Hepworth Wakefield

 












David Chipperfield Architects' new gallery in Wakefield is a building of impressive modesty which allows Barbara Hepworth's sculpture to take centre stage and establishes strong connections with her home town

David Chipperfield Architects 2011

Seen from the train, the distinctive roof pitches of the Hepworth sit comfortably in a decayed hinterland of industrial sheds on the edge of Wakefield, Barbara Hepworth's home town. David Chipperfield Architects' new gallery houses an impressive range of work by the sculptor.

The pinkish grey of the in-situ concrete construction is precisely smooth and dense. It certainly looked terrific on the sunny afternoon when I visited. The building is best approached via Chipperfield's fine new river bridge. On this side it rises sheer out of a large weir pool on the river, rather like the massive 19th century pile of Titus Salt's textile mill at nearby Saltaire. The effect is inevitably weaker on the other side, where it is flanked by lawn, which does not seem an appropriate treatment in this post industrial landscape. Perhaps some ambiguity of identity is inevitable when an area is in a state of transition. The building is mainly wall, with irregular punched-hole windows focused on particular views. This means that it is not especially open to its context when seen from the outside.

The interior is compelling. A simple entrance hall at ground level links to the cafe, shop, cloaks and toilets, as well as education and gallery administration spaces. A generous stair leads up to the galleries, which are loosely linked cubes, distorted both in plan and section. Each gallery is top-lit along one wall and side-lit from windows, which provide carefully composed views of the river and town. Spotlights in parallel tracks on the raking ceiling augment the daylight with warm artificial light. The intensity and character of light is varied, but always shows the sculpture and paintings to good effect.

The curation of the spaces is superb: not too much on display, clear themes and nice visual links between pieces by Hepworth and her peers. There are two details that don't quite work: the tall John Lewis sculpture feels hemmed in by the ceiling, which would have been better half a metre higher, and some bronze pieces like the Caro 'Woman Waking' and Moore's 'Falling Warrior' do not seem adequately supported on painted mdf plinths.

The palette of materials is subdued: grey finish screed floors with white walls and ceilings in the galleries and clear lacquered grey mdf 3/4 height wall panels at ground level. Chipperfield has judged this building to perfection. It sits well on the site. The concrete finish is tough, but also precise and delicate. Most importantly the collection is beautifully presented and placed in the context of Hepworth's home town. The variety and rhythm of the gallery spaces is unforced, expressed in the 'picturesque' massing, which is tempered by the 'honest' concrete construction. This is a gallery completely in tune with Hepworth and Wakefield.

 See blogpost on David Chipperfield Architects Neues Museum in Berlin

Kloris

Can sculpture make good architecture?  
A case of mistaken identity causes consternation at the Academy.

Kloris by Zaha Hadid is exhibited at the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

Kloris, apparently conceived by Zaha Hadid both as furniture and sculpture, has escaped from the confines of the Architecture Room to the rarified territory of the fine art galleries.  It is displayed on the floor, in the centre of a room lined with paintings, and offers an appealing variety of levels and curved shapes for seating that transcends conventional one-size-fits-all furniture.  Anxiety at the Royal Academy about the status of Hadid's work was revealed when my wife, along with about 20 other weary visitors to this year's Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, was recently reprimanded by a gallery steward for sitting on it.   This raises the question 'is Kloris sculpture, not to be touched, or furniture, inviting full body contact?'  Even when presented as fine art, Kloris clearly exerts an appeal to visitors that transcends the genre boundaries imposed by the Academy.

One of a series,  Kloris is a large scale piece arranged in a radial cluster of elongated, smoothly rounded components.   Cast in resin, it has a finish similar to aluminium. Another version, exhibited at Chatsworth, has some components cast in glassy green.  There are many examples of sculpture which have an architectural character, for example Richard Serra's Torqued Ellipse series, Antony Gormley's Blind Light and much of Anish Kapoor's work.  These share a sense of spatial enclosure.  In Kloris Hadid sets up a spatial relationship between a series of objects, but does not enclose space. This interest in form, taking precedence over enclosure, characterises much of Hadid's architecture, which is often described as 'sculptural'.  It is also typical of Hadid that construction is used to deliver and enhance the form, rather than as something that might be expressed in its own terms.  Arguably, the sculptors' use of materials is more expressive and 'architectural'.  Likewise Hadid's interior spaces often seem compromised by the dominant drama of the exterior form. 

Kloris  represents a superb synthesis of form, construction and utility that the buildings rarely achieve.  Few major architects could produce work as convincing in a fine art setting, or as resistant to categorisation by genre.  Hadid proves at least that architects can produce good sculpture.

