Kitchen Extension, Coulsdon

Situated within the grey ring of the mighty M25, Coulsdon forms part of the southern-most extremities of London's urban sprawl. The house in question enjoys a rural sensibility while benefiting from being closely connected to the metropolis. Out of a single window you can observe grazing horses while with the same eye observing the capital's new spire, The Shard, reaching toward the heavens.

The property has been extended in the past, a small lean-to accomodates the utility room and downstairs WC and the kitchen projects slightly out of the side of the building. These extensions, while no doubt add value by isolating the utilitarian areas and promoting the living spaces, have left the plan feeling muddled and unbalanced. The expansive living/dining room feels over generous, whereas the kitchen feels mean and marginalised.


Priority one on the client's brief; extend the kitchen. Priority two; rationalise the plan.

We sought to shift the focus of the plan. Rather than being centred upon the living room, we suggested the house should be centred upon a kitchen-dining room, leaving a more intimate 'snug' rather than a living room. The kitchen is divided by the breakfast bar
into a cooking-space and an informal dining/sunroom.The collection of different roof treatments to the existing extensions becomes homogenised, as the new extension unifies and extends these add-ons, reaching into the expansive garden; an aperture trying to catch a glimpse of the distant city.


The Foun10head

I graduated from the MArch course at the University of Ulster in June 2011. The course was a long, difficult, often thankless and occasionally fruitless task – and I loved it. I loved what Rem Koolhaas referred to as ‘the freefall of pure speculation.’* The creativity, much like the theoretical possibilities, were endless. Architectural education is a chance to act like the ‘StArchitects’ or the early modernists. A chance to conceive and (somewhat) realise an idea of purity, selfishly uncompromised by the ideas or interference of others. A chance to live that Roarkian** fantasy.

And then I graduated.

I stepped out into a professional wasteland, at first dazzled by the light beyond the confines of academia. As the reality of the situation gradually slid into view I realised I had little or no possibility of actually building within the confines of a professional office. The practices I called requesting employment sounded as desperate and as scared as I did. The one interview I was lucky enough to get was in a gray, ramshackle civil service office conducted by an eccentric, ramshackle civil servant who filled me with excitement regarding the design of gray functional boxes for gray functional activities.

The e-mail of rejection was waiting in my inbox when I arrived home. Oversubscribed, the position given to a past employee. Understandable, infuriating, demoralising.

I joined a host of job agencies in the vain hope of landing something related to my chosen path, no matter how vague the connection may be. One place painstakingly took details of my qualifications, experience, proficiencies and interests. They got me a job in a bowling alley.

It is from these ashes that Architek10 was reborn as a design practice. Originally started as a student organisation, apathy amongst everyone but it’s two founders put a halt to it almost immediately. Perhaps now it will allow us to return in some way to that Roarkian fantasy. This would never have happened had we been warmly ensconced in some office given a different economic climate. I could easily cite romantic notions about scorched earth being more fertile, about the fresh green shoots of creativity, but the fact remains that it all still remains a struggle. I still need to work in order to live, which architecture simply cannot support at the minute. The difference seems to be that this new rash of architectural activity means that it doesn’t feel like I’m just living for the future anymore.

* 'Imagining the Nothingness,' Rem Koolhaas (1985) - Found in 'Content' (2003)
**A reference to the main character Howard Roark in Ayn Rand's The Fountiainhead (1943)

Architectural Education & the Fee Increases

We have all seen the fees demonstrations, and many of us have been too busy to participate. Unfortunate, but we can’t all afford to attend sit-ins in the run-up to the exam period. I was aching to join in but, as I near then end of further education, it isn’t really my battle.

Well, that’s not really true.

The architectural profession is going to suffer a catastrophic change as a result of this legislation. Indeed, society will change fundamentally. As we all know, as a university degree, architecture is unique. It doesn’t quite belong anywhere. And it already costs a bloody fortune. Most of us will graduate with around £40,000 debt. Ten years ago, you might have graduated with a £1,000 overdraft to worry about. Ah, wouldn’t that be a dream? Now, those coming behind us will be worrying about whether there will be architectural education at all.

