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This Was Tomorrow – Reimagined

3rd press - very limited run - the UTOPIA edition -

I'm very happy to share the third edition of This Was Tomorrow—a new, limited version of the book originally available at RIBA Bookshop and the London Review Bookshop.

The words are by Judith Martin, architectural conservationist and historian. The design and production? That’s a collaboration between me, Richard “Foe” Grainger (whose layout instincts are wicked), and the excellent Porto-based Devity Studio.

This version isn't just a reprint—it’s a reimagining. Less book-as-object, more object-in-motion. A tool, a companion, a field recorder for stray thoughts and sharp provocations. It’s playful on purpose, a little rough in the right places. Designed to clash with the seriousness of its themes—and to help shake something loose. Because the point of this book has never been just about buildings or preservation. It’s about utopia—not as some unreachable dream, but as a tool. A lens. A way of thinking better futures into existence. And if you haven’t noticed, we desperately need to.

The last 30 years of global economics have stripped us of the ability to imagine alternatives. We live in a system where constant growth is the law, gain is the only measure, and hard work is sold as a magic key. And yet, here we are: people working two jobs and still unable to pay rent, while serial landlords and passive shareholders hoard resources with zero effort and even less empathy.

Calling housing a human right? Radical. Suggesting that rents should be capped? Revolutionary. Meanwhile, owning ten flats and renting them all out is “smart investing.” Nothing about this setup is fair—or even functional. And let’s not pretend it's “charity” to question it.

If people don’t have homes, or peace of mind, or a sliver of spare energy, they can’t even participate in this system. Not even as good little consumers. Capitalism is stalling. And the ones with private islands? They’ll be fine. But the rest of us need to wake up.

Because no one is coming to fix this. Not some politician, not a startup, not a prince charming in a Patagonia fleece. It’s all for profit now. Everything—except the love we share, and the corners of nature that still resist.

There’s so much potential in people. And don’t believe the story that humans are selfish by nature. That’s just the bedtime story the wealthy tell themselves to sleep at night—an old, boring fable by those terrified of sharing.

The answer isn’t to have nothing. The answer is to rethink what having even means. Property isn’t sacred. Technology should improve lives, not build empires. Money is a tool, not a destination. Being rich doesn’t make you interesting—it just means you’re good at hoarding. Good for you. Now what?

When platforms have millions of users, they’re no longer “private ventures”—they’re public utilities. And they should be owned as such. Imagine building systems from the ground up, where laws reflect lived realities, not just protect those sitting on piles of capital.

The myth of the self-made billionaire? Absolute fiction. At best, your skills make up 5% of your “success.” The other 95% is your environment—your family, your networks, the schools you could access, the chances you were given. We’ve built a system where only the extraordinary make it out. Everyone else has to contort themselves into some perfect, productive, high-functioning version of what? A servant? A brand? A smiling pitch?

That’s not human. That’s eugenics with better PR.

We’re standing at the edge of another industrial revolution. Like in the 1800s, we have the tools to work less, share more, and rebalance the equation. But will we? Probably not.

And not because people are asleep. Most are acutely aware—of rent swallowing their wages, of managers ignoring frontline insight, of the sheer energy it takes just to stay afloat.

The problem isn’t ignorance. It’s isolation.

People feel the weight of the system, but there’s no story that links their personal struggles to the wider machinery behind them.

Instead of questioning wealth concentration, they’re told to fear immigrants. Instead of seeing landlords as extractors, they’re told to become one. We’ve been sold the myth that success is personal and failure is moral—that if you’re not thriving, it’s your fault.

What we need, collectively, are stories that make sense of what we’re living through. And spaces to act on that knowledge, together. New blueprints. New pathways. New narratives.

This book is not a solution. But it’s a contribution. A signal. An invitation to keep dreaming, even when hope feels pointless. Because if we give up on that, we’ve already lost.

