It was a beguiling title, ‘HOT,’ reinforced by the
dramatically attractive graphics displaying a bright red sky, with buildings
blocked out in white with a pale teal shading and orange highlights. The fire
engine red was the beautiful colour of the setting sun in the Indian smog. The
subject here was Queensland Modernism; modern architecture as revealed mainly
in the southeast, Brisbane’s buildings during the period 1945 – 1975. Brisbane
is a subtropical city, so the exaggeration of the roasting, red-hot coloured
sky seemed a little overstated. Perhaps the prettiness of the circumstance and
the cleverness of the graphic idea took over, for the images were skilful and
alluring. Brisbane is usually publicized as a green city, lush with warm, moist
growth; but the promotion of this show had done its job. One would have to go
to this exhibition to see the display and the works chosen to illustrate the
concept of the theme. It was, after all, the period during which one had been
raised in Brisbane, trained as an architect and started work in the profession.
Visits to previous exhibitions at the Queensland Art Gallery
have been criticised for their very poor displays that have been hazed by the
reflective glare of poor lighting and made awkward to view because of
inconsiderate arrangements of the pieces and the texts. The State Library of
Queensland was promoting this exhibition. The Department of Architecture at the
University of Queensland seemed to be involved too, so it would be interesting
to see if the quality of the display in this architecturally themed show would
be any different. One hoped that librarians and architects might understand the
challenges and potential problems of display and communication better than
most: see –
So it was that the visit to this exhibition was as much
about the art of display as the architecture of Brisbane’s modernism – its
history.
The experience of previous visits to this cultural complex
on the south bank of the Brisbane River had taught one to consider the matter
of car parking carefully before driving to this venue: see links above. The car
parking associated with the cultural centre seems to have become structured for
city day parking, with one full-day fee being the cost for any parking period.
So, if one wanted to park for only two hours, assuming that there was space
available - the parking is much cheaper than inner-city costs and spaces fill
quickly – one had to pay for a full day: there was no other option offered. It
seemed that very little consideration had been given to patrons visiting the
centre. Parking appeared to be a very lucrative operation providing profits
that blinded management to the ordinary needs of gallery patrons. So it was
that for this visit the train was chosen for the means of transport. The South
Brisbane station is only a five-minute walk away from the library that now
promotes itself as the ‘SL’ in a cartoon voice bubble. Unfortunately, one is
reminded of the Islamic State, ‘IS / ISIL,’ and its statements and actions.
One always hopes for more from a train journey than one
gets, such is the historic romance of this form of travel that is recalled
iconically as first class Orient Express luxury, or some hillbilly quaintness
with steam. Parts of the expected enjoyment are usually there, but these are
aggravated with annoyances that one seems to choose to overlook in the
anticipatory dreaming of a journey. So it is that one exposes oneself
repeatedly to the discomforts and inconveniences of rail travel that prove to
be only too real.
As the landscape slid by as a grand cinematic vista, one
soon became aware of the coarse prickly, vandal-proof carpet wall lining that
was annoyingly rasping the arm. When this limb sought refuge on the windowsill,
it was discovered that this ledge had been formed to ensure that it could never
provide the comfort of an armrest, in the same way that the top of the seats
had been designed. Backache soon made one aware of the extremely narrow seat
one was sitting on, and its flat, vertical back support that forced one seek
various angled positions for increased comfort, time and time again, without
success. Alas, the seats were so crammed together that the knees had to be
squeezed in to fit, making it a necessity to seek any alternative diagonal
position, a possibility that relied on the adjacent seat being unoccupied.
Although one was pleased to be in the ‘QUIET CARRIAGE’ as
the sign declared, requesting passengers to ‘Please refrain from loud
conversations and use of loud musical and mobile devices’ – as if such activity
might ever be acceptable anywhere – folk felt happy to chat with each other or
on their mobiles as though everyone needed to be able to hear about the
parochial personal issues being shared. The conversations nearly always
included: “We’re nearly at . . . “ Signs were simply ignored as being
meaningless, meant for others. The notice requesting ‘NO FOOD OR DRINK TO BE
CONSUMED,’ loomed over a young lady who meticulously set up her picnic morning
tea on her lap while half-full coke bottles rolled around the floor between
seat and human legs and around the discarded, branded wrappings of fast food.
