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Volume Five Number Five
Design Review is published bimonthly by the Architectural Centre Inc., Wellington.
Letters and contributions should be addressed to the Editor. Design Review, P.O. Box 2460, Wellington, C.1., accompanied by a stamped addressed envelope.
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… One thing that emerged fairly clearly from the Royal Tour gatherings in Wellington was the notable lack of a place in which to gather. Most activity of a formal outdoor kind was centred about the entrance to Parliament Buildings and the Cenotaph. Plenty of space there? Yes, but its everyday population of power poles, flower beds, grass plots and iron railings prevented all but the early bystanders from getting a look in.
There is nothing wrong about having Cenotaph in the middle of a busy street—look at Whitehall—but it should be possible, when the occasion arises, for that important monument to become the centre of a large, clear space in which crowds can gather to take part in the ceremony.
We should like to see the railings and the greater part of the planting in front of the Government Buildings removed. With these hazards out of the way it is possible to visualize an area of pleasantly designed paving as a forecourt to the Buildings, as an extension to Lambton Quay for assembly and as a generous pavement for the more aimless pedestrians—an ill-served group in this City—to stroll or sit in. Plant trees, certainly, but tall-growing shade trees set in the paving and not, like the desultory kind already there, in the solitary confinement of an official flower bed.
The exhibition of the housing competition entries has reinforced an impression I have about New Zealand designers.
I feel that the minimum in design has unconsciously become an ultimate objective in itself. In pursuing the essential and apparently elusive immediate aim of an economic minimum, sight has been lost of this aim's relationship to an ultimate. In fact, sight of an ultimate objective has been lost altogether. Minimal proposals will never satisfy laymen or designers until they are clearly and honestly recognised for what they are, mere starting points towards the visually rich and sensuous experience which sensitive design, under more ideal circumstances, can be.
We tend to recognise our standards as the lowest common denominator. We do not admit their limitations nor have we the direction to aspire beyond them. We complacently accept them and even revere them.
It is significant that the young architect, regarded by his contemporaries as a good ‘minima’ designer, when granted more generous means is often at a loss for direction. In relating his approach to a minimum rather than aspiring to an ultimate, he fails to create what could possibly be a ‘work of art’.
I believe that it is timely and vital that the basic principles of contemporary architecture be recalled, integrated with recent knowledge and experience, and forcefully restated. From these a concept of an ideal, to which to aspire and relate our immediate objective in housing design, may be regained.
Extracts from a review of our last number by W. D. Wilson (of Group Architects) in “Here and Now”, March 1954 (q.v.)
… “tatty ‘Your New House’ or ‘good clean fun’ type of pulp … whimsy and unsupported generalisation … weaker, less pointed, and less coherent than it could be … the easy assumption … the failure to thump … the failure to show … the failure to evaluate … the passing off … ugh! just how tattily suburban is it possible to become? … Congratulations on a first class cover.”
The Editor hastens to acknowledge that the cover of our last issue was designed by John Drawbridge.
• • • In this issue of Design Review we print a special plea for the preservation of old St. Paul's, Wellington's principal Anglican Church. The future of this charming building seems endangered by suggestions that part of its fabric be incorporated in the structure of the proposed new Cathedral. This article has been contributed by an architect who writes as a life-long parishioner of St. Paul's, predisposed, shall we say, by his training to appreciate its virtues. We think that he neither overstates its merits nor underestimates the measure of its loss.
In a country richly endowed with good buildings it would possibly be of less importance if one such as this were to be neglected and that neglect used as an excuse for demolition. Here, by circumstance of growth, we are architecturally poor and we simply cannot afford to lose what little we possess. If it is said that the Church is unable to maintain St. Paul's while building the new Cathedral, then it must be pointed out that in most parts of the world today if a structure of demonstrable quality becomes a burden to its owner it is appropriate for the community at large to take over the responsibility.
• • • Having acquired the occupancy of some down-town floor space in Wellington about a year ago, the Architectural Centre, somewhat to its surprise, now has a flourishing Gallery on its hands. The occasional exhibition was certainly intended from the outset, but it was realized only later that, once begun, the work of showing paintings or sculpture or buildings or pottery to the public can go on as long as there is work of sufficient merit to show. People will continue to come to see it and there is no indication that the source is drying up yet. On the contrary, the existence of a Gallery is its own best insurance—the opportunity to exhibit encourages the production of exhibits.
