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Volume 4, Number 2 Sept–May 1951–52
Editors:
G. L. Gabites, A. L. Gabites, M. B. Patience, E. A. Plishke, E. M. Taylor.
Design Review is published bi-monthly by the Architectural Centre Inc., Wellington, and produced voluntarily by a group of people interested in good design. It is not produced for profit, and, because of the aim of maintaining a high standard of illustration and printing, the publishers have difficulty in meeting production costs. If you are interested in furthering the improvement of design in New Zealand you can assist by introducing new subscribers.
The Editors will always be pleased to receive suggestions for the improvement of Design Review. Letters and contributions should be addressed to the Editor, Design Review, P.O. Box 2460, Wellington, C.1, accompanied by a stamped addressed envelope. If writing under a pen-name, the writer must enclose his name and address.
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Design Review is printed by Geo. Slade Ltd., Wellington. Blocks by Thompson Photo Engravers Ltd., Wellington. The cover was designed by
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I sometimes envy the ignorant. To know too much of what goes on can be very trying. But some of the mistakes being committed every day by people who are paid to watch over public affairs are so serious, and to me, at least, so obvious, that it is a judgment on ourselves that more voices are not raised in protest or warning. One matter that has been hammered home to us over the last twenty years is the danger of ribbon development along our main highways. We are all well enough aware, I should have thought, of the problems ribbon development cause—serious traffic dangers and delays, bad living conditions with noise, smell, fumes and vibration from passing traffic, overextended services, and visual horrors ending in the rape of the countryside. Yet ribbon development is taking place to-day at a greater rate than ever before.
In boroughs and cities the local bodies have adequate powers under the Town Planning Act, seldom effectively used. But in the country all subdivisions must be approved by the Chief Government Surveyor, who pays little regard to planning principles—not that one can altogether blame him, for jurisdiction in planning matters should be the responsibility of town-planners and not surveyors. The only standards that seem to matter are that sections have a 50-foot frontage and that the width of streets should conform to the surveyor's yardstick of 66 feet. But what is serious is that in the bigger cities the greatest and most haphazard growth is taking place on the outskirts, under the control of counties. Though the County Councils may often be aware of the folly of subdividing along the main highways, they cannot always prevent the approval of applications. Outside Wellington there is the extraordinary case of the Ministry of Works spending a huge sum on a four-lane non-access motorway out of the city as far as Porirua and then taking no precautions to protect the road from then on. What has now happened is that suburban sections have been cut up along the main highway between Plimmerton and Pukerua Bay. Is there nothing anyone can do to stop such stupidity? For in ten years there will be a need to build another highway at great cost to by-pass the string of houses that will grow up along the present road.
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I expect there will be a falling-off this year in the national house-production figures. The collapse of the State housing programme after the change of Government will be fully felt this year for the first time. Last year's figures included houses contracted for under the previous Government. Costs are now so great that the middle-income man, who does the bulk of house-building, is building fewer, and the higher-income man is building more. One can see evidence of this in the larger proportion of semi-luxury houses now under construction. The present credit shortage is also beginning to have its effect. A lot of people who were intending to build just cannot raise the money.
This will result in two things—an apparent easing of the housing shortage and the speeding-up of commercial building. The excessive building costs are forcing families to share accommodation for economic reasons rather than for a lack of room. This in itself is a symptom of depression, and the reason why second-hand houses are stabilising in price.
It is a little easier to have commercial and industrial work constructed. High prices have forced abandonment of some schemes even after permits have been obtained, and contractors are favouring this type of work in preference to housing, as worries are fewer and profits safer.
The most serious aspect of the housing situation is the plight of the young family and of the old people. The need for cheap mass-produced housing is urgent. The Government has been hoping that the importation of prefabricated houses from overseas would be the answer. But these hopes were doomed to failure. Shipping and re-erection costs are higher than the cost of the original house.
The actual cost of building a house in a new suburb is only part of the real cost. Beside the house itself there are many other factors adding to the cost of construction which we overlook. Reading costs, kerbing and channelling, sealing, provision of water, electricity, telephone, sewerage and storm-water disposal, cost of land, loss of farming production, administrative costs and travelling expenses to and from the city are enough almost to double the real cost. This gets us back to the fundamental question as to whether we are not building too many single houses at too low a density, especially in the larger centres, and not enough flats. Now no one ever suggested that we all live in flats. And it is no good saying that you just don't like flats. There is a large proportion of the urban population who would be suitably accommodated in either tall blocks, terrace houses or maisonettes, and who would prefer them.
