Great Tate debate ARTS
STEPHEN GARDINER
The curtain has gone up on the proposals for the Tate at last. And, in the meantime, Lady Dartmouth, who heads the Historic Buildings Committee at the mc, has done her best to clamp a preservation order on its façade. She is saying, in effect: 'Thou shalt not pass.'
It would not be difficult to write down some notes, largely critical, on the suggested new front to this building, to describe a beautifully made model and a design that is a model com- promise, and to list the spacious accommoda- tion provided by the architects, Llewelyn- Davies and Partners. The site is there, facing you, coming along the Embankment. An indif- ferent portico will have been demolished, the flight of steps and two green patches of lawn removed. Memories, we know, are short; and if the extension were in fact built, these bits of a familiar scene would be forgotten in a matter of weeks. Walking along the Embankment in ten years' time you might, however, wonder: Why on earth did that happen? Why did they put that long low building in Bath stone at that particular point, and right on the pavement? The tall glass Vickers Tower knocks it flat. The only real clue that some extraordinary decision had been taken would be the violent collision of a neo-classical structure with a plain, blank and badly proportioned design of a later era.
The possibility is a horrid one; and, when one gets down to it, the architects' solution seems as absurd and suspect as their apparent brief. It is, architecturally, just not possible to enlarge any building which bas been conceived without future extensions in mind. And the crudeness of this particular project is perhaps an indication that the problem . facing the trustees—finding more space—is not so straight- forward as they would, it seems, have it appear.
The more one examines the plan for this new front wing—which is, after all, the only addition in question—the more mystified one becomes, and the more interested in the original briefing that lay behind the design. The Tate, we know, is filled to bursting point with paint- ings and sculpture: there are the sixteenth and seventeenth century British paintings, the Turners, the Constables, French Impressionists, the Rodins and Epsteins, and a rapidly increas- ing number of contemporary works. Much of the collection, because of the desperate situa- tion, is stored in the basement, unseen—and this is something which the trustees say must be put right. They also insist that agreement on their proposals has to be reached quickly. If the Tate doesn't take advantage of government support now, they say, it will be sent back to the end of the financial queue. This sounds an odd way to manage public affairs. Nothing is done best in a hurry. Decisions made under pressure of time almost always lead to disastrous errors of judg- ment. And the plans themselves do nothing to reassure one, since they do not appear to be aimed at solving the problems we are told they solve.
What do they in fact offer? To start with, on the ground floor, there is the vast entrance halL It is difficult to see the point of a space where nothing happens. The present entrance to the Tate, on the other hand, is good because it is small and there is plenty going on in it, and the catalogue counter under the dome draws you in. In the new entrance you have an unnecessary amount of walking to do, which is irritating. There is also a lecture theatre on the ground floor and over this, on a mezzanine, a gallery for modern paintings. This is the point at which the floors of the old and new buildings meet and where the arches of the existing entrance clash with the new flat ceiling. Then, at a slightly higher level, there is the restaurant, a space which is as large as the entrance below it, and which overlooks those frightful office blocks across the river. What is the point of this—to attract visitors? But it's art, not food, that brings visitors to the Tate. Finally, one arrives at the top floor and the gallery for the Moore Bequest which occupies the whole length of the new wing, with a space for temporary exhibitions.
It looks, therefore, rather as though one of the most important reasons for finding more space is the problem of housing this sculptor's gift of twenty-five pieces; and, whether or not it is a good thing to find so many works by one artist here, it still seems sad that they will have to be shut away in a gallery that may well resemble a top-lit coffin. Sculpture on this scale, and made of bronze or stone, should be outside, like Epstein's-Ecce Homo in Battersea Park. Perhaps, then, the architects have been given the wrong brief.
But, if they have, it can be said with equal certainty that the architects have given the wrong answer. First things should be put first. If you eliminate the waste of space and inessen- tials—entrance hall, lecture theatre and restau- rant—you end up with quite a small problem on your hands. It would be relatively simple, given a little :magination, to find a site for that. It would not be at the front. The present facade may be poor architecture but, seen with the Vickers Tower, the portico looks good—the third-rate classical detail and the second-rate glass facade make an interesting combination. The garden on both sides of the steps is lovely, and in-the summer much enjoyed by birds and people. No, the site for the extension should be the corner one at the back, which is filled over one storey in the present scheme. Here a really exciting structure could be built, bang up to date and on its own, four or five storeys high (like the Whitney Museum) and incorporating a little sculpture garden. If you have to have a restaurant, this could go on top with a view of Westminster. Finally, a competition should be held to select an architect: this should have hap- pened in the first place.
But perhaps there is still another solution and perhaps the real truth is that the trustees of the Tate are trying to put too many eggs into an impossibly small basket. There is an alternative which would mean, apart from filling in the corner, no work for an architect at all. It would involve a much larger strategy and at least a couple of fundamental decisions. One knows really, in one's heart, that this business of fid- dling about with existirig buildings is a typical example of the English at their meanest. What is wanted is a bold move at government level to reorganise the whole gallery system in Lon- don. Under a completely new plan the Tate could become the Museum of British Art, trac- ing the whole course of its development from the early beginnings to the present day—and a very fine museum it would be. The French Im- pressionists and so on would then move to the National Gallery and, with the two million pounds allocated for the present Tate exten- sions, a museum of international modern art could be built on another site, taking with it a great number of the experimental works which are at present creating such chaos at the Tate. And this new building—sited in Pimlico, Batter- sea or even, say, Regent's Park—could be again the subject of a competition to see that the most imaginative design was found: proper modern art requires proper modern architecture.
Will it ever happen? It should. And it just might—thanks to Lady Dartmouth.
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