The photograph that accompanied the promotional material
shows an ‘old salt’ image, a head with the weathered, wise face of experience,
matted with thick, grey wind-blown hair, and with knowing eyes squinting as
they scan the open horizon, dreaming of past expeditions and new ones, as the
body senses the meaning of the wind, the water and the clouds, feeling for
other worlds in new possibilities: quietly assessing them. It is the archetypal
representation of the land-locked sailor. Only the beard, the cap, and the pipe
are missing. It is Richard Leplastrier: the mysterious name from afar
mesmerises too, such is Australia’s response to difference.
'Old salts'
The regular monthly talk at Bond University’s Sohiel Abedian
School of Architecture on Thursday 22 January 2015 was presented by Richard
Leplastrier (RL). He called it ‘Odds ‘n’ Ends.’ The ‘n’ was interesting as it
displayed a certain casual attitude to formalities. One had to go. A tall,
imposing RL strolled up to the front of the ‘forum’ space in his open, loose
shirt and unkempt hair. He carelessly dumped his leather haversack on the table
and stood at a distance from the artful lectern shaped as ‘Gehry’ folds, to
talk, as if to make a point that this was not going to be a ceremonial
occasion. He was here to chat about himself and his work. It seemed that he had
never treated people as objects to be kept at a distance and was not going to
do so on this occasion.
Typical 'old salt' image
The evening started with the introduction by the new head of
school, an old friend. He told how Richard had insisted on his spending time
in each of his houses before he was allowed to write about Leplastrier’s work,
some twenty years ago. Such was this man.
The evening finished at 7:55pm. It had started late, but
this is the usual Bond circumstance that seems to relate to bar service. One
instinctively knew that Richard Leplastrier would finish on time. Previous
talks had the speakers going on and on about themselves and their work, regardless
of anything or anyone else: see.- http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/10/exploring-definition-edge-condition-of.html RL had the reputation for careful detail. He
did not disappoint. Unlike previous speakers, he was immediately aware of the
poor acoustics in this space and asked if folk could hear. The microphone was
adjusted. This same awareness followed through to the end when he finished his presentation
five minutes before the allotted time, allowing for questions. There were none.
Not even the cliché, self-important ‘mouth’ that always seems to want to jump
up and make an unnecessary point, was moved into action, even though prompted
several times. Such was the spirit of the evening. Its authority had a
‘Zen-like’ calming effect on everyone. The audience was left mesmerised,
longing for and wondering on the vagaries of emotion that had been expressed.
The evening was special because of this. RL had this effect on everyone as he
told his stories: his history and its myths.
I had heard RL talk before. I recall an intriguing talk at
the University of Queensland, (where he was described as ‘good value’), with
memorable lines: “choose your graduate thesis carefully as one always takes
this subject through one’s life.” Indeed one does. His was a world of care, of
intimacy with things and people, and details. He noted how he carried a
magnifying glass to look more closely at the details of this world: in this
case the finely mitred joints on the lectern he was standing at, and the scales
on the moth’s wing – the moth that had landed on his drawing board one evening.
His inspiration and mentor was Jørn Utzon. The promo also noted his experience
in Japan. He was a man with intimate links to living legends now passed on. He
was the connection to wonders from afar. He carried this reputation mythically
and enhanced it as a fairytale in both his work and his life.
The talk began with how the winds and currents around the
east coast of Australia and the lands of its northern neighbours are generated.
These were the links, routes that Indonesian sailors used in the past for
trade. This antipodes had intimate links to a world well beyond Australia. This
was one point critical to the RL approach to things. RL noted that he had no
visions or ambitions for anything uniquely ‘Australian,’ but he did respect our
aboriginal people and their understanding of this country. His work involved
the broader region; anything meaningful and of quality was useful. He showed
his sketches in Indonesia from his travel notebooks, drawings that had been
made years ago and that had become the guide for all of his work. The Bali
compound showed how each house was spiritually linked to the sacred mountain by
having its prayer room located on the corner nearest to this locus, this focus.
Then the details of the various shelters in the complex were explored. RL
lamented the loss of ritual in our lives.
The images raced across the screen in uncontrolled mayhem as
the equipment went out of control. After some further confusion, the remote was
taken over by the new head of school who struggled with it, but did finally
manage to control the gadgetry: irrationally pressing both buttons together seemed
to be the answer! One used to struggle with Kodak Carousel projectors when
lecturing. It seems that technology will never let us down: there will always
be unforseen problems arising at the wrong time. RL went back to an image of
ancient dry stone walls. He spoke of this image as being of ‘somewhere in
Orkney’ that showed ancient place – a place to sit; to lie; to eat; a place for
entry; for fire; etc. - basic habitation, the core of his architecture. This
was Skara Brae.