There are several issues at play here. The first is the issue of diversity in architecture. The profession has fought long and hard over the past twenty years to try to redress the traditional imbalance within the field. For too long, architecture has been the mainstay of upper-middle class men. For too long women and the working classes have been discouraged from entering architecture. We can now all but cede defeat on progress on that issue. No more will people from low-earning families be able to contemplate a career in architecture, and with a massive increase in pressure on places, women can be sure to be squeezed out too, all to the detriment of the profession; because lets face it, architecture is aggressive, and it will become more so.

The structure of education will change fundamentally. The past decade or so has seen a shift in architecture, with particular regard to architectural education, from an engineering discipline with an artistic aspect towards an artistic endeavour with an engineering basis. The changes in funding mean that arts degrees are going to loose all funding, spelling the end of arts architecture degrees. This will mean all those youthful, innovative new architecture schools up and down the UK will close, and we’ll be back to the stuffy, traditional form of architecture education. The profession will return to a rational discipline, eschewing the artistic endeavour it has become.

Architecture schools are already under-funded, with huge pressures on space. It is quite expensive to provide the current facilities. We all know that studios are often too meagre in their space provision, and it will get worse. Architecture schools without workshops are often much poorer, and these resources will be the first to go. The result will be an educational culture which takes place outside the studio, with students working from home, attending university only for lectures and the odd tutorial. The student will be much more isolated, and the learning experience will be much less collaborative.

Already, students with the financial resources of wealthy parents always succeed in architectural education, because they can comfortably afford all the resources which working-class students cannot. Architectural education requires vast amounts of money to produce the investigation required to succeed. A student loan barely covers the cost of living, so unless you have other resources, you will struggle to keep up with your peers, much less excel. The proposed changes will deter anyone but the wealthy from entering the profession. The gap will widen, not narrow.

As we have seen over the past decade, the cost of education has risen exponentially. We are told that there will be a £6,000 fee-cap, unless in exceptional circumstances. With architecture being one of the most expensive courses to deliver it is likely to qualify for the top band of £9,000. But we can be virtually guaranteed that it won’t stop there. How high are fees likely to go? £15,000 £20,000? Who knows?

How many working class people are likely to want to start out on life with a £150,000 debt? That’s a £300,000 debt per household, before you even start out on life, never mind the interest. Will this mean the end of private home ownership for all but the upper classes? Lets not forget that in the modern world a university degree is all but a necessity in the workplace, and hardly a privilege at all. So, in order to achieve anything other than a minimum wage job, you will be required to get into £90,000 of debt. And where will all this money go? Who will provide these loans? Will they be provided by banks, who will make money from the interest after having squandered the nations value and gotten us into this mess? Or will, as currently happens, the government bank your monthly repayments, take money off the monthly interest that you repay, before making annual repayments on your loan, thus pocketing the profits of speculations on your money?

This brings me to the fundamental issue of the principle of this change in how we value our society. The argument is that students should invest in their own future. We know from international research, and we can see it quite plainly in action, that national investment in higher education benefits everyone in society, not just the graduates. The most vulnerable members of society, those on benefits, benefit most from investment in society. If we look at countries with imbalanced higher education systems, like America, we see that their education system is a disaster, an international laughing stock, with an incredibly unequal society that results in a much less productive economy. And everybody suffers because of it. The poor are much poorer; crime rates are much higher; the health system is much worse; the social security system costs much more; the average life expectancy is much lower. And even the best graduates are much dimmer than you would expect.

Not only do the proposed changes in educational funding imply the end of architectural education, but they also represent an erosion of social progress; a regression to a Victorian standard of class division and values.

I think, no matter what my university commitments come the next round of protests, I’ll be out on the street.