If we continue to build single houses one by one in endless repetition over the ever-diminishing landscape of our towns, we shall he landing ourselves in a worse mess every day. The housing shortage is still acute, which means too many people are living in sub-standard conditions and that the cost per house is far too high. In the centres of the large cities there should be a programme of slum clearance and redevelopment by high-density housing and planned communities as extensions of existing towns. If this were coupled with active building research, we would be on the right road. The hopeless condition we are now in should be enough to convince anyone of the need for a complete change of policy.
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Geoffrey Nees has drawn for us, as you see on p. 29, the evolution of the radio cabinet. Doesn't it fill you with nostalgia? I feel sure that the picturesque speaker fashioned after a gigantic sea shell would still adorn many a living-room. The sculpturesque jazz and Gothic Revival of the two centre ones, though now out of date, must still win many admirers. But I am sure no modern cabinet would be a more popular model than the lower one. Here we have all the features for good sales—streamlining, sleekness, and a pair of nice little wings.
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The recent Court proceedings against the Auckland artist Knight Turner disgusted me as much as I hope it disgusted others. A conviction—though in this case the fine was light—is a serious thing for an artist. This conviction has established painting by an artist on a Sunday as Sunday trading, and consequently an offence. A professional painter may not sit in the park on Sunday and he seen painting—in fact, perhaps he may not even paint in his studio observed, though it might be permissible if he pulls down the blinds. And will not this decision affect the Art Galleries, which are open on Sundays and not only charge for admission but actually sell pictures. The implications are alarming. But what the decision indicates is that the hidebound spirit of Victorianism is still ascendant in New Zealand. I doubt whether such a Court decision has been possible in England in the last fifty years.
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The Government's election promise to import 3000 prefabricated houses has not been as easy to fulfil as it seemed. Of the twenty six firms who tendered, none were suitable. The recent order for a thousand houses from an English firm will be a test batch. They are not really prefabs, as they will be completely knocked down. They would be better described as “pre-cut”. Each piece of timber will be brought out separately, ready for nailing.
If you were going to build a house, would you go to an architect? Probably not, for only about one person in twenty does. Most people think they can do as well as an architect, and that his fees are too high anyway. Go into any bookshop and you will see a large range of plan books—all equally bad—which sell only too readily. Over these cooked-up horrors, some less horrible than others, young married people pore in the evenings, thinking of the house they wish to build and whether to have the one with the sunroom off the bedroom or the one with the lantern over the front door. Until about ten years ago they probably achieved about as good a result this way as by going to some of the established architects. But to-day you can do much better. You can now choose from a number of capable younger architects who can not only give you a much more attractive and convenient house than can be found in any plan book, but a cheaper one as well.
There is ample evidence of this. Over the last ten years or so there has been an increasing number of better-designed or what you might call “contemporary” houses. The most recognisable of these is the “magpie” house of creosote and tar with white facings and overhanging flat roof, originally popular with the more advanced architects, but now copied at random by others. For the leading house-architects this phase is passing. and a more developed style is becoming evident.
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At the annual general meeting of the Architectural Centre, Mr. D. G. Porter was re-elected as President. Mr. Design Review, is an ex-officio member of the Council.
This small house of 900 sq. ft. has a large living-room and two small bedrooms. Finished eighteen months ago, it is situated at Ngakawau, north of Westport, on the West Coast of the South Island.
The district is very rainy, the pronounced overhang to eaves in front was designed to break the heavy falls of rain over the big windows. The house does not claim to be an unusual one; it can be said to be an economical direct answer to the problem of providing a small house in a part of New Zealand that is different from any other. The cost would be within the reach of the average.
The West Coast has an isolation only reached by two major roads (one of which is often broken by mountain storm slips), the sea (limited), the railway, and the air (unlimited). It is the area of the famous Erewhon (nowhere) of Samuel Butler, and Architecture with a capital A has had few opportunities to leave its mark.
Buildings in early Timaru, long since destroyed.
Readers of architectural magazines, as well as the casual tourist, might be forgiven for thinking that there are, in New Zealand, no buildings worth preserving. Compared with the architecture of Europe, that is true enough. But it is worth remembering that a building has three aspects—the historic and social, as well as the architectural. And, although we cannot lay many claims to fine architecture, we do know that to us, if to no one else, the historic and social aspects are important.
