Whenever one approaches bodies of water, one usually does so so from a position of ascendancy; typically, one descends to water. That descent can be abrupt: as one might from the banks of a working quay lined river, or from the edge of some cliff face towering over distant waves; or it might be gentle and disposed to mutual respect, and it might take time and be immutably associated with time, as it is at a beach, where sandy slopes drift down to waves, either insistent in approach or potently dormant in retreat. The action, either way, whether the time taken is short or drawn steadily out, is always down…..which is the situation with the finalist in Episode 8, having that self-same downward motion towards water, in turn allowing for all manner of considerations: for patience, for hesitancy, for revelation – for the journey down, in these circumstances, is not precipitous and can be as paced as one likes…..
This house (as any building might, under such circumstances), has opportunity to enhance that experience – and that must surely be its primary objective; otherwise, it misses a fundamental factor inherent in the context: that the site exists between one world and the next, from a ‘street side’, with all its attendant associations with traffic, pavement, infrastructure, the urbane set in in this instance in the shadow of distant mountains, primarily still an aspect invoked to the man-made, to the opposing ‘sea side’ – and a sea side that is West facing too, with all the potential that might be exploited from such an expansive view so aligned, of both sky and sea. Two colossal components of nature that to be just: tender the street side to insignificance, so gloriously primal are they, and doubtless made more so, so frequently will that view be rendered resplendent by the setting sun.
The architectural device employed here is not so complex yet it is sophisticated none the less: to allow the land underneath to inform the space above. Simply: step down, and steadily step down, again and again – and with each step recognise that this is an orchestrated stepping down.
Such orchestration is so immutable to architectural comprehension; for if I think I am somehow independent, and that I take all the time as I might, stepping down on a beach, I am not. I am being regulated none the less, for I cannot help but respond to and be reflective of that inherent, and constant rhythmic quality of the sea. Architecture, and in this case, this house, intermediates; it could be argued that it gives me greater independence therefore, than permitted being without. Perhaps – but regardless, such is the wonder of architecture, when well-conceived: its ability to transform the understanding of the place, if only by dramatizing what is already there.
This has nothing to do with distance – for if I think of another building that does much the same as this house, the Glasgow Museum of Transport by Zaha Hadid, the distance as the crow flies from the ‘street side’ to the ‘river side’ is not particularly far; but the arrival at the river, as one passes through the building is unquestionably enhanced by the journey.
Comparatively, the Hadid building plays less with the levels than this house. The plan is the driver, less so the section. But both orthogonal considerations are exploited here: the section, as already intimated, in this house basically takes advantage the existing contours, and spatially, there is therefore an increasing spatial hierarchy as one moves ever closer to the sea-side. The plan endorses and amplifies the experience, being set out on a diagonal; and one ends up settling precisely where one should (the advocacy for this moment enhanced by journey not even being over at this point – one can return by an alternate route if one wishes.) It’s a staggered journey and welcomed for it; full compliments to the designer – for it can be easy to overexploit the view in such circumstances, to give too much away, too quickly, and to forget that the journey matters as much as the arrival – and, that the arrival in and of itself cannot be a dead end, no matter how glorious – which it most certainly is in this instance.
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Ultimately, that aforementioned wondrous merging of sea and sky: the two come together splendidly in this house, witnessed through the expanse of its illuminating windows; particularly at that most primal moment, of the sun setting, which doubtless is a nervous occasion on the suns part, as it slumps ever lower to the sea to disappear beyond the horizon – for additional comfort can be taken, knowing that within this house the receding colours spawned by the suns dying rays are being kept safe until they alight once more.
It is easy to invoke such thoughts, and fanciful predictions, even though our visit was in the brightness of the mid-afternoon; for the living room seemed to reek of expectancy, for the evening. But if anything, I’d have wished that this property had stripped away some of the trappings of normality, that the walls, floors and ceilings hadn’t felt the need to conform to contemporary expectations, and that each space transgressed had been more intense (as the bathroom was), like a series of caves perhaps, cascading from the darkness to light; spaces, more primal as befitting the setting.
Nevertheless, I applaud the journey – for every building has one, and I doubt the traversing of it will tire in this house: for it is a journey to Scottish West light, which as any who live here know: is forever changing yet always blessed with unique capacity to captivate.
Michael Angus (Jan 2021)