LLOYD REES AND THE ARCHITECTS

The review had been read; the book was noted as one that should be followed up: Lloyd Rees And The Architects by Ross Wilson, recently published by AndAlso Books, Brisbane, Australia in 2025. Names of various well-known students like Cox and Andersons, et.al., and their comments only stimulated one's interest in the book and encouraged the purchase, which is the intent of a review that usually finishes with a statement about availability and price, that sometimes comes with special offers for members, accompanied with a hopeful thanks for the support that might be offered.

Weeks later, when visiting the local bookshop to collect a publication that had been ordered, and having forgotten about this review, the Rees book was the first one that the nonchalant browsing revealed: such is happenstance.

Lying on a low island display shelf opposite the entrance was a pile of about half a dozen copies of this new work. The presentation caught the eye with its plain bold graphics that declared on a blank white cover, in ordinary sans serif black, block, no-nonsense letters, the title and the author's name that headlined and underlined a colourful Turneresque smudge of framed colours that, knowing something of the Rees story, one guessed was a late Rees painting of architectural light. There was something ingenuous in the appearance, that amateurish, workaday expression of publications that have been self-published by the over-keen, indulgent enthusiast.

The tome was picked up; the shock was that it was so weighty, being surprisingly heavy for its size;. It was solid; chunky. Flipping thought the stiff pages from back to front as left-handers are apt to do, the areas of blank white space surprised. Each letter and paragraph appeared to be suspended in a void of white, literally blanc, with there being what looked like a surplus of illustrations in between. Had this tiny, short, at best, perhaps compact text been bulked up to make it look significant, being spaced out and printed on dense, glossy pages to make it seem weighty, in the sense of significant, seriously meaningful, and attractive, ready for a Christmas purchase, in the same way as ordinary, uninspiring Christmas gifts are made to appear impressive with big boxes wrapped in colourful papers tied with huge sparkling ribbons and draped with cards, baubles, and tassels? WOW!

The publication looked like a children's coloured picture story book, with large, double-spaced text in simple, separated small blocks sitting on thick, white pages, sometimes only occupying only one third of the page, interspersed with numerous leaves of illustrations. The visual impact was such that one had to share the amazement of the apparent cheek of the publisher with the colleague, with a: "Hey, look at this. It seems as though there has been a real effort to make this tiny text look impressive," as the pages were flipped through to highlight the white.

One felt cheated; $45 for this apparent deviousness? Was the publication just a potboiler assembled for the festive season? The book was returned to the pile, brusquely rejected, and the browsing continued. Another item caught the eye; it was a book on New Farm history, the Brisbane suburban area of my childhood. It too was opened in the habitual reverse. The images were familiar: the places known. One section was on the New Farm State School. Memories flooded; I'll buy this one: the browsing continued.

New Farm State School.

There were other interesting titles, but none that one wanted to follow up on at this time. When moving back to the counter to collect the ordered book and to pay for the purchase, the Rees book pile was passed as before; one paused and raised the book again, this time opening it from the front while wondering if something had been missed. It seemed to be a book that one should read, but . . . The first page opened at a list of student names, and their comments on Lloyd Rees. These were the names and comments quoted in the review. Had the reviewer read the book, or just grabbed a few of the introductory asides and a bit of the blurb on the rear cover? Is it a sign of our times that reviewers regularly do not read the books written about? Could the piece have been assembled by AI?

It was finally decided with some reluctance, to purchase the book. If the text turned out to be merely an array of standard, unremarkable facts and puffery acquired and collated to accompany the illustrations, at least one had the numerous reproductions of Rees's work to peruse. The drawings and paintings were impressively beautiful.

The sale was finalised: this was my Christmas reading: Lloyd Rees's engagement with architects; New Farm stories; and Jon Rhodes' Whitefella Way. The Rhodes' Cage of Ghosts book had been read a couple of years ago. One hoped that his subsequent work was just as interesting and inspirational. One had waited over eight weeks for its arrival.

