Giants' work

In two Anglo-Saxon poems there is the phrase enta geweorc - work of giants - referring to ancient buildings of immense but decaying splendour.  The newly-arrived Germanic tribes stood in awe of these silent and mysterious achievements in stone; they could not comprehend them, but they were sure that they could be the product of no human agency.

Something of that shiver of non-recognition lingers still at the splendid exhibition of modern British architecture at the Royal Academy.  As befits a show dealing with endeavours on the largest scale, only three architects are featured; Rogers, Foster and Stirling.  Each has two rooms with drawings, photos and models.  Over each of them hovers the sense of futility, of giants surrounded by pygmies.

The accompanying book spells this out clearly.  Each of the architects is a prophet with little honour in his own land.  Each has spent years of his life on projects which never came to fruition. Each has had the loftiest visions.  And yet there is surprisingly little bitterness, as if they recognised that they were out of joint with the world, and that such outcomes were inevitable.

But then the whole business of architecture is strange.  It is the grandest of arts, dealing at the very least with the habitations of man, with the largest structures we have about us.  At its heights, it is inspirational, and attains something akin to physical spirituality in its pyramids and temples and cathedrals.  And yet it is also the most compromised of arts.  It is hedged in by the pettiest of human constraints, like planning regulations.  And buildings are always so visible, such palpable monuments that everyone wants to have their say.  Even members of the public, who would not dream of commenting on a new symphony or poem, take it upon themselves to judge all aspects and every detail of a new building project.

Against this background, the architect can only look on, and dream.  The exhibition is clear enough proof that these men have dreamt, and have often been rudely awoken.  So many of their grandest plans have been re- jigged, objected to, re-drawn again, accepted then finally dropped for the most banal or arbitrary of reasons.

When one slips through the petty net of this world, it stands forth like a wonder.  Here in London we have the Lloyds' building, a majestic castle in steel and concrete; Stuttgart has its new art gallery wing, its creamy stones blending elements from countless architectures; and Hong Kong has the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, the skyscraper redeemed.
 
Each of them is at once totally and breathtakingly modern, and yet because of their assurance, their sense of place and of physical rightness, they seem to be timeless, of immemorial antiquity. It is as if in the midst of our small and petty hovels, with the ramshackle buildings falling this way and that, there are huge towering remnants of an older, deeper civilisation. These are truly enta geweorc, and the RA exhibition shows us just what giants produced them.

(19.12.86)

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