23 Holocene City 221–229; beyond urban creativity 221–222; city preparedness for climate 223–225; Holocene code of urban genetics 222–223; human dwellings re-imagined

Index  573 226; imagination as a last hope 228–229; narrow window of opportunity 225–226; research agenda 227–228 Holocene code of urban genetics 222–223 Hölzel, M. 438, 441 home: informality and innovation at 67–68; Semarang, Indonesia 67–70 Homebrew Computer Club 295 hostile architecture 317–318 housing: and commute 49–50; and health 48–49; and networking 50 Howard Smith Wharves (HSW) 317–319, 318; hostile architecture 318 Howell, G. 399 Howkins, John 526 How to Play the Environment Game (Crosby) 483 How We Became Posthuman (Hayles) 365 human capital: in cities 206–210; creative city and 206–207 human dwellings re-imagined 226 human excellence and lifestyle 125–126 hybrid working 84–90 Hybrid Working 86–88; Choices and Autonomy 88; Fourth-Generation workplace 86–87 hyper-mobility 124, 127, 129–130 IBM 354, 505 I.D.E.A. (Innovation, Design, Education, and Arts) 497 IDEO 295 IGLC 399 IKEA Disobedients 392 IKEA Foundation 101 IKEA Place 390–392 imagination as last hope 228–229 immovable tangible cultural heritage 20 Imperial Chemical Industries (ICI) 451–452, 452 Ince, A. 155 India: green finance in 95; Green Growth Equity Fund (GGEF) 101; independence of 147; ocean pollution in 108; public-facing art practice in 134 Indonesia Digital Creative Industry Society 442 Industrial Development Authority (IDA) 506–507 Industrial Populism 390 Industry 4.0: bibliometric analysis 247–250; contributions from journals 247–248, 249, 250; and emerging technologies 239, 240–243; future research 253–254; keywords statistics 248–249, 250, 251; and lean production 239, 244–245; limitations 253–254; literature analysis 235–238; methodology 245–247, 246–247; overview 234; and sustainability 244–245; theoretical background 234–245; trend of publications 247, 248 Infield, E. M. H. 227

infill 424 influencers, and smart cities 354–355, 357–359 informality: at home 67–68; in the kampung 68–69; urban 62–66 informal urban communities 158 informal urban territories 155–158 information and communications technology (ICT) 329 infrastructures: co-designing 411–421; for the Creative City 271; decentralise 412; defined 73, 412; participatory design 413; quality affordable housing 271 Ingels, Bjarke 298 Inkinen, T. 207 innovation 74; in 21st-century Australian city 269–281; in Brazil 423–433; and built environment 496–499; city branding 289–290; construction and VR 389–390; in the Creative City 273–274; and creativity 496–499; defined 563; ecosystem 505; at home 67–68; infrastructures and key actors 74–76; in the kampung 68–69; overview 423–424; theoretical background 424–426; and university incubators 530–540; urban informality and ordinariness of 62–66 innovation-based built environment: analytical model setting 39; framework and indicators 35–36, 36; study area and data source 36–39 innovation districts (IDs) 491–500, 500n1, 532–533, 565; Boston innovation district 76–78; Boston Seaport district 78–81, 79, 80; defining 492–493; examples of 494–495; features of 492–493; future directions 499–500; innovation infrastructures and key actors 74–76; overview 73–74, 491–492; strategic challenges 499–500; in the U.S. 492 Innovation Precincts 277–280; best practice and its dynamism 278; compelling narrative, creating 279; governance and delivery 277; master plan guidelines and controls 279; planning for success 278–279; precinct plan and organisational vision 278 innovation productivity: spatial stratified heterogeneity of 39–40, 40 innovative financial instruments 96–100; blended finance 99–100, 100; bonds 97, 97–99, 98; carbon credits 96; concessional finance 96–97 innovative instruments 113–114 institutional achievements 196–197 institutional creativity: ACGF 101–102; GCF 100–101 institutional financing mechanisms 114–115 Inter-American Development Bank (IADB) 96

