The passionate critic

It's hard to be dispassionate about Reyner Banham. For me, and for the plethora of other people with strong opinions about Banham, his writing is compelling, and one’s connection to him as a figure quite personal. For me, frankly, he rocks. As a landscape architect, I gleaned most of my knowledge about Modern architecture from Banham. His Theory and Design in the First Machine Age, along with Rowe and Koetter’s Collage City and Venturi’s Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture were the most influential books in my library, by far. Later, as a budding “real scholar”, I was disappointed to find that, while these authors had serious credibility, the writings themselves were regarded as “polemical” – when in fact what I admired about them most was their ability and willingness to make rough groupings and gross generalizations, and to offer fickle opinions. It spoke to me of a real personal engagement and an active, participatory reading of the architectural culture they discussed. They were at their best in their witty, cutting, but generally pithy, creative prose, such as in Rowe’s extrapolation of the modern citizen as the latest “noble savage”, or Banham railing against conservative social advocates and their response to high density housing: “those who had just re-discovered ‘community’ in the slums would fear megastructure as much as any other kind of large-scale renewal program, and would see to it that the people were never ready.” Any reader of Banham will be able to find a gem that will relate, somehow, personally, to what they are doing right now. For Banham, it was all personal, and the gaps in his scholarship, rather, were the dispassionate places: “Such bias is essential – an unbiased historian is a pointless historian – because history is an essentially critical activity, a constant re-scrutiny and rearrangement of the profession.” Reyner Banham: Historian of the Immediate Future, Nigel Whiteley’s recent “intellectual biography” (the MIT Press, 2002), allowed me to revisit Banham’s passionate mode of criticism and to consider what his legacy might be. The book examines Banham’s body of work, grouped according to his various primary fascinations, as well as his relationship to contemporaneous theoretical movements, such as postmodernism. His mode of practice, as a kind of creative critic, is also considered in some depth. While there are points where the book delves into Banham’s personal life, on the whole Whiteley is very rigorous in considering and theorizing the work itself: more than 750 articles and twelve books. In academic terms, this is good practice. However, considering the entirely personal nature of Banham’s writing itself, this separation seems artificial. Banham, as he himself noted, “didn’t mind a gossip”, and often when reading the book I was curious about what was happening to him at the time. Banham’s was an amazing type of intellectual practice, and one that academics (a term he hated) could do well to learn from. While Whiteley spends a lot of time arguing for his practice to be regarded as such, and makes strong points about both the role of the critic, and the importance of journalism, rather than scholarly publishing, I found myself wondering what his study looked like. What books he had in his library. Did he smoke when he wrote? What sort of teaching load did he have? He is an inspiration to design writers and thinkers, and I, personally, wanted to know how he did it.

The critical in Ken

That Kenneth Frampton has had a significant impact on architectural thinking in Australia was recently demonstrated by his visit, which included two well-attended public lectures and a one-day symposium dedicated to his thinking and writing. Billed as part of the Year of the Built Environment celebrations, these were hosted by the New South Wales chapter of the RAIA, the UNSW Faculty of the Built Environment and the Museum of Contemporary Art. Richard Francis-Jones of FJMT coordinated the symposium, which comprised presentations divided into two sessions, entitled - predictably through no doubt with good intentions - 'Theory' and 'Practice', with four academics and four practitioners in each. Frampton sat to the side throughout, and delivered his own response between them,noting his discomfort in seemingly straddling this divide, as an architect first, then writer and academic, later. Predictably, the familiar Critical Regionalism argument was the mainstay of the day, perhaps the easiest to handle and now almost automatic, despite the fact that Frampton noted when questioned that he hasn't talked much about it in the last 10 years.

Capability green

Tract consultants are a landscape architecture practice, founded in 1973 as an offshoot to the highly innovative, interdisciplinary design and build company Merchant Builders, and was perhaps the first truly corporate practice of this type in Australia. Founding directors Rodney Wulff and Steve Calhoun were both instrumental in establishing the undergraduate landscape architecture course at RMIT University, and bringing our Jim Sinatra, who had taught Calhoun at the University of Iowa. Wulff remained for many years the holder of the only doctorate in landscape architecture in the country. This combination of an academic, design and professional agenda was a rich one for Tract in their early days. This founding generosity and interest in the intellectual aspects of landscape architecture continues in relation to the university in a number of ways, including information ones, such as the regular employment of applicants who fail to get into the course at RMIT. In preparing them for re-applying, he has given a number of individuals a way into the profession that the university could not allow.

Taranaki wharf in Wellington

Wellington is the capital of New Zealand, located on the southern tip of the North Island, and is a windy city, the southern-most capital city in the world and the only in the Roaring Forties. In climate it is closer to its neighbour, the South Island than to the mild major city of the north, Auckland. Yet despite, or perhaps because of this, Wellington is the undisputed cultural capital of New Zealand, with much contem porary art, design music and media coming from this town that has an absurd amount of hip bars and cafes for a population this size: 164,000 approximately. The conjunction in Lord of the Rings of incredible nature and amazing production seems to characterise the rich culture/nature hybrid that Wellington distils, the microcosm of the things that make New Zealand such an incredible place.

Tricking up the suburb

The following article arises from the projects submitted for the 2004 Awards fo the Western Australian Chapter of the Australian Institute of Landscape Architects, for which we were judges, together with Craig Burton of CAB Consulting and Natalie palleros of Tierra Design. This article is an attempt to understand some dominant trends that emerged from viewing a range of new suburban developments. Suburban developments dominated the awards and seemed to characterise much of the work being done by landscape architects in the west. It is easy to be critical of contemporary landscape architecture in Perth, as the projects presented were mostly the same in that their scope of design activity was restricted to the decorative rather than the structural. However, as critics, we feel it is important to initate a conversation about what has been presented as the best of the profession, in order to begin to understand the current state of the profession.

