Clarifying Architecture:
Max Dupain, David Moore and John Gollings at Yulara
Adrian Boddy
(Published in ‘Photofile’, 63, August 2001 ‘Built’, pp. 4 – 8).
It is strange that, in an age so alive with scientific thought, we still have the
spectacle of make-believe pervading the practice of photography ... We attempt
to idealise the subject instead of assessing its value as an objective fact. As
Lewis Mumford said, the mission of the photograph is to clarify the subject. —
Max Dupain i
A cursory glance at contemporary architectural magazines confirms Max Dupain’s suspicions.
Buildings are often photographed under exceptional circumstances using pre- and postproduction technology to enhance or exaggerate their attributes. The main purpose of such
stage-managed manipulation is to gain notoriety and further commercial gain. After all,
architecture, like other commercial arts, must exist in the marketplace. Under such
circumstances can architectural photography clarify its subject, rather than idealising it as Dupain
asserts, or does this run against the very commercial premise of the medium?
Pressure to idealise architecture through its photographs begins with the most frequent of
commissions — the photographer is commissioned by the architect. John Gollings was
particularly aware of the importance of patronage to his and most photographers’ success.' He
summarises the architect-photographer relationship with business-like candour:
A symbiotic relationship has always existed between architects and their
photographers. For instance, Seidler and Dupain, Cox and Moore, Ezra Stoller
and Mies Van der Rohe, Ando and Futagawa, the list goes on. Both professions
are commercial arts depending on patronage and working with the inherent
limitations of client requirements and budgets. Photographers need good buildings
to photograph and publish for a living, architects depend on good photographs to
promote a design or attract new clients. ii
Some architects regularly use the same photographers because they seek a specific
interpretation of their work — the photographer is briefed as to what that is, and can reliably
deliver the image 'type'. For example, in Harry Seidler's case, Max Dupain frequently interpreted
his modernist architecture in a similar manner — i.e. high quality black and white images from
unusual vantage points with very wide angle lenses — techniques long promoted through the
Bauhaus in the 1920s and 30s. Seidler is never satisfied with a snapshot; he always
accompanied Dupain to ensure his preferred views were recorded. This is a clear case of the
architect and photographer working together to monitor, or ‘orchestrate’ — depending on one's
view — the resulting images.
Then, to have any impact on public taste/values, to market design skills, to promote one's
professional standing, such photographs must be published. Editors of magazines, journals, or
books know very accurately who their 'target audience' is. For example, readers could be under
thirty-five year old yuppies or conservative middle-aged bankers. Senior staff, editors and 'art
directors', are highly trained visual communicators who anticipate the image type and graphic
layout that their readership appreciates — all of which will contribute to increased circulation,
selling more advertising and making more money — the principal objective of capitalism. Thus
yet another layer of censoring comes between the designed work and the viewer — an often
'innocent' consumer who is simply attempting to understand a building's configuration.
Much cautionary and critical theory has been written about the idealising capacity of photography.
As early as 1944, Walter Benjamin caustically observed that in the hands of exponents such as
the German photographer, Renger-Patzsh, ‘the new’ or modernist photography could idealise
anything:
[he] is now incapable of photographing a tenement or a rubbish heap without
transfiguring it … [he] has succeeded in turning abject poverty itself, by handling it
in a modish, technically perfect way, into an object of enjoyment … photography
can endow a can of soup with cosmic significance but cannot grasp a single one of
the human connections in which it exists. iii
More recently, in the 1998 edition of the Harvard Design Magazine, Thomas Schumacher wrote,
in an article wittily titled ‘Over Exposure’:
Architects today use the photograph as a form of pornography. It is perfect,
clean and “air-brushed,” with no odour, no hair, no warts. More importantly it has
become a substitute for experience, as evidenced by the widespread interest
among contemporary architects to aim all their activities toward getting the
magazine cover, and not worrying whether the building will last beyond the
photographers shooting session. Our experience of the building is no longer
even a visit, but a carefully cropped and composed tableau. iv
Such criticisms may be overstated, but they serve to alert us to the potential power of many
architectural photographs. Those involved in the making and dissemination of photographs must
be reminded that architecture always: exists in a cultural and physical context, is three
dimensional, has a purpose — involving users, human or otherwise — and is assembled from a
palette of materials with particular details. Given the multi-faceted nature of architecture: context,
object, detail and use, it is unlikely that a single photograph will inadequately clarify the subject.
