Dissertation1992

David Jukes-Hughes MA
MA Architecture, Design & Theory, Kingston University, UK.
Thesis Design: The Constable Gallery at the Tate
Submitted: 30 June, 1992
Edited: 5 April, 18 December 2006, 7 March 2007, 26 November 2015
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THESIS DESIGN
THE CONSTABLE GALLERY
AT THE TATE
BY DAVID JUKES-HUGHES
29 June 1992.

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About the Author
David Jukes-Hughes was born in Salisbury, England, in 1961. He specializes in
architectural theory and its consequences.

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THE CONSTABLE GALLERY AT THE TATE
“I shall endeavour to get a pure and unaffected representation of the scenes that may
employ me.”
John Constable, 1802.
Preface
This thesis paper was first presented to The School of Architecture at Kingston
University, London, United Kingdom, in June 1992 as part of the submission requirement
for the degree of Master of Art in Architecture: Design and Theory. The paper was
commended for its architectural theory by the School.
Acknowledgements
I should like to thank the following people for their help in preparing the first edition of
the paper in June 1992: The Tate Gallery at Millbank, London, United Kingdom, for their
inspirational Exhibition of Constable’s work in 1991; Peter Wilson, Head of Gallery
Services at the Tate Gallery, Millbank, for providing plans of the existing structures and
drawings of earlier design proposals by the Architect, James Stirling; David Cole and
Partners (now Cole and Berry), Architects, for allowing me to have time off work to
study at Kingston University; the staff at the library of the Faculty of Art and Design at
Kingston University for their assistance in researching the bibliographic sources for the
paper; Suzanne Ross for typing and editing the thesis paper; Professor Peter Jacob and his
administrative staff for running a smooth and friendly operation at Kingston School of
Architecture; my course director, Michael Shoul and his staff at the School for their
review, comments and encouragement; James Gowans, a former partner to James
Stirling, for his review and comments on the thesis at the final jury presentation in his
role as the official external examiner for the Master’s course; The Microsoft Corporation
for its excellent Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software system, without which
this paper might not have been published; and lastly, Clare and Gerry Sheehan, and Andy
and Sally Fenny for introducing me to the county of Suffolk, where much of Constable’s
early work was made.

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Contents
Page
Preface 3
Acknowledgements 3
Foreword to 2006 Internet Edition 5
Introduction 7
1 The Site 8
2 The Gallery 35
Conclusion 67
References 74
List of Illustrations 77
Appendix -1. Schedule of Accommodation 79
Appendix -2. Correspondence. (Not included) 85
Appendix -3. Demolition Proposals. 85
Appendix -4. Schedule of Paintings & Proposed
Layout. (Not included)
86
Note: This is not a complete copy of the original submission. The illustrations of
Constable’s paintings are not included to avoid any copyright complications. Readers are
therefore advised to view images from official web sites when reference is made to the
work in the text.

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Foreword to 2006 Internet Edition
Fourteen years have passed since I first proposed the idea of a permanent home for the
work of John Constable (1776-1837) in this Masters Degree paper. It is an idea that I am
still quite inspired by.
However, the doubts I had about the proposal also remain with me. These were doubts
that I did not fully express at the time of the submission. For personally I believe the
Architect of a design concept needs into be fully confident in the idea simply in order to
see it through to a built form.
My principle doubt about the idea was the safety and security of the collection. There is a
school of thought that this could be enhanced by a permanent home, (assuming that the
private owners of the individual works of art could be persuaded to loan the work on a
permanent basis.) Certainly the material care for the actual work itself (its preservation
and conservation) would be greatly eased by the bringing together of the complete
collection in one place. On the other hand, there are also significant risks that come with
it. For, some of these risks could lead to the loss of the entire collection. This would
make the idea most ill judged indeed.
The risks are of course are well known and have to be faced by all galleries and museums
to some degree or other: fire, vandalism, and even terrorism. However, in the case of a
single collection of one artist these risks assume a new and critical dimension. That said
there are collections of significant individual artists that are found in singular locations.
The most well known is the Vincent Van Gogh collection in the Netherlands. Another is
the Edvard Munch collection in Norway. And of course there is the Turner collection at
the Tate.
To conclude therefore, I could not necessarily commit to the idea presented in this thesis
without the appraisal of a more in depth analysis of the risks involved and the various
counter measures used to protect such singular collections.
That said I would still support the idea of a permanent home for the work of John
Constable (1776-1837). It could be on this site adjacent to the permanent collection of his
great rival, J. M. W. Turner (1775-1851), ‘buried,’ as it were, like Vincent Van Gogh and
his brother (and patron) on the same plot. It is hard to imagine that Turner would have
achieved his greatness without a lifetime of competition with John Constable to egg him
on to even greater things. Certainly, Turner, himself, thought he had serious competition
for the Nation’s affection when it came to winning its laurels. Today, it is hard for us now
to image the interest, and its intensity, that this rivalry had throughout the Nation. For we
in the present have so many (different) visual amusements to entertain ourselves, that we
forget just how limited these were over 150 years ago, and therefore, how important the
art of painting was to the people of that era.

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However, perhaps the time for a National Collection of Constable’s work may still be too
early to make a complete judgment on the question, even after 150 years! Perhaps we
need to see the paintings together again to convince ourselves that now is the time to
build such a home for his work, (and to see more of the work along side that of J. M. W.
Turner,) to finally settle the issue in our own minds, if we can. In the meantime, I would
hesitate to give permanent planning permission for any other building works on the site
while the issue remains unresolved, except for any temporary works (an exterior
sculpture garden perhaps, or a place for temporary artistic installations and other
oddities.)
My own design proposal for the site remains tentative. The architectural plans,
particularly the entrance arrangement is unresolved especially in matters of security. It is
too loose, I think. The architectural form is incomplete, particularly with respect to the
treatment of the elevation on John Islip Street. The architectural form of the galleries is
perhaps a little too Canadian, more like Prairie grain silos than the farm architecture of
Dedham Vale found in Constable’s paintings. Clearly my mixed parentage has lead to
strange results. However, there is I hope still some value in the work. For should a
National Collection be decided upon, this design proposal illustrates the size of its
requirement and shows that it could indeed be located at this site, if there was sufficient
interest in the project from the painting owners, the Tate Gallery and the Nation.
Finally, I should again like to thank the late Michael Shoul and his staff at Kingston
University for their guidance in the preparation of the original thesis design, the Tate
Gallery for its assistance in the provision of building plans, and their inspirational
presentation of the work of both John Constable in the 1991 exhibition and the J.M.W.
Turner permanent collection and lastly, James Gowans for his attendance as the MA
External Examiner. It was a remarkable coincidence that the late James Stirling, the
Architect for the Clore Gallery and former business partner of Mr. Gowans, had passed
away only a short time before the final thesis review. It was a decidedly strange occasion
indeed, something unreal and a little mad all round. Particularly, as the split in the
partnership was said to be less than smooth. But life must go on, and after a bit of an
awkward start the proceedings were quite amusing as I recall.
April 5, 2006.

