The Shetland
Times declared that at
last, the construction of the twelve million pound music, cinema and creative
industries centre at Lerwick, the Mareel, had finally been completed: August
2012. Other arguments about time, money and responsibility are apparently
continuing, but now, after years of promoting the idea of this complex, and
after all of the reported delays and controversies with the development, funding
and construction of this new centre, it was now ready for use. This centre,
that gathers the arts together near the harbourside Museum and Archives
Building that had been opened three years earlier in 2009, houses a live
performance auditorium, two cinema screens, rehearsal rooms, a recording
studio, educational and training spaces, a digital media production suite,
broadcast facilities, and a cafe bar with free high speed Wi-Fi internet
access. Already Dougie Maclean has performed at the Mareel, and a broad
selection of movies is shown on a regular daily basis. The centre was intended
to stimulate Shetland's involvement in the arts by providing a core location to
support cultural activities in Shetland - Lerwick and the regions. It appeared
that the venue was off to a good start; and the Mareel was proving to be
profitable too.
Images of the Mareel - a word that rather beautifully means 'phosphorescence on the ocean' in the local dialect (see also: http://voussoirs.blogspot.com.au/2013/02/on-language-shetand-dialect.html ) - have been published in The Shetland Times over the years, first as concept sketches, then as presentation drawings, frequently as a building under construction, and now as the completed project. Unusually the aspect of the development chosen for all of this publicity material has been the same. This much-promoted view of the project shows the sides of the building that are adjacent to the water. This is a perky prospect that has the intriguing ambiguity of an illusion. The two wedge forms of the building that one might guess were the bulky theatre/cinema spaces, are arranged as mirrored masses, with the high sections, (maybe the stage/tower portions?), on the outer ends of the building form, away from the lower central meeting point. This arrangement gives a solid sculptured effect to the whole that gathers the matching masses, volumes that differ only in plan width - the southern block being twice the width of its reflection - around a common low centrepoint, like a broad letter 'M' (for Mareel?). The building’s metal cladding runs zigzag over the ends and top - up one end, over, down and across, up, and then down the other end. The roller coaster shape gives a distinctive identity to the arts complex.
The odd visual
effect - the sense of illusion - of this angled vista comes from the treatment
of one of the glazed panels in the low end wall of the larger of these forms.
It seems sensible to open the building up to the water views, even if a little
obliquely, but this glazed portion of the wall is itself a wedged form too - a
large, triangular glass panel. Located in the lower wall of the wider wedge
mass, this window starts high at the intersection, and slopes down to an acute
angled point at floor on the harbour side. The odd illusion that keeps on teasing the eye is
a strange circumstance - happenstance. From one particular position, this
glazing gives the impression of being in the same plane as the adjacent wall
that is nearly at right angles to it, with the alignment of the sloping head of
the glazing looking like it is a straight line continuation of the roof line of
the adjacent form, rather than being a steeper angle skewed in a plane at
something like eighty degrees to its neighbouring wall.
The added ruse is
that the perspective lines from this location in the harbour make the
horizontal parapet of the low wall look as though it is sloping as part of a
sculptural three dimensional ‘M’ play. The deception adds some criss-cross
intrigue to the massing, making it appear a much more satisfactory resolution
than it really is, for the intersection of these forms - one with a
wedge-shaped glazed opening hinging at the vertical meeting point, the other
with vertical slots parallel to this line of intersection - is really somewhat
awkward; visually unhappy once the illusion has faded. One is left wondering if
this was the idea that the architect kept on returning to with the proud,
indulgent, unquestioning self-satisfaction of an addictive fascination, for it
does have a dazzlingly attractive effect as an image, albeit for only a few
minutes. The concern is that this apparent trick 'sexes up' what really appears
to be a less than pretty ordinary building that struggles for truly inventive
ideas with any integrative substance. This criss-cross intersecting interlacing
concept is a theme that one later discovers has been toyed with on the opposite
entry elevation too, but in a more graphically literal mediocre manner. But
what is the building really like? Published images and photographs can easily
deceive.
Driving along
Commercial Road to get to the Mareel meant traversing roundabouts and managing
lane changes in what can be an unusually hectic part of Lerwick, a somewhat
chaotic zone at times where thoroughfare and bypass traffic meet. Then, a
little surprisingly, out of all of this distracting buzz, the high angles of
the roof appear, sharply rearing up differently skewed behind the grey
buildings spread along the street and the stone walls beside them. The art
centre is barely higher than these structures lining the waterfront. This
seemed sensible. Had the Council learned from its ‘mistake’ with the planning
for the museum, where it boldly approved a tall structure, symbolizing sails and warehouses,
in front of some of Lerwick's grand, older tenement buildings that once enjoyed
open water views?
