a new way of living
One paused between
completing and beginning tasks at the computer, seeking a break, a
diversion. The thought arose, (no pun intended): what Australian building might one look
at on Street View? The interest in Street View has been discussed
before, noting how it offers the eye an impromptu, unprejudiced
vision of the world, allowing one to see things just as they are, as a
passerby with no expectations, or any selective framing, special
angles, manipulative intent, or Photoshopping. The latter term is
appropriate, as there is much effort that goes into 'shopping around'
for the 'right' image in architecture. Everyday appearances are
apparently just not good enough for seeing a project: it seems that one
has to always be 'seeing as' - in a particular way, “with an
architect’s eye.” The aim appears to be to impress with a clarity
that ordinary viewing cannot capture or comprehend.
Taylor Square Warehouse by Virginia Kerridge
Does the classic 'architect's' Citroen conceal a less impressive parked car?
Architects like to
have their work photographed 'architecturally' for public consumption
- for presentations and publications. Frequently in a talk when one
is being shown photographs of a project, the comment will be made without
any apparent or intended irony: "We haven't had the job
photographed yet." The first thought one has is: then what are
we looking at? The speaker is referring to unique, arty, or
specifically chosen images that 'recreate' or reinterpret buildings
and manipulate their contexts with additional 'creative' layers that
superimpose ideas, meanings and visions to define the unique way the
place is to be seen, understood, and felt. The identity is never the
‘Street View’ snap. Indeed, the statement about having it
‘photographed’ refers to the non-‘Street View’ image, the
'visionary' identity as it might have been supposed to have been or
become, but for, perhaps, the street and the neighbours: maybe
highlighting what the architect would have liked it to have been, but
failed to achieve.
Street View of the Taylor Square Warehouse
Frequently the context is excised to reveal the
'true' building. Lens lengths and camera angles are skillfully
manipulated along with filters and quirky chance lighting effects.
Cunning branches, trees, shading, even vehicles and the like are used
to conceal 'undesirable' pieces, proportions, and parts - see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2018/02/virginia-kerridge-seriality-of.html - note, by way of example, the Citroen outside the Kerridge warehouse; it is enigmatically
interesting. Looking at Street View, it is difficult to understand
exactly where this vehicle might have been placed to get this shot.
It appears to have been positioned in the middle of the road. It is not parked
against the kerb in front of the project; and there is a fork in the
road opposite, so it is unlikely to have just been left there. Another more explicit example of contrived camera angles is the new arts centre, the Mareel, in Lerwick, Shetland. This building relies on two precise camera locations for its ‘preferred’ identity – see https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2014/04/seeing-what-we-believe-idyllic-visions.html
The Mareel - one preferred architectural image
The Mareel in context
Snapshot of the approach to the Mareel
The Mareel from the car park
The Mareel - the second preferred architectural image
The Mareel from the harbour - this is the same building as that illustrated in the image directly above
Photographer Max Dupain and Harry with his Leica
No one was more
particular about photography than Harry Seidler. He carried his
much-loved Leica around, snapping his work and others, (see the book
of his photographs: The Grand Tour published by Taschen in
2013, interestingly subtitled Travelling the World with an
Architect’s Eye), to offer what one might call 'drafts' for his
specially chosen professional photographers to finesse. He would
instruct them on the angles and framing, how to ‘see’ his
building, defining the way in which he wanted it photographed.
Photographs define 'seeing as'; they fix a particular, persuasive way
of seeing in time and memory, c.f. Wittgenstein duck-rabbit and the
concept of ‘seeing as.’ The major concern with architectural
photography is the way it fabricates special ideas about a place
instead of reproducing just what one sees when one walks past
nonchalantly, expecting nothing; yet it can do the latter if it so
chooses: the image is readily modified to suit the message - see https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2014/04/seeing-what-we-believe-idyllic-visions.html Through publications and publicity, the world has been
trained in how to see particular places, and the eye dutifully goes
to see these cities, landscapes, buildings, etc., in this unique
manner; indeed, to reproduce the image in yet another photograph,
perhaps a selfie, dragging oneself into the mire of the importance of the
promotional material – ‘as seen in the brochures’ - “And I’m
there!” Places on the tourist routes are even marked as ‘scenic’
spots to stop at in order to ‘take in/appreciate,’ and/or to
photograph the classic view, and ME.