574  Index International Capital Markets Association (ICMA) 93–94 International Finance Corporation 113 International Group for LC (IGLC) 398 International Journal of production Research 247 International Sustainability Unit 108 in-vehicle telematics devices 332 inventiveness 62–64, 67, 125 investment banks 110–111, 111 Isozaki, Arata 288 Italy 23–26 Ive, Jonathan 296 Jackson, Daryl 485 Jacobs, Jane 1, 64, 73, 508, 513, 545 Jha, S. 134 Jobs, Steve 296 Johan Cruijff Boulevard 551 John Joseph Moakley Federal Courthouse 78 Johnson, A. 184 Jokela, S. 290 Jones, Candace 3 Jullien, F. 317 Kaakinen, I. 207 Kaddar, M. 123 ‘kagan stupas’ 147 Kalagas, A. 390 Kamargianni, M. 340 Kamble, S. 244 kampung: -based industry 69–70; business innovation in 68–69; informality/ innovation in 68–69 kampung Bugangan, Semarang 64–66, 65; Bugangan metal and plastic industry cluster 66; location of 65 kampung Siroto, Semarang 64–66, 65; location of 65; peri-urban 66; snack food production in 67 Kanban 239 kanBIM 399 Katapult Ocean 114 Katz, B. 492, 499 Kazanski, Boris 468 Kearns, A. 51 Kelbaugh, Douglas 227 Kevin Roche John Dinkeloo and Associates 294 Khalili, A. 389 Khoj International Artist organisation 134 Kim, J. Y. 51 Kim, Y. O. 51 Kimbro, R. T. 51 Kipling Garden: analysing options 417–419; capturing requirements 417; challenges 420–421; characterising communities 417; co-designing 415–420, 416, 419–420; crafting solutions 419; evaluation 419–420; future directions 421; setting aims 416

Kirchherr, J. 244 Kitchin, R. 366 Kloosterman, R. C. 544 Knoll, Florence 294 knowledge-based economy 302, 531 knowledge city 192–194 Kolkata Museum of Modern Art (KMOMA) 289 Kong, Lily 2, 556 Koolhaas, Rem 451 Koskela, L. 398–399 Krätke, S. 207 Krauss, Gerhard 3 Kropf, Karl 3 Kruskal-Wallis H Test 54–55 Kumartuli Art Forum 6, 136 Ladakh Arts and Media Organisation (LAMO) 7, 145–153 Ladakh Autonomous Hill Development Council 147 Landry, Charles 2, 229, 473, 479, 554 Langlois, R. N. 76 Lapintie, K. 370 Large Language Models (LLMs) 221–222 Last Planner® System (LPS) 399 Laundry, Charles 221 Lauricella, V. 135 Lean Construction (LC): achievement of 403–405; in China 398–408; defined 398; effect evaluation of 403, 404; emerging trends and gaps in 405–407; factors influencing 403; research areas of 402, 403; research methodology 399–400 lean production: and Industry 4.0 239, 244–245; and sustainability 244–245 Lean Production Strategy of China’s Construction Industry in the Face of WTO (Li) 400 Lean Project Delivery SystemTM (LPDS) 402 learning by failing better 155–166 Least Developed Countries Fund 96 Lee, J. H. 379 Lefaivre, Liane 2 Lefebvre, H. 156–157, 205, 314 Leh Old Town Initiative 147 Lehtinen, Sanna 124 Levine, M. 284 Libeskind, Daniel 289, 549 Life Cycle for AOIs 426 lifestyle, experiential 128–129 Lincoln Centre, New York 285 Lindsay, G. 290 listed buildings 23, 27n12; per square km in England 24; per square km in London 24 Liu, Y. 330, 402 “live-work-play” environment 496 living laboratories 274

