The grotto and Shark Island, Sydney

As part of my final year studio we were given the choice of four sites to situate our design on. Without yet knowing the direction my studio would take, I chose a small island in Sydney over sites in Rome, Lisbon and Adelaide. Considering I was investigating the grotto in contemporary design, choosing a setting with an established history in grotto design seemed too easy, and Adelaide, my hometown, was something I was too familiar with. I wanted to challenge myself with something different for my final studio projects and thus I chose Shark Island.       

    

Figure 1[1] aerial view over Shark Island, Sydney.

It was Shark Island’s close association with water that really captured my interest and having determined the direction my research would take it seemed the logical choice. Almost fortuitously the island features numerous grotto-like nooks and man-made grottoes. Unfortunately these ‘grottoes,’ for want of a better word, were clearly designed to house bathrooms and storage on a minimal budget. The choice of grotto-like materials were a mere product of being conveniently at hand.  

Figure 2 & 3[2] one of Shark Island’s ‘grottoes,’ an empty shell that used to be a toilet block.

What I liked about basing my site in Australia was the lack of historical connection this country has with the grotto in architecture and landscape design. By placing my studio project in such an environment it seemed the perfect location to investigate whether the grotto is ready to re-emerge within contemporary design. At that stage however I had only just begun to scratch the surface of contemporary grotto projects.                       

Since then I have found many instances of art, architecture and design that have validated my research, proving that the grotto is still a relevant theme to architecture today as explored in my previous blog entries, although perhaps not as common as I would like. Some of the more exciting contemporary works of grotto-inspired architecture remain unrealised, or the result of university submissions.  It is uplifting to think that one day these designers might embed some of the language they have discovered in researching the grotto in their future architectural works.

           

After establishing the location of my site I then proceeded to bestow a function upon Shark Island. I toyed with various ideas, such as a monastery, a spa and healing complex, a library complex and a necropolis, however ultimately it was my research into the more experiential qualities of the grotto that cemented the direction my design work would take: a crematorium.

           

One of the key points of criteria was to ensure the facility was not privatised, which meant I had to design a crematorium complex that is accessible for all; the religious and non-religious, the wealthy, the middle class, and the poor. This also meant I had to provide a range of chapel spaces varying in scale.

Another key criteria point I needed to address was the idea of retention. What would I retain? Originally I approached this concept in terms of creating a memory island, and this in turn led me to create a virtual cemetery as part of my columbarium. Essentially it is a computer database allowing access to information, photos and videos of the deceased. It would allow the departed to leave behind a more physical memory of their time on earth.

Originally I cared little for retaining any of the existing infrastructure - indeed I still do, the picnic pavilions being ugly and irrelevant to my vision. However since visiting Shark Island I have seen the beauty that lies in the sandstone edges of the island. As a result I am in the process of adjusting my design to preserve and celebrate these encounters, replacing the narrow and uneven path with something sturdier to help people discover the charm of the eroded edge. I am also doing my best to retain the pines, palms and Moreton Bay figs that edge the existing picnic area.

Shark Island, much like the rest of Sydney, is comprised of sandstone, and this highly textured and patterned material became something I really wanted to utilise in my design. Not only would it provide some material familiarity to the bereaved (as it is featured extensively in historic Sydney architecture), but also its porous structure allows it to age beautifully.  It also has the added benefit of occasionally resembling tufa, a common material found throughout traditional artificial grotto design.

Figure 4 & 5 [3] shows the different types of sandstone.  

The idea of bestowing the island with a sense of familiarity was discovered in my reading of Robert Olen Butler’s short story, ‘The Grotto.’ What resonated with me was the way the protagonist described their experience of a foreign grotto following the death of her Mother. It provided her with an escape from the pleasure garden outside, and a space in which to reflect on her grief. There are moments of surprise and discomfort, but one thing that stood out was the way the familiarity of the tufa walls comforted her. Additionally the story also illustrated the way the grotto can speak to something within all of us, no matter our culture, as evident in the protagonist’s encounter with the Egyptian caretaker.[4] Indeed it would seem the cave is something that humans find inherently intriguing.