Many of our old buildings have been the scenes of events which form a significant part of our short history, or have housed or been built by notable personalities, or merely show us the manner in which our pioneers lived and worked. If they are architecturally presentable, so much the better. There are in most of our towns and scattered through the country, houses and churches, shops and halls that are worth keeping. One can recall houses and public buildings in Napier, Nelson, New Plymouth, Timaru, Queenstown, even in Palmerston North and Invercargill, which, in their quiet and modest way, evoke a sense of the past. They are, though most of us do not realise it, monuments. The hundreds who pass them daily take them for granted. Like other sights and monuments of a town they are significant, though seldom looked at twice.
What are we doing to preserve these buildings? The Internal Affairs Department and the Lands and Survey Department have certain limited and apparently conflicting powers, rarely evoked and tentatively used. There is no special fund to draw on, and preservation can be a costly business. We are, in fact, doing next to nothing. The only exceptions one can think of are the Waitangi Treaty House (a questionable piece of restoration), the Maori church at Otaki (which has had its elegant Gothic leadlights replaced with ‘functional’ lavatory glass), and Bishop Pompallier's house at the Bay of Islands. There is also a small cob cottage standing in downcast isolation on the Sumner road.
As most of our buildings are of wood, the rot begins to set in early. Any number of them have long ago decayed and collapsed, and finished up at the knackers. One wonders what is happening, even at this moment, to Lavaud's house at Akaroa, to the Kemp's house at
1
2
3: The Roman Catholic church at Akaroa, from a photograph taken in 1905.
4
1, 2 and 4: Cob and wood houses in the Nelson district in various stages of repair.
But what shall we preserve? Who shall advise us? How shall we pay?
At the present time, the Director of the Dominion Museum, Dr. Falla, and others are trying to answer these questions. Dr. Falla has invited associations and persons to discuss the matter and prepare a report for presentation to the Government.
Some suggestions have already been made. One is that a central council to advise the Government should be set up. This would be directly linked with a series of regional committees comprising architects, historians, and departmental and local body representatives. Their first duties would be exploratory. Members of the regional committees would mark those buildings which should be preserved. The buildings could be bought and restored, or they could be photographed with their plans and details recorded, or models could be made, depending on their importance and state of repair. Money is another matter, and so is the legislation needed to enforce preservation. New Zealand is almost alone in having neither. Great Britain, France, Austria, Italy, the United States, Canada, even Tasmania, have arrangements which work, however creakingly, to preserve their most worthy buildings.
And having restored them, what then? The buildings must be occupied or used if they are not to fall prey to vandals or to become mere ghosts of the past. Pompallier House is occupied by a caretaker, and opened to the public, and there is a small return from a donation box and through the sale of postcards. But the high cost of restoration and subsequent upkeep cannot hope to be met out of revenue — even an admission charge would not cover the costs.
Operating an old house as a museum has great value, but it can be carried too far. Think of houses in England, where even the linen from
In this matter we once again look to the State as our benefactor.
5: Keri Keri, the oldest house in New Zealand, continuously occupied by the Kemp family.6: A sitting-room in the Keri Keri house. The Georgian furniture is contemporary with the house.7: A group of shops in Dunedin, from a photograph taken in the eighteen-sixties. Each preserves its individuality, yet together they form a harmonious row.
The invention of coinage, if for our present purpose we define coins as pieces of metal stamped with an official badge as a guarantee of purity and weight, can be placed with reasonable certainty in Asia Minor at the beginning of the seventh century B.C., and attributed either to the kings of Lydia or to the Ionian Greeks who had close commercial relations with them. The art of cutting seal-stones in intaglio had been known for many centuries, and the technique of making coins was in principle the same as that of making seal-impressions, but instead of seal-stone being pressed into clay or wax, the intaglio was set in an anvil and the hot metal hammered down into it with a punch. The obverse of the coin is the side which has received its impression from the lower or anvil die, and the reverse the side which has been marked by the punch. In the earliest coins the mark of the punch is an incuse (stamped) impression either square or circular. Later a design was added within the incuse square or circle, which in time became no less elaborate than the design on the obverse. From the fourth century onwards the incuse impression has disappeared and the reverse is distinguishable only by a certain degree of concavity in the surface, not always recognizable from photographs.
From Asia Minor, where the earliest coins were of electrum, a natural alloy of gold and silver, coinage quickly spread over the AEgean. On the mainland of Greece, silver coinage replaced the handful (drachma) of iron spits already in use as a unit of exchange. There was much rivalry between different standards of currency. A large commercial city tended to impose its own standards, if not its own coinage, over a wide area. By the fifth century Athenian silver tetradrachms (four-square drachma pieces), minted from the rich supply of silver in the mines at Laurium, in Attica, had become the most widely accepted coinage of the AEgean area, and were to remain so until they were replaced by the tetradrachms of Alexander the Great. Meanwhile, in the sixth and fifth centuries, the prosperous Greek colonies of South Italy and Sicily had developed their own coinages, and established traditions of workmanship hardly equalled anywhere else in the Greek world.