Index  575 local development: and built cultural heritage 19–26; creativity and 20–21; creativity as mediator between built cultural heritage and 21; in existing literature 20–22 Loft Living (Zukin) 2, 145, 180, 261 Loi de 1913 519 Loi Malraux 519 London 288; Millennium Dome 288 Long, Y. 331 Look Here! (Button) 482–483 Los Angeles Music Center 285 Los Arenales, Chile: conceptual baseline 156–157; cooperative bread and right to the city 161–162; coproducing experiences in 158–165; creative endeavours within urban territories 155–158; macrocampamento 160, 160; methodologies for failing better 157–158; PPGIS and dignified life 163–165; service-learning 162–163 Lovreglio, R. 389 Luiselli, V. 228 Luque-Ayala, A. 227 Macquarie Park 533–534 Macquarie University (MQU) 533–534 Macquarie University (MQU) incubator (MQi) 531; creativity 534–539; infrastructure of innovation/creativity 535–536; social connection and collaboration 536–538; support, experimentation, and training 538–539 Madrid Treaty 431 Maftei, L. 380 magic mix 280–281 Makerspaces 477–479 Making Sense of Innovation in the Built Environment (Sergeeva) 2 Making the 21st Century Knowledge Complex (Miao, Benneworth and Phelps) 2 MANA (Mix, Adaptation, Networks, and Ambivalence) 303, 311–312 Mangematin, V. 368 Mann-Whitney U Test 54–57, 55, 56, 57 Manoj, M. 50 Mariotti, I. 438 Markusen, A. 183, 184 Marres, Nortje 413 Marrocu, E. 207 Marshall, Alfred 302, 504, 510 Marshall, Nancy 3 Martins, J. 370 Marvin, C. 366 Marvin, S. 366–367 Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA) 185 Mason, K. E. 49 Massachusetts Industrial Finance Agency 76 Massachusetts Mutual Life Insurance Co. 79

MassDevelopment 76 MassTech 76 Master Builders Association 535 Matyas, M. 340 McAfee, Andrew 368 McCormack, Gavan 464, 466 McMohan, E. T. 93 McNeill, D. 559 media art 174–176, 175 Media Art Creative City (MACC) 170–171 mediating effect of multi-dimensional creativity 19–26 megainfluencers 360–361, 361 Meier, Richard 287 Meijer, E. 49 Melbourne: achievements in a decade 275; Central Business District (CBD) 451, 456, 457; and creative destruction 450–455; Hoddle Grid 451; Melbourne Metro 277; Plan Melbourne 2017–2050 276; postmodern bull market 453–454; post-war modernity 451–452; residential boom 454–455, 455; speculative drifting 455–458; technoeconomics of high-rise 455–458; town and gown partnership strategy 274–277; transition 452–453, 453 Melbourne Metropolitan Planning Strategy 276 Meloy Fund for Sustainable Community Fisheries 113 Menino, Thomas M. 78–79, 81–82 Merchant Builders 483–485 Merkel, J. 436, 438 Metaverse 386 Meusburger, P. 221 MGS Architects 270 Miao, J.T. 75, 485 Miao, Julie 2 Milk, C. 390–391 Millennium Dome, London 288 Mille-oeille 388–389 Milwaukee Art Museum 289 Ministry for International Trade and Industry (MITI) (Japan) 463–467 Miralles, F. 424–426, 431 Mitchell, W.J. 367, 370, 372 Mitlin, D. 156 Mitterrand, Francois 286 mix: creative clustering 304–307, 306; functional 307; social 305; valued 307 mobility as a service (MaaS) 10, 332, 333; case study 343–350, 345–346, 348–349; concept of 338–339; framework 339–340; integration of information 339; integration of the services and incentives 340; pilot study in Ghent (Belgium) 341; real-life implementation or trials 340–341; SMILE (Vienna, Austria) 341; studies based on