John Szarkowski, then director of the department of photography at the Museum of Modern Art in
New York City, confirms this view when he observed:
a series of photographs can convey a meaning greater than the sum of the individual
images. The individual pictures of a photographic essay can be considered as
sentences. Each should have a clarity a precision of form, but their functions will
vary profoundly. Some will define the problem and state the photographer’s
approach, some will be narrative, some fundamentally illustrative, some
parenthetical and suggestive, some declamatory, and some will state conclusions. v
I would argue that in order to clarify its subject, the ‘series’ of architectural photographs should
embrace (as a minimum) ‘context’, ‘object’, ‘detail’ and ‘use’.
The following case study
elucidates this assertion.
In 1984, Philip Cox separately commissioned Max Dupain, David Moore, and John Gollings to
photograph the newly completed Yulara Tourist Resort in the Uluru National Park, Northern
Territory. Those assignments inadvertently offer an opportunity for comparative analysis of some
of their resulting photographic representations. The architect's account reveals the differing
modus operandi of Moore and Dupain. Although that Dupain is the benchmark for architectural
photography:
Max took about three hours to set up and put his big black hood on and study
through the lens and he'd get you to crawl underneath and look through it, and
you'd see this marvellous composition and he'd have the red filters on so that the
sky was right, and of course you'd get this wonderful still-life appearance, this
wonderfully studied piece of art .... You just couldn't believe there was a better
photograph to take. Max was the first and then David came up second, and
David was so gun-ho; he was off the hip, and clicking here and clicking there,
and I was a bit puzzled. I thought well, you know, this is hardly the photographer
that I expected.... I thought he'd be much more studied like Max, but he then
explained to me that his view of photographing architecture was one of the
everyday experience and that he should truthfully portray architecture as the
observer would have it.vi
But how do the images differ, if at all?
Max Dupain's image Yulara Tourist Centre (1985) has certain predictable, and at the same time,
perplexing qualities. He is drawn to the dramatic patterns of polyester sunshades, which are
portrayed in black and white shimmering above the podium in abstract splendour. The
photograph speaks not of the desert context, not of the many tourists enjoying the architecture of
place and not of what sunshades do best — which is keep the sun off — but of abstract patterns
generated by the play of electric light on the architecture at night. Strangely the 'hyper' sails float
silvery above the darkened podium steps — recalling an eccentric Bauhaus stage-set, rather
than the comings and goings of a tourist centre in the Australian desert. This is a thoroughly
modernist ‘architecture-as-object’ photograph in which the architecture has become the subject
of the photographer's formal representation. As with all like-minded photographers Dupain was
capable of being enticed by graceful form, and Yulara was an opportunity he clearly found
irresistible — irrespective of his pronouncement at the beginning of this article.
David Moore has published several images from Cox's commission and his approach varies
markedly. His Yulara Tourist Village (1984) is what Moore refers to as a “responsible image” and
is consistent with some of the photojournalistic beliefs he expressed in 1974:
… I believe, more and more strongly, that it should be possible to photograph well
any building in existing conditions if it is worthwhile architecture. After all, as
members of the public, we experience buildings under many differing conditions
and depending on the value of the architecture these experiences can be
continually more delightful and stimulating or progressively more depressing … it
seems a trite, and possibly misleading solution to continually rely on blinding
sunlight as our tool of drawing. vii
The viewer is positioned under the sunshades — part of the space rather than looking at a series
of sculptural objects, as Dupain's image conveys. People sitting at outdoor tables suggest at
least one of their reasons for being there — to enjoy a relaxed outdoor lifestyle. Their presence
lends scale to the construct — which assists in 'reading' the photograph. The size and purpose
of the architecture is suggested by their inclusion. Although there is a casual feeling about the
picture (aided by the structural ties which diagonally slice the picture frame), the perspective and
depth of field are precisely constructed to vanish at the right hand side mid-point. Perhaps a
more exaggerated example of reportage or photojournalism would have included figures strolling
across the foreground pavement. No doubt Moore exercised his experienced judgement about
the emphasis of architecture's technics compared with its use.
