For better or for worse, graffiti is normal in every city across the world.
Spray paint, permanent marker, stickers, chewing gum, legal, illegal, good murals,
bad murals, political statements, creative works of art, uninspired works of rubbish.
It’s unsightly and we could do without it, but for the most part,
you won’t notice it too much, and you won’t remember it.
But what if I told you that somewhere, there is a piece of graffiti so influential that it
made its way into local music, art, design, and culture. There were intense discussion on what
the graffiti meant, the story behind it and the artistic implications…and
there was outrage when people found out it might not be around for much longer.
This is the story of The I Love You Bridge.
1970s announcer: “Welcome to Sheffield. The beating heart of Britain’s industrial
North. The jewel in Yorkshire’s crown is home to nearly half a million people.
And thousands more flock here daily to shop and to work. All this is built on Sheffield’s primary-”
When it came time to rebuild the nation after the Second World War,
city planners wanted construction materials that were cheap and easy to put together.
There were over a million people left homeless by German bombings, and many more still living in
crowded city slums that were unsanitary and below regulations – new homes were needed and fast.
There was also a desire for something “New”. It was the Atomic Age, the beginning of the space
race, and optimism that the world will recover even better than it was before.
It was only right that the buildings constructed in this era reflect these ideals.
But the desire for something cheap and efficient, but also radically modern, unintentionally
led to the popularisation of one of the most controversial architectural styles of all time.
[Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 : Scherzo]
One of the areas designated for renovation was the Park Hill area of Sheffield; in 1957,
the Victorian slums on the hillside would be cleared and replaced with Park Hill Flats,
a revolutionary new idea in human habitation. The idea was an upward city; three bedroom
apartments for all families, inter dispersed with shops and other civic facilities. The
balconies were almost as wide as streets, giving children room to play – not that they needed it,
because in the middle of the complex were large courtyards for community events and recreation.
The buildings would recreate the “best aspects” of the former slums - this
time with dignity and good sanitation. People of all kinds could live together in open,
sun-lit spaces, with a real sense of community, because you were no more than a few floors away
from your friends and family. Local pubs and shops were all on the bottom floor,
while parents could watch from the balconies as their children walked to school.
And every day, the residents would leave their apartments
to be greeted by a view of the whole city.
A noble Utopian vision...but it wouldn’t last.
Foreign competition and a slump in demand for steel led to the closure of many of
Sheffield’s steelworks, the city’s primary industry, starting in the 1970s. Every year,
more and more workers were laid off to keep mills from going under, until there were none left.
In the surrounding towns, coalmines faced closures and the laying off of thousands.
Nothing was introduced to replace the hole left by the closure of steel mills,
leaving the city with no industry at all. The already poorer than average industrial
regions only got poorer. Like many places in the city,
Park Hill descended into a den of drugs and crime, and the oppressive, outdated
monolithic brutalist design did absolutely nothing to improve people’s mental state.
At least twenty-five people committed suicide jumping from the building’s balconies. The
walkways were poorly maintained and badly lit, making them a perfect place for muggings. Poor
insulation made the flats noisy; you could hear everything your neighbours were saying and doing.
By the mid-1990s, most people had moved out and the buildings descended into ruin.
Sheffield City Council wanted to demolish the building entirely,
until English Heritage made the buildings Grade 2-star protected, the second highest designation
possible. They thought the large, snaking complex was too iconic and historical to be
demolished and so prohibited its demolition without explicit government permission.
And for years, it stayed this way. Empty,
falling to pieces, a blight on the landscape, and nobody could get rid of them.
Sometime in April 2001, the phrase “Clare Middleton, I love you, will u marry me”
appeared on the bridge between the Phase 1 and 2 blocks.
The building’s caretakers saw the artist make it, but because the buildings were so run-down,
they decided to just leave it up, in full view of the entire city. The flats are built
on a prominent hillside, right in front of the train station and bus terminal,
making it the perfect spot for commuters to view the sign on their way to work.
It was an almost instant hit. Nobody knew who these people were,
they had no connection to them, but that gave it a certain romance,
something you could spend hours wondering about. A certain sonder; recognition that other people have
lives as complicated as your own. For years, Park Hill flats had been a blight on the landscape.
The once Utopian vision, the poster child of modern city living, was now a rotting limb the
public were too ashamed to look at. The graffiti added something to make people pay attention;
a message of optimism that demanded they actively think about its future.
It’s a symbol of explicit vulnerability and romance in a world of concrete brutalism,
drugs, despair, and deprivation. It’s two completely different human experiences
combined in the same place; the sign is a romantic, idealised gesture...written on a
place well known for being the place people go to shoot up and escape the real world.
The I Love You bridge has been very influential on the local culture;
most well known in the realm of music; Local bands have written songs directly
inspired by the bridge; [Music]
The Arctic Monkeys filmed a music video here,
while Alex Turner has been seen performing live with a t-shirt emblazoned with the sign.