We are here reproducing obverses and reverses of five coins from the Fels collection, one from Athens, three from Syracuse and one from Gela, another Sicilian city.
The Athenian coin is a silver tetradrachm (fig. 1) of about the middle of the fifth century. The obverse type is the head of Athena, the reverse of an owl, with an olive spray, a waning moon and the first three letters of the name of the city. The combination of the two types had first been used by Pisistratus, who came to power about a century before and was anxious to appear as a national statesman under the protection of the city's patron goddess. Hence the head of Atheria and also the owl and the olive, which had certain religious associations with the goddess. Once the tetradrachms bearing these two types had gained a wide currency in the Ægean. Athens showed a conservatism in her coinage unparalleled in ancient history. Only minor details were added, such as the olive leaves on the helmet and the waning moon on the reverse—both probably allusions to the Athenian victory at Marathon—and the style of the engraving lagged far behind contemporary developments in Athenian sculpture and in coinage elsewhere. The deep incuse square, for example, on the reverse had been abandoned by many contemporary coinages, and in the treatment of the features the only obvious advance from the archaic style is that the eye, instead of being presented as lozenge-shaped even in profile, follows the naturalistic trend of vase-painting and relief sculpture and is shown as more triangular in shape, with the iris almost hiding the inner corner. Such were the famous ‘owls of Athens’ which for two centuries dominated Mediterranean commerce.
Of the three Syracusan coins, two are earlier than the Athenian tetradrachm, one considerably later. The first as a silver litra-piece (fig. 2), weighing about 0.86 grammes, which was the silver equivalent of the native Sicilian copper unit, the litra (akin to the Italian libra). Since five silver litrae happened to be equal in weight to an Attic drachma and twenty to the tetradrachm, the native Sicilian standard was not incompatible with the Attic standard, and Sicilian tetradrachms were coined on the Attic standard and regarded as twenty-litra pieces.
Both the litra and the first (fig. 3) of the two tetradrachms belong to the first quarter of the fifth century. The head on the obverse of the litra and on the reverse of the tetradrachm is that of Artemis-Arethusa, the Athena of Syracuse. On these two coins the treatment of the hair, which undergoes so many variations in the archaic period, both on coins and in sculpture, is strikingly similar. It projects over the brow, and at the back of the neck is turned up under the diadem with the ends hanging free. The two most important tools used by the die-engraver were the graver and the punch. Hence the prevalence, especially in the archaic period, of lines such as those used here in the stylized treatment of the hair and of beads and dots. The four dolphins surrounding the head on the tetradrachm symbolize the harbour of Syracuse, and the inscription reads: ‘Of the Syracusans’. On the obverse of the tetradrachm is a four-horse chariot, with a winged figure of victory above, crowning the horses with a wreath. Chariot-racing was an aristocratic sport, and a victory in the Pan-Hellenic games was much coveted by tyrants and often won by the tyrants of Sicilian cities. The horses have the slender
1.
Athenian Silver Tetradrachm: ca. 450 B.C.2.
Syracusan Silver Litra: early 5th century.3.
Syracusan Silver Tetradrachm: early 5th century B.C.4.
Syracusan Silver Tetradrachm: ca. 387–367 B.C.5.
Silver Tetradrachm from Gela: early 5th century.
In the second half of the fifth century the skill of the Syracusan die-engravers had become so well recognized that they were allowed to place their signatures on the city's coinage. One of them was Euainetus, and, though we have no signed coin by him in the collection, the next coin (fig. 4) gives a fair idea of the tradition he established. It belongs probably to the last twenty years (387-367) of the reign of Dionysius the Elder. The triskeles or three-legged figure on the reverse is a symbol for Sicily, the three-cornered island, over which Dionysius claimed to have extended his dominion.
The last coin (fig. 5) takes us back again to the first half of the fifth century. It is a didrachm from Gela, a city which was at this time subject to the tyrant of Syracuse. On the obverse is a naked horseman, brandishing a lance. The horse is somewhat less archaic than on the early Syracusan tetradrachm. On the reverse is the forepart of a man-headed bull, the river-god Gelas, swimming in his own river. Our coin is well worn, but the difference in texture between the skin of the neck and the hair of the beard, produced by the use of punch and graver respectively, is still visible.
