Significant Texts and Buildings Professor Ricardo L. Castro winter 2000

How does the Distance look?

How the distance looks goes beyond location and proximity between objects, horizon, and the observer. In its simplest format, it is still swayed by attitudes, opinions and experiences, if, at best, one chooses to even think about it. Given its dependence on perception, the whole concept of distance is quite arbitrary. Distance depends on time and displacement in space. Humans are not built to gauge these properties. The inner ear senses acceleration but not velocity. The earth hurtles through space at hundreds of thousands of miles an hour... if it didn't would we notice any difference? Our failure to perceive the physical reality of distance opens it to the personal abstraction of each individual. Perhaps this is for the best. The individual is allowed to have his or her own personal horizon. Whether it is weighed down by beliefs and convictions or if it is a simple physical line of sight is irrelevant. Some might say that the distance is not as frightening or mysterious as it used to be. Perhaps this is in reference to early explorers wary of falling off the edge of a flat earth. However, as our world has expanded, the distance has not come closer. Today, the distant shores of space defy imagination the way unfound continents once did. The concept of distance is stronger than ever.

The Horizon/Architecture Relationship

Universality is the trait that the horizon affords to architecture. Too often designs are created in the netherworld of paperspace or in the virtual space inside a computer... never to full emerge into three dimensions and reality. The caricature of a house floats on paper until a single seemingly insignificant line is drawn behind it, giving it a place, and a reason for being.
The Horizon compliments built structure as well. It connects A to B, and provides the playing field for different structures to interact with one another.
The subtleness of the horizon line provides some of the most interesting yet subtle traits to a building. Imagine how bland the pyramids would seem without the vast swaths of sand that cling to their bases and expand off into the distance. These are but simple shapes arrayed and set into a plane, which at its outer limits becomes the horizon.
To appreciate such a building in context of the horizon in to understand it in relation to the surrounding world, a trait that every achitect would to well to possess.

Time and Architecture

The time/architecture relationship is one of the most interesting and unique aspects of architectural creation. The optomistic and sometimes unexpected longevity of built structure separates architecture from almost all other arts and disciplines.
A quick survey of buildings from antiquity proves the point. Certainly many of these were designed to stand as monuments to their creators on into the distant future. Such structures represent idealized reflections of different societies upon themselves. Others, however, are left by chance and serendipitously discovered at a later date, and thereby provide a less idealized view of the people that created and lived in them. The ruins at Pompeii serve as a good example, encapsulating everyday life at an instant in time twenty centuries ago. It is this unexpected and obscuring quality afforded by the passage of time that draws one's attention. It allows fanciful and liberal interpretation, and a more distinct input from the observer to fill in the blanks and complete the picture.
Certainly, many modern works are inspiring and compelling in their own right. But they are somehow different from those truly great buildings of antiquity that capture the imagination. is there a lesson for the modern student of design? Pehaps it is as follows: beyond the grandiose intentions of the architect, the built form is only as compelling as its integration and participation in the society which created it.

Significant Texts Project:
Text and Reality in the case of Capability Brown's Stowe Landscape Gardens

‘Alike, unless the Muse propitious smile,
Vain is the Planter’s, the poet’s toil,
All great, all perfect works from genius flow,
The British Iliad hence, and hence the groves of Stowe.’

Gilbert West, 1732.

    ‘The gardens which Lord Cobham created round his mansion at Stowe during the first half of the eighteenth century were of unequalled magnificence. Foreigners as well as his own countrymen made endless pilgrimages to Buckingham for the privilege of being admitted: guide books to the princpal features of interest came out in swiftly succeeding editions; poets sang their praises, sometimes in good, and often in indifferent verse: while the most distinguished authorities on gardening and architectural matters contributed to their embellishment over a period of four decades.’

Dorothy Stroud, 1950.

    In July of 1999 I had the opportunity to visit the landscape gardens of Lord Cobham at Stowe, Buckingham, England. Beyond the obvious interest of the gardens themselves there was a degree of added significance in the fact that Stowe was place I had already studied extensively during my architectural education at McGill. Following its introduction in the class History II, I had spent a semester studying the English Picturesque and constructed a rather long essay for the class Landscape in the fall of 1998.
    Given that the title of this course is Significant Texts, I have decided to take a look back at Stowe, as it was a place which I knew well only through the texts I had read about it. The ultimate litmus test of these texts, and the one I subsequently wrote, came with the actual visit to the place itself. In retrospect it seems ludicrous to write a paper from an ’expert’ position having no direct first hand knowledge of the subject. Yet, it seems as if we are doomed to repeat this oddity over and over again. The student essay is arguably not a writing about a building or a place, it is a writing about other people’s writing.
    Recently I have been reading quite a bit about history, myth, text and perception by authors such as Levi-Strauss, Ricoeur, and Foucault. This line of exploration arose out of my thesis research, and I found that it applies directly to the issues of Significant Texts. Also required was a re-reading of the original texts (very few of them critical) about the English Picturesque and Stowe in particular. The attempt to reconcile these two sources with the actual experience of Stowe presents many interesting and revealing challenges.