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Introduction
The aim of the project submitted is to provide a permanent home for the work of John
Constable (1776-1837).
The demands of the project were two fold; firstly to provide an architectural design which
binds the three parts of the discipline into a coherent form. In short, to provide for its
structure, its various functions and its delight. Secondly, the project demanded a critical
response to the content of John Constable’s work.
Throughout the course of the design development, it became apparent that both within
these two demands and between the two there existed certain conflicts of interest. Given
the nature and scale of these, the task of their resolution soon became the central theme of
the program thus set. For, although these conflicts were a source of some difficulty, their
identity and resolution became more important as a positive design strategy. It was from
these ‘conflicts’ that new aims and objectives developed and new solutions found. To this
end, the purpose of the paper is to focus upon a number of issues which arose during the
progress of the design. So that, by way of example certain conclusions might be
established with respect to the very nature of architectural design.
The first of these ‘conflicts’ concerns the site plan and forms the subject of Chapter 1.
Its ‘problematic’ in the main was purely architectural. However, some attempt, at a sub-
conscious level (by way of association) was made towards an integration of Constable’s
work with the exterior environment.
In the Chapter 2 I shall turn to the question of conflicts arising from the design of the
gallery itself. Six designs were investigated. Despite their differences, a coherent design
approach was maintained. I will show how my initial response was a determination to
‘represent’ the gallery’s contents using a design approach based upon formal symbolism,
and (later) the control of lighting characteristics. However, the desire for ‘expression’
using bold formal gestures was thwarted by a combination of practical concerns which
were not to be avoided. One of the principle conflicts concerned a clash between the
demands of form and light. The relationship between light and space is a simple one; bold
formal strategies lead to dramatic contrasts in the distribution of natural light. So, as a
means of enlivening the display of Constable’s work, such a strategy is not, I believe,
unreasonable. However, experience in gallery design clearly shows how important the
needs of conservation are. A certain compromise in strategic thinking was required. The
use of form as a principle means of representation was removed, and replaced by one
which arrived at enhancing the qualitative differences already contained in the art. To be
brief, this was achieved through the control of natural light as it entered the gallery
spaces. Two arrangements were investigated. Of these, one became the final design.

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Finally, I shall present my conclusions. These will deal firstly with the specific nature of
the project and its difficulties, and secondly with more general conclusions concerning
the nature of design in both theory and practice.
1. The Site
The site study may be described in three parts: Its choice, the reasons behind its
limitations and their probable effects and finally, a discussion of three design strategies
thus proposed.
The choice of the site, to the north of the Tate Gallery, was without complication. Two
reasons may be presented in its support. The first of these is simply one of opportunity,
whilst the second concerns its appropriateness.
In July 1969, Harold Wilson, the Prime Minister of the day announced to the House of
Commons that by 1975, the site of the Queen Alexandra Military Hospital would be
available for use by the gallery. In this single act, the Tate acquired an additional area of
16,500 square metres. It is this land which now provides the opportunity for a new
gallery complex dedicated to the work of John Constable. (Fig. l)
The second reason for deciding in favour of the site, its appropriateness, concerns the
development already begun. For it is on this new site that the Tate built the Clore Gallery
extension. This opened in 1986. It houses the Turner bequest.
J. M. W. Turner (1775-1851) was a contemporary of John Constable, and to Turner, he
was also a rival. Both have a considerable reputation and popularity among the English
people and perhaps for this reason alone, Constable’s contribution to the world of art
deserves a similar level of recognition. The location of a gallery at the Tate also has
serious scholastic advantages. The similarities in their style and subject matter are widely
noted, and in the study of art history the two painters are often identified together: each
representing a radical and significant challenge to the established norms of Eighteenth
Century art. Both are cited in laying the foundations for a truly modern (and
individualistic) approach. (1) By locating the two galleries on the same site, scholars
would have the work of both artists near at hand. Comparative studies would flourish,
and perhaps new observations and conclusions would result. But, perhaps, more
importantly, the public would also enjoy the additional pleasure in its viewing for much
the same reasons, quite apart from the opportunity of seeing Constable’s work in one
permanent location.
1. See Read, Herbert. “The Meaning of Art,” Faber & Faber, London, 1972. P.178 & 190. Read notes
Turner’s ‘profound influence on the French Impressionists and the German Expressionists’ and Constable’s
influence on Delacroix and Edouard Manet. See also Gombrich, Ernst H. ‘The Story of Art”, Phaidon,
Oxford, 1984. P.394.

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1. Existing Site Plan (Drawing provided by the Tate Gallery)

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Finally, one should also note the value of such a contribution to prosperity. The simple
(physical) juxtaposition of the two galleries would give a kind of permanent expression to
the rivalry of the two artists, and raise both collections and artists in terms of their
significance and interest to all. (2)
So far I have mentioned the more obvious advantages of the site. I shall now turn to its
disadvantages or limitations. However, it should be remembered, that although these may
present certain difficulties, they will also provide opportunities for development in
themselves and in relation to the demands of the brief. As a result, new levels of
significance and meaning might develop and add to the overall content of the design
proposal.
To a large extent these limitations became apparent with each site plan proposal, changes
from one to the next solving or transgressing the limitations of the last, whilst revealing
new limits and further complications. However, prior to explaining these in more detail, a
number of issues may be identified at the outset. These concern the following subjects;
land use, boundaries and access, orientation and light and material context.
The first of these issues is, of course, closely related to the nature and contents of the
brief. Appendix 1 gives the initial proposal in the form of a schedule of accommodation.
However, the brief according to standard practice was not to be taken as a static
document, but rather an evolving one, based upon changing opportunities and
limitations.(3) In the first instance, the aim of the project was the provision of gallery
space with foyer entrance only. Here the intention was to produce as few land-use
conflicts as possible. However, for various reasons, to which I shall refer within the
specific context of the first proposal, the entire site was to be made available for
development, with an attendant enlargement of the brief to include administration
facilities, workshops, artists’ studios, flats for visiting professors and library facilities.
These differing functions provided conflicting demands upon the land available, both
between each other, but most importantly between public and private areas, that is
between gallery and administration. Decisions about the best location for these two
facilities depended upon certain existing structures which had to remain. These were
listed for protection in agreement with Westminster City Council in January 1980. They
included the following; the nurses’ home in John Islip Street, the central administration
block to the former hospital, and the lodge on Millbank. The last of these made any
consideration of river frontage impossible, whilst the first limited the available street
frontage to a length of 72.5 meters. The central administration building had the effect of
dividing the remaining area in two.
2. See Walker, John. “John Constable”, Thames & Hudson, London, 1979. P.11-12. Here Walker compares
the two characters in some detail.
3. See Appendix 2. Tate Correspondence dated 1 November, 1991.

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2. Elevation of former nurses’ home on John Islip Street

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3. Elevation of former hospital administration building.

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4. Illustration of former hospital administration building

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5. Plan of site prior to The Clore Gallery extension. (Drawing provided by Tate Gallery.)

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6. Illustration of The Millbank Housing Estate on John Islip Street

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7. Illustration of the north wall of the Tate Gallery. From left to right, it shows the west
elevation of the Clore Gallery, a small section of the original building by Sydney Smith,
and the Llwelyn Davis extension.