John Gollings, in his untitled image of Yulara is the only photographer of the three to represent a
visceral sense of the architecture and its place – its physical context. Thus the Olgas glow red
on the horizon under the vast dome of the Central Australian dawn sky, and the diminutive scale
of diverse low-rise forms is clearly expressed on the undulating desert dunes. The significance
of the contextual image is emphasised by Glenn Murcutt: “To understand why a building is
placed in a certain way, to understand the eco-tones that it is involving itself with are really
important issues. For an architect this [context] is a very important part of the description.”
Murcutt's recall of working with Dupain is consistent with the latter's Yulara Tourist Centre
photograph:
I spent so much time trying to get Max off the building. Pulling him back from the
building, because Max's really great attribute was detail in a sense — light falling
on detail. He just was a master at it. He was master of the object. The building or
the landscape, but not the building in the landscape. Yet he loved landscape and
when he took that as a subject he was fantastic. When he took buildings as a
subject he was brilliant but to put the building in its context very often no. viii
Gollings' emblematic image does not rely on preconception or stylistic devices but on
understanding the wider context within which the unique architecture exists. Philip Cox recalled
it as the outstanding example of photographic craft, saying, “There was an unbelievable quality of
light and I was absolutely taken by [it].” ix
The purpose of this extended comparison has been to show how architectural photographs can
be classified according to the key aspects of architecture they illuminate: context, object, detail
and use. Photographers will invariably differ in what they consider should be included or
excluded from the picture frame. In the case of Philip Cox’s commission, Dupain expressed the
formal sculptural properties of 'the object' while David Moore showed his concern for reporting
the informal qualities of use, scale and space. John Gollings, alone, revealed the spirit of place
and the diminutive scale of the total development compared to the vast expanse of the central
Australian desert. Gollings reminds us of the importance of context — of stepping back to
appreciate architecture's individual and relational properties.
Collectively the series of
photographs commissioned by Philip Cox is a balanced and clear representation for those
unable to experience the architecture first-hand.
End notes
Max Dupain quoted in Elizabeth Riddell 'Max Dupain' Art and Australia October - December
1975 p162
2
John Gollings How to Commission, Use and profit from Digital Imaging, self published brochure.
Walter Benjamin, ‘The Author as Producer’ Understanding Brecht New Left Books, London 1973
p95
3
4
Thomas Schumacher ‘Over Exposure: On Photography and Architecture’ Harvard Design
Magazine Fall 1998 p5
5
John Szarkowski cited in Akiko Busch The Photography of Architecture: Twelve Views Van
Nostrand Reinhold, New York 1987 p34
6
Phillip Cox cited in Brett Boardman Building Images: The Architectural Photography of David
Moore B Arch thesis Sydney University 1994 p96.
David Moore ‘Thoughts on the Photography of Architecture' Architecture Australia Vol 64 No.4
August 1975 pp 68-71
7
8
Author interview with Glenn Murcutt, February 3rd 1993
9
Author interview with Philip Cox, September 14th 1992
Adrian Boddy is the director of the Architecture program at the University of Technology, Sydney.
i
Max Dupain quoted in Elizabeth Riddell 'Max Dupain' Art and Australia October -
December 1975 p162
ii
John Gollings How to Commission, Use and profit from Digital Imaging, self published
brochure.
iii
Walter Benjamin, ‘The Author as Producer’ Understanding Brecht New Left Books,
London 1973 p95
iv
Thomas Schumacher ‘Over Exposure: On Photography and Architecture’ Harvard
Design Magazine Fall 1998 p5
v
John Szarkowski quoted in Akiko Busch The Photography of Architecture: Twelve
Views Van Nostrand Reinhold, New York 1987 p34
vi
Phillip Cox cited in Brett Boardman Building Images: The Architectural Photography
of David Moore B Arch thesis Sydney University 1994 p96.
vii
David Moore ‘Thoughts on the Photography of Architecture' Architecture Australia
Vol 64 No.4 August 1975 p68.
viii
ix
Author interview with Glenn Murcutt, February 3rd 1993
Author interview with Philip Cox, September 14th 1992
Between the Covers: A Snapshot of Architectural Photography, Published:
Architecture Australia’, Vol 93, No. 4, 2004, pp. 20-21.