Travelling home on the train, sitting awkwardly on the uncomfortably proportioned, thinly upholstered seats for the one-and-a-half-hour journey, the Rees book was perused in more detail, if only to distract one from the awkward stresses and pressures of the travel, its travails. Why are rail journeys so praised? There was nothing of the Orient Express comfort here; and the countryside and its development were unremarkable. It was just a suburban trolley carting people around on a long-distance run that should have been a far better, more enjoyable service. One felt that animals might have been treated more humanely. Surely we do not have to go back to First, Second, and Third Class differentiation to get reasonable comfort?

The reading of the Rees book again raised the idea of the amateur graphic designer, such was its appearance. One checked; the book was published by AndAlso Books, a publisher based in Brisbane, Australia, specialising in creative writing and history from its home state of Queensland, and also art, design, and music culture/history. The book had been designed by Rose Ricani. One wondered what the design intentions might have been.

After the front page of quotes, there was the title page that introduced the different graphic presentation of the book's subject, using the idiosyncratic Rees signature in the title. Was this personal expression too obscure for the main cover? The Table of Contents was next, indexing the details of the five parts of the book. This was followed by a short introduction that sketched the context for the work. Part 1 began with a small bold number on a separate page, with a title, and a list of six subjects that one assumed might be the subheadings of the sections of this part. One quickly flipped ahead to check, but there was no further reference to this subdivision, just blocks of text plonked on swathes of white, interspersed with copious pages of Rees's early drawings. The publication looked more like a catalogue prepared for an exhibition or an art auction than a well researched tome.

Whitely's inspiration.

One was perplexed, but continued reading from the beginning, avoiding the more ad hoc approach to discover matters of interest. There was a naive quality about the writing that one had sensed in Rees's own book, a style that brought back the reading of his autobiography that was recalled as casual, everyday, 'open' remembrances recorded simply and factually as they had been lived. Did this AndAlso book that suggested more, merely pick out a few bits of Rees's text to accompany the reproduced prints and drawings, to be presented as a summarised biographical picture book that would make a good gift? The book was released early September 2025, apparently to be ready for Christmas; or might this timing be a mere coincidence?

Later at home one quickly got to page 73. So far, one had just read about Rees's early life; there was only now, in the last couple of pages, talk of the architecture school at the University of Sydney. Did the title exaggerate in the same way as Christmas wrapping? Where were the architects of the title? Was this a biography promoted as something more learned, with all the false promises of new 'architectural' revelations?

Turning to p.74 revealed a bold number 2, Part 2, with another schedule of subject matters. Maybe the author knew what was intended with this structure, but it was never clear to the reader. Was this text edited? The credits listed William Hatherell as editor. One pondered his strategic intentions.

Oddly, the strangeness of the book, its naivety, gave the read a quality that seemed appropriate to its subject. Rees was different. He was ill with nephritis, sickly, in delicate health, and managed himself knowing of this impairment, keeping himself wrapped in woollens to avoid kidney chill while following the doctor's advice to never live alone. He was ordinary, down to earth, open, caring, and sensitive; yes, different to what one gets in these times of arrogant self-promotion and hyped-up fake news and spin. The text touched on his life and its progression lightly, just as his pencil lines glided over the paper, coagulating into a suggestive identity, or otherwise congealing into a defined, nuanced perception. One came to admire the unstructured structure of the book; its casual lack of rigorous pretension; its concentration on the simple, chatty telling without exaggeration, apparently just as it was, all copiously illustrated to embellish the ordinary reality. Only occasionally did one go looking for an illustration that was not there, or get annoyed by the intervention of an unnecessary comma or two. It was this amorphous, casual coherence that made the book feel more than the potboiler it first seemed to be.

The Rees drawings and paintings gave it gravitas, a certain richness and reality, making the life, its commitment, progress, and loves, visible. One came to be fond of the admirable publication that was what it was: an informal, conversational story about Rees, his colleagues and his students, told as it happened, as it was remembered, as collected itemised facts and recollections.