Skara Brae, 'somewhere in Orkney'
It was extremely disappointing to see this icon of the past
described so obliquely, dismissively, as being only ‘somewhere in Orkney,’ not
even named as Skara Brae. It is a Neolithic settlement, the most complete
prehistoric village in Europe, occupied from about 3180 BCE – 2500 BCE. The
wild winds and waters of a storm exposed the site in 1850. It is now a World
Heritage listed place. It is located on the Mainland of the Orkney Islands, on
the west coast near Sandwick. If RL is wishing to be so precise about
eulogising micro place, then he needs to be better with macro things too. It
seems that this was an illustration taken from a book to become a part of his
mythic story, to enhance it with images of things ancient and quaint. Skara
Brae is much more than merely being something ‘somewhere’: see - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skara_Brae It stands on the same island as Maes Howe
and the Ring of Brodgar, both near Stennes with its stones in central Mainland:
true ancient mythic place with power and mystery; not quite an RL building,
even though he might like it to be.
Ring of Brogdar
Maes Howe
Then his own early work was shown: his first house. “I could
do much better now,” was the comment. It had no place for fire – hint: ‘Skara
Brae’ is important because of this. As the images flicked around, other houses
were shown. Then photographs of the Urangan pier came to light. This beautiful
structure showed how Australian hardwoods could be used. It was indeed a
marvellous item. RL did not forget to comment on the beautiful tidal patterns
that scalloped the sands around the piers. This was indeed an iconic structure.
Little wonder that he thought so much of it.
Urangan Pier - a link between land and water
SEE ALSO ** BELOW
SEE ALSO ** BELOW
More houses: his own, built many years ago. This was a
pre-fabricated building. RL noted that all of his work from 1976 on could be
‘dis-assembled’ and re-assembled. Isn’t everything? The old Queenslander house
is carried around on the back of a truck without having to pull it apart. This
RL house was a timber structure, with plywood gussets cantilevering over
wide-open decks. The bath and its heater were on one; the kitchen on another.
All walls could be opened. One lived on, sat on, ate on, slept on the floor,
made of single species/pieces of timber, as is done in Asia. There was no
apology for drawing from other cultures. This place was built from a 1:20
model, not drawings. The builder was the best ever: “I would trust him with my
life.” There was no engineer: “It was designed full-size, as boats are.” The
boast was that the wide cantilevers did not deflect much when swung on. There
was no contract, and never has been with this builder. This was a plywood
house, with plywood boxes shaping the perimeter for storage, with windows
lights between.
RL pointed out that one was likely to ask about the messy
junction on a perticular corner in one photograph. Indeed, it had passed
through my mind. He explained that this detail was developed from the need to
do away with heavy timbers for the hip cantilever. He noted that Frank Lloyd
Wright had ‘cheated’ by using steel in such locations. I doubt this as Edgar
Tafel, an apprentice and close confidant of Wright, (he introduced Wright to
the contractor of the Guggenheim in New York), tells the story of how he was
sacked by Wright for secretly telling a young apprentice to put steel into a
carport cantilever. RL further added that in Japan, large tree trunks were used
as hips. In RL’s house, the ‘messy’ detail allowed all cantilever trusses to be
identical without the need for any heavy structure. The ‘ugly’ clash was for simplicity’s
sake. These trusses hung from a main truss that went along the full width of
the building against the gable end, thus creating this ad hoc intersection. I
was reminded of the identical detail seen at the Nimbin showgrounds: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/02/deeargee-gostwyck-shed-and-chapel.html
RL used this explanation to digress into a story about
mitres. He once made a model for Utzon with some beautiful mitred joints –
perfect; but a surprised, stooped Utzon gawked at them and exclaimed: “One
should never use a mitre. No material should be taken to infinity.” So, this
was now RL ‘gospel.’ The RL house was light, airy and supported his family’s
unique lifestyle of openness on a site that appeared to be remote, large and
bushy. It was a special case. It quietly mocked suburbia with its inclusive
differences that, ironically, excluded certain outcomes and possibilities in
other contexts.