Given the Seidler
interest in selective identities, it was decided to look up Harry’s
mother's house, the Rose Seidler residence at Wahroongha in Sydney,
(69-71 Clissold Road), built from 1948 - 1950. One has never seen
this house in its context, but it is a familiar project, a part of
Australian architectural history. The much-published image of this
residence - see Google images - has been promoted as the startling
beginning of modernism in Australia.# The forthright struggle with
law makers to have this place built in spite of their 'ignorant'
objections is now legendary, and has become a model for ‘creative’
architectural protest, and a lesson that supports architectural
arrogance. The case turned the architect into a genius hero in the
profession. The residence has become an icon for the story of modern
housing in Australia, a turning point, now promoted as 'a new way of
living' (Sydney Living Museums).
The house is seen as
the critical link back to the sophisticated beginnings of modernism
in Europe - 'the old country’: the Australian cringe is still alive
and well. The accented Harry must have been an intriguing curiosity. Australia still seeks references to other places for its meaning and
relevance, wanting to be 'world class;' still happily chirping on
about anything Australian that might make news in another country, as
if this recognition really confirms its relevance. It is as if
Australia, being so uncertain of itself, is constantly seeking the
other's approval, as a child does his/her mother’s: “Look at me!”
Harry obtaining approval from the Bauhaus master, Gropius?
"You've done well boy."
Harry’s mother’s
house seemed to be a good choice to look up on Street View, as
Venturi's mother's house had been viewed some time prior to this.
Might there be an interesting comparison? The surprising revelations
on the Venturi project have been noted in https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/03/the-vanna-venturi-house-postmodern.html What might one
discover about Harry's place? One came to see this house as a home in
a street of the 1950s, standing proudly different in the array. It
was the ‘new way of living;’ there was no indication that its siting might have been otherwise. While this contextual image was never
shown, one learned or liked to see the building in this way, as the
new ideal, the inspiration, for Australian housing as it was promoted
in the publications. One never really noticed that the house had no
identifiable place, no neighbours, and no street frontage that the
driveway and garage space suggested. Architects rarely appear to
question context; they seem happy to delight in the building’s
image, its singular appearance. The photographs always precisely
framed the home as an architectural object of desire, with, if any, a
few glimpses of the bush to confirm its ‘Australianness.’
This lack of any
communal identity was never a problem as one knew that some new
suburbs were under development and remained raw street voids, with
trees ready for more clearances to make way for the buildings yet to
be constructed. Maybe the Rose Seidler house had been a ‘first on
the block,’ just as it was a first in Australia - the first box
house, just like those white crates in Europe. Le Corbusier’s Villa
Savoye, and the work of Meis, Gropius, Breuer, and Neutra et.al. come
to mind amongst many. The modern house was cubic, with a flat roof,
glass strips and Mondrian walls, and white, inside and out,
preferably on stilts named politos by Le Corbusier, or hanging over
rustic rock walls in the Californian style of Breuer and Neutra.
This Seidler house appeared to have a bit of everything.
'Rose Seidler house'
was typed into Google Earth: the globe spun around and panned into
the Sydney region. Immediately on seeing the red pointer, one was
alarmed: the house was a hermit, isolated in a clump of bushland, in
a private blob that was clearly distinguishable from the patterns of
the nearby suburbia. The house stood alone in a dense grove, in a
pocket completely isolated from neighbours and the street – from
everything public nearby; even the driveway to the house that had
vehicle accommodation underneath, could not be discerned. Like
Venturi's mother's house, the place was isolated, on its own island,
away from the street; unlike the Venturi residence, the Seidler house
could not be seen from any public place. Why did one ever envisage
this building to be on an Australian street? So much for the idea of
a house in a street, that classic ordinary concept of Australian
suburbia. What type of housing was Seidler thinking of when he
designed this home? It was certainly not the typical Aussie house.