By p.152 Rees had resigned from the School of Architecture, but he relented and continued. On p.186 it is noted that he persisted with his lectures in his late 80's while still drawing and painting: on p.202, it is recorded that Rees died on 2 Dec 1988.

Lloyd Rees.

The book finishes with a seemingly overblown academic piece on architectural drawings/representation  by Simon Weir. It reads turgidly, heavily, seeming to be out of context, analysing and promoting some architectural issues and trying to fit these into Rees's wonderment, his light, flighty, spiritual approach to his work. One senses that this commentary should not be there, as it seemed to harass the feeling for the book with what appears as its distracting, annoying irrelevance. One wonders why it was included. Was this text intended to reinforce the sense of subject defined by the title: AND THE ARCHITECTS?

One might say that the book is a biography that includes, as a matter of course, the work Rees did in the school of architecture, presenting a story that comes embellished with some anecdotes from a handful of ex-students. It seems to be a sensible and necessary part of any biography on Rees given the time he spent teaching. Just why this aspect of his story is highlighted in the title as the significant part of his life to be studied in this book, is a puzzle. Is the idea to differentiate the publication from the autobiography, Peaks and Valleys?

The student reports and remembrances are introduced as something like curiosities, presented as the remembered quirky occurrences and experiences one usually hears about at funerals. Some of the more poignant portions of the biography come from others, artists like Whiteley and Gleeson, who  reference the wonder and beauty in the works reproduced in the book, and speak of Rees as their core inspiration.

It is this ephemeral mystery that gives the publication its strength, potency, and relevance. The late images of Chartres remind one of Monet's Rouen Cathedral paintings; and the oil paintings finished shortly before Rees's death recall the work of Turner, with their haze of blaze, their light in space, and movement.

There seem to be disconnected, parallel stories being developed here: Rees the teacher and Rees the artist/family man - as teacher, substantially pp.73 to 152; and as family man/draughtsman/painter, pp.1- 210, but the title references only the role of teacher in the school of architecture. It is Rees's work that holds these texts together and gives it a beautiful coherence, being the expression of a much loved and loving man of careful integrity - something one struggles to experience today with our fake news, AI designing, and CAD drawing.

Rees noted that one has to feel the subject, live it, for it to be alive and experienced by others in all its integral mystery. This is now a commonly dismissed, mocked, and disregarded theory in our AI age of egocentric expressionist abstraction modified by algorithms. Rees refused to talk about his work that, he pointed out, had its own native origins in the unknown. It is Rees's humility and natural naivety, his lack of guile and cunning, that shines through in this story and his work.

Lloyd Rees.

In spite of the title, it is a book that needs to be read as a general biography, not as a specialist architectural text that it seems to want to be. As a story about Rees's life, it appears to rely on Rees's autobiography for many details. Was it this concern that stimulated the architectural twist, the inclusion of a selection of reminiscences from a few of his many students; from, it turns out to be, a total of only 16 students chosen from Rees's 40 year involvement in teaching?

If this involvement with architects had been the core notion intended to be developed in this book, then it needed a stronger rationale than being a small part of the biography; but alas, the publication has developed little of this relationship, being a presentation that is no more than the linear story of a life, from birth to death - an illustrated biography.

The book is worth reading just to see the Rees work again, or to be introduced to it. Rees is a great artist who was constantly discovering different approaches to his work, and challenging himself. Sadly, the book notes how his art has been sidelined by fashion, and how his teaching has been tested for its relevance by technology. Architects now use CAD and AI in their work. Drawing has been diminished, to be seen at its best simply as a personal whim of discovery, perhaps involving the mysterious inspirational scribbles popularised by Gehry. Draughtsmanship and skill is unimportant.

Gehry scribbles.

Lloyd Rees.