I have purposely confined myself to stating the approximate dates and provenances of these coins and briefly explaining the meaning of their symbols, without extolling their merits. They must be judged on the effectiveness of their symbolism in relation to a design contained within a small circle, and on the æsthetic merits of the design itself. For this the information I have given and the accompanying photographs should suffice. There is perhaps one further feature that can only be appreciated by handling the coins themselves. Most of the designs are in comparatively high relief, and some of the tetradrachms are nearly a quarter of an inch thick. Consequently they possess a solidity which adds to the æsthetic pleasure of handling them, but might suggest an unfavourable contrast, on practical grounds, with the flat discs, moulded in low relief, to which we are accustomed.
Measurements in Centimetres
Measurements in Centimeters
The art of making our surroundings agreeable to live in, and of expressing our feelings through our environment is not much thought about in New Zealand and certainly never practised. No doubt the buildings that surround us do express the way we live and something of what we feel, though we will leave the distressing questions ‘How?’ and ‘What?’ to some more appropriate time. What we want to talk about now is the result—the boredom of drab streets, the monotony of the dreary, meaningless variation, and the clamant jumble of signs and advertisements. Do we see them? No. Are we affected by them? Yes, indeed we are. As proof of this, think how the heart lightens and the eye brightens when we leave the town and step through the wharf gates to the docks beyond.
Here is interest, vitality and visual excitement. No drabness, no monotony, no advertisements. Notices are clearly written, well placed, and say what they mean pungently and with character. Here we can walk without fear of being run over and can look about and enjoy our surroundings. The only pity is that the walk stops at Taranaki Wharf and we have to go out on to the road again if we are to get to Clyde Quay and the boat harbour.
Compare the way the wharves and the streets are ‘furnished’. On the wharves, look at the variety of bollards, well shaped and fit for the purpose they, serve; at the handrails and balustrades, their intricacy setting off the simple shapes of the buildings. The wharves and their sheds encompass the ships and form quiet precincts for them. Notice especially Queen's Wharf, its rather formal character, like a Georgian square, mixed with present-day machinery and brightly-coloured coasting vessels. Here is the example to follow if we should ever replan our city: the quiet precinct with the calm water replaced by a grassed or payed court set with well-placed trees, the sheds replaced by shops with flats over, the whole relying on the form of the enclosed space created by these elements.
In Wellington there are no squares, no quiet precincts for the pedestrian, nowhere we can shop and have our lunch away from the wind and the traffic. Yet Wellington stands in a setting that rivals Stockholm, Genoa, Edinburgh, and even Athens. The difference between those cities and our capital is that they conform beautifully to the landscape, while our builders seem to have regarded nature as an antagonist to be constantly struggled against.
Let us emerge now from the tunnels of Wellington City streets and look at the town from a distance. Stand at the end of Oriental Parade. The eye is caught and carried in a sweep round the road and up to the Monastery. The Monastery stands on a spur which both sets a limit to the commercial part of the city and sets a scale for the rest of its surroundings, giving proportion to the distant view.
Now climb up to Mount Victoria, still using the Monastery as a measuring stick; the city with its harbour becomes a map; we can see the relation of each part to the whole. The chiaroscuro effect lends enchantment to the view, heightened by the delight of seeing and listening to the activity of a town from above.
Such pleasures would be all the more enhanced if the eye were first led enticingly to some view, so that it caught a glimpse of what was to come but never seeing the whole picture until the summit was reached. Outside New Zealand there are many examples: walk from the dock, winding up through the narrow snickets and alleys of Genoa to the churches overlooking the town; walk from the Art Gallery up through the streets to Edinburgh Castle, where there is a view back across Princes Street and over the city stretching away to the Firth of Forth and the docks; the magnificent beauty of the Acropolis, first reached through the noisy seething markets of Athens and the narrow streets of the old town. On the Acropolis the rest of the world is forgotten, and not until the Parthenon has been absorbed does the faint noise of a busy city reach the ears, leading the eye to the walls and the jumble of houses lying below.
Common to these examples is the feeling of attainment after the first enticing view, and the ensuing realization of contrasts in volume and shape that grant to the eye final and complete fulfilment.
We have in Wellington some of the fundamentals of this visual stimulation which need only the finishing touches of whitewash, colour, well-designed handrails, and street furniture. How different the journey from Oriental Bay through Roseneath to the lookout on Mount Victoria could be if the occasional focal point of church, house or tree were accentuated by good handrails and well-kept pavements! Then the continuing interest and pleasure provided by the changing road as it winds from one side of the hill to the other, bringing view after view, would help to lead us upward.