Gabhan Bradley - 6thb year architecture student

The Grand Tour (Five Architects & ‘de’ Volvo)

A reflection of the trip from Belfast to Porto - 15th to the 24th January 2010

The University Of Ulster School Of Architecture has always encouraged students to travel so they can learn through exploration and experience. Cultural context forms an integral part of the schools education programme and experiencing other cultures first hand is one of the best ways of learning about them.

Porto was the destination chosen for 2010 and the dates were set for the sixth year trip. Porto only being a mere 2000 miles drive away gave some of us the perfect ‘excuse’ to take the car. Our intentions were to see as much as possible and be free to stop where and when we wanted. Kitted out with a sat-nav, The Phaidon Atlas (travel edition) and frequent access to Google we were guided to some interesting projects. Our logical thinking was telling us that the trip ahead was ambitious, but limits of distance and time fell within our capabilities. We sacrificed the comfort of a plane seat to satisfy our desires to see more along the roads, and we got more than we bargained for.

Two hundred years ago The Grand Tour of Europe was the most exciting travel experience any young person was likely to encounter. The privileged youth of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries went on voyages to experience new cultures, learn about geography, art, language and architecture. Their experiences were wide and varied, they documented details of carriages breaking down, lives lost and treasured artefacts of art and literature were exported back to their home lands as souvenirs. Their high class morals were often left at the border as they veered from their path to gamble and drink in bathhouses and brothels across Europe.

When we five voyagers were packed into the Volvo saloon you can imagine the lessons in scale we went through. Firstly there was the problem of baggage, and hence the boot had to be practically vacuum sucked for it all to fit. Then there was the lack of leg room, arm room and even air! However the very fact of travelling like this added to our experience, ideas and opinions were shared and there was no space avoided. The conversations were at times both agreeable and argumentative. The important thing is that we did this collectively and as one shared others listened. Travelling through the landscape allowed us time to reflect on many things, whether it was the breakfast we had that morning, the price of fuel or the delicately finished surfaces of Le Corbusier’s Firminy Church. We were learning more from each other than ever expected, I suppose you could say the ‘studio’ environment was taken to new levels; no models, no laptops… just conversation and sketch books.

Architects travel every second of every day, their paths are constant journeys of experience and education. Metaphorically the mind is used like a sponge to absorb surroundings, and when ‘rung’ out onto a page these previous experiences help form the position of that designer’s mindset. Education through contact with other people, sights and societies is essential to the formation of that mindset.

We received valuable lessons as we got a hands on feeling of the materials each project was constructed with, some which were effortlessly joined and others were incredibly simple but successful. Le Corbusier’s use of in-situ concrete in contrast with the glazing of Musac - Leon, Spain – presented us with logic, craft and an understanding of the thought process that went into each detail.

We sampled the local treats along the way, whether it was the nicotine drenched ‘tapas’ we downed at 3am in St.Ettien in some lonely bar or the brochettes at 8.30am at the foot of Abalos and Herros’s Four Towers in Victoria they all added to our experience. This trip was one where the phrases ‘por favor’ and ‘grandes, más grande’ were getting regular use. The notorious visit to McDonnalds even surprised us as we were delighted to see they severed the local brew, complimented with insulated cups, plastic lid and all. All this however did not dampen our appetite for discovering the next project on the ‘hit’ list. In fact it was essential in attempting to understand the culture that surrounded us.

Our tour was an unforgettable ten day experience, and it was worth every penny and every mile.

A special thanks: Thanks to Michael and Lorna Ferguson for hosting us at their converted church in the South of France. Your kindness will never be forgotten. Thank you. It’s worth noting: Most university trips are self funded by students who are already under financial pressure. These opportunities for travelling are invaluable experiences, especially in the field of Architecture. If you have any ideas as to how future students can raise funds or receive grants/scholarships then please comment below.

Travellers(from left to right): Keith Willis, Peter McGonigle, Eamon Phelan, John McGuigan & Ronan Fitzpatrick.