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In addition to their presence as boundary ‘walls’ these buildings also had the effect of
limiting action through their physical appearances and their general orientation. Both the
nurses’ home and the administration building are brick structures designed in the classical
style. (Fig. 2 & 3) The first of these has a heavy appearance, and is slightly asymmetrical
in both its massing and the disposition of its main entrance. The elevation at its rear is
typified by its use of cheap brickwork and an arrangement of window openings which
verges upon the chaotic. The administration building also faces away from the northern
half of the site. However, given the removal of existing links, its rear will need a new
elevation, and so avoid any difficulties that the rear of the nurse’s home might present.
The west facing facade of the building is wholly symmetrical and has a bright and cheery
appearance. (Fig. 4) Combined with its height, relative to other buildings on the site, the
building clearly needs a substantial frontage. Indeed, this point is clearly demonstrated by
the original site plan, prior to 1980. It shows that the building was set back some twenty
metres from the eastern boundary road. This road now forms a part of the site. (Fig. 5)
The physical qualities of the site are also influenced by the form of its boundaries. For
example, the character of John Islip Street to the west is typified by its range of
deciduous trees. The tree canopy gives the area a pleasant feeling of quiet seclusion. On
the far side of the road five storey buildings, which form a part of the Millbank Estate,
also enhance the protective qualities of the space. These date from the Edwardian period
and their style suggests the influence of the Arts and Craft Movement. They are built in
brick, and the fenestration is characterized by its large white mullions and transoms.
Between each block the buildings focus upon small open courtyards. (Fig. 6)
To the east, the boundary is marked by the Tate itself. The northern ‘wall’ is monolith in
scale and character, and is largely made up of the exterior edge to a modern extension,
completed in 1979 to a design by Llwelyn Davis. At its eastern end, the ‘wall joins a part
of the original elevation before terminating at the Clore Gallery, which forms the
southern part of the eastern boundary. The modern wall is made of terrazzo marble and
has a height of twelve metres. Along its length, which totals sixty-five metres, the wall is
divided into seven sections by deep vertical central joints, which mark the grid plan
behind (three deep, and each nine metres square). The marble wall is topped by a grey
pre-finished corrugated metal section, which gives the whole a total height of fifteen
metres. The ‘roof’ section is continuous for the full length of the new wall. (Fig. 7)
Despite the pretentious use of expensive building materials, the elevation is not a work of
great beauty and yet, because of its size, the wall dominates the area in front of it. . This
is in complete contrast to the earlier elevation, which forms a part of Sydney Smith’s
original building of 1897. Instead of emphasizing its height by vertical divisions, the
classical design divides the wall horizontally. The different surface treatment (from
smooth at the top to rough rustication at the bottom) of the three bands stresses a certain
weight, which helps to stabilize the structure by emphasizing a greater mass at the base.
This technique has a direct effect upon our impression of it as a physical object. Instead
of confronting a wall twelve metres high, our eyes are lead downwards in stages to a

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point of rest at a height, which is little bigger than ourselves. The effect of settlement is
reinforced by the additional detail provided in the arched windows of the basement.
Sydney Smith’s design clearly attempts to humanize the scale of the building, whilst the
new wing pays us little respect. Given the over-baring presence of the new extension, a
design for the site would certainly need to take some account of it. To this end, perhaps
the best response would be one which aims to dissolve its existence entirely. (4)
The west wall of the Clore Gallery suffers from similar problems. It also has a certain
uniformity which forces our eyes to focus upon the whole. However for a number of
reasons its dehumanizing effect is much reduced when compared to the 1979 extension.
In the first instance the roof elements are stepped back from the building line, so that the
total height perceived is much reduced. It also continues the cornice of the original
elevation. This fixes our attention to a degree which prevents our eyes from an excess of
upward movement. In contrast to this the Llwelyn Davis wing encourages our eye with a
vertical movement which seems infinite. The wall appears even larger than its reality,
which already appears monumental. Other details in the Clore elevation also help to
arrest the eye, and this is particularly true of the concrete grid below the cornice.
However, it is precisely this which forces us to focus on the whole. For though the
horizontals have a somewhat similar effect as that of the classical banding, the verticals
disarm it. The repose of the horizontals is equalized by the eye movement created in the
verticals. Each raises certain expectations but because they conflict neither is satisfied.
Instead we are left in a state of unhappy tension which promises little or no relief. Again,
a design for the site would need to respond in a way which might help to resolve the
inherent instability which this elevation presents. (Fig. 9)
To the north, beyond the central administration building, the boundary becomes more
diffuse. In this part the rectilinear nature of the site (as a whole) is broken by the
attachment of a small triangular space. To the south, it is boarded by the northern
elevation of the Clore Gallery. Its hypotenuse takes the form of a brick wall, which has a
height of approximately four metres. At a point adjacent to the corner of the Clore, this
wall continues to the west and forms the northern boundary of the site. The triangular
space has little to recommend it. It is clearly a backyard to the Clore and in so being,
takes its measure from the peculiar nature of its rear elevation. (Fig. 10) The space has
little privacy. Beyond the wall lies the Millbank tower, its presence both menacing and
omnipotent.
4 Note: To be fair to the architect in the original plan, prior to 1980, the staggering monumentality of the
building would not have been fully comprehended, because of the trees which were placed in front of it.
Since 1980 these have been removed, and the full impact of the building revealed. Indeed, so exposed is it,
that one half suspects that the foliage itself was intrinsic to the original design intent: a discourse, which
might have centred upon a certain desire to express a discontinuity between nature and artifice, and one
which depended upon a bold, yet simple structure to act as a background for contrast. The effect of this
approach may still be judged in the partial elevation of three bays on John Islip Street. At this point both
trees and foliage have been retained much to the advantage of the whole. (Fig. 8)

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8. Illustration of the west elevation to the Llwelyn Davis extension on John Islip Street.

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9. Illustration of the West Elevation to the Clore Gallery.

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10. Illustration of the North elevation to the Clore Gallery.

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Access to the site forms a further limitation on any design proposal. None is possible to
the north or the south. To the east, where public access from Millbank would be most
desirable, the Clore Gallery extension has prevented any chance of a reasonable proposal.
A side entrance through the four metre high wall does exist, but this is both awkward and
confusing. Its connection to the main road is on the Tower property and it shares this with
the entrance to the Tower’s car park. This leaves the western boundary as the only
realistic means by which the public may enter the complex. Given that both the main
entrance to the Tate Gallery and the entrance to the Clore are both on Millbank, this
option is far from ideal. However, the natural beauty provided by the tree canopy does
not make it unworthy. Two means can be identified; the first, already mentioned, includes
the extensive open length between the rear of the Tate and the nurses’ home. The second
occurs between the latter and the northern boundary wall, currently used as the principle
service entrance. Of the two, the first of these offers the most potential, and this is
represented in the following design proposals.
Before turning to these some consideration should be given to the way light naturally
falls upon the site. A number of difficulties may be identified. The first of these is the
most important and concerns the effect of the existing galleries. Given their height, it is
quite evident that the space immediately to the front of these buildings will have limited
access to sunlight. In high summer, when the exterior space will be used most often, the
projection of long dark shadows will be an unfortunate inevitability. (Fig. 11) This effect
will also occur at the rear of the administration building. Elsewhere, a further problem of
a different kind should be noted. It concerns existing ‘rights to light.’ Although it will not
be a legal matter in this case, it is self-evident that access to sunlight ought to have some
consideration in respect of any development to the rear of the nurses’ building.
I have now noted the important aspects concerning the limitations of the site. I should
now like to describe my design approach within these constraints.
The immediate response to the site was a proposal which sought to provide a new gallery
extension without disruption to the existing buildings on the site.
This restriction provided for only one feasible location: The existing gallery car park.
Several advantages may be noted. Firstly, such a location affords easy access to and from
the Tate Gallery. It also allows a covered connection with the Clore Gallery. The main
public entrance could be located at ground level on John Islip Street. (Fig. 12)
The location also helps solve a number of immediate site problems. It covers the north
wall of the 1979 extension and halves the length of the Clore gallery’s western elevation
exposed to the exterior. The use of land to the front of the administration building also
reduces the size of the open space. This changes its character from a ‘parade ground’ to a
secluded open courtyard. The addition of landscape features, foliage and trees, would

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11. Site Plan showing shadow line at the rear of the Tate Gallery

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12. Side Wall Design (Scheme 1) Site Plan

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13. Site plan by James Stirling, designed between 1979 and 1986. (Drawing provided by
Tate Gallery.)

