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The concept of 'simulacrum' has, in the 21st century, shifted from
the religious arena to the marketplace. Simpson and Brown, architects
of the Scottish Seabird Centre at North Berwick, have established
a plausible reputation in the conservation of historic buildings
in Scotland. More recently, they have become interested in projects
reaching beyond a purely conservationist agenda; they have carried
out designs which seek to create, through a deliberate mise en
scene, an evocation of a habitat; a world at one remove, whether
historically or in terms of natural habitat. This is because, in
today's market-oriented design world, there exists an identifiable
clientele for such evocations, whether of a presumed historical
past, or of a perceived natural world.
The evocation and presentation of the sense of wildness is an expanding
field. Television has accustomed viewers to the visual presentation
of animal birth, as well as predatory kill. We can always switch
over. Likewise, virtual reality is increasingly presenting reconstructed
historic buildings in as realistic a guise as CAD can achieve. Simulacrum
is part of life now as much as it was once an essential tool of
religion.
Now, at the Seabird Centre at North Berwick, Simpson and Brown
have provided us with a contemporary building which at the same
time provides a simulacrum of natural bird life on the nearby Bass
Rock. Exceptionally the client, under the motto 'get close to nature'
realised that the same skill in evocation of the past for the wider
public viewing applied through 'mise en scene' would usefully
be applied to the evocation of the natural world. In this building,
literally autochthonous – sprung from the soil – the public
can be brought as close as possible to the Bass Rock 'experience'
without ever having to leave the security and shelter of the Centre.
Not only is the gannet habitation of the Bass Rock now under close
inspection, but the puffins on the island of Fidra are in the lens.
Theoretically, even the cormorants on the well-visible Isle of May
can be brought into play. All of these can be visited, when weather
permits, by boat from the harbour below. One vessel has the capacity
to hold over seventy passengers. But few of those passing through
the lofty portal, with its swooping, bird-like copper roof, will
have the urge or the inclination to proceed beyond Melbourne Avenue
which adjoins the site – least of all to venture to sea –
for the full panoply of nature can be scanned from the Centre.
Images of nesting, flocking, rising, soaring, landing or strutting
species, generally expressing their territorial imperative no less
urgently than humans, now abound on small relay screens. The Centre
offers what is virtually a high-technology 'twitcher's hide': on
the upper level powerful telescopes are available, on the lower
level, the viewer can effectively move the lens range around, all
on screen. At both levels the reality is not virtual, but real,
only simply at one remove: we can now observe the wildlife as never
before, without the swell of the sea, the climb or crawl, the hint
of danger. The concept is ingenious, if simply to be expected in
the 21st century. Although as a whole, the senses cannot yet fully
adjust to micro-climatic variations, tactility, or smell. If we
miss the smell, however, an original olfactory, lift-top 'smell'
container is there to remind us of two or three appropriate smells,
separately, herring, seabird droppings, etc. This was a characteristically
clever touch by the Centre. One could want the tops lifted, and
the whole subterranean exhibition space suffused with the combined
experience, so bringing us more than a whiff of reality.
What is good here is that the form of the building, as contextualised
by the architects, derives in part from the surrounding topography,
of both the law to the South, beyond the town, and the nearby small
islands. This form grows expressively out of the base rock of the
site. The 'historicist' contextualisation ranges from the early
medieval remains of the Church of St Andrew, adjacent to the site
through the maritime harbour buildings, to the 1930s open air pool,
sun lounge – all optional choices for period 'mise en scene',
even enhanced by son et lumiere applications which Simpson
and Brown might find hard to resist, the architecture has been resolutely
directed to the encapsulation of the 'experience' of the wild.
The clientÈs urge that nature should be brought closer, not only
an educational but also a promotional imperative, has been well
fulfilled. From away to the east, the 'swooping' copper roof seems
less 'swoopy', and more attuned to the surrounding landscape than
perhaps was anticipated. Moving closer in, the eye picks up the
exceptional precision of the masonry detailing: its execution by
drystone waller Neil Rippingale, using a mortar back-bedding technique
(more to prevent tourists from prising out pieces than for actual
structural needs) with wall ties where required, is wholly exemplary.