Let’s keep building—even if it’s just thoughts, questions, new ways of seeing. From the cracks of the current mess, something else can grow. -------

Each copy is handmade, with a lot of care and a bit of chaos—so we’re keeping things slow.

If you're interested, drop me an email or reach out to me on Instagram to order.

Il'll try and get back to you as soon as I can to sort things out personally.

No big shop, no buy now button—just real people and a bit of patience.

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TWT // Museo da Quinta de Santiago, Matosinhos, Portugal - 2025

The title of this work takes direct inspiration from the landmark 1956 exhibition This is Tomorrow, held at the Whitechapel Gallery in London’s East End. That show was a bold, collaborative venture that brought together architects, artists, and designers to explore the idea of a shared future. It challenged the norms of its time, presenting a vision that was forward-looking, experimental, and deeply rooted in collective imagination.

The original exhibition layout was designed by Erno Goldfinger, while the catalogue—striking in its lowercase title—was designed by Edward Wright, embodying the spirit of modernism and experimentation. Contributors included Alison and Peter Smithson, photographer Nigel Henderson, and sculptor Eduardo Paolozzi—figures who redefined the relationship between art, architecture, and society.

We’ve titled this project This Was Tomorrow to reflect on those once-hopeful visions of the future—on their ambition, and on the promises that went unfulfilled. It’s about revisiting a time when dreaming of a better tomorrow felt not only possible, but essential—and asking how those dreams still resonate now.

The project began as a book, created in collaboration with architectural historian and conservationist Judith Martin. The book investigates the legacy of post-war modernist housing projects, reflecting on their ideals and how they’ve endured (or not) over time.

This exhibition is a second iteration of the project—an expanded revision that builds on the themes initiated by the book and opens them up for public dialogue.

CREDITS

ORGANISATION Matosinhos City Council

PRESIDENT Luísa Salgueiro

COUNCILLOR FOR CULTURE Fernando Rocha

PROJECT COORDINATION Clarisse Castro | Tânia Teixeira | Cláudia Almeida

EXHIBITION DESIGN David Marques

TEXT Enrico Policardo

PRODUCTION Devity Studio

PRODUCTION SUPPORT Grupo TEC – Engineering and Construction

COMMUNICATION Devity Studio / Matosinhos City Council

RECEPTION & SUPPORT Edgar Gomes | Louise Palma Lurdes Geraldes | Margarida Fonseca Marta Calado | Patrícia Flávio Rute Marques

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Ja Voltei

February 2025 Residency for ESAD IDEA  Matosinhos, Porto - Portugal

The ESAD IDEA residency expanded This Was Tomorrow into a new cultural context, shifting its focus from architectural critique to a broader investigation of how collective futures are imagined, built, and often deferred. Centred on Brito Capelo Street in Matosinhos, the project explored the visual language of economic stagnation, public memory, and cooperative housing. What began as a study of decaying utopias evolved into This Was “Já”, a reflection on suspended futures and grassroots resilience. The resulting photographic series, produced on-site, functions as both critical record and interactive object: printed double-sided and left unfolded, inviting viewers to reshape, fold, or reconfigure the images. This gesture reinforces the project’s central idea — that meaning, like architecture, is never fixed. Instead, it emerges from shifting perspectives, social dynamics, and the fragments of yesterday’s dreams.

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Britolism

Images serie Matosinhos, Portugal - 2025

The format of the images themselves plays a key role in the work’s conceptual fluidity. Printed double-sided and left unfolded, they invite interaction—viewers are free to fold, rearrange, or repurpose them as they choose. They may form patterns, construct origami, clean their shoes, or build paper boats and planes. This engagement underscores the project’s core idea: everything remains malleable, interpretable, temporary, and never set in stone. The phrase Volto Já may or may not emerge through the folds, revealing itself only by chance—just as the high-rise facades of Matosinhos, Porto, and beyond may appear or dissolve into abstraction. This element of unpredictability mirrors the way urban narratives are shaped—not by fixed truths but by shifting perspectives, fragments of memory, and lived experiences.