It is strange that, in an age so alive with scientific thought, we still have the spectacle of
make-believe pervading the practice of photography ... We attempt to idealise the subject
instead of assessing its value as an objective fact. As Lewis Mumford said, the mission of
the photograph is to clarify the subject.
Max Dupain1
A cursory glance at contemporary architectural magazines, including Architecture Australia,
suggests that Max Dupain’s suspicions still have relevance. Buildings are often photographed
under exceptional circumstances using pre- and post-production technology to enhance or
exaggerate their attributes. “Just how many purple sunrises are too many?”, one might ask. In an
increasingly competitive market, the pressure to idealize architecture in photographs often begins
with the commission by the architect. John Gollings describes this relationship with candour:
A symbiotic relationship has always existed between architects and their photographers.
For instance, Seidler and Dupain, Cox and Moore, Ezra Stoller and Mies Van der Rohe,
Ando and Futagawa, the list goes on. Both professions are commercial arts depending on
patronage and working with the inherent limitations of client requirements and budgets.
Photographers need good buildings to photograph and publish for a living, architects
depend on good photographs to promote a design or attract new clients.2
Much has been written about the idealizing capacity of photography. In 1944, Walter Benjamin
caustically observed that in the hands of exponents such as the German photographer RengerPatzsch, “the ‘new’ or Modernist photography could idealize anything”.3 More recently, Thomas
Schumacher argued that “Architects today use the photograph as a form of pornography. It is
perfect, clean and ‘air-brushed’, with no odour, no hair, no warts. More importantly it has become
a substitute for experience.” Such criticisms may be overstated, but they alert us to the power of
the architectural photograph, a power which can be productive, problematic and pleasurable.
Australian architectural photography has evolved over one hundred and sixty years, preceding
the Journal of the Institute of Architects of New South Wales by six decades. The magazine has
published striking professional photographs of buildings, both Australian and international, since
its inception; the first building so reviewed was the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Today
Architecture Australia continues to be an important vehicle for disseminating the architecture of
this country, and this is generally illustrated through the work of Australia’s leading
photographers.
So, at the risk of oversimplification, here are some of the more significant milestones in Australian
architectural photography’s history.
Just two years after Louis Daguerre’s scientific discovery was announced at the French Academy
of Arts and Science in 1839, photographers were using the daguerreotype process in Australia.
Colonial photographers such as Henry Beaufoy Merlin and Charles Bayliss (New South Wales),
Richard Daintree, Antoine Fauchery, Charles Nettleton and later Melvin Vaniman (Victoria) were
commercial operators who documented Australia’s early settlements – from goldfield diggings to
city monuments and streets. Photography of Australia’s built environment continued into the early
twentieth century, and this is exemplified in the pictorialist work of Harold Cazneaux (1878–1953).
“Caz” was a prolific photographer of landscape, people, fashion, home interiors and gardens,
most notably for The Australian Home Beautiful and The Home magazines, but his work also
appeared in the pages of Architecture. He used darkroom techniques to further soften the effects
of mist, fog, smoke, steam, cloud and rain – to create painterly impressions through the
manipulation of daylight. Cazneaux recorded the development of Sydney in thousands of
uncommissioned photographs and some of his later work, for example Bridge Pattern (c. 1934),
anticipates the Modernism that would typify the younger Max Dupain’s work.
The shorter history of Australian architectural photography properly begins with Max Dupain. By
the 1930s Dupain was aware of Modernist or “New Photography” published in overseas
magazines such as Das Deutsche Lichtbild. Characterized by dramatic points of view, reductive
composition and close-ups of everyday subject matter, these images presented the familiar in
unfamiliar ways. Australia’s buildings at the time were not generally impressive by European or
American standards, but Dupain used prosaic Sydney city views as inspiration for his Modernist
interpretations. He also came to have some of the most highly acclaimed architects in the country
as longstanding patrons – John D. Moore, Sydney Ancher, Harry Seidler, Philip Cox, Glenn
Murcutt, Ken Woolley, Lawrence Neild, Andrew Andersons, Alexander Tzannes, Ed Lipmann. In
Seidler’s case the relationship lasted nearly forty years. Dupain’s photographs helped to build the
reputations of these architects, and he, in turn, amassed a comprehensive portfolio.