Might it have been purely a promotional exercise; an exhibition home,
that shortly after in the early 1960s became the cliché new ‘prize’
home that was raffled off by some charity as a fund-raiser? Mothers
seem to get used for such experimental things in architecture: Harry
Seidler, Robert Venturi, Charles Gwathmey, Richard Rogers, Cedric
Favero, le Corbusier, and Richard Meier all did houses for their
mothers: see -
https://architizer.com/blog/inspiration/collections/architects-houses-for-their-mothers/
and
Locally, one can add Claire Humphreys and Noel Robinson:
there are more; such are mums.
Street View blue
The little Street
View man was clicked; the blue lines appeared with three blue dots
near the house to identify the views from the streets and the
locations for the 360 degree spherical camera vistas. The isolation of this
remote residence was confirmed; not one blue line appeared near the
clearing. The only images of the house were those in the 360 degree point views. The
blue line on the street was clicked at the locations nearest to the
home. The screen image fuzzed and spun from plan to horizon, and then
into the view along the street. Not even a fleck of white could be
seen through any of the adjacent bushland. One went back to the
aerial view to click on the points around the house. Each gave its 360 degree surrounds - from the deck, the lounge, and the base of the ramp.
There it was, the ‘modern art’ mural wall of the deck.
One wondered why the
ramp, the major, most dramatic visual element of the house, was
there. Might it just have been for visual effect? It was not for
disability access as it had a step at its end. The ramp gave access
from the incoming driveway to the private deck; but was this meant to
be otherwise? Was it intended to link the deck to the bush, for it
was a beautiful site? The main entry to the house seemed to be under
the suspended box, the door next to the garage area, a location
seen everyday in suburbia with the two-storied brick veneer house.
What might happen if a salesman walked up the ramp and knocked at a
private location in the middle of the house? Was there a ‘No Entry’
sign? Might the ramp merely be a modern sculptural object as seen in
le Corbusier's work? Villa Savoye has a central ramp that leads up
through the house to the top deck. Did Seidler think a ramp might be
essential to confirm the modernity of the image? Was it assumed that, being buried in the bush, fully concealed, any intrusion by a
stranger would never happen; that no salesman could ever find the
place, let alone arrive in the private core of the house?
Villa Savoye section
The awkward step up without a handrail to confuse the clarity of expression
Deck to bush, or entry to deck?
Entrance beside the car accommodation
One has to think about the number of homes that were inspired by this Seidler model without having the
luxury of a bushland isolation. Is this architecture's failure - unique
buildings in their special, private places become the inspiration for
other works that have completely different, more public contexts? Is
this conundrum the basis of all of our contextual problems today?
Architecture appears to have given up on doing anything about the
street, town or city. It seems to be racing ahead blindly concerned
only with itself, as best seen and experienced in its museum-styled
isolation, away from the maddening crowd of ill-informed, lesser folk
who need educating about 'a new way of living' as the Sydney Living
Museums has promoted the house in its exhibition: and if this
remoteness is not available on an alternative site, the camera is always available
to make it appear to be real in the photographic image.
We need better
models than isolated dreams: we need ideas, forms, images,
structures, infrastructures for community. The hagiographical whimsy
of architects wanting to drool over self-important, creative visions
facilitated by mothers, and choosing to be inspired by sparkling gems
in their special settings, needs to be put aside. Here one also
thinks of Mies van der Rohe’s Farnsworth house; Frank Lloyd
Wright’s Falling Water residence, and the Jacob’s first house; le
Corbusier’s Ronchamp chapel, and Villa Savoye; the Eames house; . .
. there are more - these modern icons are all isolated, alone* - see:
The Rose Seidler
house needs to become a model of what NOT to do. With the population
of the world growing to unsustainable numbers, the promotion of a
vision of excellence in a private place seems extraordinarily
bizarre, an anachronism, looking like an arrogant, self-interested,
elitist, carelessly privileged stance. If architecture is again to
become relevant, it needs to step away from its special
preconceptions and hyper-dreams. It needs to scorn the Ruskin/Pevsner
ideal of architecture being separate from or different to building.
The idea of architecture needs to embrace hovels and cathedrals;
shacks and mansions; bicycle sheds, factories and train stations, all
with an equal passion, rather than to classify and isolate most of
our world to non-architecture, non-art, mere building, with the tiny
remainder being ‘Architecture.’ The Rose Seidler house only
reinforces this ‘arty’ schism with its isolated, separate
presence. Little wonder that inspirational works driven by this
raised box are mocked when constructed in other denser, more complex
and varied contexts. Seidler might as well have constructed a castle
on a hill as a prototype for modern living, such was this house’s
uniquely singular and self-identifying features.
