RE-INVENTED ARCHITECTURE: Anthony Davies' UTOPIA
Written by EDWARD HANFLING
Images of rural, provincial New Zealand have dominated much of Anthony Davies' work since the late 1990's. In Utopia, he turns his attention to the city. Well, perhaps Christchurch was hardly a city in international terms before the 2011 Earthquake, let alone afterwards. But it's very clear, from the drawn buildings and street plan sketches that sprawl across the surfaces of Davies' new prints, that he is interested in the urban landscape. It is also clear - and this aligns the Utopia series with all of Davies' previous work - that what is intended here is sharp critique of prevailing social conditions and attitudes.
The buildings Davies depicts are good, or at least they are buildings that have endured, not just physically but in minds and memories, and for the right reasons. Many of them have remained dignified and impressive even while carrying the weight of that over-used word "iconic". Consequently, they seem to have little to do with New Zealand, where (I take this to be common knowledge) architectural standards have been, and still are, slack. With the centre of Christchurch reduced to fragments and rubble by the earthquake, the opportunity is there for a fresh start, for inspired and properly-thought-through design. Davies' images, right now, serve as prompts to think about what could be, though they will most likely end up being telling reminders of what might have been. The nineteenth century English critic John Ruskin had this to say (and much else besides) about architecture: |
"Architecture ... can address every character of the mind in the spectator; forcing itself into notice even in his most languid moments, and possessing this chief and peculiar advantage, that it is the property of all men. Pictures and statues may be jealously withdrawn by their possessors from public gaze ... but the outside of our houses belong not so much to us as to the passer by..." [1]
The suggestion here is that architects face greater responsibility than other artists or designers because their work will be more regularly scrutinised and by a wider range of people. Architecture is the art we cannot avoid in the way that we can choose not to go to art galleries or concerts, so it is crucial to get it right. But what does it mean to "get it right"? In New Zealand, since British colonisation in the nineteenth century, it has meant, in many cases, temporary, ad hoc structures that do the job for the time being, rather than enduring, monumental edifices. Indeed, the quick fix approach has itself stood the test of time; if pseudo-solutions were simply necessary in the rough and trying circumstances of colonial New Zealand, they subsequently became a habit, somehow ingrained in the psyche of New Zealand planners and politicians, architects and builders, indeed the public generally. A penny-pinching, short-sighted ethos is almost all that one can point to as the basis of a New Zealand style and identity in architecture.
Davies, of course, makes pictures, not buildings, and his pictures are not intended as architectural drawings but as art. It might seem, then, that his work does not carry the sense of responsibility that Ruskin attributes to architecture. If anything, it is the responsibility of the artist to be irresponsibile, about and to some extent this is precisely what Davies does in his Utopia series. There is a sly playfulness about this mash-up of revered and imagined structures. Indeed, it could be dismissed as mere mischievousness and devil's advocacy. Nonetheless, a call for better buildings warrants serious consideration, and Davies has a history of tackling some complex and meaty issues with both wit and sober observation. Actually, his prints call to mind the drawings of A.W.N Pugin in his Contrasts (1836), a set of architectural studies intended to prove the superiority of the Gothic style. Pugin was himself an architect, but his drawings exhibited a fair degree of creative license; they were provocations more than proposals. The point is, Davies is putting his images out there for contemplation and rumination, not as plans of action, and in this they are different from other recent "art" projects that have delved into urban planning and the contemporary relevance of utopian schemes.
The 5th Auckland Triennial 2013, curated by Hou Hanru, was titled If you were to live here ..., and aimed "to provoke and promote discussion about how contemporary art can influence urban transformation," and be "a leading force" in "a creation of the world." [2] The event included a "lab" where architecture and design experts could dream up plans for an ideal city, and many of the artworks took form as installations: actual environments, not just pictures; real things, not imaginings. The problem, though, is that art is its own thing, and however much it overlaps with prosaic and pressing issues of the moment, it is rarely used to address or solve those issues, nor should it be. For artists are experts at making art, not experts in urban planning or sustainability or whatever (and if they are experts in non-art disciplines, then what they can offer to those disciplines is important within the terms and values of those disciplines, not as art).
Davies, of course, makes pictures, not buildings, and his pictures are not intended as architectural drawings but as art. It might seem, then, that his work does not carry the sense of responsibility that Ruskin attributes to architecture. If anything, it is the responsibility of the artist to be irresponsibile, about and to some extent this is precisely what Davies does in his Utopia series. There is a sly playfulness about this mash-up of revered and imagined structures. Indeed, it could be dismissed as mere mischievousness and devil's advocacy. Nonetheless, a call for better buildings warrants serious consideration, and Davies has a history of tackling some complex and meaty issues with both wit and sober observation. Actually, his prints call to mind the drawings of A.W.N Pugin in his Contrasts (1836), a set of architectural studies intended to prove the superiority of the Gothic style. Pugin was himself an architect, but his drawings exhibited a fair degree of creative license; they were provocations more than proposals. The point is, Davies is putting his images out there for contemplation and rumination, not as plans of action, and in this they are different from other recent "art" projects that have delved into urban planning and the contemporary relevance of utopian schemes.