The work of Wolfgang Sievers and Mark Strizic, two Melbourne-based émigré photographers,
paralleled Dupain’s. Sievers studied at the Contempora School in Berlin and his interest in
architecture was rekindled in the 50s and 60s through commissions by eminent Melbourne
practitioners such as Frederick Romberg, Peter McIntyre, Robin Boyd, Roy Grounds, Buchan
Laird and Buchan, Yunken Freeman, and Bates Smart and McCutcheon. Strizic’s photographs
are more poetic than Sievers dramatic images. He gained his interest in and knowledge of
photography in Australia rather than Germany. He worked with editors Neville Quarry and David
Saunders on the University of Melbourne’s highly regarded broadsheet Cross Section, and
published Living in Australia with Robin Boyd in 1970. Three of Strizic’s favoured photographs
were of the 1959 Lloyd House. The titles – Space, Homage to Robin Boyd; Soul, Homage to
Robin Boyd and Structure, Homage to Robin Boyd – suggest his high regard for Boyd, and his
understanding of architecture.
As Modernism began to be questioned towards the end of the 1960s, photographic practices also
began to change. Harry Sowden, who worked in Australia during this time, advocated a more
inclusive approach known as “reportage” or photojournalism – “tell it the way it is”. In his book
Towards an Australian Architecture, Sowden took a swipe at the exponents of Modernist
photography, writing that:
“[he] avoided the usual formal methods employed in architectural photography – the
meticulously staged full facade shots where people, cars and other uncontrollable objects are
rigidly excluded ... The job that architectural photography must do is to recreate the
experience of a building ... I think this cannot be done by showing buildings as a series of
isolated monuments tortured on the rack of a wide angle lens.”4
Sowden’s approach was widely accepted by the profession and was often
published in Architecture in Australia.
In 1974 the Sydney architectural photographer David Moore wrote:
“Thoughts on the Photography of Architecture”, published in Architecture Australia the
following year. It reflects attitudes formed during his years as a photojournalist with The
New York Times, Life, Fortune, The Observer and others. Moore appealed to building
users and to the reader’s common sense by saying that it “should be possible to
photograph well any building in existing conditions if it is worthwhile architecture”.5
He cited the Sydney Opera House as a building which could be photographed from most vantage
points under any weather conditions with good results. The argument is difficult to refute, but were
architects detached enough from their work to commission such an independent photographer?
There is little evidence in the published work of the period to suggest that their patronage
supported a photojournalistic approach. After all, such a technique was unlikely to produce “art”,
and that is what the majority of architects sought.
By the late 1960s something else was also changing architectural photographs – the demand for
colour reproduction. Journals had to compete with television and popular magazines. Theirs was
a polychromatic world in which illustrations recognized what many architects had long denied –
that colour was an integral part of the built environment. By the 1970s colour in architecture
became a seriously regarded design element. In Melbourne, John Gollings worked closely with
Peter Corrigan to produce a portfolio of “constructed” images of polychromatic architecture based
on multiple exposures and poetic-theatrical intent. Gollings’ photography infuriated some,
delighted others and continues to stimulate debate.
Many photographers seek to explore the potential of new, rather than old technology. At a lecture
to the New South Wales Chapter of the Royal Australian Institute of Architects on 11 July 1994,
Gollings said that we are already living in the “post photographic era”. He meant that photographs
may be digitally scanned and manipulated using personal computers and readily available
software. Previously, architectural photographers had interpreted their subject with the aid of
various films, lenses, points of view and darkroom techniques. Nevertheless such images could
be generally regarded as evidence of the building’s basic proportions, structure and materials.
Gollings was, however, flagging a new era of architectural photographs – one offering
unprecedented potential for radically reconfiguring architecture’s context and components, even
falsifying its very existence. There is a certain irony here – accuracy and credibility were precisely
the perceived failings of perspective drawings before the invention of photography.
Photography has great influence in architecture. Comparatively little knowledge of recent
architecture is gained by first-hand experience: most of it is known only through images.