In the town itself. Plimmer's Steps, with small expense and little work, could become a pleasant short-cut to The Terrace. But at present weeds grow and a rough broken wall, which could easily be whitewashed, mars the final emergence on to Boulcott Street.
We cannot saddle the Queen's Wharf precinct.
Bollards, open space and balustrades.
A view on the docks.
A clear notice written with character.
A church at Roseneath serving as a focal point at a bend of the road.
Looking back from Oriental Parade on the town and the monastery.
The small things that make up the town-planner's notebook (which range from road surfaces, kerbs, gutters and drains, to fire hydrants and telephone booths) are the finishing touches that can accentuate the forms left us by our forefathers. For the fine work given us by the railway and road engineers and the good placing of church and monastery are not enough by themselves. We must be continually aware of their value, and by every addition and alteration see that they retain their individuality and at the same time blend with their surroundings.
Wellington is hilly and precipitous. The town-planner is beset with problems, but it hasn't stopped roads and railways from being built. Consider the scenic drama of a train journey from Johnsonville or Plimmerton to Wellington, or one by car through the road tunnels of Hataitai, Karori and Northland with the changing level and sudden disclosures. If the tunnels were used as links between the different townscapes we could turn the changes in level to things of beauty, provided we understood how to use and know the materials we are working with. Also, Wellington is a port. The hub of its activity lies along the water stretching from Wadestown to Oriental Parade. From many of the streets of the town we are aware of the ships and realise the large part they play in our life.
With these factors in mind we can set about bettering our surroundings. By making use of the examples of clear simple design given us by the docks and the ships, we can enhance the qualities of Wellington to make it at one with its landscape.
The Original Design Slightly Modified by Our Correspondents.
In the Star of January 11th, 1952, a sketch of the above was published with the caption commencing as follows: ‘This massive block of concrete and steel …’ thus confirming its apparent solidity. In reality the ‘Anchor’ is hollow—i.e., framed in reinforced concrete with an external wall approximately 8″ thick faced with 6″ precast concrete slabs. We question this attempt at endowing the bridge with architectural treatment' drawing attention to the ‘Anchor’. If this is what we are to have then, present apathy indicates that we, the public, deserve it. Only a critically awake public can expect a high standard of design—and if the ‘Anchor’ is a serious solution to the problem, all we can say is that this rather weak sop to the public lacks any appreciation of the elements of good design. Our bias is for a sane, reasoned approach in design, therefore we ask for public opinion on the following criticism:
1. As the real ‘Anchor’ is a solid reinforced concrete block set mainly below ground level, then what is the reason for the frame above ground, encased in the 8″ wall with its 6″ skin of precast slabs giving the impression of solid squared stonework? Is this necessary?. Can we not be honest in expressing structure truthfully?
2. Is the use of pseudo Maori carved slabs of precast concrete, sane decorative treatment for this ‘Anchor’. Such carving, essentially in timber, has its origin in the Maori meeting-house and has no connection with a present-day engineering problem.
3. What is the purpose of the masonry terrace surrounding the ‘Anchor’ on three sides? Is it, by its slight elevation above the immediate ground level, to provide a point from which to view the bridge and harbour? We doubt its use as a vantage point, and surely even as such, why the solid stone dwarf wall—a visual obstruction, as opposed to a light open balustrade in metal?
4. Has a cypress, or any other tree, ever been successfully grown in an ornamental stone box in New Zealand? These cypresses, flanking the terrace steps, are strangers among the native pohutukawas, and are destined for an early end in such a location.
5. The pretentious triumphal approach up the steps leads to an anticlimax of what appears to be a metal plaque. Is the inscription to be ‘Mene mene tekel upharsin oh “Anchor”’, which, being interpreted, means “Thou hast been weighed and found wanting, oh “Anchor”’.
6. Finally, we see a reasonably pleasant open balustrade for the carriageway, but why is it broken by the ‘upsurge’ of the ‘Anchor’ block? On a practical basis, why does the balustrade receive different treatment at the ‘Anchor’? Surely it is more sensible to continue the one form of balustrade right through. This will also emphasise visually the entity of bridge-approach and highway.
In every way the ‘Anchor’ block and terrace, as shown in the sketch, demonstrate lack of consideration of fundamentals in design, which should be the integration simultaneously of function, structure and aesthetics.
As a constructive approach we suggest ‘treatment’ of the ‘Anchor’ as shown in the accompanying sketch (below).