THE DISPLACED SUBJECT

    Things as they are written in text can rarely be taken at face value. This may seem to be an obvious assessment, but it is worth exploring reasons as to why this is the case. Text itself goes far beyond ‘the primary purpose of language, which is to say something about something.’ The fracture between the meaning of the text as seen by the reader and the intentions of the author produces a curious situation. Stranger still is that the difference between the two is rarely noted or examined. Herein lies the autonomy of text, according to Ricouer:

1. The fixation of meaning as opposed to the event of saying.
2. The dissociation of meaning from the intention of the author.
3. The non-ostensive nature of the text’s references.
4. The universal range of the text’s audiences.

    Simply put, a text is legitimized by the very fact that it is in print. This concept does not take into account the specific views or prejudices of an author or group of authors in any critical way. Additionally, there is the base problem of written language itself, the structure or language versus the structure of reality. According to Barthes, "to write is to lose the structure of the world in the structure of language."
    How do these concerns reflect in the texts written about Stowe and subsequently affect a visit to the place itself? Certainly, there are some subjects for which a cross section of texts reveal a complete spectrum of different issues. Present political issues are one example. The Stowe texts, however, are nearly unanimous in their presentation of the place as a serene, picturesque place which despite its human origins, looks nothing of the sort. The follies and ruins set in its natural grounds are placed on processional routes so as to make them appear suddenly, surprisingly, and in a completely unexpected manner. Above all, there is the aspect of allegorical mental exercise. For an educated man familiar with the myths of antiquity, subtle comparisons or satirical juxtapositions of different characters and storylines could be observed. From the inclusion of inscriptions to the actual placement of the follies themselves, the masterplan relied completely on idea of a higher, hidden level of meaning. Thomas Whatley, writing in 1770, commented, ".. the landscape at Stowe requires much ‘reading’. It must be examined, compared, perhaps explained before the whole design is well understood."
    Additionally, there is a political aspect to the writings about Stowe and the English Picturesque in general. Whereas the French Formal Garden was seen as man’s domination over nature, with its rigid, cruel lines, the English Picturesque was achieved by man’s co-operation with and enhancement of nature itself. The obvious political overtones of writings from the time of the gardens’ creation cannot be missed.

TEXT, REALITY, AND THE ‘UNIVERSAL TRUTH’