The Gallery has also shown that there are rich fields other than that of local current work to explore. Already two outstanding loan collections have been drawn from private and public sources and exhibited to gratifyingly large attendances. The first was a show covering a wide range of the works of
The Gallery has now begun its second season. Its value is unquestioned, the only needs are private effort and public support to sustain it. The latter is your concern, the former is the unbelievably demanding, voluntary task of a group of people within the Architectural Centre who have given and are giving their time to the continuance of the Gallery. With a broad hint that public support is the best encouragement, this editorial, representing the Centre, wishes to record the fine efforts of all those responsible for a successful first year of exhibitions.
… raised above eye-level of the passer-by, this superbly sited house stands aloof. The fine screen of branches—bare in winter, green and shading in summer—detaches its life from the street. The drive invites the visitor without offering the immediate acquaintance of …
… domestic, friendly, enclosed. On this side the house sits close to its site, each room opens out to the transitional pergola and the open lawn. The terrace beyond returns the eye to the outside world.
“Dominion” Photograph.
Her Majesty's laying of the foundation stone of the new Cathedral would seem to have sealed the fate of Wellington's loveliest church. Its historic association and architectural merit are recognised to the extent that it is proposed to remove and re-site the eastern portion of the church for use as a Lady Chapel within the new Cathedral. This article is a plea for the preservation of the church as it stands, for it is worthy of preservation, historically, architecturally, and for its usefulness.
The first church of St. Paul's, Wellington, was built in the middle forties and stood on what is now the south-west corner of Parliament Grounds. When the land was acquired for Government House the building was removed to Bolton Street cemetery where it still stands. The following story is told of how the present site was acquired: “ The English Church in New Zealand by T. Purchas, publ. 1914.
The foundation stone of the church was laid by
A contemporary wrote to Frederick Thatcher in a report on the Third Synod of the Diocese of Wellington: “The Report from St. Paul's Parish, Thorndon, is in all respects but one satisfactory. I need hardly say that the one exception is the resignation of the cure by the Rev. F. Thatcher, the state of whose health has obliged him to retire from a duty which he has fulfilled to the great satisfaction, not only of the Parish, but of the community and Diocese. I will not trust myself to say how strongly I have felt the blessing of his presence amongst us and with what deep regret I look forward to the prospect of his departure. He will, however, leave a record of himself in many hearts, and, I trust, visibly in the Parish Church, the building of which he has so steadily set himself to accomplish, and the plans for which he has drawn and most carefully worked out.
Subsequently the building has been enriched by gifts of stained glass, furniture and fittings, some of which are memorials to our historical figures. It is surprising that none of the enrichments are out of character. The chancel windows are the gift of Bishop Alveham and the west window was erected by fellow officers in memory of those who fell during the Maori wars. The pulpit is a memorial to
Since the early days of Wellington, our Governors, Premiers and Statesmen have worshipped in this church as have many of the founders of this city. Belonging to a distinctive period of colonial architecture of which it is one of the best survivals, St. Paul's has now considerable importance as a monument. In Britain, which is rich in historic and beautiful buildings, the National Trust steps in to save lesser buildings than this from destruction. Good Georgian houses and even Victorian pubs are considered worth the saving if they have architectural merit or sufficient historic association. There is no doubt that this building is historically worth preservation.
It is also a building of considerable architectural merit. Its design is so absolutely right for its purpose that it has not ceased to satisfy contemporary taste for eighty-seven years. Externally, it is by no means perfect, its spire is squat and ill proportioned, but in the main it is a straightforward expression of its use and structure. Internally it is a delight. Each generation of parishioners has loved St. Paul's—that mellowed interior in which posts and rafters, studs and braces make a harmonious composition in timber, enriched by stained glass and brass plaques. It is an intimate church in which each object—altar, lectern, pulpit, font and organ is most appropriate to its setting. It is architecturally worth preservation.
St. Paul's still fulfils its role. There is a peace here which only old churches have acquired. It is not so large as to seem desolate with an average Sunday congregation. It is not too small to accommodate its parishioners at the festivals of Christmas and Easter. It is, however, too small to accommodate all who would wish to attend during the Queen's visit or on those occasions when Officers of State and the Armed Services fill the church. Westminster Abbey is not large enough either.
Visually, a service in St. Paul's has decorum and aesthetic appeal. Acoustically, the church is as good as could be for the spoken word; the music is sweet and in character with the church, without the lofty echoes of stone vaults.