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make it ideal for relaxation. It would also provide a much needed location for the display
of outdoor sculpture. (5)
However, the site location does have certain unavoidable difficulties. Among these the
problem of providing natural light should be mentioned. But most importantly, the site
could not provide enough space for a full and proper display of Constable’s work.
The resolution of these conflicts could be solved only by enlarging the gallery brief. This
factor dictated the need for more land, and with it, the necessity of demolishing some of
the buildings on the site. The question of which buildings to demolish did not entirely
depend upon the needs of the new gallery. In the first place, the feasibility of further
demolition depended as much upon what was possible within the constraints laid down
by the hospital layout. (Fig.5) Secondly, it should be noted that, with the building of the
Clore Gallery, some demolition of the hospital had already taken place. This would limit
the range of possible demolition options available. In fact, given the nature of this
demolition, the hospital’s original coherency has been lost. It has left the remaining
structures in a form that appears both chaotic and meaningless. (Fig. 1) A partial
demolition allowing some remnant of the original order would have been possible, prior
to the new extension. (6) However, one should remember that the Clore Gallery was not
designed in an isolated context. The brief given to the architect also included a
recommendation for the entire site. It is into this that the Clore Gallery fits. (Fig.13) The
new site plan, designed between 1979 and 1986, envisaged the complete demolition of
the hospital, apart from the three listed buildings already noted. From this the current
demolition to date takes its cue. No consideration is really given to the spatial order of the
hospital, and this leaves no option but its complete demolition to plan.
The full demolition provided a surplus of space. It also removed much of the context
within which the new gallery was to be placed. Just as the Clore Gallery needed
designing within the limits of an overall site strategy, so I felt that a gallery for
Constable’s work needed a similar approach: with a new brief for an expanded gallery
came the additional need of a brief encompassing the entire site.
5. Brawne makes note of this need of a place for displaying Sculpture in the open air as early as 1959. See
Brawne, Michael. “Object on View” in the Architectural Review, November, 1959. P. 253.
6. See Appendix - 3 for description of the ordering principles of the hospital and its effect upon the limits of
demolition.

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Although I have referred to this new brief, some discussion of its full contents would be
in order prior to any further discussion of the site proposals to be outlined. The brief may
be divided into two parts, that referring to the gallery itself, and that which refers to the
remainder. Of the latter, I have given the general term ‘administration’ but this includes
much more besides. (7)
It will be noted from the brief that the gallery provision is expanded to include 1360
square metres, with a reception area and primary circulation at 450 square metres. In
addition to an area for coats, W.C.s and a book shop, the brief was extended to include a
computer centre and reading room, a lecture theatre, a supervisors’ locker room and rest-
room, and a restaurant for fifty people with kitchen and storage facilities. Some provision
for rented shops was also included. These were to be separate from the gallery for
security reasons, and located in a position which enabled access to the public on a
twenty-four hour basis.
The ‘administration’ area was to include 300 square metres of offices, a lecture theatre
for thirty people, a library and study area, a conservation department with workshops,
storage and offices, W.C.s, storage for paintings, artists’ studios for rent, flats for visiting
professors and a staff common room. Car parking for thirty vehicles would be needed,
and a number of loading docks provided. Finally, I should mention the need for plant
room facilities.
My first response to the new brief concentrated on a consideration of the right balance
between space inside and space outside. The provision of a gallery for Constable’s
landscapes makes this problem particularly pertinent. In the first place one is confronted
with the paradox of providing space for a painter of the countryside in a city, and in the
second, one is confronted with the irony of providing space inside for a painter whose
main concern was outside. Constable expressed the importance of what he was aiming to
achieve when, in 1802, he wrote to his friend John Dunthorne. “1 shall endeavour to get a
pure and unaffected representation of the scenes that may employ me.” (8). Parris notes
that by 1808 he was sketching in oil out of doors and by 1810, it had become an
indispensable tool for preparing his larger pictures. (9)
7. See Appendix - 1 for a full schedule of new accommodation.
8. See Parris, Leslie. “Constable. Pictures from the exhibition.” Tate Gallery, London, 1991. P. 11
9. ibid, P. 9.

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The relationship between inside and outside is a delicate one. At the scale of the site plan,
the difference between what is to be inside and what is to be outside is a question of land
use. A certain conflict arises from a demand for both within the restricted limits of the
site. (ie: Its area, the nature of its boundaries, and the disposition of existing objects
within it.) In this design, the aim for a certain balanced approach to the two would, I
think, be appropriate. Each would inform and comment on the other and, in doing so,
lead to the creation of a certain discursive context, within which levels of meaning at
different scales may be identified. To some extent decisions made at the scale of the site
plan will determine the limits of those made in connection with issues of greater detail
(window and door thresholds, for example). For this reason alone, it is important to set
the right course and base it upon a sound approach to the problem.
At the outset, equal status should be given to space inside and space outside. In a figure-
ground analysis both should be studied equally as both positive and both negative.(10)
With these aims in mind, my first design for the site set out to give due reverence and
importance to exterior space.(Fig. 14 & 15) The new gallery is now located in the
southern half of the site, on the western side. It fills the gap between the Tate and the
Nurses wing and provides a new facade to John Islip Street. It takes advantage of the ease
of public access to the site, which this opportunity provides, and the natural beauty of the
tree canopy. Shops are situated on the ground floor below the first floor gallery level, and
have direct public access on a twenty-four hour basis. They form a part of the complex
and yet remain distinct and separate from the gallery itself. Behind the facade building an
inner courtyard forms the soft centre of the building, with a further wing to the east. This
encloses the first outside space and defines the western edge of the second outside space.
As in the first scheme, the second space is also used for the exterior display of sculpture.
However, its definition is difficult. Its identity is somewhat confused by the variety of its
facades.(Fig. 7) This is very unlike the former outside space, whose identity is defined by
10 Part of the ‘problem’ of Modernism results from a certain bias, (especially, in the design of housing
estates during the 1950’s and 1960’s for example). Inside space is identified as a positive in relation to
outside space, as a negative. But analytical studies of the reverse were not given equal importance. As a
result, outside space often takes on the identity of real negative space. It has negative characteristics in
relation to the positive characteristics of inside space. Outside space is ‘left-over’ space, under valued,
uncontrolled, and unwanted. In contrast, inside space assumes the positive characteristics of being valued,
controlled and wanted. Under this value system, the more importance one gives to buildings, the less one
gives to their surroundings. Yet, clearly the two are mutually dependent upon one another. The creation of
beautiful objects in space is of no value when one perceives their surroundings as ugly and unkempt.
Unfortunately, in our own society the results of this bias are all too clear, and the attitudes which lead to
these distinctions are often expressed, and reinforced by the very structure of our institutions.