Projects Visited: ENGLAND Cambridge - Accordia Housing - Feilden Clegg Bradley Walsall - The New Art Gallery - Caruso St John Architects Birmingham - Selfridges Commercial Centre - Future systems FRANCE Eveux, Lyon - Monastery of La Tourette - Le Corbusier Firminy - La Stade - Le Corbusier Firminy - Masion de la Culture - Le Corbusier Firminy - Swimming pool - Le Corbusier Firminy - Unité d’habitation - Le Corbusier Firminy - L’Eglise Saint-Pierre - Le Corbusier Mancioux - Church (Residential Conversion) - Michael Ferguson Millau - Millau Bridge - Norman Foster SPAIN Leon - City Morgue / Funeral Home – Baas Architects Leon - Concert Hall - Mansilla + Tunón Leon - Musac - Mansilla + Tunón Leon - Council Offices (Casa Botines) - Gaudi Bilbao - International Airport - Calatrava Bilbao - Guggenheim - Frank Gehry Bilbao - Palacio Euskalduna Concert Hall - Aala Fererico Soriano & Dolores Palacios Bilbao - Zubizuri Bridge - Calatrava Vitoria - Four towers – Abalos & Herreros Behobla Irun - Civic Council Office Tower - HF Arquitectos Bilbao -Bridge - Calatrava Bilbao -Bridge - Calatrava PORTUGAL Porto - Swimming pools – Alvaro Siza Porto - Tea House – Alvaro Siza Porto - University of Architecture – Alvaro Siza Porto - Museum and Sculpture Garden – Alvaro Siza Porto - Bouca Housing – Alvaro Siza Porto - Burgo Office Tower - Eduardo Souto de Moura Porto - Casa de Musica - O.M.A.

John McGuigan - Graduate of the University of Ulster's Masters Program

Learning Like The French

Why would anybody in their right mind, extend a six year course, by their own choice? Additionally why would anybody extend their architecture studies? Well, I did. In May 2009, I opened an email offering two masters students a chance to study in France, the catch... it doesn’t count towards RIBA studies. Spending a year in France, semi-funded versus extending my 2 year masters by a year? The decision wasn’t easy, lots of consultation and lists of pros and cons, led me to do one thing... flip a coin, France it was?

I arrived in Saint Étienne, the small former mining town in France, in early August to house-hunt with a friend. It was raining; not the summer weather we had expected. Walking down the very first street and looking at what was seemingly, from my map, the centre of the town; I began to cry. It looked so destitute, all the shop shutters were down even though it was the middle of the day- I found out later that this was the period of ‘les grandes vacances’ , when all of France closes down.

I left with a better impression... in the mean time the sun had decided to grace us with its presence. Although house-less, we left Sainte, to enjoy a real holiday in Lyon. It was only three weeks later, I returned, suitcase in-hand to my fellow Erasmus-ers in the centre of Sainté. I soon found an apartment with 5 other people,3 other French guys, a French girl and a Spanish girl. Enormous, slightly bohemian and gregarious; I was content. The first few weeks in the house were comical; sign-language of sorts was invaluable; as I hadn’t a clue what they were saying to me. I spent the whole time smiling like a weirdo because I was trying to come across as a nice person... without speaking.

This trend followed suit in uni, ENSASE, l’Ecole Nationale Superior de Saint Étienne. Following two weeks of ‘intensive French classes’, I realised that my French, although by no means conversational was better than other Erasmus students , who were lost after ‘Bonjour’. I by contrast was lost after ‘Comment tu t’appelle.’ I went to France for two reasons: to learn French and to study architecture. I did both, however it wasn’t all rosy, until Christmas I just sat around with a confused look on my face, even when something was being explained directly to me, after that it slowly began to sink in. The snow and cold weather didn’t do much to lighten the burden of my apparent lack of intelligence that had overcome me...through the language barrier. This left my, already low, architectural intelligence in a bit of a sorry state.