The Proposal Put Forward by Our Correspondents.
Owner: Miss J. Mackenzie.
Architects: Natusch and Sons, Napier.
Builder: F. W. Berry and Sons, Havelock North.
Problems: To design an economic two-bedroom unit requiring minimum housekeeping and encouraging gracious unhampered living. The view across the Heretaunga plains coincided with the sun and so provided no difficulty. The strong Hawke's Bay sunlight and glare had to be guarded against by using low overhanging eaves and natural weathered Redwood boarding on the exterior to avoid screwed-up eyes when sitting on the brick terrace.
Construction: Orthodox timber frame construction but with 7′ 6″ external stud and 9′ 6″ bearing beam ridge. Underside of 6″ × 2″ rafters form sloping ceilings averaging 8′ 3″ in height. The 3′ 6″ eaves are sufficiently low to control sun and glare very well. The terrace is surfaced with red bricks bedded in sand. There is no reflected glare through the large living-room windows such as would have been the case if uncoloured concrete had been used.
Results: The one-door entry works well as main entry and service doors combined. This can only apply where there is a close indoor-outdoor relationship, such as living-room and terrace illustrated. It has been found very desirable to keep the terrace private and free from main or service entries, as opposed to the more usual method of making main approach across the terrace. Simple construction and window details helped to keep down cost without sacrificing quality.
Finance: Well-known insurance companies lending on houses have shown great enthusiasm for such house design—rather strange after our experiences with the State Advances Corporation, who are reluctant to lend on much of our work, evidently because we do not design houses in accordance with out-of-date ideas.
Long-playing discs are our theme once more. It is true that the only ones available here—and in small quantities—are from one company, and that we have little chance of obtaining the fabulous range being put out by at least forty concerns in the United States. But let us consider what there is. Take opera. There is no doubt that the advent of L.P. has worked wonders here. I have before me an American catalogue listing eighty-eight complete opera recordings, including such fantastic items as Verdi's La Battaglia di Legnano and Hugo Wolf's Der Corregidor. And our English friends are forging ahead steadily. I imagine that most local collectors at all interested in this form of music will want either Mozart's Seraglio (LXT 2536/8) or Johann Strauss's Fledermaus (LXT 2550/1), or both—most probably both.
Die Entfiehrung aus dem Serail, as we shall call it, for it is sung in the German tongue that Mozart used for it—offers two hours or more of purest delight. The cast are all good, and a great deal of the spoken dialogue has been retained, which might be thought a nuisance by some British listeners. But this prevents the piece from being merely a series of ‘numbers’. And with what relish these Viennese actor-singers throw themselves into the text! See if you can detect anything self-conscious or forced in the scene where Pedrillo makes old Osmin drunk, or in a dozen other places. Armed with Opera Nights, the nonlinguist can get endless pleasure from the amusing goings-on. But we want also to be satisfied musically, and there is almost a hundred per cent, guarantee here also. Endre Koreh is an ideal Osmin, save when he moves above his lower register, and there is some disappointment in listening to his ‘Triumph’ aria in Act 3, but we should remember that the original Osmin had a quite exceptional range, and that we cannot expect miracles too often. Tenors Walther Ludwig and Peter Klein, sopranos Emmy Loose and Wilma Lipp, offer singing that is highly satisfying from first note to last. The Vienna Philharmonic, under Josef Kripps, chuckles and bubbles, sighs and sings. The balance has been condemned in some quarters — voices too loud, not enough orchestra. In warmly commending this set I am writing for the average lover of Mozart, who will surely not be put off by such strictures. And this is the only version so far of one of Mozart's most human and approachable operas, a work of which our greatest living critic has said that there is not a single dull number from beginning to end.
But Mozartian opera is, admittedly, not everyone's cup of tea. Die Fledermaus surely is. I cannot imagine anyone not revelling in these two closely-packed discs of vintage Johann Strauss, this riot of waltzes, polkas, Viennese fun and Viennese sentiment. All the non-accompanied dialogue has been omitted here, so maybe the recording is a series of ‘numbers’. It doesn't matter. I throw consistency to the winds in the face of such richness. The average New Zealander's acquaintance with Fledermaus has been confined to endless hearings of the overture and perhaps the overdone ‘Laughing Song’. I have known several people to approach this recording in a bored frame of mind, only to give vent to tremendous enthusiasm after the first side. For once, no one has any complaints about either singing, playing or recording—the only mild remonstrance being that no dividing lines are left between the acts, which follow one another without any breathing space. We are given a performance of the waltz Voices of Spring as ballet music, but this is so placed that it can easily be eliminated. The distinguished cast sing with wonderful verve and refinement. Every number is a gem, and all the orchestration can be heard. For those who perhaps still do not know, the main principals are Hilde Gueden, Wilma Lipp, Julius Patzak and Anton Dermota, and the Vienna State Opera Chorus and Philharmonic Orchestra are under the inspired leadership of one of the great opera conductors of our time—Clemens Krauss. The same forces and some of the same soloists have since recorded The Gipsy Baron (LXT 2612/3). When the records arrive here it is fully expected they wall be just as desirable as the Fledermaus.