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14. Rectangular Courtyard Design (Scheme 2) Sketch Plan

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15. Rectangular Courtyard Design (Scheme 2)

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a single building form, of a single style and character. In a sense, this difference alone
will determine the framework of the identity given to the second outdoor space. Its
identity would then be one of differences and contrasts, fragmentation and disorder, and
understood as such in relation to the first outdoor space. It is, I think, not an identity at
odds with its function as a sculpture court, and would find a certain harmony with the
variety and strangeness of the art work on display. (11) The third outside space lies to the
north of the administration building. Its area is defined by the galleries new
administration facilities, which surround it. The identity of this space results from the
differences in its character compared to the previous two spaces. Here, the demand for a
quiet and secluded area is more appropriate. Privacy is maintained by it being last in the
sequence of open spaces. It is also enhanced by raising its level, (under which car parking
and loading facilities would be located). With the staircase acting as both a means of
access and a deterrent against access. (It acts as a barrier sign, and a visual impediment.)
The cloister reinforces the effect of its identity as a place to retire. Its order of repeated
columns unifies the space at low level, and sharply differs from the fragmentation of the
previous open area.
In order to judge the value of the above site strategy, its relation to the two aims of the
project should be assessed. In meeting the requirements of the three parts of the discipline
it has a certain potential. The forms and their arrangements to each other are both clear
and simple. This makes for any easy provision in the application of an appropriate
structural system and fulfils the demands for clarity in the arrangement of its functions.
At the same time, the management of form in relation to exterior space provides a certain
variety within the overall order of the site, so essential for provision of ‘delight.’
As a response to Constable’s work the design approach is more difficult to assess,
especially as its operation depends upon a degree of subtlety. In the Introduction I spoke
of a desire to establish a certain relationship between the works and the exterior
environment. This, I added, would operate in the human mind at the sub-conscious level.
Of course, in order to design this aspect, it requires a certain level of consciousness on the
part of the designer. If this is true, then the more observant visitor will also perceive and
benefit from the design strategy proposed.
In emphasizing the importance of the exterior space, its influence upon the interior will
be undeniable if given the opportunity of visual contact. In this design no part of the
gallery is without a wall bordering on exterior space of some kind.
11. Much of the Tate’s collection consists of modern works in brightly painted steel; for
example works by Alexander Calder, Anthony Caro and David Smith.

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Each part of the gallery offers the enjoyment of comparing the contents of the interior
with that of the exterior. By offering this opportunity, the visitor has the chance of
judging Constable’s work by both his own criteria and Constable’s in relation to nature as
it is. Of course, the disposition of trees, lawn, and water is artificial (although the sky is
not). But their mere existence enables the spectator to compare the reality of light and
shadows on a tree canopy, for example, with Constable’s representation of it (as seen in a
fragment of a picture). If the trees were not there, this simple advantage would not be
possible. By providing the means of some kind of comparison, the understanding of
Constable’s work by the visitor would be enhanced, and his pleasure in it magnified.
A further reading should also he mentioned. This is the use of natural elements as
symbols or signs. The trees are not just a part of nature, in themselves, but, in the hands
of a designer, they may be understood as (ironically) representations of it. Their clarity
as signs is important to our understanding of them, and this depends upon their
distinction as objects against their background. In this case, the background takes the
form of the grass lawns and buildings. It is against these that the visitor will view the
(‘natural’) objects. The buildings also define and control the space, and the lawns
describe it as a unit. The arrangement of the trees is ordered, and this helps to reinforce
their use as signs by emphasizing the play of artifice. (12)
When the scene outside is viewed from the inside, the system of comparison operates in a
different way. The trees are still the principle object, but their distinction as signs depends
upon the form of the foreground that encloses them. The importance of this action as a
mirrored representation is obvious: The tree as a ‘representation’ of nature becomes a
reality, which is framed by the window or opening in the buildings wall. The whole acts a
representation of Constable’s own (pictorial) representations in both form and content.
For, just as the spectators’ view of the exterior is limited, so is Constable’s work itself a
limited view of nature, defined by its frame. (Fig. 16) In addition, one must also admit
that neither are quite natural. Constable’s work is only a painted surface, and the
courtyard trees are positioned by a human will and pruned by gardeners.
As a response to the work, this mode, although proven in other designs may seem to lack
a certain force. (13) It also represents a strategy that depends too much upon elements,
12 This formality begs comparison with chess pieces on a chess board. The board defines the space, or
background, and the pieces represent certain ideas, (such as potential moves across the board).
Furthermore, the success of the game depends upon the ability to distinguish the pieces from each other and
the background with ease.
13 The Burrel Collection at Glasgow uses a glass curtain wall to draw a nearby wood into close contact
with the display. It sets up a bold contrast between nature and the artifice of man. The visitor is reminded
of the natural context of all art and human cultural endeavour. At Liverpool Street Station, trees are used to
represent nature as a focal point at the end of the train shed. It represents the countryside beyond the city
and the destination of trains. It draws ‘nature’ into the city and the man-made world of railways, and gives
a certain relief to its artifice.

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which traditionally lie outside the discipline. As such, in my next design, I sought to
reinstate Architecture as the dominant actor; the form of outside space being more
dependent upon architectural form. (Fig. 17)
Again the site is divided into two halves about the old administration building. To the
north, I again place the administration, and to the south, I placed the gallery. In this
scheme distinctions in building form between the two areas are made within the limits of
a theme. Each building takes its order from a single focal point, around which each
building radiates. Differences between the two result from different forms of
fragmentation. These derive from competing aims and objectives in the use of inside and
outside space.
The gallery focuses upon the main public entrance on John Islip Street at the north-west
corner of the Tate. The mass forms one quarter of a circle, which is divided in two by an
open space at 45 degrees. This forms a street, which draws the public into the site. The
street finishes with an open area in front of the existing hospital administration building
and from this, people are also drawn back to the side entrance of the Clore Gallery. The
administration building forms a barrier between the public realm of the gallery and the
private realm of the new administration complex. This forms a half circle around an inner
circle of open space to the bank of the hospital administration building. Service access is
made to an area behind the nurses’ hostel, and access to the car park below the complex
is made from Millbank.
As a site proposal, its significance is experimental. Difficulties in the internal
organization of both buildings far outweigh their advantages as a formal strategy to the
site. Furthermore, it lacks depth as a response to Constables work: The gallery could he
placed in either part of the plan and each decision being justified with equal force. But
the strategy of using different forms as a means of representing ideas was maintained in
latter designs, with respect to the gallery itself. (14)
14 Refer to the fragmented courtyard design in Chapter 2.

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17. Sketch plan of the radial design