The evening moved quickly, but efficiently. RL likes rammed
earth walls. He showed some. He was inventive with details. I was reminded of
the books of Ron Edwards on rammed earth construction and leatherwork. He
sketched all of the details in these Rams Skull Press publications, recording
observations in much the same manner as RL had done during his trips, skilfully
and accurately, informatively. Ron Edwards learned about earth construction
from the Chinese: in Xian. RL showed some newer houses. One house was described
as being prosaic externally, (and it was), but startling inside. Well, it was
different. A central rammed earth wall became a free-standing spine over which
natural light flooded and along which carpets on frames acted as dividers. This house seemed
to be on a large open site too.
Then the sketch of the house in a fire region was shown,
located in a forest of large, 30m-plus high spotted gums. This was built on a
terrace – from ‘terra’ meaning earth. It was an earth bank. Here curved stone
walls and metal soffit cladding shaped as the roofs on silos are, (these functional
structures are pyramidal squares with a soffit cut over a circular form for
simplicity, again), formed a shell that opened up when away from the major
flame risk, towards the terrace. Windows were screened and could slide down,
counter-weighted, to open fully when needed, like the doors to the terrace. One
press of the button and this holiday home would close. The pit for the fire
could apparently take a huge log that would burn all winter. Go away, and it
would still be smouldering when one returned. This did not seem a good idea in
a fire area! It all seemed like a fantasy, but it was apparently real.
Again, the country builders used here were the best ever.
They were given the space to change things as they thought appropriate, but
these must have been minor in this well-thought-out house with sliding slat
screens inside, (as seen in Thailand): a movement of only 25mm closed the
openings. RL did not seem to be that free with leaving things to others, even
though the story sounds good. It is a typical Aussie fable: the ordinary
bushie, (and the common bloke), knows more and better than the learned
professional. The television advertisements promote it all the time: “You can
do better!” Most architects have experienced this attitude. It is what has
placed the profession into such an isolated corner, seen as an unnecessary
luxury. The comment has been made: “I could get the swimming pool for the fees
they charge!” Strangely, this fire-house did not look that easy to
dis-assemble. Come to think of it, an Ikea flat pack is not that easy to undo
either.
Then, as time drew close to the scheduled end, RL spoke
about the trophy he had designed: a beautifully polished, wriggly-grained red
cedar box with a smartly polished cast bronze aerofoil, complete with a
saddle-makers-made leather bag, (“Yes, you can do it” was the comment made to
the astonished saddler when asked to make this). The bag had pockets for
everything including the gloves needed to handle this precious masterpiece: all
bespoke. Gloves! Does one live with gloves in Australia? This seemed to suggest
that the trophy must be very precious, as though one might be handling a
priceless antique, an ancient relic or an old manuscript. The project appeared to
matter to RL, enough for him to want to talk about it. Oddly, he apologised for wearing
boots in his own house, as the photograph of him working on the trophy showed. Had he been caught out? The
story promoted his ‘barefoot’ existence.
Finally, “very quickly,” RL spoke about his civic planning
for defence lands that had been handed over to the public. Here he worked with
another ‘genius’ builder, a surveyor named John Simpson, (yes, another one),
who built things to within one millimetre and less: stone paths, seats with
bronze brackets, (designed to the Swedish 104 degrees), and stairs. RL noted
that the public must have the very best. These places have apparently never
been vandalised. As a part of this scheme, RL had designed the toilet block, a
Kahn-like structure with square toilet areas in each corner of a square, set
out around a square courtyard with a paperbark tree in the centre. The
stainless steel custom orb panels were set off the floor so that the cleaner
could hose, clean and water the gardens all at once. There was seat in this
area, yes, complying with the 104-degree Swedish design: do Swedes sit
differently to others? It was on this seat that RL once saw a lady eating her
lunch in this toilet block. No, she was not waiting for anyone. She just liked
the place. The roof fell into the open courtyard with, surprisingly, what
appeared to be four valley gutters – reverse hips that RL had earlier explained
were things, like mitres, that needed to be avoided. The story seemed to be
getting a little confused in its own indulgences. Were cracks showing?
What is going one here? Why make such a palaver about mitres
and then use them? Why boast about no vandalism when we all know that there is.
I recall how our Chinese guide in Beijing had bragged that one could leave a
bike for weeks anywhere in the city and it would still be there to pick up
whenever one wanted it. The story was that there was no crime in China. I guess
that is why they shoot people: or perhaps the chance of being shot is why the
bikes stay there? In my own public work, I have discovered that it is the
Council and other architects who are the worst vandals. Generally the public
acts responsibly; but a beautiful cast bronze seat disappeared shortly after
the riverside walk had been opened, even though it had been bolted down.