The 5th Auckland Triennial 2013, curated by Hou Hanru, was titled If you were to live here ..., and aimed "to provoke and promote discussion about how contemporary art can influence urban transformation," and be "a leading force" in "a creation of the world." [2] The event included a "lab" where architecture and design experts could dream up plans for an ideal city, and many of the artworks took form as installations: actual environments, not just pictures; real things, not imaginings. The problem, though, is that art is its own thing, and however much it overlaps with prosaic and pressing issues of the moment, it is rarely used to address or solve those issues, nor should it be. For artists are experts at making art, not experts in urban planning or sustainability or whatever (and if they are experts in non-art disciplines, then what they can offer to those disciplines is important within the terms and values of those disciplines, not as art).
Davies, on the other hand, does not intervene in the physical environment, except insofar as his prints may hang in a gallery or domestic environment and be a source of pleasure, stimulation, maybe even inspiration, for anyone who spends time with them. Funnily enough, this address to the eyes and mind and feelings might just be a more effective way of using art to change the world than any direct action or constructions. The absurdity of Davies' architectural concoctions is at least not a real and palpable absurdity; it takes place in the world of the imagination and with it's clean colours and rambling lines and patterns, has a flatness and abstractness such as to assure the viewer that its creator has no earnest belief that his ideas should be implemented (though with the added twist that the buildings do exist outside of Davies' art). If these images are aspirational and idealistic, they are so in the sense that they hope to provoke good ideas, rather than masquerading as achievements of solutions in themselves.
Davies' architecture is relatively easy to grasp, figuratively rather than physically. They are not simple, insofar as they are the product of extensive research and intensive invention and re-invention - the study of existing buildings and the drawing of intricate, interweaving structures, layers of space and pattern - and they challenge the viewer to think about complex issues of urban planning and the influence of architecture on people's lives. However, there is a kind of simplicity in the idea behind the works, and in the fact that presenting the viewer with pictures seems more democratic, somehow, than confounding them with objects that aspire to be both "art" and improvements to the everyday environment (and bound to fail on both counts).
The Utopia series is not itself a utopian project. But insofar as Davies' pectoral inventions are you utopian ideas, and encourage imagination and the awareness of potential rather than imposing a fait accompli, there is reason to believe that they " can address every character of the mind in the spectator".
Davies' architecture is relatively easy to grasp, figuratively rather than physically. They are not simple, insofar as they are the product of extensive research and intensive invention and re-invention - the study of existing buildings and the drawing of intricate, interweaving structures, layers of space and pattern - and they challenge the viewer to think about complex issues of urban planning and the influence of architecture on people's lives. However, there is a kind of simplicity in the idea behind the works, and in the fact that presenting the viewer with pictures seems more democratic, somehow, than confounding them with objects that aspire to be both "art" and improvements to the everyday environment (and bound to fail on both counts).
The Utopia series is not itself a utopian project. But insofar as Davies' pectoral inventions are you utopian ideas, and encourage imagination and the awareness of potential rather than imposing a fait accompli, there is reason to believe that they " can address every character of the mind in the spectator".
[1] John Ruskin, Ruskin's Works; The Stones of Venice Vol.III, New York: [...] p. 192.
[2] Hou Hanru, curatorial statements, If you were to live here...: The 5th Auckland Triennial, Auckland Art Gallery Too o Tāmaki, 2013.
[2] Hou Hanru, curatorial statements, If you were to live here...: The 5th Auckland Triennial, Auckland Art Gallery Too o Tāmaki, 2013.
Edward Hanfling is an art historian, critic and curator, who gained a doctorate in art history from the university of Auckland in 2005 and currently teaches in the school of media arts at Wintec, Hamilton.
His research interests include modernism and theories regarding the judgements made about art by different audiences. He has published books on New Zealand artists such as Milan Mrkusich, Ian Scott and Melvyn Williams, and writes regular reviews and articles for the quarterly journal Art New Zealand as well as the NZ Listener. he lives in Onehunga Auckland, with his partner Carolyn, son Maurice and feline companion Captain Springs.
His research interests include modernism and theories regarding the judgements made about art by different audiences. He has published books on New Zealand artists such as Milan Mrkusich, Ian Scott and Melvyn Williams, and writes regular reviews and articles for the quarterly journal Art New Zealand as well as the NZ Listener. he lives in Onehunga Auckland, with his partner Carolyn, son Maurice and feline companion Captain Springs.