All this contributes to the tectonic expressivity of the structure,
further achieved by clean and simple non-laminated timber beams
and sections. Entering the building, under the 'swoop', an extenuated
lobby leads straight into 'pole position'. To the left is the reception
desk, and opened out to the right (east) is the voice below the
cupola, supported from upper level on rounded timber posts. What
is otherwise a regular circular plan is itself extenuated at the
entrance point at the first, or ninth column. The central space
is both lit from above, and from the periphery, where views out
through the cafeteria reveal the Bass Rock itself. The visitor now
has to decide whether to truncate the 'experience' there or in the
cafeteria, or to pay up and go downstairs below the cupola to the
gallery where the main action lies. The solution of the circulation
and overall plan of the building is in this instance unambiguous,
which is a success. The Centre's management hope that the first
level contact with the downstairs activities, bird noises, and range
of exhibits (including a superb, large-scale Bass Rock) will encourage
a viable number of visitors to go for the full experience below.
That experience could 'mise en scene'-wise, still go further.
A 'cafe-theatre' might be deduced, with full-blown strobing bird
swoops, the full cacophony of birds defending their territory (or
worse, Hitchcock-like, plus occasional droppings, and as hinted
above, a fully vented 'smell' experience) – now that would
be something. But these are early days. The Centre does plan to
encourage corporate hospitality events, which seems a good move,
and maybe even one day weddings might be possible – a seriously
good idea. Because of this combination of educational purpose and
entrepreneurial spirit, it is likely that the Centre will survive
in the difficult economic straightjacket of tourism, and prosper.
Which, with this building it deserves to. In summary, both in building
form and plan/circulation Simpson and Brown have pulled off a sound,
even exemplary, piece of tourist architecture. The ecology ticket
seems less sure, although it is claimed for the Centre.
Which takes one back to the question of 'authenticity', in general,
and the critical role that such criteria should demand in the 'historicist'
context so familiar to Simpson and Brown. Also, in sight of the
Isle of May on the north side of the Firth of Forth, these architects
are proposing (the application is currently with Fife Council) an
altogether less soundly based scheme. Just north of Crail lies a
listed 17th century tower house, with do'cot and adjoining
18th century walled garden, to which a pure and modest twin-pedimented
18th century coach house and stable block is attached. All these
buildings were painstakingly restored by two sets of domestic owners
over the previous 20 years. It would seem that nothing more should
be added, or taken away, in this ultimate perfection.
In order to secure a change-of-use to tourist, 'historic-motel'
accommodation, the architects have argued that accommodation can
consist of two accommodation garden pavilions, one of the style
of Sir William Bruce at the much larger and grander Kinross House;
the other a rounded, 'fortified' tower (subsequently twinned again),
at both ends of the walled garden. The former pavilion is then attached
to the 18th century stables, looming over their simplicity of form,
and incorporating leaded lights and other (as Simpson and Brown
themselves claim in their submission to the planning authority)
'deliberately historicist styles' and paraphernalia. This, they
claim, will, 'Create a new architecture which will enhance the appearance
of the eastern end of the walled garden and contribute to the architectural
quality of the entire ensemble of buildings [there]'.
On this project, commercially driven by new owner-clients, historicismÈ
is being deployed by the architects not towards authentic architectural
conservation, but as an embellishment to create a mise en scene,
redolent of a presumed architectural and social history, which has
no basis in fact. This phoney contextualisation may create a tourist-friendly
('Characterful', in the wording of the application submission by
the architects) environment, but it is not authentic, and by its
commercially driven abuse and presumption of historical truth, actually
destroys the whole meaning of the surviving listed building complex.
Fortunately, the historical documentation of the buildings, and
their less-than-grandiloquent inhabitants over 500 years exists
in their survival of the 17th century religious and political commotions,
their attachment to agricultural improvements in the late 18th century
and early 19th century periods of growth and to the ultimate 20th
century architectural restorations. Otherwise we are in the world
of Disneyland, Brigadoon, and Braveheart. This question of authenticity,
as touched upon in the latter case, is an increasingly pressing
one as projects themselves become essentially commercial, and historicist
architecture becomes the tool by which change-of-use can be achieved.
In which case, if it was ever granted, the entire architectural
and historical quality of this small but now historic complex, unique
in locality, will have been inconsiderately and unjustifiably destroyed,
and, by default, through purely commercial motivation. The authentic
history is seldom what the tourist industry wishes to know: it is
the mise en scene that is sought after, and architecture
becomes stage design. By contrast, in the North Berwick Seabird
Centre, the history context was wisely not tampered with or 'enhanced',
and the evocation of the world, the approximation of nature was
mobilised to good effect, albeit at one remove, and with laudable
success.
Michael Spens
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