Although it is a timber building in need of repair, St. Paul's appears capable of preservation. Timber need not be temporary. It does not disappear but it is subject to attack and has to be maintained. It is the oldest building material in the world and together with stone and brick, if properly maintained, it grows old with dignity. In many countries the most notable historic architecture is of timber. There are the twelfth century Stave churches of Norway, the hammerbeam roofs of England, and the historic shrines and temples of Japan.
It need hardly be said that the church's historic association and visual delight will be damaged by its dismemberment and the retention of the eastern portion only as a Lady Chapel. The vistas, the contrast of light and shade, and the harmony, will all be lost. It is proposed to encase, the Lady Chapel within new walls so that it will remain no longer a direct expression of what it is.
It can not be convenient nor economical to use and maintain two churches within the parish and this plea to preserve St. Paul's intact would not have force if our heritage in St. Paul's were not a real one. This building, like all classics, has not dated, and many of us believe that by its replacement our loss will be greater than our gain.
The proposed trust for the preservation of historic places may yet be able to help save this building. It has been proposed that the trust will be able to enter into agreement with corporations and societies for the maintenance of properties of historic interest owned by them. But St. Paul's must not be preserved as a dead thing. It should remain a church, useful and alive.
One of the most notable of last year's exhibitions in the Architectural Centre Gallery was that of paintings byFrances Hodgkins from private owners and galleries throughout New Zealand. The opening of this exhibition by Dr.J. C. Beaglehole , an occasion in itself, was made more valuable by Dr. Beaglehole's tribute to the Painter. This is reprinted below in full.
The Colonel's House 1935 Lefevre Gallery
Now the artist, the thinker, becomes autonomous before the community; and between the mature individual and the immature society there are bound to be tensions. In this case I think I need not give you any long biographical disquisition. Perhaps the main significant fact, in this significant period, is that avant garde of English art; as if, the older she got, the clearer, the more compulsive, became her call to adventure. The pictures of her last period are not merely the harvest of old age and ripe experience: with their sureness and sense of direction they have also the brilliance, the insurgency, of an inspired youth. The sort of person I have been describing cannot function in a new, a young society. She is a point of danger; and a new, a young society clutches to itself, beyond all things else, security.
At the stage we have reached in our discovery of ourselves, there is more than one way in which Barns Watercolour 1943 Lefevre Gallery
Of course the phenomenon of the artist born in the province is not new, it is as old as art. The young artist has always made from the province to the metropolis: the Watteau, the Gainsborough, the Cezanne. But with the European artist the metropolis and the province have been relatively close; with a Cezanne the province may even be a refuge, a strength-imparting hiding-place, from the metropolis. A province, also—we need to remember this, for it is our own hope for the future—may have a sturdy and satisfying, a many-sided cultural life of its own. ‘Provincial’ is not necessarily a term of disdain. But for
Well, in time—perhaps as the day of our own maturity slowly dawns—we catch up, or we fancy we catch up, on the serious and original thinker. We cease to opine that she has been taking drugs; we cease to compare her efforts with those of our own sons and daughters at school, to their great advantage. We eagerly buy her Penguin book. We study her development. We bring as comprehensive a collection of her work together as we can. We are anxious to consider the composition and balance, the grand strategy, of her pictures, the subtlety of her painter's tactics. We read with joy that a knowledgeable critic in the old world considers her to have been one of the greatest colourists who ever lived. I leave the verification of this, I leave the discussion of all this, to you as you look at these pictures and try your own minds on them. My task is not one of exegesis, of detailed criticism.
I shall say only one thing more. You may have observed that I have preferred to talk, when possible, not about art and the artist, but about thought and the thinker. This is partly because I cannot see his ceaseless struggle to do what he called ‘realize’—not to produce a literal copy of the object, which any competent workman can do, but to put visibly and lucidly on canvas the idea, the vision, that was in him. So she, too, wrestled with angels, not on one night, but year after year, by night and by day; feeling, sometimes, that her lot was to be cursed. It is not only a Newton who voyages on strange seas of thought, alone. The fundamental thinker is bound to be lonely, whether he thinks in paint, in notes of music, in mathematical abstractions, or in those concepts that will go into words. The greater he is the lonelier.
In the end, I suppose all this is perfectly irrelevant. In the end, we are concerned not with social history nor with a piece of psychological research, but wtih pictures. In the end we, as consumers, have the duty to examine not the artist but the art. The question is one of form and colour. To the pondering of this question you are invited.