One is always tempted to return such trash to its makers.
There was no one on the train to supervise the activity of
passengers, or to check tickets. Little wonder that the train service struggles
to make money, causing it to raise fares regularly. This trip cost $15.00 AU
each way! It appears that the rail service itself struggles with ordinary
English expression. One has to listen to the recurring announcement explaining
that “This is an express train travelling to . . ., stopping only at . . . and
. . . .” Express? Stopping? And then one is told that “This train terminates at
. . .” Doctor Who darleks come to mind: “Ex-terminate!”. If only! Surely it is
the journey that is terminated?
The need for nosings
It turned out to be an extremely uncomfortable trip that was
terminated at South Brisbane where one exited the station to stroll across to
the library. It was a beautiful sunny cloudless day. The sky was a glorious
cool mid-blue; not red, or teal, or orange. The walk up to the overpass and
along the dim museum tunnel filled with fibreglass whales overhead and recorded
reverberant, moaning whale noises, was a little foreboding, mournful, but the
library soon appeared. The small sign outside confirmed that this was the
location for red HOT MODERNISM. One entered, but the signage disappeared, so
the reception counter was approached with the question about the cost for
entry. “It’s free. Just go up the stairs. You can take your bag.” Well, that
was a nice surprise! But “up the stairs” proved to be a little puzzling.
The neighbouring 'nothing'
One turned into a huge mezzanine void. There were again no
signs, but one spotted what looked like a red vending machine labelled HOT
MODERNISM standing next to a column in the middle of nowhere, so approached
this diagrammatic introduction to the exhibition. Still the question remained:
where was the entry to this display? To the left one spotted a small glazed
corner enclosure with the familiar bold graphics on it, this time of the hated
riverside freeway made to look stunningly attractive. It looked like another
poster advertising the show, so one strolled on. Nothing. On walking back, it
was noticed that there was a finely framed automatic sliding glass door that split
the graphic image and allowed entry. So one walked through with some degree of
uncertainty. There was no welcoming encouragement here. It was an
unsatisfactory beginning for an architectural exhibition that should show that
it knows more about the qualities and readings of entry: the semiotics of
architecture; the significance of signs.
One was encouraged to see the first exhibition space as an
old Queensland verandah. It had all of the appropriate decorative, cut-out
forms, but it felt strangely make-believe, remote from any familiar verandah
experience. It was slick, dark, with a wall of blurry video, and the old 1960s
‘Timber and Tin’ film showing on a small TV screen. The space felt empty. As
one moved in through the void progressively reading the introductory texts, one
arrived at the first display: the Edwin Hayes house at St. Lucia, overlooking
the Brisbane River. This was the original home before it was extended with a
bold, Miesian box with a large circular window. This final form was not
illustrated. The story told about how the house was designed for Queensland.
Unfortunately it was difficult to feel comfortable looking at the Hayes
presentation as it had a long seat placed directly in front of it, at right
angles to it, arranged so that one looked away when one sat down. Why do such
awkward juxtapostions never get noticed in the first checking / review of the
exhibition? Has it to do with a lack of empathy?
The 'Timber and Tin' film
The nuisance seat
One moved on to more housing examples of the era, to a
series of churches and then to some larger commercial buildings. The pattern
was the same: a few photographs, perhaps some drawings, and some text, all on
separate panels arranged artfully on a wall with the graphic image of each
example cleverly illustrated using the standard colourful block technique at a
large scale above the various sets of boards. Just what these images added
apart from some slick diagrams and smart presentation is uncertain. Style and
standing looked to be important in this exhibition, highlighting ‘my’ art
today.
