Something to TO

I don’t think the new incarnation (of the interior) of the ROM works.

The outside resembles an (often touted) ‘crystal’ of corrugated steel, splintered by shards of window. This causes problems on the inside. A spaghetti of angles, the interior spaces jar and crack; partitions are relied on to hang works and alongside the tight, narrow corners waste much of the remaining space. Worst of all, the exterior invades the interior at times to distract from the viewing of exhibits: try viewing dinosaur skeletons, one in front of the other, when behind them is a lattice of windows flashing strips of facade from across the street. At times too you notice windows hastily bandaged with scrim and paper in an attempt to shield some of the light-and-heat-sensitive exhibits post-build (a fairly large oversight by the architect, no?). It’s design for design’s sake, without any thought for function or harmony.

The exterior, however, shouts for attention – something Toronto sorely lacks on the world stage. It has a similar feel to Gehry’s other-worldly (and organic) Guggenheim in Bilbao, whose facade is often credited with Bilbao’s economic rebirth. The appearance of the ROM’s ‘crystal’ is something to make even the jaded folks down in NYC look up and say, “wow, I guess there is something to TO after all!” It’s just a shame they won’t hang around once they get inside.

As Dianne Dale put it so fittingly, “The Titanic meets the iceberg and loses once again.”

“… and the Romans sacked Carthage!”

This is a response to an article in The Guardian Newspaper, about 80% of culural objects in British public collections not seeing the light of day, and questioning whether it would be better for these works to lie in private hands where, “ … they would at least be seen and enjoyed …”, as well as the relevance of ‘national’ claims of ownership.

I’ve encountered this discussion before. It is somewhat of a conundrum. I’m on the side of the public collections for the most part (and public-spirited philanthropists!). Points to consider:

• Work held in public collections provides open access (albeit sometimes at the end of a long waiting list) for research purposes as well as individual appreciation. It also guarantees (as much as is humanly possible) a level of preservation and ‘quality control’ in the care and handling of the works held.

• A percentage of the work held publically was bequethed, with stipulation that it may not be sold on.

• Where do you draw the line? If you open up the 80% that is ‘hidden’ work to private collectors, at which point do you stop?

• I imagine it’s conceivable that 80% of work held by private collectors suffers from the same problem of being hidden from view (think Saatchi’s warehouse that burnt down, or ‘art banks’, attics, public storage facilities, multiple properties, etc).

• There are moves to compile the lot into a database – and with it a guaranteed benchmark of cataloging if in public ownership.

• To switch from public to private (or increase the relative percentages) is to go back to the time before public collections – the vast majority of public collections were previously privately held, and we’d all agree the current situation is better now, no?

Two stories:

I once worked with a fairly racist/fascist/conservative Italian, who took any opportunity to claim Italy’s (and specifically Milan’s) cultural/religious/social/racial superiority on the world stage. Her husband is from New Zealand (no one knows why she didn’t marry a guy from Milan) and isn’t a fan of the UK (which is where they both reside). I asked why he wasn’t enjoying his time here and she made a passing reference to an event a few hundred (?) years ago in which the British screwed over the Kiwis. I bit my tongue, but I wanted to blurt out, “and the Romans sacked Carthage!”.

An old man catches a wild horse and ties it to the fence on his farm, the villagers come and praise him, “this is a good thing, now you have a strong worker and breeder”. The old man says, “wait and see”. That night the horse runs away, taking part of the fence with him, letting some of his cows escape. The villagers tell him “oh, it was a terrible thing, catching that wild horse – look at the misfortune he has brought!”. The old man says, “wait and see”. A week later the horse returns with another, and they mate. The villagers say “this is a good thing, now you have a breeding couple and a new horse to trade”. The old man says “wait and see”. The young foul grows up and the old man’s son rides him one morning, falling off and breaking his leg. The villagers tell him “this is a terrible thing to have happened”. The old man says, “wait and see”. Soon, there is a terrible war, far away and with heavy casualties. The draft comes to the old man’s village and they do not take his son, as his leg is broken. The villagers tell the old man, “you are lucky they did not take your son as they did ours”. The old man says, “wait and see” (see the end of Charlie Wilson’s War). 

Bad design explained

I recently went to a talk by New York-based landscape architect Ken Smith in the architecture faculty at the University of Toronto. Ken’s produced some great work. Lately it’s environmentally-aware, sustainable, healthy and community-driven. This is all good. However, it felt a little self-congratulatory. There was no sense of struggle, no need to consider alternative options, no compromises. There was also a distinct lack of audience Qs in the Q&A that followed. It felt like everything had been answered. It lacked, well, life.

Why could his projects not have been even better, more useful and accomplished?

What I want to know is, why do we not hear from the people behind the projects that fail, or, at least, aren’t completely satisfactory? The seating in the lecture hall (of the Architecture faculty, no less) in which we sat for the talk was barely adequate. Nearby, at OCAD (a well known and highly regarded art college), the newly built structure provides little of the space and light that is required to provide the optimum environment in which to draw and paint, whilst the ceiling of its Grand Hall features a recessed, red cross shape of (misplaced?) aesthetic value yet no apparent utility.

I had an art history teacher at school who told us how he gave up being an Architect when the projects he was planning had to be so functionally dumbed down (due mostly to a lack of funding) that they started to create rather than solve problems. This grey area between intention and completion is a key ingredient in learning about both projects and people. We can learn as much from failure as we can from triumph. Why is it that people are either unwilling to stand up and enter into discourse with people about their failures and/or stuggles, or to organise these events as they believe no one would care to listen?

If you win the lottery, please give me twenty grand.

That should just about cover everything.

Thanks!