HOTA - GOLD COAST ART: HOW OUR TRIP ACTUATED

The day started early; the request from the service centre was that we should drop the car off at 7:40am: this seemed early, but we complied. After signing the vehicle over, we were told that it would be ready between 1:00pm and 3:00pm: such is life.

We walked across to the nearby cafe and ordered breakfast - eggs Benedict, fruit juice, and coffee for two. It was an enjoyable change, if only in location. After the hour, we wandered through the adjacent markets and admired the stock of intriguing, tasty 'international' food. We then browsed the stunning displays of blooms in the adjacent florist, moving on to peruse the rich, sweet delights of the nearby tea shop – we were not tempted. The day was ours to spend how we wanted, whatever, whenever, until the phone call came between 1:00pm and 3:00pm.

Walking across the car parking area, we entered a general clothing and homewares store. A purchase was made; we strolled out. What might we do now? Why not get an Uber to HOTA. The new, strangely named Home of the Arts, the Gold Coast Art Gallery, had opened some months ago. We had always promised ourselves that we would visit the new gallery, but it had been just too easy to postpone the journey.

Maybe the building should have been taller, like a giraffe, as originally proposed?

HOTA had been designed by ARM. A competition was held some years ago, and the ARM scheme was selected as the best submission: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/12/gold-coast-guggenheim-gangnam-wow.html. Now the winner has finally constructed the building, a different one to the winning project, but at least the ideas generated for the competition were not left to fizzle out and be forgotten in a dark drawer, as so often happens with competitions in Australia. The Sydney Opera House competition spoiled everything for competitions and architects. The built project maintains the general theme of the winning entry, but in a different way, with a lower building. The master plan prepared for the competition site used the Voronoi diagram+ as its mapping template. One wonders why this pattern had been chosen; perhaps it offered some guidance for ‘interesting’ outcomes that ARM might have been looking for: something rigorously mathematical, but random, that avoided the mere whimsy of fancy forms like one sees in Gehry’s works. Was the Voronoi geometry an alternative to the Penrose geometry that was used to shape parts of ARM’s Storey Hall at Melbourne University? Does ARM have a handbook of mathematical games and tiling patterns? An outdoor auditorium was the first stage of this project, and set the theme with its use of the crocodilian patterning. The new gallery uses this organic diagram in a bolder, more assertive manner than the auditorium structure, to form chunky zones of coloured cladding defined by black, Voronoi divisions marking a skin – a cloak of many colours - that seems to have very little geometric relevance in relation to what it encloses, perhaps in much the same manner as a dinosaur skin ignores its innards.

The name of this gallery has always felt awkward: HOTA: Home of the Arts is not really a distinctive identity; just uniquely strange enough to be catchy. One first thinks of hotter, and, feeling uncomfortable on a humid day, wonders: might this have something to do with the Some like it hot theme as a reference to the Gold Coast lifestyle? Could the reference be to sex, colour, and climate, or perhaps just chillis - maybe all of these? It seems that the new challenge for galleries is their naming, that search for an appropriate, catchy, but relevant acronym. It all appears to have started with the MOMA in New York: Museum of Modern Art. Galleries seem to have become museums just for the benefit of the acronym’s appearance and sounding. Brisbane still has its gallery: GOMA - Gallery of Modern Art; Hobart has its museum that is a bit close to the New York naming, seeming to trade off it: MONA - Museum of Old and New Art: both titles feel very forced, the latter more so, carrying the seemingly unfortunate references of moaning, and Mona Lisa, that could be seen as a comment on ‘very old’ art - yawn! Acronyms can be problematical : see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2020/02/aaca-graphics-questions-and-answers.html. # The Gold Coast came late with something different – not gallery or museum, but home: HOTA - Home of the Arts: one senses a struggle to get something acceptable, especially with having to use both the lesser 'o' of the 'of' and the 't' of the 'the' in the letters forming the cryptic reference. Many of the good titles must have already been already used throughout the world. Just the other day it was announced that the Rockhampton Museum of Art was ‘being reimagined’ as RMOA: another museum – but how does one sound this? Is this awkward struggle the reason why we ended up with the unusually gritty HOTA – hot stuff? The graphic form is another story. Yet again we see a sloping ‘H’ crossbar, and an inverted ‘V’ used as an ‘A’ - just to be different. Letter forms have more necessity than this: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2020/01/fancy-graphics-a-is-not-v.html and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/02/graphic-games-kia-logo.html. While it might all look slick and clever as a graphic, such variations are always difficult to manage in normal text, when standard letters have to be tolerated; then the strength of the identity seems to wane.