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2. The Gallery
The design of the gallery passed through three stages. At each stage, the brief was
amended and the theoretical position developed. In part they follow the progress of the
site plan and build upon it. They include the design for the side wall to the 1979
extension, the courtyard designs, and a repeated bar or finger design. Two principle
themes may be identified. The first of these concerns styles of representation, and deals
with the use of architecture and landscape as signifiers of meaning external to
Constable’s work. The second concerns the use of architecture and landscape as a means
of enhancing, or reinforcing the meaning contained within the works themselves. The
intensity of each of these themes varies with each design strategy. The first theme is
emphasized in the first two design approaches, and the second theme is emphasized in the
third design approach, a repeated bar or finger design.
The design for the site along the side wall of the Tate consists of two levels. (Fig’s. 18,
19 & 20) The upper floor would match the existing gallery level in the Tate itself, so that
access to and from it would be accommodated with ease. The main gallery level would
contain Constable’s major work and have top lighting in the traditional (Victorian)
manner. Access from the ground floor would be made from both east and west on the
north side by ramp or staircase. On the ground additional gallery space would be
provided for smaller works in oil and drawings. The area closest to the Tate wall would
be naturally lit by a light well wedged between the Tate and the new extension. Below
this, small oils would be displayed on a structural wall supporting the upper galleries. On
the inner side; drawings, protected from natural light, would be displayed under artificial
lighting conditions. Further small works in oil would be displayed in parallel partitions at
right angles to the north wall. This would be a glass curtain wall. As a result, some
natural light would penetrate the interior, although not enough to damage the drawings
displayed at the back. Artificial lighting would supplement any short fall in day lighting.
The glass wall could also afford some visual connection with the exterior on both levels.
Trees planted along the road on its north side would remind the visitor of the reality
which Constable sought to represent. Whilst on the south side this effect would be
achieved with glimpses of the sky when passing from the Tate to the Constable
Collection. Finally, I should mention the area remaining between the new gallery and the
Clore; a double height space devoted to temporary exhibitions. This is a place in which
works by both Turner and Constable may be brought together and set beside one another
for comparison and discussion. It would also provide a practical means by which the
visitor may progress from one collection to the other if desired. On the ground floor
access to the existing ‘school entrance’ at the corner between the Tate and Clore would
also enable the use of the Clore gallery’s public facilities; its washrooms and lecture
theatre. In addition, this connection also provides access to the front of the Tate gallery
via the entrance foyer of the Clore.

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19. Side wall design (Scheme 1) First Floor Plan.

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20. Side Wall Design (Scheme 1) Section.

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In responding to Constables paintings this design follows the aims outlined in the initial
strategies for the site. The relationship between inside and outside is unspecific. It
depends upon the ability of the visitor to make associations between the works and the
external world. The architecture simply makes this possible by providing the visual
connections. This approach is carried through and developed in the courtyard designs.
Three designs were investigated within the courtyard group. These were the rectangle, the
square and the fragmented ‘courtyard’. The three represent different stages of theoretical
development, and deserve some attention.
In choosing a courtyard as a design strategy three points should be noted at the outset.
The first concerned a decision made to adopt the number and arrangement of paintings,
hung at the Tate gallery’s exhibition of Constable landscape paintings held in the summer
of 1991. This exhibition was divided into two parts: The Suffolk years (1802-1816) and
the London years (1816-1837). Within these two groups the pictures were ordered
according to chronology and theme. In the first group these included the following sub-
sections: The valley, the village, the river, and paintings from nature. In the second group
the themes centred on early set pieces, Hampstead and Salisbury, Brighton and the Lock,
later set pieces and the 1830’s. A number of rooms also exhibited drawings and water
colours, and mezzotints. Given the over-riding chronological nature of the exhibition; a
courtyard plan, I felt, would be the best solution. It would direct the progress of the
visitors through the exhibition in a straight forward and unambiguous manner, and return
them to the point of entrance.
The courtyard would also provide a central focus to the gallery. It would act as a
directional aid to a visitor’s progress through the works and with landscaping it would
also act as a symbolic focus to Constables main concern. In the previous chapter I dealt
with the use of nature as a means of learning and understanding Constable’s work. This
would occur when nature is read as itself, and as a representation of itself, in relation to
the painted landscapes. When understanding the side wall design these points were also
pertinent. When understanding the advantage of the courtyard theme, there is this
additional point. For here, the entire scheme may be said to be a representation of
Constable’s artistic struggle with the ‘problem’ of nature; his aim was to attain “a pure
and unaffected representation” of it, and yet, such an aim is impossible by definition. A
representation is always a representation. It is never the real thing. As such it remains
impure and affected.
15 See Appendix - 4 for the full list of paintings to be displayed and interior elevations showing their
layout.

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The building which surrounds nature becomes a metaphor of this struggle for identity
against the unavoidable differences between artifice and nature. The building is both a
real container of the works, and a representation of their differences with the natural
world, which is itself, both real and represented in the landscape of the courtyard. The
building surrounds the courtyard and defines its limits. It even takes its form from it, but
does not form a part of it. In the same way, Constables paintings give a certain definition
of the natural world. They take their form from it, but they too are forever distinct and
separate from it. The discipline that Constable set for himself was an insoluble paradox. It
became a struggle on a magnitude worthy of Sisyphus.
Of course, I will not pretend that gallery visitors will ‘see’ or read any of this from the
design. It is perhaps, just a little too abstract. However, as a design strategy it also
provides for beneficial affects upon immediate sensual impressions. The courtyard has
many practical advantages. It acts as a sun trap, drawing natural light and fresh air into
the heart of the building. It gives opportunities for introducing places of rest from
‘museum fatigue’ by offering visual connections to the exterior in every part of the
gallery. And finally, it provides a protected place for relaxation.
All these points have a direct bearing upon the form of the rectilinear plan. (Fig. 21) The
shape provides for two dominant wings with two connecting sections at each end. On the
street side, to the west, shops would be located on the ground floor. Between these, an
entrance would take visitors into the courtyard. From here, access to the gallery level
would be made from the south link. Visitors would turn left and enter the east wing
containing paintings from “the Suffolk years”. Visitors from the main gallery would also
enter at this point. At the northern end, they would cross to the west wing via the north
link. This would contain drawings and mezzotints. The west wing would house paintings
from the London years. On the ground floor of the east wing a restaurant and cafe would
be situated. In summer, these would extend their service into the sculpture court.
The form then, works for an easy distinction between the two major parts of the
exhibition, and its minor third. It allows for their chronological arrangement and takes
due care of visitors from the Tate. (16) The landscaped courtyard forms, both a focus to
the whole and acts as an entrance foyer to the galleries; the movement from and the
return to this exterior space form a beginning and an end for the visitors. It may also be
noted that this action might mirror the limits of Constable’s career and remind the visitor
of his beginning and his end.
16 At the Clore gallery, the Turner bequest is also ordered chronologically. This begins at the entrance to
the gallery, away from the Tate gallery. As a result, those entering from the latter, find themselves among
the last of Turners works, not his first.

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The square plan develops and simplifies the expression intended in the rectilinear plan.
(Fig’s. 22, 23 & 24) In this scheme, the gallery exhibition is treated as a whole. All its
parts are related to its centre: A point marked by a mature deciduous tree. Here, the use of
a single natural form excludes any ambiguities with respect to its function as a means of
representation. Its clarity is reinforced by the uniformity of its background and its strict
definition.
A cloister, which is enclosed by glass, surrounds the yard at low level, and determines a
physical separation from the centre.(Fig. 25) This limits the visitor to the role of observer.
In giving visual access to the yard, it sets up a desire within the visitor to enter and
experience the space ‘within’. By preventing physical access, this desire is thwarted. The
intention is to leave an experience upon the visitor which mirrors Constable’s Own
frustrations with nature. (17) The cloister also has a certain expressive connection to
Constable’s life. Not only do its associations with monastic life serve to mirror his own as
an artist, the cloister also reminds the visitor of the importance of his religious
connections; his paintings of Salisbury Cathedral, the patronage of its bishop, Dr John
Fisher, his great friendship with the bishop’s nephew, The Revd. John Fisher, and his
wife, Maria Bicknell, whom he met while she was staying with her grandfather, Dr
Rhudde, the rector of East Bergholt. The cloister also has a practical function as both a
circulation route, and as a means of relieving museum fatigue.
Other differences with the rectilinear plan should be noted, particularly those concerning
its relationship to the site. Of these the most important is its complete separation from the
Tate.
This allows for access to the sculpture court between the Tate and the new gallery. It
changes the previous hierarchy of the exterior space by making the sculpture court the
principle exterior space: Access to all the remaining parts of the complex being
controlled from this point. It also serves to retain the central administration building as
the principle building on the site. This is reinforced as people turn into the square at the
south-east corner of the gallery. Here they are faced with its surprising and dominating
presence at the northern end. The action of turning also draws the eye across the western
17 A similar, though not intentional, experience may be seen at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
Although, here the courtyard does not have trees, nor is it at a higher level. In abbey cathedrals this
difference in level is common, and serves to limit movement to the perimeter of the cloisters. For example:
at Westminster Abbey, London.