With the sun, came the fun. In the second semester, I changed my design modules, of which we had three to pick. From Urbanism, Design and Landscape in the first semester I, unfortunately, chose urbanism. I didn’t make the same mistake twice; I chose design for the second semester. A new energy was added to my week... I finally had work and project and ideas. For the first time since May ’10, I felt stimulated in class. The final semester was juggling this newfound workload and fitting in all the things that we didn’t get around to doing in the area. Erasmus nights out made a come-back from December in the knowledge that we didn’t have much time left. It was fast and furious but the days were longer, the sun had started to show its face...summer and the excitement and sadness that the year was over filled my last few weeks. Luckily our studio group had a week-long trip to Switzerland; which was probably the most amazing architectural trip that I have ever done. It has left me with the want to return someday to work.

I stayed on in France until the start of August, travelling and enjoying the weather. Coming back was...ok. It marked the end of my French experience, and therefore was tinged with sadness but I was ready for the madness that is architecture in Belfast. No more two-hour lunches or multi-cultural nights out in flats and woollies but noise, chat and my own desk! Would I do it all over again? No, I could be finished rather than facing into the depths of 6th year. Would I change it if I had the chance? No.

‘Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.’ Mark Twain

Catriona Hickey - 6th year MArch student


When the school of architecture finally decided to introduce the possibility of study abroad through the ERASMUS program a year and a half ago, I jumped at the chance. It has always been my dream to study in France, and frankly I was, at that point, too terrified and unprepared to start my final year. I decided it would be a great opportunity to put this horror off, but that it would also look great on my C.V.

The semesters were longer than I’m used to but the year flew by; in September I made a complete hash of my first French presentation and the first years were welcomed in a hail of flour, eggs and other embarrassing integration games. In October, we celebrated Halloween a week early causing a lady on the tram to offer me a tissue because she thought the blood was real. November was filled with exams and coursework due before we went home in December. Still feeling festive in January we celebrated being back together again. In February, our numbers were halved and then doubled, because some of our friends were there for one semester not two, but we celebrated that too. In March, we built a shelter from cardboard boxes, one resembling a labyrinth of caves big enough for thirty people and then I started to plan my April holidays; a trip to Lyon and Paris with a friend who was spending the year in Perpignan. Suddenly it was May and my friends from the University finished up and started moving on, so we partied on a hill top, we had a picnic, watched the sunset and one guy spat fire. June flew by too quickly; exams, projects and planning for Les Briques d’Or, the final part. A great night, everybody dressed to impress, we all laughed as the teachers received their awards, we danced and then I had to go, my train left in the morning. And it was over. A whirlwind of awesome events, great people from all over the world and the whole culture I had experienced, gone, left behind.

I miss it, and I miss my new friends, but I’m not sad. That was our year, the only time we’ll all be together like that, all I have now some great memories and fantastic photos, but I like that. We’ve all gone home to continue our studies, different and hopefully better people and I know that I’ll see them again, it’s also a great excuse for me to travel a bit and visit new places. It was also a great opportunity to learn who I am on my own, and I’ve come home feeling much more confident and ready for my final year.

Eva McGowan


[home]

The Elephant in Opmeer (that nobody wants to talk about)

It’s incredible how the ‘global recession’ has impacted on Architecture throughout Europe and the UK. One aspect I find interesting, and perversely magnificent, is the existence of half built projects that have halted as a result of funding being pulled from under their feet.

During my placement year as a Part 1 Architect I spent some time in The Netherlands working for a company called Dok Architecten. Shortly after I arrived at Dok I was informed that our team, Dok 1, would be attending a ceremony that takes place at the beginning of most important construction projects in The Netherlands. This celebration was called the ‘Eerste Paal’ or ‘First Pole’, the foundation element required in most Dutch projects, known to us as the simple Pile. It certainly was a prestigious event, with bands playing and balloons flying. This project would be the ill fated Scheringa Museum.

Over my time at Dok I had the opportunity to work on the Scheringa Museum, be it through interior model making to
constriction detailing. The design Architect for this project was Herman Zeinstra, one the great Dutch Architects who, for some reason, does not hold the fame of some of his peers outside The Netherlands. It was a beautifully detailed project, as was the nature of Hermans Architecture, with a mix of classical extravagance and modern minimalism. The client for this grand project was the Dutch tycoon, sports enthusiast and art collector, Dirk Scheringa.