The theme and format appeared to have been established: the
selected works of various architects from the 1945 – 1975 era were on display
on brightly coloured walls. Just why this particular selection had been made
was unclear. What was the story of history here; the idea? Was it merely a
random selection of what could be called ‘modern’ put on display to create a
themed show? It looked like an interesting collage of the post-war period with
a few sundry asides, presented with some student exercises. What was one to
make of this assemblage? Where was Edwin Codd’s and Campbell Scott’s furniture?
Where was . . . ? The list could go on and on.
This was an era of change. Brisbane was transformed as new
suburbs were opened up with Housing Commission and War Service homes, buildings
that were constructed under the new austerity rules that specified size and
materials.# But where were these buildings illustrated in this exhibition? One
eventually discovered that, on a narrow, separate, isolated wall opposite the
Hayes and other homes, almost as a display of outcasts, was a set of photographs
placed high over some catalogues illustrating the housing options. Alas, it
looked as though this important part of the activity in the post-war times
appeared to have been self-consciously put to one side. Was it not
‘architectural’ enough? It did not seem to matter to anyone that the eaves
overhang of the Hayes and Scott Jacobi house replica that had been framed up
nearby as a theatre set, projected out rudely in front of these photographs of
ordinary homes and gridded suburbs, partially concealing them. One felt that
there was a snobbish ambition in this exhibition, to show only the different,
surprising, perhaps provocative work of architects – ‘starchitects’: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/02/starchitects-starkertecture.html
- as if architects had not been involved in any of the ‘ordinary’ buildings;
and if they were, they were architects of ‘ill repute.’ If architects are to
get greater respect from the public, they need to show more interest in
ordinary life, not just the extraordinary outcomes of their glorified
imaginations, the ‘architectural selfies’ promoted to be admired by a
hagiographical class of professionals. This portion of the exhibition generated
a feeling of disgust, insult that should not have been tolerated by the
curators. It is not as though there was insufficient space to do more. The
entry was a large, dark void, a nowhere with only a few texts on small plaques
arrayed across the long wall.
The rude insult of a display
Soon the eye realised that the reflections and display
problems typically noticed in other exhibitions remained a problem here. Are
they really insurmountable? Too many words have already been written on these
matters, so the images will be provided as the commentary on this matter - for
one to reflect on it: see gallery below.
Shadows and glare abound: (see more in the picture gallery below)
The centre space of this exhibition was divided into two
zones. One displayed a large model of the Brisbane CBD that had been made by
students. Here, rolls of corrugated cardboard and a table and tools were
provided for folk to create their own unique building mock-ups and place them
for others to play with on the master model. Nearby shelves carried a huge
number of cardboard models that made Brisbane potentially look like little
Dubai, such were the variations in size, style and form. One seemed to be
encouraged to see architecture as fun, a dramatic shaping and forming rather
than anything else. Has the crumpled page / manipulated CAD image of the Gehry
/ Hadid approach really taken over?
The other zone in the core of the exhibition was taken up by
what had been promoted as a full-size replica of the Jacobi house, the Hayes
and Scott classic of its period. Replicas seem to be in vogue: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2012/07/school-of-architecture-hits-wall.html One felt that one had to be familiar with
the house in order to understand the replica. There were photos, and no doubt a
plan, but it was not obvious. The reconstruction was a nice idea, but it did
appear to need more explanation. The house is indeed a beautiful thing, both as
a form and as a plan: a square with a diagonal core. This is the origin of the
diagonal spaces in this exhibition that some may not readily appreciate. Having
worked in the H&S office, I was familiar with this dwelling. I had once
even taken a look at the file. The surprise was that the whole plan in every
arrangement and dimensional detail had been given to Eddie Hayes as a part of
the brief from his client. The drawing will still be in this file if it has not
been tampered with. This situation does not take anything away from H&S who
skilfully converted the client’s plan into a beautiful building. It is truly a
work of synergy, wonderfully coloured by the master of the time, Edwin Hayes.