576  Index surveys 342–343; ticket and payment integration 339; trial in Sydney, Australia 341–342; Whim (Helsinki, Finland) 341 mobility solutions 338 Model Cluster Code 484 modern corporate centers 284 Modiface 390 Monash 277; governance model 277; national employment and innovation cluster 9, 274–277; precinct principles 280 Monash Clayton Campus 281 Monteiro, M. 315 Moos, M. 51 Morgan, Richard 365 Morgan Stanley 80, 113 Morton, Timothy 225 Mostafavi, Mohsen 264 Mountain View and Charleston East (Google) 293, 298–299 Mozingo, Louise A. 293–294, 299 MPK21 (Facebook) 293, 297–298 Multi-criteria decision-making techniques 254 multi-dimensional creativity: mediating effect of 19–26; operational definition 22–23 multifunction polis (MFP): in Australia 463–470; end of 470; feasibility studies 465; South Australia 467–468; as urban idea 463–470 multilateral/bilateral agencies 110 multimodal smart transport systems 330 Mumford, Michael 221 Municipio 202n3 Munshi House 150 Museum of Contemporary Art 287 Museum of Islamic Art (Doha, Qatar) 289 naive designer 322 Nakamura, L. 391 National Asset Management Agency (NAMA) 506–507 The Nature Conservancy 115 Nelson, R. R. 76 neoliberal dogma 145 NEPAD 113 NESTA 192 “network capitalism” 126 networking: assets 73; entrepreneurial 497; events 435, 476, 496–497, 540; housing and 50 Neuromancer (Gibson) 365 New Louvre 286 New Media Community 466 The New Spirit of Capitalism (Boltanski and Chiapello) 123, 125, 126 The New Urban Frontier (Smith) 180 non-banking financial institutions 110–111 Nordic Investment Bank 113 NUTS classification 27n10

Obeid, S. 379 Observatorio Regional de Desarrollo Humano4 (ORDHUM) of (UCN) 161 OECD 93, 100 office workplaces 87 Ohe, Shinobu 465 Ojo, A. 391 Oldenburg, R. 370 Old Town, Leh, India 7, 145–153; architectural heritage in 148–150; arts and culture in 146–152; conserving and promoting 148–150; creativity/culture in community 150–152 Olin, Laurie 296 Olmsted, Frederick Law 296 on-demand transport (demand-responsive transport) 332 Ong, Aihwa 556–557 Opéra Bastille 286 Orff, Kate 264 organisational learning 74 Ortegosa, S. M. 425 Ostiense district and its controversial roadmap 194–200 Oxford Dictionary 73 The Oxford Handbook of Creative Industries (Jones) 3 ‘oxymoron’ 74 Paci, R. 207 Packard, David 295 Paes, D. 379 Pagliosa, M. 251 The Painter of Modern Life (Baudelaire) 126, 127, 129 Paris 516–528; actor perceptions 519–524, 521, 523; creativity in urban regeneration 516–519; FDI analysis 519; overview 516 Paris Climate Agreement 93–94, 96, 102, 108 Paris Region Entreprises (PRE) 523 participatory design 413 Pasquire, C.L. 399 Pastoral Capitalism: A History of Suburban Corporate Landscapes (Mozingo) 293 Patrick, Deval 76 Paz, A. 340 Peacock, Andrew 465 Pearl River Delta (PRD), China 5, 32–45, 38; innovation-based built environment 33–35; regional innovation productivity in 42; research design/data/methodology 35–39; results and analysis 39–44; spatial distribution of patents in 38; spatial heterogeneity of regional innovation productivity 40, 41–44, 43; spatial stratified heterogeneity of innovation productivity 39–40, 40

Index  577 Pei, I. M. 286, 289 The People’s Choice 354 performativity and spectacle 134–143 peri-urban kampung Siroto 66 Perrault, Dominique 286 Perrin, A. J. 50 Pharmakon 390 Phelan, Bastian Fox 264 Phelps, N.A. 2, 75 Philippines: blue bond issuance to 95; EDSA Greenways Project 102 phrónēsis 314, 316, 322–323 physical environment 7, 335, 437; of coworking spaces 442; human-made 33; of knowledge-based economic development 491–500; proactive 190 physical office workplaces 87 Pickersgill, S. 380 Pink, Daniel H. 269, 271 Piqué, J. M. 424–426, 431 place distinctiveness 283 placemaking: comprehensive 174–176, 175; role of community arts organisations in 145–153 place quality 32 Planetary Boundaries 223 Plato 354 Polaroid 449–450 Porter, M. E. 73, 245 Porto Digital Technological Park – Recife PE 426–428 Porwol, L. 391 Potseluyko, L. 389 prefigurative politics 155 Price, Cedric 388 Progetto urbano Ostiense-Marconi (PUOM) 191–192, 194, 197 “project culture” 126 “project-oriented city” 124–128, 130 PROPARCO 101 property-led regeneration strategies 285 PTC 77, 82 PT Jasa Marga 66 PT Telkom 442 public art initiatives 135 public art in urban spaces 134–135 public participation geographic information systems (PPGIS) 158, 163–165 public transport operators 334 PwC 82 Race Against the Machine (McAfee and Brynjolfsson) 368 Rang Matir Panchali 135–137 Raunig, Gerald 392 Rawes, Peg 264, 265 Read, D. C. 493