Dirk Scheringa, as well as owning the already existing Scheringa museum, also owned a Dutch soccer team, AZ (Alkmaar Zaanstreek), and his own bank DSB. It was reported that Scheringa had used the art collection already existing in the museum to get a mortgage to build the new 32milion Euro museum in Opmeer.

When the financial crisis continued at full wrath, it became clear that Scheringa was unable to payback the loans given by another larger Dutch bank, ABN Amro. In October of 2009 ABN Amro sent the heavies round to confiscate the art from the existing museum. As a refusal to lay back, the staff of the museum decided to keep the museum open with what remained of the collection, offering customers, who now entered free of charge, to pick up felt pens as they entered the museum, and encouraged them to write messages on the walls where the art once resided.

So what does all this mean for the mighty new museum, standing large in a field in the town of Opmeer? For now, who knows? The disaster was brought to my attention when contacting a friend, Steve Reid of Joustra Reid Architects, back in November last year. In an email Steve said, “Now there’s a half finished beast standing in the middle of nowhere… not sure what they’re going to put in it.”

Putting aside my feelings towards capitalist excess, for Herman's sake I hope this project gets finished. If this trend continues for years to come, archaeologists may be uncovering skeletal structures in 2000 years from now, wondering why the screed of this magnificent building had never been laid.

Roy Fitzpatrick - 6th Year MArch Student

A Day at the Museum

My first visit to the Ulster Museum must have been some time in 1987 or ’88 as a primary one pupil, a sort of ‘rite of passage’ for many Belfast primary school children. From that trip not much is remembered – the vastness of the Machine Hall, the T-Rex skull and for some reason, the water feature in the central courtyard. There were many subsequent visits during my teenage years and later as a student of architecture, when the sheer brilliance of the building began to become more apparent: how the sequence of spaces actually worked (the ‘promenade architecturale’), the references to Le Corbusier in the form of the balconies and the fenestration patterns, and just how skilfully and successfully this Brutalist monolith had been married into a reserved and pretty stuffy 1920s neoclassical building (consider what was happening on the Continent at the time). Here was a world-class piece of architecture, and it was right on your own doorstep.

Upon approaching the new ‘‘visually stunning’’ [sic] version I was struck immediately by how unbalanced the front façade appeared. The new entrance opening punched in the centre of the elevation looks lost and the glazing of the café on the eastern side gives the impression the whole structure might just keel over into the park, or that the left side will collapse, the weight of the concrete boxes above becoming too much to take. The position of the entrance in relation to the new foyer beyond - previously the central courtyard - is slightly odd, requiring one to veer to the right in order to avoid walking into a wall instead of the foyer. The café, off to the left, feels claustrophobic and relies heavily upon artificial lighting due to the low ceiling and its location on the north side of the building. Ironically, it was this same claustrophobia in the old entrance foyer that made the Machine Hall such a delight to walk into, making its scale even more impressive.
Previously, the Machine Hall acted like an introduction of what was to come, providing the visitor with views of other levels and begging the question of how to reach these vantage points. It wouldn’t be until later stages of the journey, when walking out onto the different platforms, that the Hall could be looked upon from a whole new perspective, at the same time enabling you to orientate yourself within the building – but not completely, which for me was such a major part of the building’s charm. Not quite knowing exactly where you were within the structure meant the building retained an element of surprise that never seemed to wane, despite numerous visits.

The new foyer feels somewhat over scaled and is poorly handled. The huge blank walls make the space seem larger than it is and along with the finishes creates a cold, clinical appearance. As in the café, there is too much reliance on artificial lighting, the result of the new roof. To the rear of the foyer there is a new circulation system (core doesn’t seem the appropriate word, it would suggest something that is organised and considered), which serves both the old building and the extension. Instead of using this I opted for my preferred route through the building and headed left, across the afore mentioned water feature (via an incredibly tiresome access ramp) and into what was once the Machine Hall, now housing a large exhibition ‘stand’ of sorts boasting rather dubious displays that bear no meaningful relation to one another. This proved difficult. The once seamless journey felt laboured. Previously clearly defined spaces have been subdivided and cluttered with rather gauchely handled exhibits.