The initial brief for this residency was to expand the artistic exploration of This Was Tomorrow within a local context, shifting away from the Brutalist setting—less common in Matosinhos—to extract its essence. The goal was to explore the decay of old utopias and understand how this phenomenon manifests in public space.A key realization emerged: This Was Tomorrow was fundamentally about dreaming of the future and how those aspirations materialized—or failed to do so. This theme resonated with Brito Capelo Street, where Enrico undertook an immersive residency, later extending the project to peripheral areas of the greater Porto region.

Brito Capelo Street was once the civic and commercial heart of Matosinhos, bustling with people commuting to work, shopping at local businesses, and enjoying the café culture. However, with the administrative shift to a new municipal center and significant changes in social life, the street has become a shadow of its past. Today, it holds remnants of Portugal in the early 1990s, where businesses and property owners remain committed to the idea of building a better future through commerce. The frequent sight of Volto Já ("Be Right Back") signs on storefronts symbolises both a promise to return and the precarious reality of economic decline—businesses on the brink of closure or already abandoned.

This tension, between the belief in an impending economic revival and the stark reality of stagnation, became the conceptual foundation of the residency’s visual exploration. The project evolved into This Was “Já”, capturing the paradox of a future endlessly deferred while the present remains in a state of decay.

The photographic series produced during the residency serves as both an aesthetic and critical document of these spaces. The images capture the architectural plasticity of cooperative housing, its quiet resilience, and its overlooked significance in contemporary urban discourse. More than just a record of the past, this work reintroduces these environments into the present conversation, raising questions about how individuals take action when formal structures for progress are absent.

The format of the images themselves plays a key role in the work’s conceptual fluidity. Printed double-sided and left unfolded, they invite interaction—viewers are free to fold, rearrange, or repurpose them as they choose. They may form patterns, construct origami, clean their shoes, or build paper boats and planes. This engagement underscores the project’s core idea: everything remains malleable, interpretable, temporary, and never set in stone. The phrase Volto Já may or may not emerge through the folds, revealing itself only by chance—just as the high-rise facades of Matosinhos, Porto, and beyond may appear or dissolve into abstraction. This element of unpredictability mirrors the way urban narratives are shaped—not by fixed truths but by shifting perspectives, fragments of memory, and lived experiences.

This documentation does not claim historical accuracy or objective truth; rather, it embraces flâneurism, voyeurism, curiosity, and speculation. It is not a definitive representation of reality but one version among countless others—one of many yesterdays, one of many tomorrows.

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During a recent visit to Park Hill in Sheffield, I took photos that, unfortunately, came too late to make it into the exhibition. Still, the visit felt like closing a circle. Walking through Park Hill, I could imagine what life might have been like there in the 1980s and ’90s—a vibrant community with a sense of pride in living in buildings that others often dismissed as “ugly.” It’s a phenomenon that echoes across Europe.

These buildings don’t conform to conventional ideas of beauty, but they represent something deeper: the certainty of a roof over your head, the freedom to build a life, and the hope for a better tomorrow. They stand as bold attempts to solve a pressing problem, using design to house as many people as possible, affordably and efficiently.

There’s a complexity to these places that goes beyond their physical form. They embody hope and failure, progress and struggle. For all their imperfections, they remain a testament to the human desire to build something better—that’s what I tried to capture: this schism, this tension.

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Don’t we need utopias? 

My practice begins with the idea that art can’t exist on its own, cut off from the world.  It’s tied to everything—our struggles, our society, our politics.  Art is political, or it’s nothing.  Just decoration, extra fluff—and we’ve got enough of that already. 

What I make isn’t a statement—it’s a challenge.  It’s about rejecting the spaces we’ve been given, the systems that created them.  Art isn’t about making things pretty—it’s about shaking things up.  It reflects the pain and contradictions of the world we live in. 