    Certainly, I was aware of my numerous preconceptions about Stowe before I actually visited the gardens. I was also aware these were rooted in the fact that most of the reading that I had done on the subject was very subjective. The applicable texts were all second or third hand interpretations of what was to be found, and what it meant. It is very difficult to find a single text which contains a simple physical description of Stowe without venturing into additional theorization regarding meaning and symbolism as well. This is arguably the case with all architectural text, as the subject lends itself to expert interpretation. Sartre saw writers as ‘bearing witness to the world by calling things their names’ in efficient, transparent language’# It was seen as acceptable that the writer had the leeway to inject personal opinion into the mix, as this was the right of the author. The writers of the classical period 1650-1850 (and the writers about Stowe) regarded themselves as ‘witnesses to the universal truth and saw their own writing style as an innocent reflection of reality.’ And if one didn’t believe that the writer’s viewpoint was so innocent, it could be seen as the logical method by which intellectually superior men taught those lesser to them and were preserved for posterity. Barthes argues that it was only following the ultimate demise of the bourgeois in Europe during the middle of the nineteenth century that writers were confronted by ’a new social situation which made them unhappily aware of their social and historical location.
    Arguably, I was one of those lesser men who needed to be educated before visiting Stowe for myself. Otherwise, I would have been unaware of the mythical and political references which abound in the gardens. Given my previous studies, there was an awareness of what was about to be seen and where.   It was an English relative of mine who is also an architect that took me to Stowe, and he was somewhat surprised that I already knew the place-names that make up the site; the Elysian Fields, The temples of Modern and Ancient Virtue, the British Worthies, the Palladian Bridge and so on.
    Perhaps the best way to analyze the site as compared to its textual references is to first give a brief overview of my actual experience of the place. The first and most obvious point is that entry to the gardens is no longer through the main gate. Rather, a one lane road follows the ha-ha around the perimeter of the site, leading to a car-park at the rear. Subsequently, one enters from ‘backyard’ of Stowe and must either view the landscape in reverse order from the original plan, or be led with his eyes closed through the entire garden to the main entry. Additionally, it immediately became apparent that this was not a typical Saturday afternoon at Stowe. Rather foolishly, in retrospect, there was the expectation of idillic tranquility that pervades the all the texts on the subject. On this day, a county fair was taking place outside the garden proper in the vicinity of the main gate, replete with livestock, children’s games, and marked in particular by horse racing. While not visible during the tour of the monuments, there existed the constant, pervasive voice of a man calling these races through a bullhorn, accompanied by the thunder of horses hooves.
    Whereas Stowe is typically besieged by tourists during the summer months, this was mysteriously not the case. The headmaster of the Stowe School informed my relative at the gate that the gardens were in fact closed to the public, as the school was preparing for its annual convocation the following day. As I was following in another car, my relative informed the headmaster that, "a very important Canadian architect had traveled some distance to tour the gardens," and that he would very much appreciate an exception made in this special case. Upon my arrival the literal red carpet was rolled out at the rear gate... imagine the curious headmaster’s disappointment when I stepped out of the car. For me, this circumstance was most fortunate, as there was not a single tourist in the entire garden that day.
    Previously, I had read that Stowe had become rather overgrown and unkempt during the latter part of the twentieth century, but that recently the English Trust had done much work to restore the site. It was somewhat disconcerting to see the tightly manicured lawns, contrasted the expected ‘wild’ natural state of the field grasses that is supposed to characterize such landscape gardens. Upon venturing down the ravine into the site, the follies began to present themselves. These were not hidden in any way, and are now accessible by neatly carved walking paths, removing much of the joy of discovery that the original state of the garden was said to foster. What was intriguing , much to its original descriptions, was the close proximity experience of the follies themselves. For example, upon entering the Temple of Ancient Virtue, one turns around and finds that the arcaded door neatly frames the obelisk, several hundred metres away. In the other direction, another door frames the Palladian Villa. This serendipitous discovery is wonderful to make, and causes one to think of the allegorical intent of the original plan. These situations presented themselves several times, at each turn prompting thoughts about why these particular groups of structures were being alluded to together, and of the possible meanings therein.
    Another serendipitous but less pleasing discovery was that the manicured of Stowe serve another purpose. Immediately in front of the manor house, now the school, there is a golf course! It was a terrific shock to find sand traps and greens mixed amongst the follies. I only realized this as a hail of golf balls rained down on my as I stood on the ground in front of the Manor, which apparently is a fairway as well.
    Perhaps these ‘modernizations’ of Stowe account for some of the discrepancies which characterized my experiences from those in text, but the underlying impression of Stowe was different as well. Above all, the lesson learned from these texts is that true to the principles of the English Landscape garden, that the hand of man cannot be seen in the landscape itself. By setting (or hiding) the follies in this natural landscape, the visitor assumes an interactive, explorative role. My experience left me with the feeling that Stowe is very much different from these ideals. While the allegories themselves did make sense, the presentation of the follies was far too obvious, and clearly the entire site was manmade. This is not to say that the experience was negative, just different than expected. Having lived in the Rocky Mountains, I suppose that I was not willing to accept this manicured, planned, and very controlled place as ‘natural’. Inevitably, this thought brings us back to the textual ideas about Stowe. It stands to reason that the authors understood Stowe as a natural phenomenon in comparison to what they personally had experienced. Given the pastoral state of the English Landscape in general, the garden would likely seem as a retreat to the wild.
    The most accurate way to describe Stowe is as a view onto the eighteenth century view of history, myth, and the world. This third hand account tells us much more about the people who set up the allegories in the garden than the allegories themselves. For the people of that era, Stowe condensed all known or ‘important’ history into a compact, three dimensional landscape. Some of the few critical texts that exist describe the Temple of the British Worthies, for example, as ’curiously naive’. The busts included therein were of figures who were anti-Stuart, anti-Catholic and pro-British. Surely this is not a cross section of English history, but a selection from ’important’ history.
    In his writings Levi-Strauss describes history as a substitute for myth in a society that refuses to believe in myth itself. This was the most predominant impression of Stowe in that British culture, icons and ideals are placed on par with those from antiquity, as if to equate them in importance. This is also the quality reflected in the texts written at the time, curiously never directly stated, simply taken as the ‘universal truth’. This is perhaps why the experience of Stowe was so different from what I had expected.    To read about another place or time through the eyes of another, there is the invariable feeling of sympathy for those presented ideals. Firsthand experience of the same place leads one to form unique opinions, and question what is said or written by others. The gap between what is written and what is read seems to fill this space.