realist designer 322 redesigning workplaces 88–90 regeneration: culture-led 190–202; universitydriven 194–196 regional innovation productivity: built environment of 32–45; in the Pearl River Delta 42; spatial heterogeneity of 41–44, 43 Relational Architectural Ecologies (Rawes) 264 Renew Australia 477 rental housing 271, 279 The Republic (Plato) 354 research methodology: content analysis 399–400; LC 399–400; search strategy 399 “Rethinking Urban Transitions” (LuqueAyala) 227 revitalization: arts-based 182–184, 187; culture-based 182–184 Revoy, S. L. 394 right to the city 161–162 RIO+20 United Nations (UN) Conference on Sustainable Development 107 The Rise of the Creative Class and How It’s Transforming Work, Leisure, Community and Everyday Life (Florida) 124, 128, 367, 560 River Contract 202n8 Roche, Kevin 294 Rogers, Richard 288 Rong Matir Panchali 6 Roodhouse, Simon 130 Ross, Daniel 390 Rossi, U. 290 Rotterdam 287; Kop van Zuid 287; Mutual Benefit program 287 The Routledge Handbook of People and Place in the 21st Century City (Marshall) 3 Rouwendal, J. 49 Roy, Ananya 556 Rust, C. 315 Sabavala, Darius Jal 354 Sacks, R. 399 Saint Denis 518 Salet, W. 546 Samsung 523 Sapiens centre Creative District – Florianópolis SC 428–430 Sarkis, J. 251 Sassen, S. 354 Schiavi, B. 377 schizoanalysis 394–395 Schraubenfabrik see coworking spaces Schumpeter, J. 63–64, 449, 458 scientific creativity 22–23, 27n9 Scopus 399 Scott, A.J. 130, 369

578  Index Screen Australia 264 SDG Bond Framework 98 SDG bonds 97 Second-Generation workplace 85 “Seeing Like a City” (Amin and Thrift) 227 Seifert, S. 184 self-expression 125, 126 self-realisation 126 Semarang, Indonesia: CE credentials of kampungbased industry 69–70; home/community and business innovation 67–70; informality/innovation at home 67–68; informality/innovation in kampung 68–69; kampung Bugangan 64–66, 65; kampung Siroto 64–66, 65; map of 65; ordinariness of innovation 62–66; urban informality 62–66 Sennett, Richard 368 separatist geography 294 Sergeeva, Natalya 2 service-learning 157–158; depicting colours of a struggle 162–163; methodology 157 Seychelles blue bonds 115–116, 116 Seychelles Conservation and Climate Adaptation Trust (SeyCCAT) 116 Shalley, C. E. 530 shared values of experiential lifestyle 128–129 ‘sheltering home’ 63 Siddiq, F. 51 Sigmon, R. 157 Silicon Valley 294–295 Silver Columbia 464, 467 Simmel, Georg 127 Simon, Robert E. 487 Slum Dwellers International (SDI) 155, 163 Small Island Developing States (SIDS) 115 smart cities 353–362; background 354–356; data and methods 356; followers 360–361; and influencers 354–355, 357–359; overview 353–354; and social media 354–356 smart cityism 367 Smart Manufacturing 252 SMILE (Vienna, Austria) 341 Smith, Neil 180, 183, 228 social bonds 97 social bots 355–356, 359 social design principles 413 social innovations 156 social media: and smart cities 354–356, 362; Twitter (see Twitter); see also influencers social mix 305 social network analysis (SNA) 439 social networking 50, 497, 532 social network theory 355 socio-spatial arrangements 201 Soler-Marco, V. 21 Solomon, P. L. 50

