A new book details the cynical machinations that deprived Wales
of its own Guggenheim Bilbao.
by Raymund Ryan
In September 1994, Zaha Hadid won an international competition
to design a new opera house for Cardiff, the capital of Wales.
A star of MOMA's Deconstructivist Architecture show in 1988, the
Iraqi-born, London-based Hadid was a favorite of critics and students
worldwide, mainly thanks to her brilliant and provocative drawings
and models. But until this breakthrough in Cardiff, Hadid's only
major construction had been a dynamic fire station for the Vitra
factory complex in Germany. Cardiff was to be her masterpiece,
and, for the people of Wales, a focus of contemporary cultural
pride. Tragically for both Hadid and the Welsh, the project was
ultimately axed.
Nicholas, Lord Crickhowell's Opera House Lottery tells the complex
story of how Hadid and Wales were cheated of this remarkable prize.
It's not unusual, of course, for an architect's dreams to be shattered,
or for a city or nation to reject a powerful urban vision. What
is unusual is to have insider access to the process. And it must
be unique for the insider to be a British Conservative arguing
in support of the avant-garde. With subtle but evident indignation,
Lord Crickhowell describes the myriad procedural obstacles that
Hadid's scheme had to negotiate before finally succumbing to "the
disaster that was to destroy us"--"us" because Crickhowell was
chairman of the Opera House Trust during this debacle, and (as
Thatcher's minister in charge of Wales) had previously set the
Cardiff Bay Development Corporation in motion. Opera House Lottery
offers an exposé of the machinations of all those who brought
the project down: plodding bureaucrats, weak local media, rival
architects (Manfredi Nicoletti, Norman Foster), and mediocre or
uninterested politicians (Conservative ministers Michael Heseltine,
John Redwood, and Virginia Bottomley).
For Wales, the promise of Hadid's opera house was twofold: It
would capitalize on the widely recognized excellence of the Welsh
National Opera (WNO), and it would serve as a visible symbol of
urban progress and renovation in Cardiff Bay, the city's increasingly
disused port area. The Welsh wanted something similar to the Guggenheim
Bilbao, a project in which architecture and culture would combine
to both stir a city from its postindustrial slumber and challenge
the dominance of the centralized state. In late 1994, Cardiff
seemed poised to spring onto the global stage. Instead, it stumbled
and fell rather badly.
Hadid's proposal--a scheme involving glazed horizontal shards above
a topography of ramps and terraces (which she described as "jewels
in a crystal necklace")--was a sophisticated and elegant design
with a considerable urban presence. But problems began early on,
when the Opera House Trust decided to reassess its jury's choice,
reexamining Hadid's winning entry next to those of Foster and
Itsuko Hasegawa (after some confusion, the runners-up) and that
of Nicoletti, a wild card from Rome (whose presence is insufficiently
explained in Crickhowell's book). The reappearance of these architects
seems to have muddied the waters, slowing the momentum of Hadid's
project. (Crickhowell--obliquely referring, it seems, to issues
of personal conduct--suggests that Foster "somehow on this occasion
. . . was not at his best.")
Having survived this challenge--and won over some of those in the
local government and press who were calling the project "elitist"--Hadid's
team had to persuade the Millennium Commission, a government agency
that distributes earnings from the national lottery. All seemed
to be going well until the commission's vote, when the unpopular
Conservative government's fear of controversy (some Labour politicians
were still wielding the elitism charge) appears to have led to
the scheme's defeat. After that, equivalent Millennium Commission
funds were awarded to a hastily designed populist alternative:
a new rugby stadium. Meanwhile, another competition was held for
a cultural center (to house the WNO, among other things) on the
Cardiff Bay site, and was won by a much inferior design submitted
by Hadid's onetime Welsh collaborator.
A consummate Establishment figure, Crickhowell writes in an understated
but canny British way: "I held the old-fashioned view that Zaha
Hadid, having won a major competition, was entitled to be treated
fairly." He scorns the accusations of elitism, but does admit
that the use of the term "opera house" was a tactical error--the
building would also have been "a multipurpose lyric theatre."
Although he pays only a modicum of attention to the visual and
urbanistic strengths of Hadid's design, he convincingly describes
his growing affinity for her "challenging and imaginative experiment,"
as opposed to "those agreeable fantasies with which the populists
beguile us, and of which those translucent impressions of the
so-called Glass Wave of Manfredi Nicoletti are perfect examples."
He is a cultured layman turning on to contemporary architecture
and growing ever more impatient with the philistines and their
lack of interest in fair play (although he never successfully
explains the legal implications of winning and then being stripped
of such a commission). When the project was finally rejected,
he writes, he "felt physically sick." Hadid was more sanguine:
"It's a bummer."
In the earliest days of the Cardiff project, an arts consultant
had called attention to the terrible political difficulties encountered
in the 1980s by Carlos Orr's design for the Opéra de la Bastille
in Paris. "We had been warned," Crickhowell writes. Now, so have
those cities, architects, and cultural enthusiasts with ambitions
similar to Cardiff's and Hadid's.
Raymund Ryan is an architect and writer based in Dublin. |
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