Other Decca operas which we may expect very soon are two of Puccini's, La Boheme (LXT 2622/3) and Madame Butterfly (LXT 2638/40), each featuring the sensational Italian soprano, Renata Tebaldi, Der Freischutz (LXT 2597/9), by a Vienna opera cast, and two French works recorded at the Opera Comique—Carmen (LXT 2615/7) and Manon (LXT 2618/20). Die Meistersinger, of which the second act was released some time ago, has now been completed and freshly coupled on LXT 2659/64, while the 1951 Beyruth Parsifal is on LXT 2651/7. This last must be the longest single work yet recorded in any form.
Producing a magazine such as Design Review on a voluntary basis is a difficult undertaking at any time. To-day, with ever-soaring prices in the printing industry, it is impossible to meet the costs of a quality production out of ordinary revenue. Last year Design Review reached the stage where, unless some outside help were found, it could not carry on. We are happy to announce that the Internal Affairs Department has seen fit to grant Design Review a sum which ensures continued production.
Until this decision had been announced, the editors were unable to proceed with the publication of this number. This explains its lateness—notification of the grant was received only recently. Hereafter publication. will be at regular two-monthly intervals. The fact of a grant is encouraging, for it indicates official recognition that Design Review has more than local significance. We hope for a wider public acceptance of this confidence.
Now, please, if you are one of those people who think good design is important, and that its message should be propagated, you can help to contribute to this cause by helping Design Review. Ten shillings is little for one year's subscription, and you must know people who would willingly pay this for what we have to offer. Remember that the people who run Design Review have other jobs by which they live—that their work for this magazine is a labour of love. In fact, they bear the losses out of their own pockets. So if you help in this way you are helping something that should be worth keeping.
In an effort to save the Arts Year Book from extinction, the New Zealand Association of Art Societies recently convened a meeting of representatives of a number of societies and special interests which are likely to support its continuation. This initial meeting was held in Wellington, and it is hoped that it will lead to a co-ordinated effort throughout New Zealand.
The main problems are to harness the widespread willingness and enthusiasm for the Year Book, and to find the money to meet production losses. Though the Department of Internal Affairs has indicated it will subsidise it by E250, a further E500 at least would be needed. Who, then, is going to pay, and who is to accept the responsibility of production? These are problems that have yet to be solved, and it is hoped that all persons interested will do what they can to help.
The Editor of Design Review strongly the continuation of the Year Book.
The following note appeared in Alphabet & Image, the best journal of its kind in England, under the caption Christchurch Victory.
Readers of Image may recall that in No. 4 we published an editorial concerning the rejection by the Christchurch (New Zealand) City Council of a proposed gift, a painting by The Pleasure Garden, to the Robert McDougall Gallery.
The gift was not rejected in the time-honoured manner, with regrets and so forth, but in an aggressive, I-know-what-I-like manner by the advisory committee to the Council.
We are happy to say that the subscribers who were responsible for buying the painting and offering it to the Gallery were by no means the forlorn citizens that art-lovers are often pictured in films and books. They started something. Their agitation has proved so effective that we were delighted to hear from one of our readers, Mr. A. C. Brassington, of Christchurch, that the Council has reconsidered its earlier decision and will now hang the picture.
Some of the Councillors' opinions make entertaining but saddening reasoning. Said Cr. Mabel Housid (sic): ‘I know I am not an artist, but I hesitate to say where I would put that!’ Very funny. Said one Councillor: ‘The rank and file of the public would wonder at our mentality if we put it up in that beautiful building in the Botanic Gardens!’ ‘Perhaps art changes from year to year,’ added the Mayor, trying to placate his more philistinian councillors. Only Cr. Mary McLean showed a reasonably civilized view. She was told, she said, that the picture had remarkable qualities in balance of colour and texture. The artist was world-famous, and this painting would be famous, too, for the thought and discussion on art it had provoked.
Full marks to Councillor McLean.