The turning at the
signed roundabout took one down towards a new building that, after a short inspection, was assessed as being a recently completed office
development rather than the Mareel. One had to turn again, left, to get to the Mareel.
This searching manoeuvre was a disappointment: why did one have to look so hard
in order to discover the latest iconic public building in Lerwick? Why did it
not stand out clearly? Why did it hide away behind this more prominently
located presence that was later learned to be the new Shetland Island Council
offices? This revelation caused some alarm. What town plan is guiding futures
that have come to look like an ad hoc collection of waterside buildings? What
is happening to the civic quality of Lerwick and its new structures? What
strategy is being implemented to create some coherence in and the enrichment of
historic place?
The Mareel was approached obliquely, almost snidely. On this elevation, the twin, mirrored wedge shapes that had been glimpsed during the approach, were zigzagged in plan to form an entry zone that looked tiny, narrow, out of scale when compared to the size of the project and its prestige. The building sat directly on what looked like a small service road that led to the museum. The Mareel felt almost to be an afterthought, an aside, shaped to create a slight widening of the narrow footpath to form the tiny public space, a mediocre gesture to identity at the entry zone. The entrance door was in this step of the wedged masses and could be confirmed by the typical red-lettered illuminated sign above that gave details of the daily 'headline' cinema programmes with something like a mini-Broadway/Times Square presence. But even this sign seemed a squeeze. Was it an afterthought? Unfortunately, vehicles were allowed to park on the narrow street, making it a single lane thoroughfare - a bottleneck - directly on the main frontage of the new Mareel. Why was this much-promoted arts centre such a tight squeeze on its site? There had been plenty of time available for the promoters and designers to discover the tightness of the fit and to do something about it. Did the proximity of the new Council office block place any limitations on the Mareel site? Surely not. It is not as though any necessity relating to this site has made any non-negotiable demands in the design process.
This day we were going to the museum to see the Egyptian cat on loan from the British Museum. The sculpture was on display for its last week. The Mareel was a bonus, a good one, as this visit gave one the opportunity to gauge the Mareel and its environs as a casual, disinterested 'visitor,’ a passerby, for the first time. One's attentions and intentions allowed a certain nonchalance in the review. Getting to the museum past the Mareel was awkward. We had to wait to let another vehicle pass by before we could squeeze along the parked vehicles. Why was this access made so tight? The approach to the museum seemed like a narrow country lane, a chicane. It had been demeaned by the Mareel rather than enhanced by it. The drive felt as though one was approaching a backwater rather than the much-praised Shetland Museum and Archives Building. Was this constriction the result of the struggle to make the arts centre fit this waterfront site, whatever: come hell or, (dare on mention it?), high water.
Waves at Eshaness
A thought arose: why work so hard to get an arts centre on a small waterfront site when most of its functions require fully enclosed spaces? Why not develop a site to reinforce the civic quality of the town - say near the town hall - rather than press on with an idea of cliché water views at an old dock site remote from any natural sense of coherent civic place? This strategy of development for the arts is similar to that used by supermarkets that are typically scattered in the fringe areas of towns, like Lerwick’s Tesco. These developments suck energy from the traditional centers, in Lerwick’s case, Commercial Street, and weaken the civic structure of the town by stripping activity from it. Sadly, Lerwick’s integrity is suffering from an amorphous perimeter sprawl. The location of the Mareel does not appear to help matters. The concerns are further aggravated: why would anyone work so hard to build so close to the water when there is so much talk about climate change and the potential for ocean levels to rise in the future, let alone the immediate problems of storm surges? Is it a problem that has been ignored?
After parking in the museum carpark and stepping out into the harbour view, the Mareel offered a completely different appearance to the stylish angular identity of the wedged promotional images that appeared to explicitly define the enclosed functions of the centre. Two large planes of metal-clad walls - the ends of the stepped wedges of the massing shapes - stood framing the car park area as tough they were projection screens at a drive-in theatre, or hoardings. They were huge, and confirmed the size and scale of the development that pressed so hard against its public street address. These were ‘screens’ that were unlikely ever to see the dance of light from movies across their rippled surfaces, only, as was discovered on the next visit, the cliché changing floodlight colours that made a pretty display of a bland wall. The building gave the impression that it had taken clues for its making and shaping from the large, featureless sheds that once sat on the site, for it had a sense of caring about nothing but its own cheap enclosure, as such sheds do. Yet one was aware that things must be otherwise: more money was needed to pay the bills. Where had it all been spent? This centre has been spoken of as a ‘state-of-the-arts’ building. So it was somewhat alarming to the eye to discover the difference in the shades of the cladding. One large section stood out as paler than the remainder of the sheeting. Did the architect not notice this? What was the quality control of the rest of the building? The variation did not seem to be a conscious outcome as it appeared awkwardly ad hoc rather than artful: unwieldy in its patterning.