See previous blogpost 'Olympic Heats' for preview of Hadid Architects 2012 Olympic Aquatic Centre

Olympic Heat

A preview of two new venues in the Olympic Park - blog posted in June 2012

Velodrome

Aquatics Centre

As part of ‘London Prepares’ I attended track cycling and diving heats at the Velodrome and Aquatics Centre in the Olympic Park, designed by Hopkins  Architects and Zaha Hadid Architects respectively.  With their eye-catching large-span sculptural forms, the buildings might appear to be similar, but they are the products of very different architectural philosophies.    One thing that they do have in common though, is that even in February, they were both sweltering!  The warmth inside the Aquatics Centre is less surprising, but the Velodrome is heated to between 24 and 28 degrees to lower the air resistance and create optimum conditions for breaking records.

Echoing the cambered circuit which it encloses, the precise form of the Velodrome has perimeter glazing at ground level with timber cladding above and sits on raised ground:  it is integrated into the landscape with quiet elegance.  Like a classical stadium, the geometry of the track generates a highly focused architecture that is both dramatic and dynamic.  Spectator seating for 6,000 is split into two sections by an ambulatory at the level of the perimeter glazing.  In legacy mode this allows a smaller number of spectators to be accommodated in the seating next to the track, avoiding a sense of it feeling under-populated.   A steel cable net structure supports the double curve of the Velodrome roof.  By using the steel in tension a 90% saving, equivalent to 1000 tonnes of steel, was made compared with a more conventional structure.  Natural ventilation and roof lights, which allow enough daylight into the track area for practice, make this an energy efficient building.

 

The Aquatics Centre, like the Velodrome, has a striking form, but with a voluptuous whale-like character, an effect reinforced by the ribbed timber cladding.  The heavy steel structure is largely concealed behind the sleek skin of the magnificent roof.  Arranged around the rectangular tanks of the competitive pools are 2,500 permanent seats, with room for 15,000 spectators in flanking temporary stands.  These stands have already been sold and will be relocated after the Games.  Curiously little effort seems to have been invested in their design and they are awkwardly attached to the core building.  On the night that I attended, access for spectators was from under the stand – a wholly unsatisfactory experience.  This casual approach continues where the temporary Stratford City Bridge crashes into the cantilevered north end of the Centre.  As a consequence the bravura flourish of the core building is heavily compromised.

Ceiling detail - Aquatics Centre

Ceiling Detail - Velodrome

Perhaps swimming and diving will never be able to match the visual thrill of track cycling, with its dynamic circuit, futuristic lycra-clad competitors and risk of collision.  To create a fine building requires incredible skill and tenacity on the part of the architect, qualities which Hadid Architects possess in spades, but it also requires a client with singular qualities: not just a vision, but the will and resources to deliver it.  The outcome for these two projects at the Olympic Park reflects the difficulty of achieving this propitious mix.  If the Velodrome is a better building than the Aquatics centre, it is not because lean is better than voluptuous, but because it has been executed with greater conviction.  However, if the Aquatics Centre fails to deliver the anticipated thrill for two weeks this summer, I have a feeling that we will see the brilliance of Hadid Architects’ design emerge after the Games.

‘The Shed’

A temporary theatre by Hayworth Tompkins at the National Theatre in London highlights ambiguities in the design of Denys Lasdun’s fine original design (1977)

A red-stained timber box with distinctive corner ventilation towers, ‘The Shed’ is a temporary performance space by Hayworth Tompkins, clamped like a siege engine onto the front of the sober concrete terraces of the National Theatre.  It has its own ground level entrance, reached via a ramp carrying visitors across Lasdun’s defensive brick plinth.  Simply connected to the existing interior via a large window opening from which the glass has been removed, ply furniture and suspended red lamps establish a discrete identity for The Shed foyer on the periphery of the existing Lyttelton foyer.  Refreshingly, this jolly red carbuncle establishes a second theatre accessible from the ground level Lyttelton foyer, the de facto main foyer of the National Theatre.  The new performance space works very well, apart from rather narrow seats and poor acoustic separation, which allows the interval hubbub of the Lyttelton audience to infiltrate the space.

 An architect may imagine many different configurations during the design of a project, but never know how these might affect the dynamic of a building, or how well they would have worked in practice.  Temporary buildings provide a welcome opportunity to test ideas without the burden of permanence.  At Stratford, Ian Ritchie Architects built a temporary theatre for the Royal Shakespeare Company, which was used to test the scale and sight-lines proposed in the permanent auditorium by Bennetts Associates.

Whilst working on the masterplan for the National Theatre at Stanton Williams in the early ‘90’s, I became aware of the shortcomings of a building which I greatly admired.  Although universally known as ‘The National Theatre’ or more often, simply ‘The National’, there are three auditoria: the Lyttelton, a traditional proscenium arrangement; the Cottesloe, a more intimate black box studio and the Olivier, inspired by the Greek theatre at Epidaurus.  Each theatre has an associated foyer.  The Cottesloe is completely separated, with its own entrance, while the foyers of the Olivier and Lyttelton auditoria are linked.  Although the Olivier is the largest auditorium, it is high up in the building and its grand foyer is generally quieter than that of the Lyttelton, which is more accessibly located at ground level, to one side of the main entrance.   There is an unresolved question at the National: is it one theatre with three auditoria or three theatres in one building?  The remote entrance to the Cottesloe and linkage of the spacious multi-level foyers of the Olivier and Lyttelton at ground level only, are almost guaranteed to induce panic or, at best confusion, in the first-time visitor or late arrival.