Unfortunately the exhibition does not highlight this schematic fact: Campbell
Scott detailed; Edwin Hayes coloured. I can recall one hotel project where
Eddie Hayes coloured my detailing with a surprisingly beautiful classic black
and white; red; striped pale green wall paper (pyramidal ceiling); and most
elegant of all, a gold painted chain screen. His was a marvellous touch:
stylish, as the Jacobi house shows.
John Morton (centre); Shane Ryan (right)
Jim Birrell
Hayes & Scott office
As one moved around the display, and watched and listened to
the videos, sometimes with one sound overlapping another, one became nostalgic.
Young familiar faces appeared on the screens: Jim Birrell; John Morton; Shane
Ryan; et al., along with their work. More personally, the image of Scott and
Hayes in their office had been photographed exactly from the seat I once sat
at. One could guess which drawings were the work of ‘P.E.N.’ without looking
for the initials. Peter Newell had a distinctive, bold hand, as well as an
avuncular character. Neville Lund’s churches were recognisable too. His name
brought back memories of this talented, gentle, caring man; but where were his
houses? Has he been forgotten? – see: http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/04/lund-haunting-place-memory.html He and Ian Ferrier are remembered for their
remarkable book on Queensland architecture. Indeed, this exhibition had
somewhat the same feel as this publication: a collection of the times, a small
catalogue. It was good to see this book again. Indeed, it was good to see all
of the buildings again, as well as the familiar names and faces. It brought
back many memories, too numerous to speak about here. The surprise was the John
Railton house. His was always beautiful, fine, rigorous, elegant work. Why was
the Grenier Street house at Spring Hill, his own, not included?
A little space opened up in one corner. This turned out to
be the Torbreck exhibit that was apparently trying to relate to the city
high-rise vista, but the glare appeared to have been too great. Dark drapes
grimly concealed the city view. How was this space conceived in the
redevelopment of this Gibson library? – see: http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/03/on-death-of-robin-gibson-architect.html The glass box seemed to create a problem
here. One had to pull the curtains and peep through to see the hidden city and
ponder a likely response to one of the set questions. Were these part of a CPD
campaign? Why is everything being turned into a school exam?
The dead end
Time moved on. One likes to review what one has seen, to
make sure one has not overlooked something, or misread an image or text: to
summarise. After this last stroll through the exhibition, one thought about
getting out, so one walked along the exhibition route looking for the ‘natural’
exit. Where on earth was it? At the place that seemed to be where one might
expect the exit to exist, there was a ‘EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY’ sign with a strange
‘all yours’ lettered in below, and another forbidding curtain. Gosh! How did
one exit. There was no indication, so one backtracked to the entry to check, to
make sure that the exit had not been overlooked. The space started to feel
claustrophobic. Yes, the dark curtain did open up into this entry zone. There
appeared to be no exit! Was one to exit through the confined entry with its
double set of automatic glass doors? It seemed that the exit from this
exhibition was as confusing as the entry. One could praise the consistency, but
it was truly unbelievable that such matters could be left so uncertain, so
ill-defined, especially as it was an exhibition about things architectural. Why
did this occur? Why was it seen as acceptable? Were prettiness, style and
reputation more important than achieving an ordinary functional layout? Even
the Jewish Museum in Berlin recognised the need for clear directions. It uses arrows
on the floor to help one negotiate the maze of spaces. There was nothing here.
The 'natural' exit
Having exited through the entry, the visit was over: so back
to the train station. The train ‘terminated’ at the station at the end of the
line after nearly an hour and a half of aggravated discomfort, this time in a
crowded train and in the full glare of the sunny side of the carriage with no
opportunity to move or sit diagonally. At least the female driver had the
refreshing wit to remind passengers to take all of their personal belongings
when leaving the train, “and the children!” One left wondering what one might
take from the exhibition that had just been visited, other than a flood of
memories.
