Each week in Concrete Friday I share an old entry from my Brutalist Diary.
This is where I write about my personal and emotional experiences of visiting a Brutalist building.
It's a reflection on the journey, the light, the sound of a site, and the quiet feelings that stay with me from the visit.
These stories often become the spark for new miniature models in the studio.
What you'll find
- First-person stories from the field
- Insightful experiences of Brutalism
- Small details that reveal significance
- Reflections on why a place matters
Here's a sample peek into my Brutalist Diary for you now
Midday on April 19th in Scotland, 2017
Part1/3
The air was bright but overcast.
Spring blossoms softened the ruin's stark silhouette.
From our vantage point outside the security fence, it sat like a secret concrete world, weathered but both imposing and fragile.
We moved in silence, gestures and whispers our only language of shared appreciation. The steel fence, an unspoken challenge.
Then, a bent post, a narrow gap barely wide enough, and one by one, we squeezed through, contorting past rusted edges that scraped our winter jackets like the building itself was trying to resist us.
Inside the perimeter, the seminary loomed larger as we descended into the site.
It was dead, yet commanding. It felt sacred and forbidden, a place that demanded both respect and trespass.
More next week…
Midday on April 19th in Dunbartonshire, 2017
Part 2/3
But it came alive as we neared.
Each step uncovering more contradictions—decay and artistry, danger and allure. A ruin caught between reverence and defiance.
We moved cautiously, hushed, watching for shadows or sounds of the site guard’s patrols.
Then, it happened—a single shout:
“Oi!” The stillness fractured.
Heart pounding, we turned and ran, retracing our path. Noise and movement replacing the quiet awe. We ran without thought, slipping back through the broken fence, breath catching, hearts racing.
It had cast us out, and yet even in the adrenaline, there was no anger. Only the sting of being separated from something we had almost grasped.
More next week…
Midday on April 19th in Cardross, 2017
Part 3/3
Back at our vantage point, we watched in silence.
It was now both a distant monument and a fresh ache. Its forms embedded starkly into the forest, dead yet vibrant, hostile yet enticing.
The moment felt suspended under a shared unspoken disappointment mixed with quiet awe.
It wasn’t ours to claim today, and maybe that was the point. As we left, the loss lingered, but so did something more.
An adventure captured, a memory forged.
It remained untouchable yet unforgettable, as though we had been allowed just enough to know it would never fully belong to us.
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