The historical use of caves or islands as places for the dead also underpinned my choice of creating a crematorium facility. One image I found particularly inspiring was Arnold Böckin’s ‘Isle of the Dead.’ Cypress trees themselves symbolise death,[5] and the monolithic stone isle rising up out of the sea carved with mysterious caves seems otherworldly. Catacombs offer similarly intriguing spaces that are still accessible today. Even the bible acknowledges the cave’s role in juxtaposition of life and death in the story of Jesus’ resurrection (although there are numerous other biblical instances which feature caves as burial spaces.)[6]

Figure 6[7] ‘Isle of the Dead,’ by Arnold Böckin, 1880.

Moving away from the historic and symbolic, I have also had to investigate the more practical elements of crematorium design. One of the common themes I discovered in existing memorial spaces was the way designers separated the different chapels so as not to intensify grief. Another was to hide away the crematorium process. In places like Centennial Park, the crematorium was an industrial shed, removed from the main chapel complex and inaccessible to the public. For Warren and Mahoney’s Harewood Memorial Gardens Crematorium (1963) it was important they hide the chimney from view.[8] I found this research a good starting point in understanding some of the concerns I would need to design for in my scheme.

Figure 7,[9] Centennial Park, Adelaide.

My research led me to question, how exactly would I create a grotto-like architecture in designing a crematorium facility?

As covered in my previous posts I could follow the path of Arranda/Lasch and create a design of significant geometrical complexity. Or perhaps take the approach of ARM to heart and look at façade treatment? On the other hand I could take on board the more symbolic elements as Kiesler did, or focus on creating a highly experiential atmosphere like Akhob.

Although my design is still in the schematic stages, I like to think I have drawn something from my observations on the contemporary case studies referenced above as well as many others, alongside my analysis of the more traditional grottoes. At this stage I do know that I will utilise much of the island’s existing sandstone, and enhance the island’s existing connection to water, perhaps through a series of well-placed pools. My spaces will seek to be highly meditative and tranquil, some more so than others, and feature cypress trees to replace those that may need to be removed.

Much of my design will attempt to be embedded into the existing island form, with a dark, wet and gritty sunken columbarium in the island’s centre, perhaps comprised of a series of labyrinthine corridors. As much as I would like to reference some of the more faceted and angular contemporary iterations of the grotto, I feel that the departure from conventional form might cause discomfort to those unfamiliar with the architectural intentions. 

Whatever my design will become, I hope that my multiple explorations into how grottoes and grotto-inspired design can be incorporated into architecture beyond the pavilion stage will illustrate the different ways this can be achieved.

Watch this space…In a months time I will post images of my crematorium complex. 

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[1] Figure 1 courtesy of Google. "Shark Island, Point Piper, New South Wales." Google, https://maps.google.com.au/.

[2] Figure 2 & 3 courtesy of Jessica Alderslade, 2014

[3] Figure 4 & 5 courtesy of Jessica Alderslade, 2014

[4] Butler, Robert Olen. "The Grotto." Ploughshares 30, no. 1 (2004): 49-62.

[5] Gibson, Michael. Symbolism. Big Art S. edited by Gilles Neret america: Tachen America Llc, 2006.

[6] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P. 29-34

[7] Figure 6 courtesy of Anonymous. "Arnold Böcklin."  http://www.artchive.com/artchive/B/boecklin.html.

[8] Mahoney, Warren and. "Harewood Memorial Gardens and Crematorium."  http://www.warrenandmahoney.com/en/portfolio/harewood-memorial-gardens-crematorium/.

[9] Figure 7 courtesy of Jessica Alderslade, 2014

The material composition of the grotto

Much as a composer weaves multiple layers, sounds and rhythms into their work to evoke various emotional connections within the listener or performer, so too the architect has immense control over how people may experience the spaces they design. However the beauty in both a piece of music and in this particular case, the grotto, lies in their ability to evolve beyond the composer’s or architect’s intentions and have meaning bestowed upon them through repeated usage and interpretations or as a result of the aging process. The success of the grotto as a piece of architecture is that the materials used often allow for weathering and decay, which bestow it with greater experiential qualities. Therefore we can construe that for a grotto to be reinterpreted in contemporary architecture, it should reference the materiality or form of the more traditional grottoes.