Brutalism came from a real need. A direct, honest response to the demand for housing, for home.  It looked ahead to something that didn’t exist yet—what some called utopia. 

But don’t we need utopias?  Dreams are what keep humanity moving forward—the belief that things can get better. 

Brutalism wasn’t about luxury or pleasing the eye.  These buildings were made to meet a need.  To give people homes.  To create communities.  To serve.  

They weren’t built to satisfy the rich or to be admired for their beauty—they were built to be useful. 

And yet, it wasn’t the ideas that failed.  It was the systems that were supposed to support them. Those systems focused only on raw, cheap concrete part -  shelters stripped to their most basic form—and over time, they forgot the people and the communities these spaces were meant to serve. 

Some of these buildings are still here—caught between relics of the past and reminders of greater ideas.  They stand in limbo: housing the present, haunted by the unrealised future they were meant to bring.  This was Tomorrow. 

They ask: What are we building now?  Who is it for?  

Do we still have the courage to dream of something better—something real, something that matters? 

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This Was Tomorrow // Statement

My practice begins with the idea that art can’t exist on its own, cut off from the world. It’s tied to everything—our struggles, our society, our politics.

Art is political, or it’s nothing. Just decoration, extra fluff—and we’ve got enough of that already.

My practice begins with the idea that art can’t exist on its own, cut off from the world.  It’s tied to everything—our struggles, our society, our politics.  Art is political, or it’s nothing.  Just decoration, extra fluff—and we’ve got enough of that already. 

What I make isn’t a statement—it’s a challenge.  It’s about rejecting the spaces we’ve been given, the systems that created them.  Art isn’t about making things pretty—it’s about shaking things up.  It reflects the pain and contradictions of the world we live in. 

Brutalism came from a real need. A direct, honest response to the demand for housing, for home.  It looked ahead to something that didn’t exist yet—what some called utopia. 

But don’t we need utopias? 

Dreams are what keep humanity moving forward—the belief that things can get better. 

Brutalism wasn’t about luxury or pleasing the eye.  These buildings were made to meet a need.  To give people homes.  To create communities.  To serve.  

They weren’t built to satisfy the rich or to be admired for their beauty—they were built to be useful. 

And yet, it wasn’t the ideas that failed.  It was the systems that were supposed to support them. Those systems focused only on raw, cheap concrete part -  shelters stripped to their most basic form—and over time, they forgot the people and the communities these spaces were meant to serve. 

Some of these buildings are still here—caught between relics of the past and reminders of greater ideas.  They stand in limbo: housing the present, haunted by the unrealised future they were meant to bring.  This was Tomorrow. 

They ask: What are we building now?  Who is it for?  

Do we still have the courage to dream of something better—something real, something that matters? 

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This Was Tomorrow isn’t about nostalgia or embellishing the past. It reflects on a time when dreams were big, not for gain but for communities. These houses, while often cold and flawed, succeeded in creating spaces where people could belong—places that fostered security, connection, and a sense of togetherness. The failure wasn’t in their design or materials but in the systems that neglected them.

Support structures—maintenance, funding, belief—crumbled as quick solutions overtook the deeper vision of building communities. The concrete didn’t fail; what failed was the collective commitment to those bold ideals.

Inspired by the 1956 exhibition This is Tomorrow at Whitechapel Gallery, this project echoes its spirit. The original exhibition brought together figures like Alison and Peter Smithson, Nigel Henderson, Eduardo Paolozzi, and Erno Goldfinger—united in imagining a shared future shaped by art and architecture.

This Was Tomorrow began as a book with Judith Martin, exploring the legacy of postwar modernism.

Now, this exhibition expands that dialogue, urging us to reflect: What are we building? For whom?

Accompanying the exhibition, opening 18 Jan 2025 at Museu Quinta de Santiago in Porto // @museuquintadesantiago, is a video exploring these ideas. Using Tim Rodenbröker-inspired techniques // @tim_rodenbroeker, I processed original images in Processing // @processingorg, reassembling them in a stop-motion style and editing them back together.