The following two houses are variations on the eternal theme of the sloping site. Each shows what can be achieved by an imaginative approach to the problems of owner, site, and timber construction.
This house is situated in Arney Crescent, Remuera, Auckland. It was designed by Brenner Associates for Mr. Mrkusich of that firm.
Changes of level clearely articulate the kitchen-dining-living-studio spaces under the long sweep of the roof as the house stretches elegantly down the hill. The slender post-and-beam structure, the elegantly dramatic walls of glass, the textures of timber, plywood, brick, stone and other materials, the furniture and the furnishings, all have been handled with that easy sophistication that has been called the “contemperory manner”.
If such a comment should sound slightly querelous, we must emphesise that the house is clearly admirably tailored to its owner's way of life. It is however, unlikely that this sophistication, this “contomperory manner”, is applicable to the New Zealand house in general.
But this is a particular and personal house. As such it is very interesting and, we think, successful.
An exhibition at the National Art Gallery arranged by the Wellington Branch of the New Zealand Institute of Architects.
There was about six hundred feet of wall space occupied by this exhibition of architects' recent work. Few of the drawings and photographs were specially prepared for the purpose, representing rather the routine office production and offering therefore a wide variation in size and finish among the work shown. Strict arrangement on the walls was not possible, hanging was deliberately not selective and those who voluntarily arranged the work could do little more than ensure adequate presentation without recourse to special display techniques. Thus the whole show had a bald directness appropriate enough to the ‘end of term’ atmosphere of the Annual Conference of Architects with which it coincided.
So it was possible to go around these walls and gain from them a peculiarly true picture of work in hand, discern trends and generally get an impression of architectural standards in this country at the present time. And from this standpoint the exhibition revealed exactly the same characteristics as were apparent in the hanging and display. We are prosaic lot, and our work shows it.
For the bulk of the six hundred feet one was conscious of a lack of bravura, of boldness, of the ridiculous even. Common sense underlay every line drawn or photographed and one longed for somewhere a bit of sublime idiocy. Granted that some highly significant work overseas relies on brutal clarity of building for its rare aesthetic quality, there is in this country no tradition of formal discipline to illuminate such a simplicity of approach. Our directness is of a more guileless kind—our buildings grow out of their requirements as innocently as a tadpole and with much less predictable result.
Certainly to earn a living as an architect in New Zealand is a desperate business and the survivors are the practical, the hard-working, the hard-headed. No time for nonsense in this game—long hours, scrupulous care technically and strict adherence to commonsense standards are needed to gain that modest standard of living called success in our profession. At least that is the impression one gained in looking at these walls lined with those workmanlike drawings. Consequently it was difficult to whip up a great deal of enthusiasm for the state of architecture here. Nor, on the other hand was it possible to be very depressed about it. It was like talking to some thoroughly normal, healthy person whose face is as honest as his soul, and whose conversation is as free of artifice as it is lacking in vulgarity. One could not be excited, annoyed, stimulated, depressed, inspired or even bored by it.
The conclusion is that the greatest danger which besets our architecture is the very one which threatens our welfare society as a whole: that the normal, the competent, the platitudinous is taking command and is becoming the ideal. Stickler for social convention though he was, the Victorian would never have fallen for that one, and this country is too young—too Victorian, if you like— to dispense with the originator, the adventurous. If we allow this to continue then the best we can hope for is this gutless architecture of the common sense man.
Beyond these reflections one cause for anticipation of the future remains: we are a small country and capital is rarely available for adventurous building of any size unless it is the community at large who is spending it. The salaried architect has already assumed a far greater significance in this country than was the case a few years ago. For the future he would seem to be the main hope, outside of the residential field, for work conceived as it should be, against a background of national culture, contemplated without the burden of survival and carried out under technically sympathetic conditions. Many of those works which, in this exhibition, gave positive excitement: the proposal for twenty-one storey flats in Auckland, the Hydro-electric schemes, the Auckland Departmental building and the small country bank, were the work of salaried architects. It seemed that only in the field of small private houses, imaginatively conceived and boldly carried out by small firms of young architects, was much spirit otherwise discernable in the work. Perhaps their results are too few, too scattered, and—taking the long view—too impermanent, to be called ‘significant’ architecture. What does signify is the presence in New Zealand of young architects, as yet intent upon merely keeping alive, who can still build adventurously.
Correction in Article on St. Paul's, Wellington, Page106. Bishop Alveham should read Bishop Abraham.