Finally it became clear: one understood the man of myth and
mystery. RL was a sailor. He designed like a boat builder. He created flat-pack
homes, places that could be moved like a boat. He was aware of climate and
place: weather and navigation. His buildings were designed with these in mind.
He was a free spirit in love with the world and its people. Then one recalled
how this whole talk had started with a detailed explanation of winds and tides.
These, wind and water, were the core of all of RL’s work that could be seen as
passing clouds: light, airy, carefree, moveable, nebulous, perhaps cumulus,
shaped as sails for wind over water, on terra firma. These elements, as for the
traders of old, were his guides and have been for his whole life. The trophy
seems to stand as his icon, the aerofoil in polished bronze.
Perhaps it says more too: that RL’s work is special – that
it has to be handled with gloves or else it will dissipate, be degraded,
spoiled. His is a special way of looking at the world; of living, under the
stars, as a star, albeit perhaps reluctantly. It is not for all. Where is the
suburban house? Where is the commercial development? Where is the industrial
building? Where is the inner-city building? All of his works seem to be in
special places for special people, constructed by special people, to special
rules and dreamed of rituals. A world without engineers; a world without
contracts; a world without drawings: this is the world of the poet, of the
dreamer, one who lives in a special place, in a different manner. How could
everyman live in open exclusion? He has lived, and still lives this life and
tells about it like a storyteller of old. His experience is a fairytale, a myth
that he promotes for others to drool over – if only: but gaps seemed to appear:
(see *NOTE below).
RL closed his talk politely like the ancient bard: “that is
the end of my story.” Any questions? Not one. This reflected the quality of the
evening. Folk sat silenced in what seemed to be a mesmerising haze, gaze,
thinking: why can I not do this? What have I done with my life? What might I do
with it to be so free? Freedom is a double-edged sword. It needs its own space
and controls, its limits, to be, like democracy.*
This Bond talk was different to the other U of Q lecture: it
seemed more autobiographical. It appeared that RL was reflecting on his output
in much the same manner as Sidney Nolan had done when he asked to be allowed time
alone to stroll through his large, last retrospective show in Australia. Nolan
left feeling that he was content with his life and his work. RL started at the
beginning, wind and water, and sailed through his output. It seemed that he was
content too.
But why not things Australian? It seemed strange that RL
might be keen to relate to silos and bush carpentry when so much was sourced
elsewhere. The culture of a place is necessarily linked to its people and
location; its circumstance. Is sitting on the floor Australian? Can it be? What is
Australian? The other day I was given a container of chilli peanuts. The can
was interesting as it was designed to look like a can of beer, complete with a
look-alike pull ring on the top; but it was a fake. The lid lifted off just
like a small biscuit tin. It was as interesting as the lens cup: see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/08/lens-cup-art-of-seeing-as.html These nuts, (they were discarded because
they were sludgy like boiled peanuts with only a little chilli), were promoted
as potent, manly things: ‘MAN CAVE CHILLI PEANUTS’: ‘Best with your feet up and
the telly on: must have nuts!’ – and so it goes on: ‘What happens in the man
cave stays in the man cave.’ Then there were rules that strangely start at
number 11:
11
Hydrate with beer
12
Scratch where it itches
13
Rude behaviour tolerated
14
Flatulence encouraged
15
Toilet seat stays up
16
No tofu
17
No crying
18
No whining
19
No pink
20
What happens in the man cave stays in the man cave.
Along the base of the can were more rules: ‘No lip gloss; No
flowers; No chick flicks.’
This incredible, astonishing, yes, embarrassing promotional
packaging seems to be responding to something. If one looks at commercial
television, especially morning television, one can see how this attitude does
reflect something in our ‘blokey’ culture. Does RL recognise this divide? His
world is the antithesis of this, but it does not make the ‘Man Cave’ attitude
an irrelevant part of our culture or non-existent. It is interesting that RL
likened his fire-house to sitting in an aboriginal cave. If this raw, rude
attitude displayed on this fake beer can is our ‘Aussie’ culture, or even a
part of it, then what is our ‘Aussie’ architecture? Is this why RL avoids our
culture? One can excuse him, for it does leave one cringing as it touches a
sensitive core that is more gentle, more responsive to love and care. If one
wants confirmation of this brashness, just look at Australians behaving
overseas and screaming at sports matches.