An authentic grotto is carved out of stone, either by man or nature. However grottoes (or their partner, the Nymphaeum[1]) can also be created within existing buildings, the room being transformed into a cave-like environment, or built from scratch. In this way something that desires to evoke a sense of the grotto should be predominately constructed from stone, or at least reference the jagged elements of natural cave walls.

Tufa and flint were popular stones used to decorate the more elaborate grottoes.[2] With their porous and rugged textures and colour variations, their wildness was exactly what garden designers, particularly those embedded in the British landscaping tradition, sought. Grottoes were seen to be a more authentic element of landscaping “…because they not only represented, but resembled original nature,”[3]and thus were integral to the British landscape gardens of the 18^th centuries.

 Figure 1 shows an example of what Tufa can look like.[4]

Another popular decoration is shells,[5] an element of ornamentation that can be interpreted as a symbol of life, through its relationship to the untamed oceans, and its ability to foster crustacean life. However it is likely they were more commonly used as a way demonstrating the owner’s wealth. Similarly, pebbles were often inlaid into the grotto’s walls, benches or embedded underfoot in the floor.[6]

Figure 2, illustrates the complex shell mosaic of the grotto room at Woburn Abbey, 17^th Century.[7]

Although the simplest of caves could be treated as a grotto, the more elaborate tended to incorporate sculptures, painting or reliefs of fantastical beings. The preference was towards Classical Greek motifs; nymphs, certain Gods,[8] animals and in Imperial Rome, Odyssean scenes. [9] These statues emphasised the otherworldliness of the space, and enhanced the grotto’s connection with the natural world.

Figure 3, ‘Grotta degli Animali,’ Villa at Castello, circa 1538.[10]

Light is another key component of a grotto. It is the different effects of lighting that can be used to create a highly experiential environment. The cave is a naturally dark space, with light filtering in through the cavern’s mouth. Water and ornamentation such as pieces of mirror reflects what little light there may be in a grotto, transforming the grotto into a space of otherworldly illusion.[11] Bowe observes that in ancient Greece the “aura of a cave, the dim, imperfect light…and the shadows cast by torches or fires lit to illuminate the interiors must have served to intensify the experience,” of these sacred spaces. Similarly in the renaissance and British landscaping traditions the play of light helped evoke a sense of the cosmos,[12] particularly when reflective materials were embedded in the ceiling, a reminder of the night sky.[13]

Perhaps the most essential component of the grotto asides from its preferably cavernous setting is water. Water, a common metaphor for life, was seen as a natural element of the cave. To the ancient Greeks water was sacred, and “the sound of water as it rose and fell and struck the floor” would have only enhanced the divinity of the grotto.[14] Water often has an important role in naturally eroding stones to create cavernous spaces, materials like tufa and also fosters the growth of moss, which will often adorn walls of the grotto.

With the advent of water engineering the grotto rapidly became an even more theatrical space, featuring man-made fountains, pools and waterfalls with the intent of evoking “wonder and surprise.”[15] After all it was only natural that the statues of nymphs be depicted frolicking in water, their preferred element. As referenced in my first post, Villa d’Este is perhaps one of the most famous grottoes to extensively utilise water in order to achieve such awe and illusion.[16]

 Figure 4 Villa d’Este, Tivoli, ‘Neptunes Grotto,’ 16^th Century[17]

Although such examples of ornamentation, and use of materials in grotto-inspired architecture today have fallen from fashion, contemporary examples still exist that pay homage to some of the more complex traditional grottoes. ARM’s Storey Hall, despite the absence of water symbolism, is a public building that clearly references the grotto in its ornamentation. It’s organic and jagged façade, and cave-like entrance, assisted by its motley purple and green colour scheme seems to be an abstraction of the moss-hewn walls of traditional grottoes. This architectural language is continued through the interior, with the faceted paneling representing the stone surface of a cave, and the detail within each panel reminiscent of the shell and pebble mosaics.

Figure 5 ‘Storey Hall,’ Melbourne, ARM Architecture, 1995[18]

Where other architects steer clear of ornamenting their grotto-inspired architectural compositions, instead often focusing on complex computer-generated organically inspired models, ARM celebrates the cave through its complex decorative motifs. This supports my argument that one can re-appropriate some of the more traditional elements of grottoes into contemporary design language.