Soros Economic Development Fund 101 South Rome 190–202; challenges/perspectives in socio-spatial arrangements 201; drivers of change ‘outside the box’ 197–200; factory city/knowledge city 192–194; inherent weaknesses to urban governance 200–201; institutional achievements 196–197; Ostiense district and its roadmap 194–200; university-driven regeneration 194–196 space(s): co-location 85–86; social production of 314; urban 366–367 spatial heterogeneity: of innovation productivity 39–40, 40; and Pearl River Delta 40; of regional innovation productivity 32–45, 43 spectacular veneer of art 135–137 speculative drifting 455–458 Spiller, N. 388 Spinuzzi, C. 438 Springer, S. 155 Stanford Research Park 295 ‘state intrapreneurship’ 76 Station North, Baltimore 184–187 Station North Arts & Entertainment District (SNAED) 185 Stengers, Isabelle 265 Stern, M. 184 Sternberg, Robert 3 Sternberg, Rolf 3 Stiegler, B. 390 Stone, Brian 227 strategic planning 532–533 street-based public art festivals 134–143 Strömberg, H. 340 structural equation modelling (SEM) 27n13 suburbs: Australian 481–488; blandscape 482–483; by design 483–487; overview 481; residential 481 Sunderburg, E. 142 sustainability: and Industry 4.0 244–245; Industry 4.0 and 244; and lean production 244–245 sustainability bonds 97 Sustainable Affordable Housing Initiative (SAHI) 486 Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles of the United Nations Environment Program 112–113 Sustainable City and Creativity (Baycan) 2 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 6, 93–94, 102, 107–108, 234, 330, 334 sustainable finance: ACGF 100–102; creativity in 93–103; exponential growth of green finance 94–96; GCF 100–102; green infrastructure 93–94; innovative financial instruments 96–100; institutional creativity 100–102 tacit knowledge 302 ‘Tail of the Comet’ 202n6

Index  579 Tanaka, Yuki 464 tangible cultural heritage 20 Taplick, P. 379 taxonomies 111–113 technē 314–315, 322–323 Techno-Bio Inversion 224 techno-creative habitus 369–370 technology: and big data 329–333; and innovation 10–12; and urban transport systems 331–333 Telecommunications Tower 287 territorial capital 23 territorial multi-dimensional creativity: and built cultural heritage 23–26; in England 23–26; and local development 23–26 Third-Generation workplace 85, 85–86 third spaces 435; see also coworking spaces “third spirit of capitalism” 125–126 Thomas, Kerry 3 Thomas Heatherwick Studio 298–299 Thorpe, D. 227 A Thousand Plateaus (Abrahams) 386, 393 “The Three Ecologies” (Guattari) 265 Thrift, Nigel 227 Tibet Heritage Fund 147 Timberg, Scott 368 Times of Creative Destruction (Tzonis and Lefaivre) 2 Tommelein, I.D. 399 total co-optation 126 Toward an Urban Ecology (Orff) 264 transformation–flow–value (TFV) theory 400, 402 trans-Himalayan trade 147 transition bonds 97 transport systems: and big data 330–331; “driverless” features 333; and infrastructure 331–333; and technology 331–333 Tripi 341–342 Tsering Motup Siddho 151 Turvani, M. 370 TweetArchivist algorithms 356 Twitter 356, 357; users with more than 5,000 tweets on #smartcity 358–359 Tzonis, Alexander 2 Uber 333 Uber Pool 333 UbiGo 340–341 UCCRN Assessment Reports 227 unbundled creativity 368–369, 369; and built environment 369–372 UNCTAD 27n9 Under Pressure: Pictures, Subjects and the New Spirit of Capitalism (Graw) 126 UNESCO 136, 150, 170; Media Art Creative City (MACC) designation 174, 176

