A story about the fountain
I was given the job of documenting the jetty, pontoon, pumphouse, and fountain for the Queen to open. The conecpt had been completed in the Master Plan. It showed the jetty with a triangulated pontoon, giving a sharp, pointed end to the slick form: (see plan p.162-163). The engineers argued that this shape was complicating matters as it would be difficult to get the asymmetrical mass to float horizontally. One soon discovered that there was no way Gibson was going to have his profile changed; it never was, apart form one minor variation; and the engineers had to devise ways of adjusting the floatation in the finished pontoon. The only change made to the original sketch indicated on the site plan was that the point was taken off with a small truncation, making the mass less elegant, but safer; the engineers noted the possible danger to a boat should one accidentally strike the sharp, wedged form. Gibson seemed to accept this change as an engineering requirement that he preferred not to know about.
The fountain was conceived as an afterthought, and became a necessity, something dramatic for the queen to ‘open.' The problem was that she was coming before any substantial work could be carried out on the Art Gallery; and politically, it had been decided to use her visit to mark the importance of the new project. This fountain was originally envisaged as a floating equilateral triangle in plan, perhaps following the theme of the pontoon, formed as a pyramidal mass for the spout. Gibson wanted this floating base to be made in sandblasted concrete. It was pointed out that there was something odd about floating a concrete form when this mass not necessary. Gibson wanted a fountain just like that in Canberra, in Lake Burley Griffin; but the Brisbane River was tidal, so the base holding the water jet had to float. It was suggested that stainless steel might be a better solution for this purpose; after all, aluminium was used for boats. It was argued that flat sheets of stainless steel fixed over a stainless steel frame on a floatation ring, might even enhance the fountain’s spectacle with the splashing sound on the flat steel, and the flash of sunlight on its sheen.
One cannot remember the time scale for this change to be accepted, or the process, but Gibson finally agreed, after no discussion; perhaps it never happened until it was ‘his idea’? With the development of the fountain, the original single ‘Canberra’ spout became a set that followed the geometric sub-divisional lines if the equilateral triangle. Maybe the dramatic height of the Canberra spout could not be matched, so the mass of water was increased to compensate for the difference in the drama of the display.
While it never seemed to worry Gibson, maybe it never even occurred to him, the drains exiting into the river at the embankment had to be addressed. At low tide these presented as a series of black holes of varying dimensions. It was suggested to Gibson that the drains could be fitted with a concrete conversion form that took the circular section down to a long, flat rectangular opening of the same area, that could be located below the lowest low tide. Gibson agreed. This was done, probably because it was an ‘engineering’ matter, a bit like the pontoon issue. I have only seen the drains once, on an occasion of an extreme low tide.
The maintenance of floating water jets and the filtration system eventually became such a nuisance that the fountain, which finally sank, and its associated pump house, were removed. The jetty remains in part only, fitted with a new ramp and pontoon. A few years ago, it was exciting to see a night heron using the balustrade as a site for its fishing, happily walking sideways along the distorted midrail in the dim, evening light, stepping around the posts with a certain familiarity, and splashing into the river after a patient wait. The heron was there on the rail night after night, rarely seen or disturbed by any passersby: some good came of the work.
To commemorate this opening of the Art Gallery fountain, it was suggested that the terminus of the Victoria Bridge balustrade on the west could be fitted out with a significant concrete stump with a cast bronze plaque on top at about a metre height. This could be formally ‘opened’ by the Queen and become a permanent, civic marker at the transition from the bridge to the Art Gallery/Cultural Centre, for those passing by to see everyday, perhaps recalling that ‘this is where the Queen had stood.’ Such a form could act as a gateway fulcrum between the plaza and the bridge. The idea seemed to have depth and relevance. Gibson didn’t think so - it never happened. One senses that it never even got thought about or considered in any way; he had other ideas: yet the concept still lingers with a longing: it would have been right, with a nice urban resonance instead of - well, I can’t remember what happened: maybe there is a formal plaque somewhere, (yes, see image below), left to be ignored by all but those looking for it. I ‘see’ the plaque on its stumpy, sandblasted concrete base every time I walk past this point, and give it a phantom pat.
Gibson’s habit of sitting down at the drawing board to discuss progress might seem interesting, suggesting that, cleverly, he had a finger in every ‘office pie,’ but it was not the most efficient way to get things done. One had to wait for him to be available before taking things further, as he was always buzzing in and out of the office, like, as one partner in another practice, described his associate: 'a blue-arsed fly'; it could take days to get his time which he shared around to suit himself. His lack of availability combined with his demand to be involved inevitably slowed progress down. There was also his other habit of letting you go ahead with development work on a project while he was talking to others about options, even hiring new consultants to get involved without telling anyone.
The landscaping of the slope to the river was such a case. While work was being done on this, thinking along the lines of tiered places to sit under shady, riverside poincianas, Gibson hired a consultant who developed the concept of the diagonal path traversing the slope, dividing a clumped tree area and a grassy lawn, creating more of a thoroughfare to the river's edge rather than a place to pause. The consultant's idea was accepted and developed, but not by the consultant: he was ‘let go.’ With slight variations, the idea, as usual, became Gibson’s.
The fountain pumphouse was detailed as a square, sandblasted, concrete tower with considered functional, rectangular openings – ‘Gibsonesque’ – complete with stubby, wooden-clad ‘wings’ to act as the anchors and vertical guides for the pontoon. Two cast iron brackets wrapped around these wings to control the floating, triangulated pontoon mass. One can envisage the complications with the fountain with its buoyant base anchored in the muddy river, connected to the pumphouse with its flexible, tubular feed, all constantly under the pressure loads and their stresses that projected the water through the multiple floating jets to achieve the preferred height. Things were much simpler and cleaner in Canberra; more predictable, and elegant; less problematical.
The Brisbane fountain had a short lifespan of eleven years, but it had performed the primary task required of it: allowing one to say that the Art Gallery project was opened by the Queen with a memorable display that could be photographed with the final building. No one has attempted to install a fountain in the Brisbane River since this one sank.
Find out what happened to Queen Elizabeth II's fountain in the Brisbane River:
See also:
ROBIN GIBSON – THE BOOK: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2025/02/robin-gibson-book.html
and
ROBIN GIBSON – THE POSTSCRIPT: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2025/02/robin-gibson-postscript.html
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