One of the criticisms of the old building was that it was hard to navigate and to be fair the new circulation system has made the building a lot more open. However this creates confusion to the visitor and is to the detriment of the overall experience. There was no need to ‘navigate’ the old building, the architect - one Francis Pym - had already worked that out, leading you from one space to another on a route through the building and leaving you back in the entrance foyer where you’d started any number of hours earlier. All that was required of the visitor was to look at the exhibits and walk from one room to the next. With the new system there was more than one occasion when I found myself wandering into an exhibition I had already seen, and on others, I missed rooms out entirely. This is something that would not have happened previously. The elements of surprise and mystery referred to earlier have also been lost, so much of the building now on view upon entering the foyer - I thought of Mussolini’s escapades on the Via della Conciliazione.

The gallery spaces at the top of the building appear to be the least interfered with, and there are opportunities to venture onto the balconies overlooking the foyer. It’s just a shame that there’s not much to see. Looking down, the glass and steel balustrades of the walkways give the impression of being in an airport rather than a museum and are at odds with the weight, presence and solidity of the extension, and indeed the whole building in its previous incarnation. The treatment of the balconies too detracts from the intended character of the place, now covered in white render where they were once exposed cast concrete, the continuum between exterior and interior disrupted. It was on the upper levels where I also noticed that windows had been given PVC window boards.

The result of the various interventions is the total loss off spatial hierarchy and flow that was integral to how the building functioned as a museum. There is a feeling that the exhibition spaces have been pushed outward to make way for the central foyer, robbing individual spaces of their relationship with one another and of each to the whole. The ‘opening up’ has made the whole museum feel a lot smaller than it did previously, another part of the genius of the design that is only becoming clear to me now – just how well Pym had utilised what is in fact not that much space in such a way as to make the building seem enormous. There was a Tardis-like quality to the place. Now interior spaces no longer relate to the exterior form and there are a number of areas where the plan feels unresolved, a failed attempt perhaps, at making little nooks and crannies to keep the younger visitor excited and interested. Crucially though, I would question whether the issues of disabled access have been successfully resolved.

Upon leaving the building it was overcast and raining quite heavily, summing up my experience really. But I was unable to take cover under the beautiful sailing concrete canopy that marked the original entrance – a meaningful gesture from the architect considering our wet climate – as it has been rendered completely useless. It now houses part of the café behind a glazed wall, more than robbing the feature of its significance and potency.

Public reaction to the building however has generally been positive; although it wouldn’t make sense to publish any negative press would it? The only gripe people have had was the fact that the museum was closed the Monday of the autumn mid-term break. At the very least it might have been expected that the museum’s board of trustees and the curators would have been aware of the building’s importance, let alone the planners, (as if). The controversy surrounding the refurbishment never really seemed to go beyond architectural circles. In another country, say Germany or the Netherlands for instance, this would have been considered a news worthy item, but here BBC Newsline seem more concerned about reports letting viewers know the shops in Ballycastle will now be open on Wednesday afternoons when they were traditionally closed, and UTV even went as far as awarding the architects responsible their ‘Architect of the Year’ award. They did also win BD’s Carbuncle of the Year award for Liverpool Ferry Terminal, although this is hardly compensation for the act of thoughtless vandalism inflicted on the Museum.

Again Northern Ireland has shown itself to be in the dark ages when it comes to dealing with architectural matters, the scandal over the Giant’s Causeway competition springing to mind. Belfast has been robbed of arguably its one true Modernist gem… and now I have to think of a new favourite building.


Jordan McIlroy - Graduated from the UU masters program 2yrs ago
- written Nov '09