Photography is the principal means of communicating new ideas and processes, and
architectural photographs continually present new perspectives on buildings and the built
environment. Yet, despite this influence, relatively few Australian photographers work exclusively
in architectural photography. (Two notable exceptions are Peter Hyatt, editor of Steel Profile, and
Patrick Bingham-Hall, publisher and editor of Pesaro Publishing.) By the mid-1990s there were
around one hundred professional architectural photographers nationally – most of them also
accepting a wide range of other kinds of commissions. A generation earlier, when Australian
architectural photography was still comparatively young, the leaders were Max Dupain, David
Moore, Wolfgang Sievers, Richard Stringer and Fritz Kos. This handful established standards for
the photography of Australian architecture for the 1960s and beyond. Their work appeared
frequently in Architecture Australia and its predecessors, and thereby became well known to the
broad architectural profession. Two generations on, John Gollings, Patrick Bingham-Hall,
Anthony Browell, Trevor Mein, Brett Boardman and Jon Linkins are among the countries most
prominent photographers, and their work appears frequently in the pages of the magazine. The
link between particular photographers and Architecture Australia and its predecessors is
significant. Regular publication and acknowledgment in the journal bears an unofficial but implicit
imprimatur of acceptance by the architectural profession.
Architecture Australia and its predecessors have showcased the work of some of Australia’s
finest photographers, and in doing so have made a wide range of buildings available for public
consideration. Despite my caution about the power embodied in architectural photography’s links
to the print media, I trust that this educative and inspirational role will continue.
Adrian Boddy is the former Director of the Architecture Program at UTS. His Master’s thesis was
Max Dupain and the Photography of Australian Architecture (QUT, 1996).
Endnotes
1.
Max Dupain, quoted in Elizabeth Riddell, “Max Dupain” in Art and Australia, vol 13 no 2,
October–December 1975: 158-163.
2.
John Gollings, How to Commission, Use and Profit from Digital Imaging, self-published
brochure, 1994.
3.
Walter Benjamin, “The Author as Producer”, in Understanding Brecht (London: New Left
Books, 1973) p. 95.
4.
Harry Sowden, Towards an Australian Architecture (Sydney and London: Ure Smith,
1968), note on back cover.
5.
David Moore, “Thoughts on the Photography of Architecture”, Architecture in Australia,
Vol 64 no 4, August 1975.
Review: ‘Glenn Murcutt, Architect’
(Architectural Bulletin, p. 8, March/April 2007)
In his essay 'Photography and the Language of Architecture', (Perspecta, No 8, 1963), Ezra Stoller wrote:
The true architectural photograph is primarily an instrument of communication between the
architect and his audience — an audience with the capacity and desire to understand and
appreciate, but lacking the opportunity to experience the work in question at first hand. The
camera, ideally, is the anonymous vehicle for this journey; yet the ideal is never quite
achieved, for a variety of reasons.
One might add ‘text’ and ‘drawings’ to Stoller’s generalization concerning the understanding and
representation of architecture. This being the case, and within such limitations, the folio Glenn Murcutt,
Architect by Australia’s 01 Editions conveys exceptional clarity to its subject.
The work is austerely presented in a plain brown A3 cardboard box. Yet, like a set of traditional Russian
babushka dolls, there is a series of riches to follow. A dove-grey, linen-covered box with scarlet fabric tab
invites further inquiry; snug within, is a similarly covered book and eight case-study folders — all A3
portrait format. This seven-kilogram package conveys design elegance akin to a Mackintosh laptop or
Leica camera — minimal, unforgettable, even timeless. The rigorously researched set of documents
demands respect. For full appreciation and comprehension the reader requires time and space — time to
read back and forward between book and folders, and space to physically lay out the material. Thus far I’ve
commented on the publication’s ‘form’, but of course, and more importantly, is the ‘content’ that justifies
these beautiful covers.
The substantial book contains five perspectives of Murcutt’s background, influences,
philosophy and architecture.
Juhani Pallasmaa’s preface, ‘The Poetry of Reason’ posits Murcutt’s architecture within a
philosophy of universal ‘ecological functionalism’. Pallasmaa identifies sustainability
and societal identity as core issues of our time and places Murcutt at its cutting edge.
‘Murcutt reminds us all — and, most importantly, the young students of design and
architecture around the world — that we are living in a closed world and that all our
endeavours should be measured through their human and ecological impacts.’