Here one thinks of
the poor client stuck with the special, one-off, starkly different
house – no doors or windows; with each room having only three
walls, all opening to a courtyard, (the architect is fond of
camping), and with the courtyard opening to the street - in a
typical brick-veneer and tiled-roof area: "You expect something
different when you go to an architect." Well, maybe you
shouldn't. If architects are only seen as purveyors of difference,
something uniquely expressive and ‘creatively’ stylish, bespoke,
then little wonder that they are seen as arrogant fools, dilettantes
dwelling in their own tiny mental 'clearings', isolated from the
every everyday concerns of ordinary people, ordinary life, seeking
out only those who want to be ‘different’ for their clients; and
if the client has a totally remote site, then this client will be all
the better to work with: see award winning isolated homes in the bush
etc, and c. f. Rick Laplastrier too - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2015/01/richard-leplastrier-ephemeral.html
Richard Murphy House, Edinburgh
Murphy was inspired by Carlo Scarpa
A few years ago, the
RIBA Home of the Year was a house in Edinburgh by Richard Murpphy.
Happily, at last, the residence was in a tight, crowded urban
setting; but it was a house of wonders worthy of a Wallace
and Gromit movie, and the popular
Shaun the Sheep cartoons created
by Nick Park, where clever, quirky gadgets are ‘invented’ for
every possible function. It appears that the sense of things ordinary
is given no status in architecture; for any acknowledgment, either
isolated or in an urban setting, it seems that things have to be
especially different. There needs to be a significant change; this
should start with the erasing of the idea of the architect as the
bespoke, hero genius, a smugly brilliant master builder. Let's just
become good builders doing good work; c.f. Schumacher Good Work.
Maybe awards have to be abolished. We need to live in Street View,
not through the rose-coloured lens, (sorry, no pun intended), of the
special camera effects, or in isolation, for the world is not like
this, even though some might like it to be. If we are incapable of,
or unhappy with seeing things for what they are rather than for what
they might be, then we have a serious problem. Our inspiration needs
to change from godliness to ordinary man, and be manifest as this
too; then architecture might truly become special and meaningful
rather than remaining in an exotic wonderland of hyper-things unique
and special, in a clearing, on an island, as if quarantined from the
pestilence of the everyday, things that will only pollute the purity
and glamour of the grand vision – c.f. Seidler’s The Grand
Tour.
There are movements
today that use language to suggest things communal and green lie as
the core motive, the driving force, but these ambitions still appear
to seek difference in the same ‘arty’ manner, just with an
alternative language. We have to be careful, as we seem to be easily
fooled, foiled.
As for the house
itself, Rose's residence is typical modernism, now on display to the
masses by a 'living museum.' Let it be seen as an example of where
architecture went astray, rather than an example of creative bravado,
heroics that brought the new world to Australia. It might have, but
what is there to boast about when the ideal is so ephemeral, a very
special display promoting a reputation?
What we have to
consider seriously is not just how we see Rose Seidler’s house, but
how we view architecture more generally. If we are going to continue
with our hagiography, then nothing will change, as saints are
singular identities standing aloof and alone as exemplars; maybe we
need to think more about 'sinners,' folk with faults; messy, ordinary
life, rather than the world of things perfect, remote and elusively
exclusive: community rather than things segregated and restrictive.
If these concerns are not attended to, then we will only end up with more of the muddle we have today.
This new, broad,
inclusive approach should never be considered as 'art for everyman,'
as something unique in its own special way, since the problems will
only morph into a different sameness, a new stylish shambles. We need
to root ourselves in the integrity of ordinary wholeness with an
honest humility. Wright’s ‘honest arrogance’ is not something
that can be or should be matched by all. Such change is never
superficial or aesthetic; it is not merely a way of seeing things.
It is rooted in being, and reverberates with this enigmatic richness.