Even in other general gallery graphics, the image changes.

Is the problem with the repetitive 'A' that becomes difficult to read?

The problem was solved at the entry with the use of lower case.

Is there a piece missing here?

The new gallery stands out boldly to the passersby as a blaze of bespoke, organic colour.* We had seen it flash by on several occasions in a fleeting glimpse, popping up over the trees when driving by, but had never interrogated the place. The question was: what was one really looking at? How was it detailed? A cross section of the building had been seen published. It revealed galleries stacked beside a towering space with a stair zigzagging through it. One envisaged a grand volume, something like an interior version of the Pompidieu Centre's famous facade. It looked impressive.

As the Uber vehicle approached our destination, the familiar glimpse of colour gained context as form in place as we drove into the drop-off space. Walking up the stairs that we assumed might take us to the entry - one could only hope - the thought arose: could this place be closed on a Monday? The Tweed Gallery was shut on Mondays; this precinct looked deserted. As we rose up the flight, a person appeared. Perhaps this was indeed leading to the entry; maybe this gallery was open; who could tell? There was no indication that we were heading in the correct direction.

Gosh! Why does the entry HOTA not use the unique graphic image?

Moving on and turning with the Voronoi-diagrammed pavement, we saw the rotating door - not Voronoi; why not? Such revolving entries are more frequently seen in the colder climes; it looked strange here in our subtropical heat. The doors pivoted; yes, the ‘home’ was open. Moving in through the segmented entry cylinder, we were immediately engaged by the young lady tasked with welcoming the visitors. She efficiently told us that the main gallery was unfortunately closed, (New York travel and insurance problems), and detailed the exhibitions that were open, as well as noting the shop, the cafe, the restaurant, and the top viewing area, and their individual benefits. She presented the gallery well.

We took the lift to the latter space, planning to walk down through the building. Up to this stage, we had really not had a chance to see the building interior, to consider it. We strolled to the right past the closed restaurant and found the lifts, wondering if the restaurant, with its ghosted tables, had ever opened. There was no grand vertical volume that one had surmised from the sectional drawing. Why? It all felt rather cramped, minimal, and looked dim; dark.

The lifts were crisply detailed with clear graphics. Why were these not in place outside? We exited on the top floor, passed the set of single-cell dunnies, (was this a ‘COVID’ solution?), and headed for the cafe and a coffee, complete with masks and the mandatory checking-in procedure which was enforced. The 360 degree view of the Gold Coast was stunning. One enjoyed locating places from this new, high context that revealed the marvellous hinterland hills and mountains, and the twistings of the Nerang River with its canal developments leaking out from it. The vistas emphasised a different reputation of the region, its green credentials rather than its tourist glitz and entertaining buzz which seemed to be the inspiration for the original ARM competition scheme: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/12/gold-coast-guggenheim-gangnam-wow.html. The Gold Coast has some important, ‘world class’ National Parks both on the ocean, and in the hinterland hills, with one being listed ‘World Heritage,’ a category that sadly lacks local respect.

The pretty panels surrounding the cafe deck, all coloured a lovely lime green, were tapped: they rang hollow. One guessed that a metal composite material had been used here, and hoped that this panelling was not the flammable product that has caused such problems internationally. One could now see that this place was clad in coloured sheeting that was secretly screwed and glued to metal framing as a curtain wall. This explained the dislocation between the interiors and the external skin. The large exposed steel columns in the upper viewing area outside the cafe, suggested that the building might be steel-framed. This external panelling system uses a suave product that can give a slick appearance to just about nothing at all, and anything at all. In this regard, it is a very 'Gold Coast' material - flashy, smart, with little substance, such is this region’s reputation as the ‘fun’ area of Queensland.

Moving on, out of the cafe’s deck area, we headed for the stairs that were to one side of the viewing space: the stairs were a surprise. Instead of the dazzling, airy flights dancing through open heights that one had envisaged, one experienced a massive, gloomy enclosure that wound its way down weightily between dark, timbered balustrading that extended up as walls in different places. Looking for the open height of the section, one peered over the enclosing barriers when possible, only to discover a vertical vista that looked down just to the next lower flight. There was no spatial delight here, merely a twisting, zigzagging, 3D maze that moved one down angularly, piecemeal, to the lower levels. It felt something like a cattle race inspired by a Piranesi etching; or Escher's Nightmare (Tom Blackwell).**

Escher's Nightmare  Tom Blackwell

The galleries started on the next lower level. These bland rectilinear spaces were well appointed with typical, multi-functional gallery ceilings; the areas were fully enclosed: there was no natural light. It was a real delight to get back to the lift lobby and enjoy the mountain vista through the glazed end wall.