David Malouf’s foreword, ‘Glenn Murcutt’s Tough Lyricism’, is the most intimate piece.
It is a further reminder that some of the best writing about architecture is by nonarchitects (another recent example is Frank Lloyd Wright by Ada Louise Huxtable). Even
as a young man, Malouf loved his traditional but unfashionable weatherboard Brisbane
house. Thus his personal aesthetic is closely aligned with Murcutt’s sensibility toward
site, seasons, climate and modest buildings. As a writer who uses the pen rather than the
keyboard he also intuitively holds a deep personal appreciation of his subject’s methods
of working. Malouf’s prose focuses on the Australian context; it places Murcutt among
other important mid-to-late twentieth century Australian artists (Freeman, Cox, Stacey,
Dupain, Moore and others) who made us both aware of, and value, our built heritage
made from materials such as sandstone, brick, timber and corrugated iron.
Murcutt’s Yale University colleague and acclaimed international author, Kenneth Frampton, has written the
principal (twenty thousand word) essay. This is the book’s armature that importantly refers the reader
directly to the eight case-study folders: Marie Short House, Fredericks House, Magney House — Bingie
Point, Simpson-Lee House, Fletcher Page House, Marika Alderton House, Murcutt Lewin House and the
Arthur and Yvonne Boyd Education Centre. For me, it is the eight case-study folders that distinguish this
publication from others. Frampton offers minute observations about Murcutt’s conceptual, material and
detailed design process.
Full-scale drawings of ideas considered, ideas rejected, working documents — plans, sections, architectural
details — brings the scholar into almost intimate contact with the mind and commitment of the architect.
Through these loose-leaves the devotion and tenacity of Murcutt’s architectural thinking comes almost to
life. When an architect says the making of buildings is difficult, one might understand; seeing Murcutts
intensely wrought lines leaves one in no doubt.
With deft pen and deep knowledge (based on visits to all Murcutt’s buildings) Frampton
charts his subject’s:
i. early days.
ii. seminal international influences — from Mediterranean vernacular to the high
modernism of the Farnsworth House and Maison de Verre.
iii. understanding of the land as both a valued resource and subject of artistic
interpretation.
iv. Australian exemplars — the generic woolshed.
v. colleagues such as Bill Lucas.
Frampton’s essay and its prolific illustrations is too important to be confined to to this
limited publication — it would be nice to think that an electronic version might be
possible in the future.
There are two further highlights. Phil Harris’ ‘Glenn Murcutt is no Michaelangelo (thank
heavens)’ is a short and witty piece reflecting on Murcutt’s 2002 Pritzker Prize. Here is
one of several anecdotes: ‘… and so the echidna [Murcutt!] with bifocals kneaded and
urged his gentle and thoughtful prose, but I fear it largely went over the heads of the
penguins [audience]… ‘ Only Australians would ‘take the piss’ on such an auspicious
occasion; few would have the sense of humour to publish the gently irreverent quips.
Lisa Naar’s conversation with Mount Wilson house owner Sheila Simpson-Lee, along with facsimile
correspondence between architect and client is another brilliant inclusion. Here is the two and fro between
architect and client… a client who thoroughly questions each and every proposal and the architect whose
mission for perfection is now legendary.
Quibbles? Eyebrows will be raised at the price tag of A$ 1650.00, but cost is unlikely to deter collectors
and institutions whose raison d’etra is research and scholarship into Australian architecture. Porsche do not
come with Holden budgets; with Australia’s small population base we are fortunate indeed that anyone had
the foresight to invest in this project at all. I do wonder about the durability of the pale grey covers and
suggest libraries will need to bind the loose-leaves of drawings within the folders and this collection will
undoubtedly reside in the closed or supervised reserve section. Book lovers will simply take great care.
There are already numerous books that analyse Glen Murcutt’s architecture; one may think that the Glen
Murcutt, Architect folio is the ‘last word’ amongst the many on the architect’s achievements. However, if
Frank Lloyd Wright’s life is any measure, we can look forward to more projects and publications —
nevertheless it is highly unlikely that any of them will come close to this publication’s excellent quality.
www.01editions.com.au
Adrian Boddy — Freelance architectural photographer and Associate in the Faculty of
Design Architecture and Building, University of Technology Sydney.