The Rees story takes us from the early detailed pencil work expressing the intricacies of line, form, texture, and shading through to the later smudges in oil that capture light, movement, and space. Architecture forms a common subject of this work, as do landscapes. The publication might have been better called: Lloyd Rees - From Line to Light: a biography.

The Simon Weir blurb appears to be an interfering irrelevance, ironically as something surreal, like someone trying to squeeze a presence into a publication that has its own integral magic and inner strength, in order to gain some kudos - possibly to record the scholarship for the CV? Why is this piece there? It is a solid, nearly impenetrable dissertation that has very little to do with Rees, even though there is an attempt to try to create a connection through the idea of representation. Maddeningly the feeling for the book crashes as if over a cliff, after reaching emotional highs with the mysterious beauty of the late oils. Why is academia so crassly ignorant; so insensitive? Is it all about self-promotion; status; recognition? I must admit to not finishing the reading of this AFTERWORD, (might this have been titled AndAlso?), that diminishes the unpretentious power of the biographical story, even though I did return to try again to give it a fair go - unsuccessfully.

Did the author agree to include this afterthought because of some perceived inadequacy, or might it have been the condition that gave the final approval for the university documents to be accessed, and for the students' anecdotes to be included? Either way it does not look like a good decision. Rees and his work deserve better than this academic intrusion/extrusion: a little ordinary respect and understanding.

The calculations are interesting: 40 years, with say 20 students a year average(?), gives 800 students who had contact with Rees over his teaching life. If the book was seriously about Rees and the Architects as declared in its title, then there was a surplus of information available for research, with which to generate a theory/strategy, and develop a theme/idea that could truly embellish the Rees autobiography with new details and relationships. Choosing only 16 from all of his contacts seems a cop-out, perhaps a ruse to give a little difference to a Rees biography without too much more effort. One comes back to the first thought: is this really a pretty potboiler put out for Christmas? Surely it is not a promotional document for the University of Sydney School of Architecture?

One is left wondering about the Rees legacy. Other artists have made this clear, but what impact has Rees had on architects given the changes in the profession? It seems that he has revealed to some how 'to see' - to be more aware. Just what one does with this somewhat mystical stance - c.f. I was blind, but now I see: Gospel of John 9:25 - remains to be explored because the skills Rees promoted for representation now seem antiquated, of another era, in the same way Rees's work appears to be rooted in another time, looking like something that can be admired as an anachronism, and remembered with some quaint nostalgia as we stride off into the promise of progress that dismisses handwork that is seen as delivering only crude imperfections, and all emotional content, that is perceived as flippant, indulgent, sentimental pondering or spiritual hogwash, in favour of the new, crisp rigour providing infinite choices and perfection at the press of a button or merely on the verbal request.

Rees remains alone as something of a spirited, perhaps precious bohemian figure shaped by his delicate health, but he is remembered. Maybe we all need to take heed and consider what his life might mean for us - its care; sensitivity; commitment; and love rather than its promoted style and technique. Can one name an individual today who funded sculptures, windows, and fountains for all to enjoy, just because these commitments might improve public place?

The biography finishes with a Rees quote on the city in a larger font, apparently for emphasis: A city is the greatest work of art possible. It is a shame that this idea and the strength it held for Rees was not expanded on in the story instead of just collecting quirky, ad hoc reminiscences from his students and terminating the book with this statement as if it might be a meaningfully significant summing up. Would it have been better to have started the book with this quote?

The Lloyd Rees residence and studio.

Martin Place, Sydney.

The book tells about the young Rees's designs for public buildings for Brisbane, and illustrates the house he designed for his family; and one recalls how Rees wrote and spoke about his experience of Martin Place when he first moved to Sydney, his surprise and delight. There seems to be more that can be said about Rees, architects, and urbanism than this book reveals with its glossing over the subject to create a weighty gift of impressively stiff, shiny pages of spacious text wrapped around a surplus of full colour reproductions.

Merry Christmas 2025!

Lloyd Rees.

Monet.

Turner.

Turner.

Lloyd Rees.