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[1] Anonymous. "Encyclopaedia Britannica." Encyclopaedia Britannica Inc., http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/423203/nymphaeum.

[2] Jones, Barbara. Follies and Grottoes. 2nd ed.  Great Britain: Constable & Co Ltd, 1953 p.36

[3] Myers, Katherine. "Shaftsbuury, Pope and Original Sacred Nature." The Garden History Society 38, no. 1 (2010).

[4] Figure 1 courtesy of Anonymous. "Textures from a Tufa Dome I."  http://highway8a.blogspot.com.au/2013_06_01_archive.html.accessed 18.04.2014

[5] Balmori, Diana. "Architecture, Landscape, and the Intermediate Structure: Eighteenth-Century Experiments in Mediation." Society of Architectural Historians 50, no. 11 (1991).p. 46

[6] Balmori, Diana. "Architecture, Landscape, and the Intermediate Structure: Eighteenth-Century Experiments in Mediation." Society of Architectural Historians 50, no. 11 (1991). P. 46.

[7] Figure 2 courtesy of Jones, Barbara. Follies and Grottoes. 2nd ed.  Great Britain: Constable & Co Ltd, 1953. P. 147.

[8] Myers, Katherine. "Shaftesbury, Pope, and Original Sacred Nature." Garden History 38, no. 1 (2010).p. 6

[9] Carey, Sorcha. "A Tradition of Adventure in the Imperial Grotto." Greece & Rome 49, no. 1 (April 2002). P. 56

[10] Figure 3 courtesy of Pizzoni, Filippo. The Garden: A History in Landscape and Art. Translated by Judith Landry. 5th ed.  Great Britain: Aurum Press Ltd, 1997. 1999. P. 45-46.

[11] Balmori, Diana. "Architecture, Landscape, and the Intermediate Structure: Eighteenth-Century Experiments in Mediation." Society of Architectural Historians 50, no. 11 (1991). P. 46.

[12] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P. 7

[13] [13] Jones, Barbara. Follies and Grottoes. 2nd ed.  Great Britain: Constable & Co Ltd, 1953. P. 171.

[14] Bowe, Patrick. "The Garden Grotto: Its Origins in the Ancient Greek Perception of the Natural Cave." Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes: An International Quarterly 33, no. 2 (2013): p. 128.

[15] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P. 45

[16] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P. 45

[17] Figure 4 courtesy of Dowaliby, James. "Neptune's Grotto, Villa D'este, Italy."  http://jamesdowaliby.photoshelter.com/image/I0000S30jl_e0M0A.

[18] Figure 5 courtesy of Anonymous. "Rmit Storey Hall."  http://www.cnkfooddesign.com.au/venues/rmit-storey-hall/.

The composition of a grotto: Spatial relationships and typologies

Much can be revealed in analysing the different typologies of the grotto. I suggest that the grotto can be divided up into two types; landscape and architectural follies, and from there can be split into sub-categories. Miller similarly argues there are two different types of grottoes, "the rustic grotto in imitation of a cave and the architectural nymphaeum,"[1] however does not acknowledge any further variations. My research is primarily concerned with the architectural; the creation of artificial spaces that simulate natural caves. Regardless, each type of grotto is closely integrated with the natural world. 

Figure 1[2] maps the different types of grottoes.

The most common is perhaps the grotto as a meditative or spiritual space, however another popular type can be found in the classical Roman style, as well as in the Renaissance and beyond that takes the form of a highly theatrical and illusory space. Some grottoes can also appropriate a labyrinthine quality beyond their initial function, as evident in the grotto at the Quinta de la Regaleira.[3]

 

Within these grottoes there is a consistent language: there is the approach and journey to the grotto, a forecourt, an entrance, the passage, the primary space and perhaps a series of secondary or tertiary spaces, and a focus or altar, or in some instances foci. Alberti makes a more succinct observation claiming that such spaces comprise of two main parts- the 'portico' and the 'cella.'[4] Although not all grottoes employ each of these elements, they always incorporate at least one, with the more elaborate incorporating more if not all. Some even have a defined exit or terminus. Each of these elements gives the architect a power in shaping how you experience the space; the forecourt often being seamlessly integrated with the landscape and the passageways framing particular views that lead you to the grotto's focal point.