Exiting the entry
# One has to comment on the use of materials during this
period. In a 1952 War Service home familiar to the author, every piece of
timber was good quality hardwood: structural timbers, external cladding
timbers, flooring timbers and joinery timbers.* The gable , eaves and roof were
the notorious asbestos sheeting, James Hardie’s legacy. Interior walls were
plaster, asbestos sheeting and hardboard, used where appropriate: plaster for
rooms; asbestos for wet areas; hardboard around cupboards. Cupboards were made
from 2x1 inch dressed pine framing, (as I learned to do them in the H&S
office in the pre-particleboard era), with 2 x 1 pine framed doors sheeted in
hardboard and shelves made from timber flooring off-cuts or hardboard. Plastic
laminate covered timber flooring off-cuts for the kitchen benches. Pelmets were
inverted skirting boars decorated with a D mould on the upper edge, with a
strip of hardboard nailed to the architrave to finish off the top and support
the whole. Facings between the hopper windows were strips of hardboard.
Cupboards were cleverly incorporated into the walls, some being only a little
thicker than the studs. One divider, a classic 1950s servery complex with
sliding hardboard panels and shelf surrounds, used every available square inch,
with some encasings being only the thickness of the paster or the hardboard, or
the asbestos sheeting. One can admire the rigour and inventiveness of the
careful, frugal use of materials and space.
Standard plaster and timber mouldings played an important
part in ordinary decoration in this time. Decorative plaster cornices were used
in the living room. Plain plaster cornices were used in the kitchen, dining and
bedrooms and the passage space. Quad
mouldings were used as cornices in the bathroom and the deck that was
half-covered. D mouldings were used to cover joints in hardboard and asbestos
sheeting. The simple D mould was used on the front door that had been framed up
on site and sheeted in plywood, (complete with vent holes top and bottom to
prevent distortion, a detail Cam Scott would have appreciated), to create a distinguishing,
decorative Z on the outer face, to define the door as the ‘main’ door: entry.
Other buildings of the time used the D mould in the same manner to decorate
ceilings, creating diamond panels and other ‘ornamental’ shapes. The carpenter
was able to invent these variations when arranging the sheets, as he felt
appropriate, using nothing more than a selection of standard pieces: D moulds,
quad moulds, and scotia moulds of various sizes that came from the local timber
yard.
Perhaps, instead of treating this work as mere asides,
architects might learn from such examples as these little homes that have
sheltered, and still shelter, so many families in an enclosure of about 12
metres by 6.5 metres: one living room; one dining room; one kitchen; one entry
/ laundry; one passage; one bath room; two bed rooms; one deck - surprisingly
for this era, suspended concrete. Interestingly, the newspapers that were used
as a bond breaker on the formwork remain in place to date this ingenious,
ordinary little cottage. Will anyone discover any newspaper used by a builder
in any new house? Will any newspaper be found in any architect’s design other
than perhaps in a time capsule?
One is reminded of the old ‘Queenslander’ homes where
newspapers were used under loose linoleum floor coverings. This paper
packing/underlay provided the date of the laying of the linoleum, if not the
construction, for later owners who redecorated these houses. They were always
an exciting to discover. The most extreme case of the use of newspapers under
floor coverings discovered by this author is that where whole papers were
folded to fit into the curvature of the swollen board, such was the effect of
moisture on the timber.
*For the record, the structure of the recent extension to
the 1950s cottage used only treated pine and treated particleboard, and both of
these together in the engineered timber beams. The only hardwood in the whole
of the new work was the floating floor: spotted gum.
For more on Hot Modernism see: http://www.slq.qld.gov.au/hot-modernism
;
for Hayes and Scott housing, including the Jacobi house and
plan, see:
HOT MODERNISM SHADOWS, REFLECTIONS & GLARE GALLERY
The following images record the difficulties this display
has with lighting and general arrangements. For a commentary on this repeated
problem with exhibitions, see:
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