A local brewery has produced a strawberry ale named after the sign,
artists have made sculpture pieces inspired by the sign, writers have written poetry,
documentary film makers have analysed it to death, painters have drawn it, et cetera et cetera.
The message’s actual story has also become somewhat of a local urban legend. Some rumours
went around that it was the product of a love triangle that ended in an arson attack. Others
say the artist proposed to Clare on the bridge; she said no, and the artist jumped to his death.
Or that Clare was a heroin addict that died before she could give an answer. Several people have
even falsely claimed the message was about them or someone they know. None of these are true.
So, what did happen to Clare Middleton? Who wrote it?
Did she say Yes? Did they live happily ever after?
Here’s what actually happened.
This was a proposal from 21-year old Jason Lowe to his then-girlfriend Clare Middleton.
But the pair were deeply in love, with Jason following Clare around town asking
for her to marry him almost constantly. Actually that’s kind of creepy let’s cut this part out.
They had been dating for a year when Jason decided to write the proposal.
Because he’s 6 foot 6 it allowed him to paint it in a way that was hard to remove.
At the time, the message was visible all the way from the local cinema,
which is why after a date there, Jason took Clare to view the message.
She said Yes!
But it didn’t go smoothly after that. The marriage was called off after three months,
not because of anything between the two of them, but because social services didn’t think
Jason would be a good father to Clare’s existing children and would have to take them away from her
if the marriage went through. She did what nearly every mother did and put her children first.
In 2006, Park Hill flats underwent a renovation programme, with development rights sold to the
architectural restoration firm Urban Splash. In the years since then, the apartments have been
rebuilt, cleaned up, and sold off again. The exterior cladding was improved to
downplay the building’s brutalist features, and the windows were extended from floor to ceiling
to let more light into the apartments. But if you’re worried about gentrification, don’t be.
As part of the agreement, a quarter of all flats are designated as social housing.
Recognising the graffiti’s prominence and iconic status, Urban Splash made
it a key logo of the new estate, reprinting it across the building, on promotional material,
and across the building lobby. At night, the graffiti is even illuminated in neon lights.
This move was actually quite well received;
urban renovation projects have a tendency to do this thing called “Art Washing” where soulless,
meaningless corporate designs are printed all over renovated buildings that give the appearance
of culture with no genuine attempts to conform to local tastes or way of life. At least here,
Urban Splash have taken local tastes and culture into account when designing the renovation.
Others were less happy with the graffiti becoming a focal point of the renovation.
Is it right that family and friends of the people involved should be constantly
reminded of their grief? Or have it used as a marketing logo? Is this
romanticising poverty? Relatives of Clare hated the decision; they see it as a constant reminder
of not only a failed marriage but also that Clare died in 2007 at the age of only thirty.
Recognising the personal nature of the message, Clare Middleton’s name is not
illuminated on the sign or featured in any of the marketing, which I say is only right.
Jason is apparently very happy with the influence the sign has generated, though
he does wish they would include Clare’s name because it was, ultimately, a message for her.
But despite the controversy,
the sign remained up has been celebrated by the people of Steel City for years.
On the 10th of February of 2021, the people of Sheffield woke up to find the neon sign had been
removed and the graffiti scrubbed away. Thousands were heartbroken, with many of
the artists who took inspiration from the sign expressing dismay at the decision to remove it.
Urban Splash defended their decision by saying the sign posed a threat to the
“structural integrity” of the building and it had to be removed for “safety reasons”.
But I don’t buy it. There’s no way a small amount of paint could somehow pose a threat to
the structural integrity of the entire building.
And yes, while they are planning to put the neon sign back and repainting the graffiti
when the building is repaired...it’s not the same. It will only be just a replica.
As for Jason himself? Well he was originally angry at the decision too,
after all, it’s his artwork and he technically owns the copyright,
but he’s accepted the reassurance that it will be painted back on.
This isn’t the first time Jason has been done dirty by the developers.
In 2016 the broke, homeless, jobless Jason says he contacted Urban Splash
for support after they marketed the hell out of his artwork;
perhaps accommodation in the building, or at the very least, royalty payments. They said no.
For most people who haven’t lived in this city during the past twenty years, this is
a big fat nothing burger. Who could possibly care this much about some misspelled vandalism
written on a rundown ugly building? For most people it might seem that way.
But for hundreds of thousands of Sheffielders,
it was the message that greeted them when they got off the bus after a hard day’s work.
It was the sign that comforted university students at the train station leaving home for the first
time. It was a place where couples proposed. It was the inspiration for artists of all
types – from musician to craft ale brewer. It was a message of optimism in a period of depravity.
It was a reminder of where we’ve come from as a city, and where we’re going as a community.