The experience was repeated over three floors; only the exhibits varied. Moving out of these repetitive gallery levels, we found ourselves back in the entry space, so we perused the goods in the shop. There were the usual kitsch items, with a few sundry nice pieces and some interesting publications. One would have liked to have seen more books.

We still had time on our hands, so we retreated to the top viewing area, sat on the typical soft, low, gallery bench lounge, and studied the vistas. It is something that one rarely has time to do, so the experience was relaxing and informative once the ruckus of wild children had moved off into other more distant disturbances. After a lengthy break, we moved out to take a closer look at the auditorium which could be seen directly opposite, below us, outside. There was something strange here. It was difficult to read the roofing material from this angle. Was it mesh or solid? If mesh, why? Why not waterproof the place, provide some shelter? The arcing form suggested something of a sound shell, but mesh would do nothing. It needed a closer inspection.

Yes, it was mesh. The concern deepened: why face the open arc west? Why have any frame when it offered very little shelter or sound projection – no protection from rain, and very little from the sun; and no acoustic properties either. The western afternoon sun would blaze directly onto the stage. Was this stage frame only all about the Votonoi diagram; making sure it was used with some obvious drama?

The planting thought so, as the jasmine and bougainvillea trailed up the defining edges of the rear screen to create very pretty leafy profiles. Strolling on, one enjoyed the organic feel of the diagrammed pavement, but was disappointed when it eventually, inexplicably, stopped at the lake and changed into sweeping curves that led to the blue, ‘green bridge.’ Why blue? Why call it a ‘green’ bridge; why not a pedestrian bridge? Why stop the guiding pattern of the master plan? Was there an intention to do more later? One hoped so.

The formality of the western windows express the conservative interior lift lobby planning

and break into the organic Voronoi patterning with their repetitive rigidity.

Turning to return, we were confronted by the mass of the gallery building in front of us. Surprisingly, the project had an extensive, single-storied, ground-level wing that extended the Voronoi diagram somewhat self-consciously as a horizontal stripe. Was this the main gallery that was closed, and the stores and service areas? It seemed an odd extension of the chunky, towering, coloured mass that looked assertive with its bold colours bordered by thick, 'felt pen' lines. The facade on this rectilinear extension looked like a 2D drawing, a forced continuation of an adopted theme. One did think twice about the corner returns on the tower, their continuity that gave the whole mass a sense of decoupage rather than any integral, natural enclosure. Were Voronoi patterns in nature less angular?

One wondered why the form had not been more organic. The patterning does, after all, enclose the complexities of the dinosaur. Only the cafe deck swelled out like a blister on the very top of the mass which looked like a decorated shoe box on its end, with the Voronoi diagram superimposed - a somewhat contrived expression, as if it was struggling, trying to be cleverly different with a fixed budget; maybe a little ‘arty’ - it was, after all, an art gallery.

Outside, one noticed the two tones of glass enclosing the stair space. This subtle difference was not immediately obvious from the bulky, cavernous stairway. The gridded divisions of the glazing made one notice those in the coloured panels that seemed strangely at odds with the organic rigour of the Voronoi diagram, making both patterns more questionable. Each geometry has its own separate identity; a Voronoi pattern does not readily welcome a grid without some serious compromise. This surface lacks that meticulous finesse one sees in the Sydney Opera House tiling.

The Voronoi pattern has its own rich integrity that is alien to the grid.

Sydney Opera House roof

We arranged our Uber, waited, and then left for lunch, and then the car pickup. The gallery experience was interesting. There were some memorable works on display, but the lingering thoughts and feelings were about the building, experienced for the first time. The uneasiness of the neighbouring auditorium's forming lingered as an emotion involving the gallery itself where there seemed to be a schism in outcomes between inside and out. The constant was the rigour and care of the detailing; the difference was in the expression. The drama of the exterior became more modest, more conservative and controlled as an interior. Not even one self-conscious glimpse of the idea extended inside, other than those window profiles that were dictated by necessity; but even this seemed to be a matter of mere acceptance rather than celebration; almost a disgruntled struggle to maintain the exterior pattern while minimising any disturbance to the more plain interior.