Informe

Much landscape architectural form seems like hackneyed modernism, whether it be orthogonal or biomorphic, 'formal or informal' and doesn't seem to get to grips with the truly complex nature of the landscape, making any project seem potentially simplistic. This is largely because it has inherited languages from architecture that are based around objects, and that therefore can act to make designs self-referential rather than edgy instances in a dialogue much larger than the site itself, connected to systems that are unavoidable, even if one chooses to ignore them. These systems constitute a formal language even if landscape architecture looks to things like GIS to engage with them. Tropospheric Temperament was an Advanced Computing subject, for second-year landscape architecture students at UWA, taught by Julian Raxworthy and Rene Van Meeuwen, which ran in Semester 1, 2004. For this subject, the question was: how can we learn to wield such systems in design terms, even if they are developed through un-self-conscious natural and vernacular forces?

Wet potential

Water is so fundamental to everything that it is almost impossible to meaningfully conceptualise it, which is why it forms the basis of pretty much everything. To suggest that landscape architecture has some sort of privilege with it would be deluded. But, as alchemists of “the world”, we are both expected to deal with it professionally, as well as being forced to do so practically in making anything real, built in that same “world”. When people use words too much, that is the signifiers of things in sound, they become a kind of conceptual short hand to what they are referring to. You can hear this short hand when they use the word, as it gets grammatically dealt with differently – it becomes a conceptual object – a different type of noun. Water is one of these words, and as a supervisor I have almost universally seen students refer to it like this, by the end of their projects, and then have to force themselves to reconsider what it was about water that made them interested in water in the first place. This process is a transition of ideas and technology and technique, and will be the subject of this essay, tracking students responses to the weird substance in design subjects I have taught or projects I have supervised at RMIT since 1997, to and from and then again back to the qualities and issues of water for people generally, and landscape architecture in particular.

A lava park in Spain

The lava park is surrounded by the volcanic mountains of Les Preses, revealed as the edges of a vast caldera and repeated at a human scale with low walls made up of small volcanic boulders. These walls are evidence of how successive communities have gradually worked amongst this lava flow to create arable land, supported by rich soils. The people saw the land prosper and learned how to maximise its productivity. Boulders that had come to the surface during agricultural cultivation were moved with human labour to create "artigas“, the characteristic pilings of volcanic stone. They have been used to raise and lower areas, to create shelter and exposure for their crops and to make caves for storage. Amongst all this, paths weave and cross. The whole place is made up of grey and black rocks with a constant cover of green crops or grass.

Merovingian ring-fort

One could argue that there are many approaches to site specifically as there are specific sites. Each site has a variety of influences such as visibility and natural and cultural histories. Human impositions that endure do so because of some canniness, some appreciation of how the current will live with the past.

Catalogue essay : a thin white line

Objects have consequences, seemingly. They move, atomic, formlessly – when static they are seen. That they vibrate constantly, that they are NOW present, is something we will have to trust the physicists on. They only seem here. Now is their moment of form, but later, who knows? Things SEEM when we recognise our own transience and temporary-ness. We call upon a bevy of senses that forever frustrate us with their limitation, despite our little understanding of what we actually have – is this here? So some forms seem to be telling us to trust our senses – that this world IS as it seems. Their form constantly refines and is refined and refined until in its essentialness it cannot be doubted – it absolutely IS. Is this our eyes? Can we only see it? But light is also a particle, if I remember correctly, so there is some weight to seeing. So to SEEM is also to FEEL,as this light imposes its visual weight upon our skins – we see with every pore of our body.

Birrarung Marr

Melbourne's new riverside park, Birrarung Marr is located on the north bank of the Yarra, meeting Federation Square at its western end. In design terms it is an important one for both Melbourne and its city centre. It is the first new park in the inner-ring of the city to be built in a hundred years, since Alexandria Gardens, and is also the first major park done by COM since the influential period of designed capital works under the leadership of Rob Adams, at City Projects.

The big blue

For the 1.5 million travellers who annually visit the Blue Mountains to experience the Australian Bush, it just got closer. The Echo Point redevelopment by Tract Consultants is a megastructure in the void.

Eco-cosmpolitanism

Two new landscape projects for Victoria's City of Moreland explore an intriguing fusion of indigenous and multicultural community qualities imbued with the romantic sensibilities of the collaborative design team.

Beyond the sound barrier

Freeway barriers used to be just great slabs of concrete that lined the road to tr and protect nearby residents from the constant rumble of the traffic. But in recent years, their visual appeal has become as important as their practical purpose with architects and designers clamouring to show off their ideas to the vast traveling public. Melbourne's Craigieburn Bypass is the latest to be recognised for its dual appeal winning the Urban Design Award at the recent Victorian Architecture Awards.

Gardens le grande

The gardens of Versailles are a prime example of the beauty that can be attained where art and horticulture meld on a truly grand scale. Carrying on that tradition in the former veggie garden of the French palace is one of the world's most prestigious landscape architecture schools. Julian Raxworthy, a senior lecturer in landscape architecture at Queensland University of Technology recently taught a workshop at the Versailles school. As he explains, the concepts that underlie the school's teaching and the formal grandeur of the gardens of Versailles continue to be as innovative and relevant today as they were in the 17th century.