This blend of deconstruction and reconstruction mirrors the hopes and contradictions of the past and present.

This project isn’t just about looking back. It’s a challenge to the present, to believe in something better.

Do we still dare to dream?

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Exciting news! This Was Tomorrow is now proudly stocked at the RIBA Bookshop!

Thrilled to share that This Was Tomorrow is now available at the RIBA Bookshop! A huge thanks to Judith Martin for her incredible promotional work in making this happen.

Grab your copy here while stocks last!

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Branded Trash Iteration #4: City Wide Exhibition Gorizia, Italy - 2024

Branded Trash explores the intersection of consumer culture, advertising, and waste, focusing on how branded litter scattered across city streets or rural areas becomes an involuntary and omnipresent form of advertising. The project photographs various types of discarded objects branded with corporate logos, challenging viewers to reconsider the invisibility of waste in urban spaces and highlighting a paradox: even trash, before being elevated to the status of billboards, serves as genuine advertising.

By subtly integrating itself into the urban landscape, the exhibition blurs the lines between public space, advertising, and art, aiming to provoke reflection among passersby on the roles of consumers and companies in the waste cycle.

This iteration will be spread throughout the city, starting on 4th October 2024 and culminating between 17th and 18th October 2024 during the ReThinkable Festival, with the unveiling of a final large-scale billboard on Via Formica. This billboard will serve as the visual opener, with the installation being treated as a performance in itself.

The final act of the billboard installation, carried out by a team of public workers, becomes a crucial part of the exhibition. This “performance” is a deliberate nod to the invisible labour involved in installing advertising, serving as a metaphor for how we overlook waste in daily life.

By turning this mundane task into a spectacle, the exhibition asks viewers to reconsider the value and visibility of both waste and advertising. This act will be documented and will form a critical part of the exhibition’s narrative.

Stop Telling Me to Buy Crap

As consumers, we are often involved in the process of producing waste, but companies bear a significant responsibility in the lifecycle of their products. This project highlights the fact that waste is a passive and insidious form of advertising, freely granted to companies as a byproduct of consumerism. It challenges viewers to confront this reality, exposing the hidden costs of our throwaway culture.

Product displacement refers to the practice of replacing or mimicking real brands and products in media, such as films, TV shows, or art, to avoid trademark issues, provide social commentary, or critique consumer culture. Unlike product placement, where real brands pay to appear, product displacement involves fictionalised or parodied representations. These often serve to highlight social issues tied to consumption or brand influence, maintaining a critical distance from direct corporate involvement.

Previous Exhibitions

Kensington & Chelsea Art Week (KCAW 2020): The project debuted at KCAW’s Little Voices, an event focused on climate change and social inequalities.

Climate Action & Visual Culture: The work expanded into a more academic exploration at the University of Huddersfield as part of the Climate Action & Visual Culture programme.

Branded Trash Book (2022): A photographic book was published, blending images, reflections, and textual commentary on the project.

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The project is produced in collaboration with the ReThinkable Festival and funded with the support of Regione Friuli Venezia-Giulia, Italy ReThinkable Festival Regione Friuli Venezia-Giulia

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Branded Trash: (In)voluntary Product Displacement - Iterazione #4 - Mostra diffusa a Gorizia

Branded Trash esplora l'intersezione tra cultura dei consumi, pubblicità e rifiuti, concentrandosi su come i rifiuti marchiati, sparsi per le strade urbane o le aree rurali, diventino una forma involontaria e onnipresente di pubblicità. Il progetto fotografa diversi tipi di oggetti abbandonati, marchiati con loghi aziendali, sfidando il pubblico a riconsiderare l'invisibilità dei rifiuti negli spazi urbani e mettendo in luce un paradosso: anche i rifiuti, prima di essere elevati a cartelloni pubblicitari, servono come vera e propria pubblicità.