We may be saddened by any lack of ritual to shape our life
patterns and places, but ritual is integrally rooted in a society’s symbolisms
and beliefs that lie at the core of a culture. They are not fabricated by
interesting and different architectures. They need their mountain reference.
They are there, but they are not those of Bali. They are far more crass.
Architecture ends up reflecting what a culture really is. Sadly, even though we
may not like it, we see this ‘architecture’ everywhere, in every suburb and in
every CBD. RL’s work lies hidden as a recluse, remote from any cohesive and
‘real’ everyday world. It stands as an example of what might be; what we might
become - if only. Hence the silence of the evening that left folk pondering
possibilities that really are impossibilities for every man: everyman.
Leplastrier and the 'ugly' corner
Poets might show how to touch magic; others might try to follow;
but life forces, like the waters and the winds, cannot be easily changed
without some significant geological, ecological disruption. A ripple of winds
on waters reflecting clouds is as ephemeral as an illusion that one can only
foolishly hope to hold. The potency of RL is that he tells us that he has seen,
has lived and is living this dream: his fairy story, his myth of the moment.
These are his visions that we like to listen to, to see, for we all live in
hope. They are the interminable, embroidered stories of sailors, wise ‘old
salts,’ travellers who have known other mysterious lands, wonders from afar.
People will always stand agog in amazement as the yarns are told, with an eager
yearning. The situation has the characteristics of a cargo cult. RL tells us of
a paradise where everything is good, beautiful and possible.
Curry sailing
Gosh, who wouldn’t like to go sailing into a world without
contracts; without drawings; without engineers; with supportive clients; with
skilled, committed builders who don’t stand and argue: “No one will ever see
it. This is how we always do it. You wouldn’t do that. That will cost you
more.” What might it be like to work with builders who do not have ‘a degree in
excuses,’ a phrase that the scriptwriters of The Bill must have loved to
include in their mellow drama? If only! “Onya Ozzie!”
*NOTE:
The rude mocking disregard that architects have for
everyday architecture is clearly displayed in Hot Modernism, an
exhibition of local modern architecture held in the State Library in Brisbane:
see - http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2014/10/hot-modernism-architecture-in.html Here the very small section on government
housing had photographs displayed high on the wall, overhead, with portions of
this wall obscured by parts of the core display, a ‘reconstruction’ of a Hayes
and Scott house. It showed a contemptuous indifference to this Housing
Commission work and other ‘ordinary’ buildings that fill the suburbs of
Brisbane, the other cities and towns of Queensland, and those throughout
Australia. Until architects are able to come to terms with this ordinary work,
they will be left in their own special environment, where they drool over the
Leplastrier stories, and try to build and live them, while scoffing at all
others who seek a meek and modest, everyday living. The Ruskin/Pevsner vision
of architecture as ‘special building’ has to be overcome. We need to learn how
to respect and build ordinary, extraordinary buildings for everyone. It really
is too easy to do otherwise: too arrogant; too indulgent; too exclusive. Little
wonder that architects are ignored as superfluous dilettantes: seen and mocked
as a waste of space, time and money.
THE PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL
Richard
Leplastrier: Odds ‘n’ Ends
Richard Leplastrier Image: Leigh Woolley
Seminal Australian architect Richard Leplastrier is presenting
the first lecture of the 2015 series at the Abedian School
of Architecture.
6:30–8:00pm
CPD Points apply. Register here.
6:30–8:00pm
CPD Points apply. Register here.
BOND UNIVERSITY
Bringing ambition to life
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THE CONTEXT
Some snaps taken to give a sense of place for the evening's talk: Even new buildings have problems with services, acoustics, reflections and glare.
The fire exit
The screen with the surrounding LED glare
Designer seating - is it really a bag hook?
Height that does not help the acoustics
Views out reflecting those in
The arty lectern with taped cord
The mezzanine
High glare
* 31 January 2015
In a letter from Cairo's grim Tora Prison published in The Weekend Australian,, Peter Greste, the award-winning Al Jazeera journalist who has been wrongly imprisoned for 400 days, writes: "Freedom is a continual fight."
* * 2 February 2015
For more on jetty construction see: http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/offtrack/port-germein-jetty/6021166
* * 2 February 2015
For more on jetty construction see: http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/offtrack/port-germein-jetty/6021166
BRACED FOR STRENGTH AGAINST THE TIDES, THE PORT
GERMEIN JETTY IS MADE FROM
SUGAR GUM FROM THE WIRRABARA FOREST (IMAGES: ANN JONES)
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