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22. The Square Courtyard Design. (Scheme 3) Site Plan and Section Sketches

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23. The Square Courtyard Design (Scheme 3.) Ground Floor Plan

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24. The Square Courtyard Design (Scheme 3.) First Floor Plan

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25. The Square Courtyard Design (Scheme 3.) Section Detail

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elevation of the Clore so that its horizontal elements become dominant over the vertical
in the process. The action also reduces the impact of the whole as this in turn leads to its
comparison with the higher remaining hospital building, to which it becomes subservient.
From the sculpture court access is also made to the new gallery. As an alternative
entrance, it takes advantage of the new expansive frontage, and its sunny prospect.
The separation from the Tate also gives two further advantages. It releases the gallery
from the constraints of a low floor to ceiling level at the ground floor, and allows the
gallery level to exceed the height of the main floor in the Tate. It also allows for
additional shops to be placed on the south side of the gallery, with a goods entrance to the
north.
The third design based upon the courtyard model develops the use of form as a means of
representation in yet another way. (Fig’s. 26 & 27) The fragmented courtyard returns to
the division of the exhibition into its two parts. In this case, formal distinctions are made
between them. Paintings made during the Suffolk years are housed in a straight rectilinear
form. This is placed along the west side on John Islip Street. Paintings made during the
London years are placed within trapezoidal forms of differing shapes and sizes. These are
arranged on the eastern side of the ‘courtyard’ in a radial fashion about the centre of the
building.
This new approach demands some justification, both in terms of the object of
representation and the appropriateness of the means.
Although the break between the two periods is superficially defined by the date of
Constables marriage, and his subsequent move to London in 1816, a change in the
substance of Constables work can be identified. In the first period, he set out to achieve
the aim of representing nature in a “pure and unaffected” way. This gave him a focus. Its
limits defined the range of his discipline, its order and its content. His skill in
composition, learnt from the Old Masters, his understanding of colour, tone and texture,
and his technical knowledge concerning his art were all brought to bear upon the
problem. It was an approach which culminated in the period between 1814 and 1817, a
period covered in the 1991 exhibition under the general title of ‘paintings from nature.’
Parris states that this was a time when “Constables naturalism was at its most literal.”
(18) Prior to 1814, Constable had prepared his exhibition pictures from drawings and oil
sketches taken in the field: the larger canvases then being prepared in the studio.
Although these depicted specific scenes, it was only after 1814 that he began to paint
these in exhibition pieces largely “on the spot”. (19) “The Stour and Dedham Village”
18 Parris. Op.cit. P.9.
19 Ibid. P.29.

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26. The Fragmented Courtyard Design (Scheme 4) Sketch Plan

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27. The Fragmented Courtyard Design (Scheme 4) Isometric Sketch

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(1814-15), “Boat building” (1814) (Fig.28), “The Wheatfield” (1816), “Flatford Mill”
(1816-17) and “Fen Lane, East Bergholt” (1817) are all good examples. These represent
the culmination of his original approach to nature and the artistic discipline which
developed from it. After moving to London, Constable continued to work directly from
nature on small and medium sized pictures. However, the desire to paint larger set pieces
meant a return to the studio. This led to a new artistic approach.
In the series of six foot canvases depicting canal scenes, Parris notes a change in the
treatment of his most familiar material, “The projection of it on a larger and grander
scale,” he states, “forced Constable to distance himself from his original sources.” (20)
This had two contrasting effects.
Firstly, this new ‘distance’ gave him the means to exercise greater objectivity in the
observations he did make. These became increasingly analytical. Instead of observing a
scene as a whole, he focused on its individual components. These were often made in
relation to other objects, both similar and different, and in relation to the passage of time.
Especially notable were his series of oil sketches and watercolours, which he made of the
clouds over Hampstead in 1821 and 1822. (Fig. 29) Constable made up to a hundred of
these, often in quick succession. Many are dated to the hour, and some are dated with
references to the state of the weather before and after each sketch. (21) Other subjects
were also studied in isolation; such as seascapes, trees, foliage, wagons, farm implements
and colliers on Brighton beach. Comparative studies were also made between things,
such as sky and sea, or sky and landscape, and at the more abstract level, between colours
and textures, and light and shadows. Indeed, Constable developed the view, that
chiaroscuro, a technique which refers to the study of the latter, was not just an artistic
devise, but a law of nature itself. (22) So developed had Constables observations become,
that before Faraday and other leading British scientists, he was prepared to end a lecture
given to the British Institution with the following words.
“Painting is a science, and should be pursued as an inquiry into the laws of nature. Why,
then, may not landscapes be considered as a branch of natural philosophy, of which
pictures are but the experiments? In such an age as this, painting should be understood,
nor looked on with blind wonder, nor considered only as a poetic aspiration, but as a
pursuit, legitimate, scientific, and mechanical.” (23)
20 Ibid. P.39.
21 Ibid. P.43 -4
22 Ibid. P.65.
23 Walker, Op.cit. P.20.

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The second effect of this distancing from nature was the creation of space in which
Constable was able to exercise his imagination and his talents for invention. In doing so,
he removed the discipline he had first imposed upon himself; a fidelity to nature, in its
most direct sense. This was particularly true in the area of topographical realism. Initially,
he allowed himself the luxury of minor transgressions, with the careful arrangement of
people and animals. Later, he rearranged foliage and trees. He even repositioned
buildings. In the “Leaping horse,” for example, he ‘moved’ the church tower at Dedham
some two miles, in order for it to appear on the right hand side of the picture.(Fig. 30) By
separating the parts from the natural order of things (as they appeared in reality),
Constable illustrates their new found importance, already suggested in his isolated
analytical studies. But, with the loss of order provided by nature, Constable was forced to
establish his own order. (25) In the “Leaping horse,” these changes in topography seem to
be made for precisely this reason. Parris notes that the whole picture is about movement
and the animation of nature, and it is this which seems to provide the unity of the
composition. Even painting technique in adjusted to take account of this priority, over
and above the requirements of exacting representation. (26)
With the move to London, it is clear that Constable underwent a major reorientation in
his approach to the form and content of his discipline. In the design strategy of the
fragmented courtyard, my intention was to make a formal representation of this in as
clear a way as possible.
The first gallery block aims to illustrate the simplicity and the unity of Constable’s initial
approach to the problem of representing nature. Its singular definition indicates a singular
purpose. Whilst it’s ordered regularity imitates the confinement of its limitations. In the
second block, these limits are broken, and the whole is fragmented into its parts. Each
subsection becomes an identity within the unifying structure of the radial plans: A new
order, representing Constable’s own interest in the expression of the dynamic in nature.
As a design strategy, the fragmented courtyard may face a degree of criticism in both its
own terms of reference, and in those of building practice.
24
25 The unprecedented use of full size sketches first used in his canal scenes suggests the
importance of composition in Constable’s work. These gave him a clear opportunity to make minor
adjustments, and even establish new structures and arrangements prior to beginning the final piece
26 Parris, Op. cit. P.57.