Figure 2[2] diagrams a potential grotto layout. 

The Stourhead grotto is perhaps one of the most famous examples of a British Arcadian grotto,[5] and was subtly incorporated into Stourhead’s picturesque grounds. The approach to the grotto slowly envelopes the guest in the built form of the grotto. Passing through the entrance into a narrow passage visitors are then directed into a larger circular chamber, wherein lies the main water features and a statue of a nymph.  A portal allows views out over the lake. Although this primary chamber appears to contain the focus of the grotto, upon moving through another passageway the “the river god, a personification of the Stour,” [6] is revealed and it seems that it is here, not in the primary chamber, that is the main focus of the grotto. The exit is reached after the visitor has acknowledged to river god.

Figure 3[7] Wiltshire, Stourhead Grotto, 1779

When compared to Figure 2, this grotto contains a sequence of carefully articulated spaces that direct the movement and experiences within the grotto. It seems to follow a set of rules pertaining to the arrangement of a grotto.

This grotto is clearly an architectural folli designed with an intention to create a space intrinsically linked to the surrounding grounds and in particular, the lake. Its corridors are not extensive enough to denote a labyrinthine quality, however the space does act as a stage in which to exhibit the statues of the nymph and river god. It is clearly intended as a spiritual place, although not a religious one. The space pays homage to the classical Greek grotto and seeks to showcase the owner's worldly knowledge and love of the arts.

In contrast to the more common forms of a grotto, Frederick Kiesler’s unbuilt ‘Grotto of Meditation for New Harmony,’ seems to be primarily concerned with the more metaphorical elements associated with the grotto. The grotto was to be a highly spiritual place, referencing Christ in the form of a dolphin, whilst also emphasising the connection between all living things and the natural world. The water was used to represent life and the concrete structure was designed to encourage a “[connection] with the universe.”[8] It is likely that had this grotto been built it would have been a far cry from a traditional grotto space, moving away from the traditional grotto formula suggested in Figure 2. In this way Kiesler’s grotto is much harder to map, and perhaps reveals a more abstract method in creating a grotto; one concerned primarily in the metaphor. This contemporary interpretation has inspired architects such as METALAB Architecture +Fabrication to create a similar grotto-like pavilion.

Figure 4[9]  ‘Grotto of Meditation for New Harmony,’ Frederick Kiesler, 1964.

In determining the spatial elements of a traditional grotto one could easily inject such elements into the compilation of a more contemporary grotto, or grotto-like design today. However this is not the only way of evoking the grotto, as evidenced through Kiesler’s rigorous layering of metaphors within his design. Although it is possible to systemise the grotto, and use these elements to influence design, it is also possible to reinterpret the form a grotto may take through focusing on a different aspect of the grotto - that of metaphor. It is likely the success of any future grottoes will be a mixture of these two processes.

In my upcoming entries I shall investigate the different materials associated with the grotto, and how my investigations are feeding into my studio work.

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[1] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P 18.
[2] Figure 1&2 courtesy of Jessica Alderslade, 2014

[3]Anonymous. "Underground Grotto & Tunnels, Quinta Da Regaliera, Sintra."  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIIjyvjYILk. Alberti, Leon Battista. 
[4]On the Art of Building in Ten Books.  USA: MIT Press, 1997. 7th. 1988 p.196.
[5] Pizzoni, Filippo. The Garden: A History in Landscape and Art. Translated by Judith Landry. 5th ed.  Great Britain: Aurum Press Ltd, 1997. 1999.

[6] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P 86-87

[7] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P 86

[8] Miller, Naomi. Heavenly Caves: Reflections on the Garden Grotto. World Landscape Art & Architecture Series.  United States of America: George Braziller Inc., 1982. P 123

[9] Anonymous. "Austrian Frederick and Lillian Kiesler Private Foundation."  http://www.kiesler.org/cms/index.php?lang=3&idcat=18.