Integrandosi sottilmente nel paesaggio urbano, la mostra sfuma i confini tra spazio pubblico, pubblicità e arte, con l'obiettivo di stimolare una riflessione tra i passanti sui ruoli dei consumatori e delle aziende nel ciclo dei rifiuti.

Questa iterazione si diffonderà per tutta la città, a partire dal 4 ottobre 2024 e culminando tra il 17 e il 18 ottobre 2024 durante il ReThinkable Festival, con la rivelazione di un grande cartellone su Via Formica. Questo cartellone fungerà da apertura visiva, con l'installazione trattata come una performance a sé stante.

L'atto finale dell'installazione del cartellone, eseguito da una squadra di operai pubblici, diventa una parte della mostra. Questa performance è un richiamo deliberato al lavoro invisibile coinvolto nell'installazione della pubblicità, servendo come metafora per come ignoriamo i rifiuti nella vita quotidiana. Trasformando questo compito banale in uno spettacolo, la mostra invita il pubblico a riconsiderare il valore e la visibilità sia dei rifiuti che della pubblicità. Questo atto sarà documentato e formerà una parte della narrativa dell'esposizione.

Smettete di dirmi di comprare cazzate

Come consumatori, siamo spesso coinvolti nel processo di produzione dei rifiuti, ma le aziende hanno una responsabilità significativa nel ciclo di vita dei loro prodotti. Questo progetto mette in evidenza il fatto che i rifiuti sono una forma passiva e insidiosa di pubblicità, concessa gratuitamente alle aziende come sottoprodotto del consumismo. Sfida il pubblico a confrontarsi con questa realtà, esponendo i costi nascosti della nostra cultura dell'usa e getta.

Il product displacement si riferisce alla pratica di sostituire o imitare marchi e prodotti reali nei media, come film, serie TV o arte, per evitare problemi di marchio, fornire commenti sociali o criticare la cultura del consumo. A differenza del product placement, dove i marchi pagano per apparire, il product displacement coinvolge rappresentazioni fittizie o parodistiche. Queste spesso servono a mettere in luce questioni sociali legate al consumo o all'influenza dei marchi, mantenendo una distanza critica dall'implicazione diretta delle aziende.

Esposizioni Precedenti

Kensington & Chelsea Art Week (KCAW 2020): Il progetto ha debuttato al Little Voices del KCAW, un evento focalizzato sul cambiamento climatico e le disuguaglianze sociali.

Climate Action & Visual Culture: Il lavoro si è ampliato in un'esplorazione più accademica all'Università di Huddersfield come parte del programma Climate Action & Visual Culture.

Branded Trash Book (2022): È stato pubblicato un libro fotografico che combina immagini, riflessioni e commenti testuali sul progetto.

Il progetto è prodotto in collaborazione con il ReThinkable Festival e finanziato con il sostegno della Regione Friuli Venezia-Giulia, Italia

ReThinkable Festival Regione Friuli Venezia-Giulia

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As Found University of Nova Gorica, Nova Gorica, Slovenia - 2024

This impromptu installation presents three works brought together with the generous support of Peter Purg, Dean of Humanities at the University of Nova Gorica. Conceived as a spontaneous response to place and context, the display bridges personal research and public encounter, allowing the works to converse with their surroundings in an unplanned yet meaningful way.

What began as an informal gesture quickly grew into a focused moment of reflection—on space, timing, and the quiet potential of art to disrupt routine.

Sometimes all it takes is an open door and the right kind of support

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Stop telling me to buy crap

Billboard installation Gorizia, Italy - 2024

The final act of the billboard installation, carried out by a team of public workers, becomes a crucial part of the exhibition. This “performance” is a deliberate nod to the invisible labour involved in installing advertising, serving as a metaphor for how we overlook waste in daily life. By turning this mundane task into a spectacle, the exhibition asks viewers to reconsider the value and visibility of both waste and advertising. This act will be documented and will form a critical part of the exhibition’s narrative.