Southern approach to the Elysian Fields and the Temple of Ancient Virtue.

The Temple of Concord and Victory. Originally called the Grecian Temple, it was renamed after the Seven Years War.

Temple of the British Worthies with the Temple of Ancient Virtue in the background. Though this view best communicates the intended contrast of the two, I have never seen a published photo such as this in which both appear in the same frame.

The Grotto, located upstream from the Elysian Fields.

View from the Temple of Ancient Virtue to the North . The Grenville Column is dedcated to Thomas Grenville, Captian of the Defiance who was killed in a fall from the quarter deck during action with a French frigate. Atop the column is Clio, the Muse of History, who faces the Temple of British Worthies.

View of the Palladian Bridge through the Doric arch.

The Palladian Bridge. The Temple of Friendship is also visible in the distance through the columns.

The British Worthies.

Modern golf course at Stowe. The temple of Ancient Virtue is visible in the distance.

Bibliography

Hunt, John Dixon. The Genius of the Place. London: Elek Books Ltd., 1975.

Hunt, John Dixon. Gardens and the Picturesque. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1992.

Hyams, Edward. Capability Brown and Humphry Repton. London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1971

Stroud, Dorothy. Capability Brown. London, COuntry life Ltd., 1950.

Tilley, Paul. Reading Material Culture. Basil Blackwell Inc. 1990.

	How does the Distance look? How the distance looks goes beyond location and proximity between objects, horizon, and the observer. In its simplest format, it is still swayed by attitudes, opinions and experiences, if, at best, one chooses to even think about it. Given its dependence on perception, the whole concept of distance is quite arbitrary. Distance depends on time and displacement in space. Humans are not built to gauge these properties. The inner ear senses acceleration but not velocity. The earth hurtles through space at hundreds of thousands of miles an hour... if it didn't would we notice any difference? Our failure to perceive the physical reality of distance opens it to the personal abstraction of each individual. Perhaps this is for the best. The individual is allowed to have his or her own personal horizon. Whether it is weighed down by beliefs and convictions or if it is a simple physical line of sight is irrelevant. Some might say that the distance is not as frightening or mysterious as it used to be. Perhaps this is in reference to early explorers wary of falling off the edge of a flat earth. However, as our world has expanded, the distance has not come closer. Today, the distant shores of space defy imagination the way unfound continents once did. The concept of distance is stronger than ever.
	The Horizon/Architecture Relationship Universality is the trait that the horizon affords to architecture. Too often designs are created in the netherworld of paperspace or in the virtual space inside a computer... never to full emerge into three dimensions and reality. The caricature of a house floats on paper until a single seemingly insignificant line is drawn behind it, giving it a place, and a reason for being. The Horizon compliments built structure as well. It connects A to B, and provides the playing field for different structures to interact with one another. The subtleness of the horizon line provides some of the most interesting yet subtle traits to a building. Imagine how bland the pyramids would seem without the vast swaths of sand that cling to their bases and expand off into the distance. These are but simple shapes arrayed and set into a plane, which at its outer limits becomes the horizon. To appreciate such a building in context of the horizon in to understand it in relation to the surrounding world, a trait that every achitect would to well to possess.
	Time and Architecture The time/architecture relationship is one of the most interesting and unique aspects of architectural creation. The optomistic and sometimes unexpected longevity of built structure separates architecture from almost all other arts and disciplines. A quick survey of buildings from antiquity proves the point. Certainly many of these were designed to stand as monuments to their creators on into the distant future. Such structures represent idealized reflections of different societies upon themselves. Others, however, are left by chance and serendipitously discovered at a later date, and thereby provide a less idealized view of the people that created and lived in them. The ruins at Pompeii serve as a good example, encapsulating everyday life at an instant in time twenty centuries ago. It is this unexpected and obscuring quality afforded by the passage of time that draws one's attention. It allows fanciful and liberal interpretation, and a more distinct input from the observer to fill in the blanks and complete the picture. Certainly, many modern works are inspiring and compelling in their own right. But they are somehow different from those truly great buildings of antiquity that capture the imagination. is there a lesson for the modern student of design? Pehaps it is as follows: beyond the grandiose intentions of the architect, the built form is only as compelling as its integration and participation in the society which created it.