And the wedged
glazing? Where was this? A glimpse of the lower acute point was revealed to one
side and confirmed its presence. Oddly, this triangular panel of glass seemed
to open up the Mareel interior to the museum car park rather than to the
harbour. This could be looked at another time, as today the trip was for the
cat. Entering the museum always brings to mind its relationship to water. This
is a good thing as Shetland's history is intimately linked to the sea; but it
was the height of the museum's entry floor level that was the concern. Has
Council not heard anything about the predictions of rising sea levels? The high
water level appeared to be only a metre or so lower than this approach that
looked as though even a windy storm in today's circumstances could prove to be
a problem for the lower floor. Had the Mareel learned anything from this? It
seems not. It appears to sit low in the docks too, on a wall at the edge of the
harbour. The potential of these seas to rise was the other reason to ask if
this arts project might have been better in a different, perhaps more civic
location. It appeared to be more real than ever as one felt as though one was
close to walking on water as one moved into the museum precinct.
There was no need
for us to worry about finding the cat. It sat in the middle of the foyer, an
unfortunate situation that made this heavily-promoted exhibition - of one
bronze cat only - look as though the British Museum was ticking its boxes for
its well-funded regional displays, establishing a need that could have raised
the question: "How can we spend this money within the specified
time?" “Lerwick! It’s pretty remote!” The display looked like a waste, and
a wasted opportunity. The cat sat in a glass box with a few notes, in the
middle of nowhere. The exhibit seemed to lack commitment. Surely it deserved a
place with better lighting, and more solitude and significance so that viewers
could have some private time with such astonishing piece, with such an amazing
provenance, rather than being a part of the normal hustle, bustle, clamour,
clatter and chatter of the foyer.
After a quick browse of the nearby shop, we returned to the car and drove of. It was the Shetland winter, so daylight had gone pitch black by 4:30pm. Leaving the carpark took us along the lane in front of the Mareel that now glowed with light. A glance sideways surprisingly showed the interiors of messy offices in every unnecessary detail. The turn into the road leading to the main route along the Lerwick waterfront meant that we had to wait for a car or two to pass by. It was an awkward turn. One felt that access to such an arts centre and museum complex might have been a much more easily managed, comfortable transition. As we paused for the turn it was obvious that the construction of the Mareel had meant that some existing residences had lost their wonderful waterfront views. There seemed to be a problem with manners here: architectural manners, a subject once considered important enough for Howard Robertson to write a book about it. Now, sadly, the display of good manners in architecture appears to be just a naive, old-fashioned idea. We drove off north to the ferries to Unst: timetables now governed our movements. One would have to return to discover more about what seemed to be an unfortunate development.
. . . . . . . . .
It was already dark and damp when we arrived some weeks later. We had been asked if we had seen the building at night, but had not thought more about this question, only remembering the brightly-lit messy offices on embarrassing public display, as a working shop window on the street frontage. As we stepped from the parked car, the changing, coloured flood lighting was noticed. So this is what the questioner was alluding too. It reinforced the image that presented the wall as a drive-in theatre screen, but it did enliven an otherwise prosaic, ‘tin shed’ elevation with a glowing fringe: crude ‘mirrie dancers,’ a miniature aurora borealis? Unfortunately, this theatrical lighting only emphasized the industrial ordinariness of this facade, making it appear that the lighting had been a necessity in the effort to transcend this mundanity, as if it required this effort to make the shed appropriately 'arty.'
Walking through
the rain to the entrance of the Mareel took one past the illuminated shambles
of the office spaces. Why were these placed here? If the other parts of the
building had no need to look out to the harbour, then these spaces might have
enjoyed this prospect. Changing light on water is always a Shetland delight;
peering into sloping stacks of files is not. Arriving at the entry, we walked
in under the bright red illuminated letters displaying the films that were
currently being shown, and others that would be. Inside, the space was brilliant
and open - high and bright. The surrounding surfaces were light and the volumes
expansive, making the long ticket counter appear tiny, oddly out of scale, in
just too much space. There was real sense of void surrounding this strip of
benchtop that bordered one’s movements. Turning right on he grey floor away
from the counter, one moved into the main foyer space, a double-height volume
with a high mezzanine level accessed via a long, large stair that looked like
the 'stairway to heaven,' such was its dramatic rise. It was wide and lofty.
While it should be the space that is easily accessed from the entry, and it
was, the foyer had the misfortune of looking out back to the narrow street and
the Mareel capark opposite. On such a site one wondered why the foyer turned
its back to the dazzling views of the harbour that gleams both day and night.