The circumstance has to do with matters Christopher Alexander has
come to be interested in in his books Pattern Language (1977),
and The Nature of Order (2003-2004). It has nothing to do with
his design strategy in his wonderfully titled Notes on the
Synthesis of Form (1964). Alas, after checking the publication
dates of these books, all that can be said is that we just do not
appear to care; and if we ever do happen to develop an interest in
things subtle, then we have a lot of catching up to do. The question
is: how?
Plan of the Alhambra
Persian carpet
P.S.
Villa Savoye, the
Corbusian classic that is still raved about - a model and driving
inspiration for the Rose Seidler house - similarly stands isolated
inside a tree moat, in a small clearing cut off from its busy street
and the surrounding developments - see below. Was this isolation an inspiration
too? Is architecture only 'great' when it stands alone, on its own
island? - see Eames, Wright, etc. - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/03/architectures-two-remote-islands-too.html Surely the challenge
for architecture is to be a vital part of the everyday? Little wonder
that architects are the equivalent of isolated islands in our
community, seen as bumbling, self-centred elitists seeking the
wonders that can only be known in the perfection of a segregated
detachment, locations not to be polluted by the messes of the foolish
masses.
Le Corbusier's Villa Savoye
#
When completed in
1950, the Rose Seidler house was ‘the most talked about house in
Sydney.’ Sydney Living Museums.
NOTE
See Google Images
for more photographs of the residence: ‘Rose Seidler’s house.’
All the images only
ever show the house and some trees; there is nothing else to cut off
or to delete. The site is the complete answer, the ideal for the
architectural photographer who can concentrate on the subject without
worrying about neighbouring elements, objects, and buildings, just
the prettiness of the juxtaposition of the trees and their shadows.
There is nothing else there, and no one else to worry about. No
concessions have to be made by the architect or the photographer: the
house is always alone, able to be whatever its architect wants.
Still, in spite of this unique quality, it is promoted as an ideal
for housing. Little wonder that there is a huge schism between the
architect and everyman: not every man can live alone, isolated from
the world, ensconced in an array of specially placed design items in
a void of trees. Why then is this house promoted as ‘a new way of
living’? It is a new way of living for those on glorious bush
sites, who can afford the very best. The implication that this
stylish home can be replicated everywhere is misleading. It really is
a sad hoax promoting a false, fancy vision. It is truly an
exhibitionist’s home where no guile is needed for the photographer
other than that required for showing off the house to suit the
architect's whims.
*
How many ‘iconic
homes’ are islands?
A Rose Seidler house lookalike
STREET VIEW
VILLA SAVOYE
No, this is not the house; the villa is concealed behind the trees.
Why do the 'accessory' buildings try to be 'Corb-like'? +
The tree moat
HISTORY NOTE
Savoyes returned to their estate after the war, but were no longer in
position to live as they had done before the war, and soon abandoned
the house again. The villa was expropriated by the town of Poissy in
1958, which first used it as a public youth centre and later
considered demolishing it to make way for a schoolhouse complex.
Protests from architects who felt the house should be saved, and the
intervention of Le Corbusier himself, spared the house from
demolition. A first attempt at restoration was begun in 1963 by
architect Jean Debuisson, despite opposition from Le Corbusier. The
villa was added to the French register of historical monuments in
1965, becoming France's first modernist building to be designated as
a historical monument, and also the first to be the object of
restoration while its architect was still living. In 1985, a thorough
state-funded restoration process led by architect Jean-Louis Véret
was undertaken. It was completed in 1997. The restoration included
structural and surface repairs to the façades and terraces because
of the deterioration of the concrete; the installation of lighting
and security cameras; and the reinstatement of some of the original
fixtures and fittings.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Villa_Savoye
+
For more look-alike visitor centres, see: Glenn Murcutt's Macleay Valley Coast Visitor Centre at Kempsey, New South Wales, Australia, where additional picnic shelters and a toilet block have been styled after his beautifully detailed building; and the Taliesin Preservation: Frank Lloyd Wright Visitor Center, a building that appears to try to incorporate a variety of Wright's designs all in one structure.
Murcutt's original visitor centre at Kempsey: a considered elegance
The mocking extra picnic shelters and toilet block
The Taliesin Preservation: Frank Lloyd Wright Visitor Center
An awkward mishmash of Wrightian themes