UNESCO Creative Cities Network (UCCN) 474 United Nations: Agenda 2030 234, 252; Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 6, 93–94, 102, 107–108, 234, 330, 334 United Nations Environment Program (UNEP) 113; Sustainable Blue Economy Finance Principles of 110, 112–113 United States Environmental Protection Agency 77, 94 University College London (UCL) 411 university-driven regeneration 194–196 university incubators: and creativity 530–540; and innovation 530–540 urban aesthetics (UA) 124 urban agglomeration 123 Urban Climate Change Research Network 226 urban creative locations and built environment 210–213 urban creativity: Holocene City 221–222 urban cultural planning 545–547 urban cultural regeneration 145 urban designer and architect 270 Urban Development Industry Association (UDIA) 487 “The Urban Fix” (Kelbaugh) 227 urban governance 226; culture-led regeneration and 190–202; inherent weaknesses to 200–201 urban imagination 221–229 urban informality 62–66 urban infrastructure: of cultural amenities 543–552; urban cultural planning 545–547 urban morphology 302–303 urban planning 3, 63, 207, 227–228, 271, 290, 425–426, 532–533, 545–546, 551 urban preparedness 226 urban regeneration: city branding 285; flagship architecture led 283–289 Urban Renewal Task Force 475 urban spaces 366–367; public art in 134–135 urban transport systems: and big data 330–331; and infrastructure 331–333; and technology 331–333 valued mix 307 van der Laan, Eberhard 549 van Dijck, J. 316 Vanichvatana, S. 438 Varela, L. 244 Varughese, D.E. 134 Velibeyoglu, Koray 2 Venturi, R. 516 Vermont Park 483–485 Vertex Pharmaceuticals 82 Virtual Aesthetics in Architecture; Designing in Mixed Realities (Eloy) 388

580  Index virtual reality (VR) 10, 11, 376–377, 386; and architecture 388–389; in built environment 377–379, 378; challenges for 382–383; and construction innovation 389–390; creative opportunities for 382; in creativity 379–382; and desiring-production 392–394; and historical spaces 387; and planning perspectives 390–392 Virtual Reality and the Built Environment (Whyte and Nikolić) 376 Waitt, G. 181 walkable intensity maps (WIMs) 309 Walker, Evan 485 Walsh, Martin 82 Walt Disney Concert Hall (LA) 297 Wark, McKenzie 392, 394 Watson, V. 558 Weick, K. E. 74 Welcome to Your World (Goldhagen) 2 Westbury, Marcus 477 Westley, F. 74 When Old Technologies Were New (Marvin) 366 Whim (Helsinki, Finland) 341 A Whole New Mind – Why Right Brainers Will Rule the Future (Pink) 269 Whyte, William H. 484 Wijnands, J. 332 Willis, Carol 451 Wilson, W. J. 50 Winter Park 483–485 Wizinsky, M. 316 Wong, Y.-L. I. 50 word of mouth (WOM) 355 work and life: Boltanski and Chiapello 125–128; creative and sustainable urban life 129–131; creative lifestyle in “creative city” 128–129; new forms of 123–131; Richard Florida 128–129 workplaces: First-Generation 84–85; FourthGeneration 86–87, 87; Occupancy Cost

minimisation 88; physical office 87; redesigning 88–90; repositioning post-pandemic 84–90; SecondGeneration 85; Third-Generation 85, 85–86; typology of 84–87, 87 World Bank 101, 113, 115 World Capital Institute: “City Preparedness for the Climate Crisis” program 228 Worlding Cities: Asian Experiments and the Art of Being Global (Ong) 557 World Monuments Fund (WMF) 147 World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) 108 Wright, Frank Lloyd 366 Wyss, T’uy’t’tanat-Cease 264, 267 Xiao, H. 50 XMind 400 Yencken, David 465, 485, 554 Yigitcanlar, Tan 2 Yoon, M. 51 ZGC-SP (Zhongguancun SP), Beijing: case selection 51–52; commuting time 55, 56, 57; descriptive analysis and variables coding 53–54, 54; dwelling type 54, 55; efficiency 56–57; empirical finding 54–58; housing affordability 57–58, 57–58; innovation 57, 57; location of 52; ‘One District, Multiple Sub-parks’ strategy 52; over-crowding 55, 55; statistical analysis and results 53–58; study area and data collection 52–53, 53; and sub-parks 52; working time 56, 56 Zhang, M. 389 Ziersch, A. 50, 51 Zook, M.A. 371 Zuckerberg, Mark 297 Zukin, Sharon 2, 7, 145, 146, 180, 186, 261