After discovering
the entries into the performance theatre, we retraced our steps and strolled
back to the ticket counter, where we turned right into the long, thin cafe. We had planned
to eat there. Ah! So it was the cafe space that sat behind the triangle of glass
that formed part of the primary illusion; and yes, it was odd that this space
looked directly out into the museum car park, with only a sideways glance given
to the expanse of water that was so close. Are the Lerwick locals immune to the
beauty of their harbour? Has familiarity played its part here in turning this
busy body of working water into something to be held in contempt - to be
ignored? It is an excellent harbour. The surprise was that this metal-clad shed
had huge laminated timber mullions supporting it - well, maybe just the glass?
The skeletal steel framing had been seen a year ago during its construction.
These ash-coloured laminated millions were huge, and were spaced so closely
that they impressed just with their being there. It gave the cafe a nautical
feel that was pleasant; but one was constantly asking oneself about what seemed
to be an excessive indulgence in a building that had generated so much public debate
about its cost. Was there waste here? Oddly, the depth of these columns acted
as baffles to define the alignment of the vista to the car park and limit the
exposure to the depth of the harbour. They were blinkers. The cafe space, like
the foyer, was a double-height volume with a mezzanine accessed by a return
stair located on the harbour frontage, but closed to it. Looking later, it was
confirmed that the building did indeed sit directly on a harbour wall. What
thrashing will the Mareel get in a storm? It might truly become the
'phosphorescence on the ocean.' Its location seemed to display a supreme
confidence in the skeptical view of climate change. On discovering that the
cafe only served simple snack food and drinks rather than light meals, we moved
on elsewhere, to Scalloway, for our meal. We would have to return again to see
the other areas of the building in more detail.
Days later while on the Internet, the Mareel site was opened to see exactly what facilities the building provided. The site had an expanded isometric graphic that colour-coded the various functions of the areas on the different levels. It was interesting too see the arrangement that comprised core theatre spaces with perimeter zones allocated for various uses. The cafe and the foyer formed part of these fringe areas as well as the broadcasting and recording spaces, and service and plant zones. The diagram displayed an arrangement that appeared to be self-centred, resolved around itself rather than being shaped as a response to any particular context. It was a surprise, as the location was unique - a harbourside area adjacent to the museum and archives building next to a new Council development on the waterfront. Why did these developments all stand alone, side by side, ignoring one another? In spite of the special opportunity, the Mareel seemed happy to collect its functional areas together as a bubble diagram might, irrespective of its site. It could almost have been anywhere. It seemed to be a good opportunity missed.
While Shetland must be pleased to have a new arts complex, the Mareel did not appear to rise to the occasion to build on or enrich Lerwick's civic quality or urban framework. Instead, it looked like a private game was being played on a site remote from the town centre, ignoring it, all while wanting to become the cultural core of Lerwick - but, it appeared, only on its own terms. Sadly, it had the opportunity to be both a civic and cultural centre, but, for some unknown reason, did the arts community want otherwise? The outcome seemed to suggest that those promoting the idea wanted to turn their backs to the real world. The arts are a bit like that today - self-centred; self-important; self-indulgent. The Mareel might have to learn the hard way - and Lerwick too.
Still, one hopes
that the Mareel can grow and mature with use, adapt to the pressures of needs
and be enriched by time and change to mellow as an old fiddle might. The arts
should hold their place in every community, with a mutual love and respect. To
date the Mareel seems to have generated too much difference, just too much
angst to readily mediate, enhance and promote sensitive cultural issues without
any latent tensions. It is a bitter sweet outcome indeed. Just as much as one
has to ask about the future of Lerwick with such planning decisions as this,
one has to ask about the fate of the old Garrison Theatre too: Why? What? When?
How? History cannot, and should not be ignored. We can, and should learn from
it too.
The Garrison Theatre
is a 280 capacity venue in Lerwick, Shetland, Scotland, with a sprung
proscenium stage with fixed raked seating. It has 19 rows, named A to S which
either has 8, 12, 13, 15 or 16 seats in each row.
The venue hosts dance, drama, stand up comedy, pantomime and music
productions together with regular film screenings (Shetland
currently has no dedicated cinema so the Garrison Theatre has monthly film
screenings. A new cinema opened in 2012 - see Mareel).
It was opened in 1903 and used as a Drill Hall and gymnasium during the
First World War. It was also the headquarters of the 7th Volunteer Battalion
Gordon Highlanders. The building was converted to a theatre by ENSA in 1942 to
be used as a venue to entertain troops during the Second World War. During the
50s and 60s it was owned by the Zetland County Council, who decided to repair
and refurbish the theatre in 1989, and was programmed by Islesburgh Drama Group
and an Entertainments Committee. Ownership was then transferred the Islesburgh
Trust before coming under Shetland Arts management in April 2007.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garrison_Theatre
5 April 2014
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