It seems that Lasdun conceived the Olivier foyer, with its elevated position and privileged views, as the centre of gravity of the publically accessible spaces in the building, but that this intended status was undermined by its remoteness form the main entrance.  The problem was compounded by the removal of the elevated walkway, which in theory allowed a neutral entry, midway between the Lyttelton and Olivier foyer levels (the ground level perimeter of the building was originally an access road).  With all entry now at ground level, most visitors enter the skewed main entrance, derived from the geometry of the Olivier above, but then veer off to the less generous Lyttelton foyer.  People are led through a building by what they can see: faced with a choice between grand stairs leading to an uncertain destination and a congenial space at ground level, most will tend to stay at ground level.  And this is where The Shed works extremely well, demonstrating the benefit of arranging public spaces so they are legible, even to the first-time visitor.

 

The Mushrooms of Seville

photo: frufario

Metropol Parasol, Plaza de la Encarnacion, Seville  2011

Architect: Jürgen Mayer-Hermann

Structural Engineer: Arup

This amoeboid timber megastructure not only provides shade, but accommodates a museum, market, raised plaza, an aerial function suite and viewing decks.  It also neatly preserves extensive archaeological remains discovered on the site. Architect Jürgen Mayer-Hermann’s design is an audacious attempt to reconcile these complex functions within an iconic structure, but how successfully does this intervention integrate with the social activity of the city?

In Mediterranean countries a communal evening stroll, or paseo, is one of the pleasurable institutions of urban life:  meeting friends and acquaintances, seeing and being seen.  During the great age of engineering, Eiffel, Tatlin and Ferris invented fabulous structures that would be prominent on the city skyline and from which the city itself could be observed, allowing the individual to experience a sense of location, or belonging, within the city as a whole.  Often built with the intention to provide an iconic emblem for world expositions or other great events, these gravity-defying structures introduced the frisson of the funpfair to our cities.  The success of Marks BarfieldArchitects and engineer Arup/Jane Wernick’s ‘London Eye’ is testament to the enduring popularity of these mechanisms.

The Metropol Parasol in Seville, popularly known as Las Setas or The Mushrooms, might be judged by the same criteria, as one of these engineering marvels, but it also fulfils a complex programme.  It is situated in a large, previously somewhat nondescript, square in Seville.  In 1990 excavations for an underground car park in the square revealed extensive archaeological remains from the Roman and Andalusian eras.  Work stopped, and in 2004 an architectural competition was held to find a way of proceeding with development without compromising the archaeology.   Jürgen Mayer-Hermann’s winning competition scheme is ingenious:   the remains are permanently displayed in a below ground ‘Antiquarium’, there is a market at street level and a wide flight of steps and an escalator provide access to a paved terrace above this.  The most inventive part of his solution is the creation of the ‘parasol’, comprising an organically shaped timber grid structure at roof level, supported on six massive ‘tree trunks’ of steel and concrete.  This extraordinary undulating roof supports walkways, a bar and a large function room, all with stunning views across the city.  Below street level the ‘tree trunks’ become ‘X’ –shaped columns sitting in less sensitive areas of the excavations.  

The structure appears at its most elegant from a distance.  Seen from the narrow side streets, the Parasol appears like a surreal cloud. A soft light filters through the timber coffers, which shade the square below from the sun.  Above the canopy there is a wonderful sense of novelty, as the walkway swoops like a roller coaster at the level of the surrounding rooftops.  Seen from close quarters the structure is crudely detailed.  It is disconcertingly apparent that some of the timber coffers are not structural, but steel trusses clad in a thin layer of timber.  Evidently the structural capacity of timber is not equal to the daring gymnastics of the roof form.  

For a building with public access to every level, it appears curiously unpopulated when seen from the street.  Views of people and activity on the raised plaza are largely cut off by sightlines from street level, making it a less attractive destination.  The lift and stairs to the roof canopy are concealed inside the massive columns and can only be reached via the basement museum level, where a ticket must be purchased.  People on the decks of the roof are also not generally visible from the ground.  This also breaks a rule of heroic structures like the London Eye, or Eiffel Tower, but also of the funfair, where those on the ground and those in the air remain in sight of each other.  

This is a project which attempts to reconcile conflicting requirements and operates for the benefits the local community.  A triumph of imagination, the Parasol defies definition by conventional criteria.  Although the concept of ‘iconic’ projects is one that has lost credibility in recent years, the Metropol Parasol definitely adds an edge to this quarter of Seville.

photo: fgmvc412b

photo: Álvaro C.E.