The decorated shoe boxes?

And yet there was something satisfactory about the place too. It was not offensive or challenging. It displayed a controlled playful delight with neat details, all within the rigour of the Voronoi diagram that, even when forced, held its organic strength in its coherence. It might be an applied pattern, but its inner, mathematical necessity still shines through for all to enjoy.

But does one miss the water slide that spiraled around the competition scheme? How might this have changed things? Personally, it seemed to me that the gallery made more sense just with its natural Voronoi rigour than in its attempt to be the legendary ‘touristy Gold Coast fun'n'games’ place. It is certainly nice to see colour in architecture, at last. Modernism seems to have been seduced by the ancient ruins that have lost all of their applied to colour, with its enthusiasm for ‘appreciating the quality of the raw material’ - marble, concrete, wood. We forget the blaze of colour that once filled the world: we need more.

We arrived back for the car at 2:30pm only to be given the news that things had changed: now it will be ready between 2pm and 4pm: why mention 2:00pm at 2:30pm? The TV quiz programme Pointless was blaring on the screen. Yes, the whole experience of sitting in a car yard waiting room, complete with those cliché business ideals declared on the wall, and free coffee, seemed pointless. Does it really take all day to get a car serviced? At 3:30pm the news came: "Your car is ready" - after eight hours! At least we saw HOTA. One cannot but note again the basic trouble with the clever shaping of words for a graphic presentation, with the impossibility of reproducing the forms in ordinary text. Here the bar of the H is horizontal; the bar of the A is included; the clever graphic games are thwarted, dragged back into the ordinary world. This seems to have become a common problem; but good graphics is always better than this slick stylisation see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2015/01/graphics-from-grapevine.html; https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2020/01/fancy-graphics-a-is-not-v.html; and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2021/02/graphic-games-kia-logo.html.

HOTA, not:

The text hints at Cryllic script.

Then one wonders about the clever games the gallery plays: might they too be thwarted by ordinary experience; challenged as a blazing, patterned decoupage pasted over a shoe box just to make it more 'interesting'? Might it just fade away – actually or metaphorically? Art and architecture seem to have to be uniquely different to be 'creative' these days – cunningly bespoke in an eye-catching manner. Will time change the way these ideas are seen? A tension lingers in the difference between the typical gallery interiors that appear to struggle to be seen otherwise externally; but it was nice to be engaged with the Voronoi pattern, to walk on it, and to gauge its lovely ad hoc logic as it extends over form. Might it have been a leaping crocodile building?^ There was a potential here that had started to blossom, but it appears to have been repeatedly frustrated by the demands of functions; or was it budgets? Who knows, time might indeed help this place as the development continues; could vines be useful too?

It is pretty in half light with the Voronoi nodal points glowing.

MORE VORONOI EXAMPLES

+

 For information on the Voronoi pattern see: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voronoi_diagram

*

The colours are predominantly those of the Rainbow Lorikeet that frequents the area. The wild birds are a tourist attraction at the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary where there is a feeding session each morning and afternoon. 

# 

MORE HOTAS

The problem with acronyms is that they are rarely unique. A quick Google search will soon show other HOTAs in the world as acronyms, and as a brand too. This can all become a real muddle, relying on context, distance, and quirky graphics to ensure that the intended message is communicated. The making of a stylish, unique acronym has become almost as difficult as finding an appropriate user name that has not been used, even when using your own name. One has to wonder if those who decided on HOTA were aware of these other references at the time:

HOTA (from https://www.acronymfinder.com/HOTA.html)

Human Organ Transplant Act (Singpore)

History of the Americas

Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Humberside Offshore Training Association (UK)

Home Office Type Approval (Home Office certification process; UK)

Heart of the Alliance (FanForce gaming group)

. . . and

How Our Trip Actuated.

There is also the Hota Design Studio, Jacksonville, Florida:

Hota Design Studio, Jacksonville, Florida.

^

A leaping crocodile building?

6 APRIL 22

DEMONIC? - !!

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-04-06/tom-tates-spiritual-adviser-warned-of-demonic-stronghold-at-hota/100964428

**

24 APRIL 22

Some designers are inspired by Escher’s stairs: see -

https://www.dezeen.com/2022/04/20/naturehumaine-escher-house-renovation-montreal/

14 MAY 2022

While perusing the Internet, this image appeared under the title, Honeycomb Architecture, in Pinterest:

What can one say?