EDINBURGH FESTIVAL SPECIAL
Pride and prejudice in Edinburgh
Gavin Stamp on two buildings on which the hopes and fears of Scottish architecture are centred It is a city of contrasts, in height and in character — both 'Auld Reekie' and `The Modern Athens' — although perhaps the best description of Edinburgh is that given by that artist of the sublime, James Pryde, when he called it 'the most romantic city in the world'. It is, but most of the buildings which are of world class — as Architecture — are, if not Roman, then Greek. `When Edinburgh was distinguished above other cities for whatever was profound in philos- ophy, and elegant in literature,' wrote the great Alexander 'Greek' Thomson (of Glasgow), 'she adopted this style as the fittest expression of the high degree of refinement to which she had attained ... '
Edinburgh today is showing signs of a serious architectural renaissance — the first in a very long time. Thanks largely to the advent of the Scottish parliament, the long struggle with Glasgow seems suddenly to have gone in favour of the old capital. This may not immediately be obvious. The architectural legacy of the last half century is disgraceful while the more recent com- mercial buildings are, on the whole, inept and vulgar. Nevertheless, an interesting architectural culture is emerging which, if sometimes too self-conscious and assertive, is what ought to happen when a small nation seeks to recover and define its iden- tity. Significantly, Scottish architectural his- tory is also undergoing a renaissance.
There are a handful of new buildings to be seen which display intelligence and vigour, if not refinement. Most are small, like Richard Murphy's Fruitmarket Gallery next to Waverley Station. But there are two places in particular where the hopes and fears of a newly ambitious Scottish archi- tecture are centred. The first is the Muse- um of Scotland — the large and largely self-contained extension to the old Royal Scottish Museum. It was designed by the Anglo-Scottish firm Benson & Forsyth and an extraordinary amount of moral and emotional capital has been invested in it, or, rather, in its celebration and promotion. That it was ever built at all is something of a triumph: the design was the product of a limited competition presided over by the late, lamented Lord Bute who firmly rebuffed an attempt by the Prince of Wales to interfere. So, as the first important pub- lic building to emerge in Edinburgh for a very long time, it has inevitably become a symbol of the nation's cultural aspirations. The question is whether it can sustain that burden.
The challenge was to create a building which was distinctly and unambiguously modern (the versatility displayed by many great Scottish architects in interpreting his- torical styles is too often now seen as con- servative, unprogressive, English) while fitting into its urban context. The arbitrari- ly canted facade in Chambers Street is faced in stone while the corner is held by a severe, cylindrical (castle-like?) tower. Inside, the white interior is grand, subtle and thrillingly complex. It is also perhaps rather over-detailed and inflexible for what must be an institution in which displays may need to change. But what — in the 1990s — did it mean to be 'modern'? It seems it meant not to be Post-Modern but to look back to the heroic days of the Mod- ern Movement. The dominating presence is that of Le Corbusier and, on a sunny day, the sculptural roof terraces are reminiscent of Chandigarh.
And why not? It has long been Scotland's strength not to be introverted and parochial, and her greatest architects Bruce, Adam, Hamilton, Thomson and, yes, Mackintosh — while exhibiting Scot- tish characteristics of severity and monu- mental ruggedness in their work also looked abroad for inspiration. Even so, if the hope is to encourage a vigorous and creative modern Scottish architecture, it does seem odd to have chosen a compara- tively unknown if modish Catalan to design that other significant public building: the new Scottish parliament.
Unfortunately, far from becoming a sym- bol of a newly confident and autonomous Scotland, that much troubled project is in danger of being fatally associated with New Labour. The story — so far — has been even more disastrous and ridiculous than that of the Dome. When the parliament was at last promised, it was generally assumed that it would sit in the former Royal High School on Calton Hill, that magnificent and prominent Greek Doric pile by Thomas Hamilton which had been converted, at taxpayers' expense, into a parliament house at the time of the refer- endum in the late 1970s.
But no. Although the High School surely reflects aspects of Scotland in which to take pride — the Enlightenment and emphasis on education — Donald Dewar con- demned it as a 'nationalist shibboleth' merely because, it seems, the SNP had long mounted a picket outside it. So a site was chosen for a brand-new building at the far end of the Royal Mile while the Free Church Assembly building — Gothic, by Playfair — had to be converted, at further expense, for the temporary use of the par- liament. The advantages of the low and confined Holyrood site are not obvious and, given Scotland's understandable determination to be different from West- minster, surely symbolically unfortunate, for it is right opposite a royal palace.
The competition held to find a suitably striking building to house the parliament was eventually won by Enric Miralles of Barcelona, whose conceptual sketches were likened to a series of 'upturned boats'. As the citizen of another small nation which had successfully struggled to re-establish its identity, Miralles was regarded sympatheti- cally. But alarm was expressed about his lack of experience, so, in the event, he was allowed to team up with the local office of Robert Matthew, Johnson-Marshall & Partners. It was not plain sailing as Miralles began to develop his ideas as the parlia- ment itself — once it had been convened — began to ask for more and more accom- modation. The result was confusion, secrecy and an escalating budget.
When the estimates had exceeded £200 million, the Scottish parliament at last debated the matter. This was the moment to stop and think again, but that would have left too much egg on the faces of Scottish New Labour, so the MSPs dutifully voted like sheep and the chaotic, amor- phous project was allowed to continue. And then came a further disaster: the sud- den death of the architect in May from a brain tumour. I am sorry about Miralles: he was an engaging and civilised man with whom one could discuss Adam and Van- brugh. Whether he was a great architect is less certain. Now, perhaps, we shall never know, as the job will be continued unim- peded by the well-connected local firm, `Rum Jum'. So much for the competition to find a world-class building by an interna- tional star, and it is not clear to what extent Miralles left final designs which can be realised, however imperfectly. But it has become very important for the Scottish profession to believe that Miralles's design is a triumph. Defenders of this flawed pro- ject are shrill on the subject, deriding crit- ics and insisting that, in its transparency, this bold new building will represent democracy. Quite why is not obvious: Miralles's aggressively angular and recon- dite Deconstructionist style, introverted and arbitrary, might equally well symbolise, say, vegetarianism.
Democracy has nothing to do with it. What I find extraordinary is how few seem to be conscious of how intrinsically absurd the whole project is. Never before has a parliament building been commissioned before the assembly it is to house has met to decide what it wanted. It is, I suppose, a first for Scotland: the Hungarian parlia- ment waited two decades before building its new home, the Australian eight decades, while Ireland still uses a converted lecture hall. The frivolity of all this is astonishing: the wartime British parliament carefully debated how the bombed House of Com- mons should be rebuilt because of the cru- cial effect of its form on the character of the institution, but in Scotland the shape of the assembly hall seems to have been at the whim of an architect from Catalonia.
What the completed Scottish parliament will, if anything, represent is the arrogance of this government in imposing a hurried and ill-considered act of architectural patronage on Scotland in general and a city of fragile beauty and refinement in particu- lar. But I suppose we should at least be thankful that the job was not simply given to Richard Rogers as has happened in Cardiff with the new Welsh Assembly building.
Previous page