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Certainly the contrast between the two parts may be overstated. This would lead to the
accusation that both the analysis and its design concept were too simplistic. However,
more damaging perhaps would be accusations in reverse. In short, that both idea and form
were two abstract for popular comprehension.
In theory, the simple recognition of these formal contracts would raise certain questions
in the mind of the visitor. Although these may not be answered immediately, it is clear
that some active search for reason would ensue. Hopefully, the recognition of differences
in building form would translate into a similar recognition of the differences in the work
itself.
Of course, differences identified in Constable’s work may be open to question and, even
if acceptable, the mode of representation may attract further criticism. Indeed, there
remains a substantial body of opinion which regards any overt architectural discourse
within the gallery as an unsolicited interference. (27)
But perhaps the most critical problem concerning this formal approach are the
difficulties, which it presents when consideration is given to the necessity of controlling
the path of natural light. For, though the design also aims to involve a dramatic play of
light, in order to enhance the drama of similar themes formed in Constables late work,
(28) this strategy does present a problem for conservation.
With prolonged exposure, photo-chemical change takes place within the material
constituents of art work. It causes extensive damage and remains a matter of principle
concern to curators. However, it is also true that the display of art under natural light is
much the more preferable way in which to view it. .
27 Thomas Fisher, for example, has raised just these questions in a Progressive architecture, May 1990.
P.84.
In the new Sainsbury wing of the National Gallery, London, Robert Venturi introduces some elements of
his home-made classicism into the gallery areas. However, even here, their prominence is much curtailed
by its grey colour scheme. Ostensibly, this is justified as the best background for display purposes. But this
argument can hardly be applied with respect to the ceilings, columns and curb stones. Here, the influence of
the curator is clearly dominant. As a consequence, the spaces are dull, repetitive and ultimately oppressive.
In the Clore Gallery, attempts at overt architectural display have been avoided within the gallery area.
Instead, architecture has been deliberately used to establish a more benign ambience to the spaces in
question. The effect is subtle and works in harmony with the work displayed. Any architectural
flamboyance has been expelled to the entrance foyer.
28 With this late ability to establish distinctions in the parts of nature, not only were new ordering
relationships possible, but deliberate attempts were made to emphasize these in bold and dramatic
contrasts. This is particularly true of his depictions of the differences between light and shadow in
cloudscapes. In storm clouds these contrasts are shown at their maximum. For example: “Seascape, study
with rain clouds,” 1824-8; “Hadliegh Castle,” 1828-9; and “Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows,” 1831.

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31. The Kruithof Curve.
Reproduced from Ansom, Gordon O. and Steven Weintraub, “Technics: Natural light in
Museums: an Asset or a Threat?” Progressive Architecture, May, 1990. P.50

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Clearly, the needs of both should be met. Thus, with these concerns in mind, I moved
away from the use of form as a principle means of representation, and sort to express the
differences found in Constable’s work in an alternative way.
Given that the principle concern of conservationists is the control of light, I took the
opportunity to develop a design strategy, which also focused attention upon its control.
Here, a theoretical position became possible based upon the hypothesis that differences in
the quality of ambient lighting could be achieved via the manipulation of natural light.
Inside the galleries the kind of qualitative differences would take their cue from the
content of the work itself. This would, in theory, match its emotive affect and through its
enhancement, perhaps enable a degree of clarity in our understanding of the works of art.
Two designs were investigated, and these were to follow the essence of the previous
interpretation of Constable’s work already described. Thus, in keeping with the idea that
the early work is substantially different to his late work, the two designs aim to separate
the two periods, and give each period a suitable quality of light. Given the kind of
discipline that Constables early work underwent, his fidelity to nature, and his desire to
paint on the spot, conditions which appear to mimic the kind of light found outside during
the summer months, would perhaps be most appropriate. Thus, in the galleries containing
the “Suffolk years,” the ambient lighting would take the form of warm or “yellow” lights.
In contrast, much of his late work was produced in the cool north light of the studio. So
that here, “blue” lights would seem most appropriate. (29) In the more ‘exacting’ terms of
science, these differences may be expressed in the measurement of colour temperature
under the low intensity levels of illuminance required for conservation, a warm light may
be achieved with a figure of 2700 Kelvin (k) and a cool light with a figure of 4000k.
These figures are derived from the Kruithof curve. (Fig. 31) This graphically illustrates
the variable relationships between cool temperature, its perception and the intensity of
illumination (in foot candles). At 20 FC, which is a recommended figure for galleries and
approximates to 150 lux of illuminance, Kruithof suggests that the range between 2700k
and 3800k is most pleasing. (30)
29 These differences are also reflected in the work itself. Constable’s early work tends to express reds,
oranges and yellows, whilst his late work, greens, blues and whites. The former are warm, relaxed and
contented. Whilst the later tend to be cool and dramatic. Compare Fig. 28 with Fig. 30 for example.
30 For further comment on the Kruithof curve see Anson, Gordon O. and Steven Weintraub, “Technics:
Natural Light in Museums: an asset or a threat?” Progressive Architecture, May 1990.
See : ‘Light, Air & Architecture,’ Building Services, July, 1987. P.18. The article on the Clore Gallery
services gives recommended lux levels for art galleries.

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Kruithof’s curve also shows that this range increases with an increase in the intensity of
illumination. This is an important point, as levels in excess of a 150 k lux are now
possible given a shift of measurement to annual restrictions on exposure levels. In the
Clore gallery, for example, the installation of a computer controlled louvre system, means
that new levels of illuminance can now be as high as 500/600 lux, within an annual limit
of 500,000 lux. (31) According to Kruithof, this means that increases in colour
temperature are possible without the loss of “yellow” light and its warming effect. With
respect to the aims of this scheme, it means that a warm ambience may be achieved (in
galleries showing the early works) simply by letting more natural light in. This point is of
particular concern as Anson & Weintraub note that a naturally lit gallery actually
averages around 6500 k (32) At low intensity levels this means that a gallery will fall
firmly into the zone identified by Kruithof as giving a “blue” light. And, although this
may be appropriate for Constable’s late work an increase in the intensity of illumination
to 40 FC would seem necessary in order to ensure a warm light within the galleries
containing the early work.
However, given that this method is solely dependent upon the expediency of allowing
more light into one gallery over another, its adoption may not be justified, purely on the
basis of a differential exposure to the damaging effects of ultraviolet light. Instead, such a
strategy can only be justified as a supplement to alternative methods. Of these, two were
identified. This first still maintains the use of natural light, but achieves a certain
selectivity in its source and the second depends upon a choice of artificial means as a
principle support.
Simply put, northern light is cool in feel and appears as a “blue” light. Light from the
south tends to be warm, and appears as “yellow” light. From this understanding, two
schemes were developed and these aimed to take advantage of these natural differences,
and apply them to the task of establishing the different ambient qualities required. Both
took the form of parallel gallery blocks or “bars”. In the fifth scheme, three bars are
arranged in the preferred manner according to the site limitations. These run from north
to south (Fig. 32 & 33). In the sixth scheme four parallel bars are arranged with each
running from west to east (Fig’s 35 & 36). Each lead to different cross-sections: In the
first plan, the direction of the light source is solely controlled by the angle of the Louvre
blades. These run between Glulam beams across the width of each bar. (Fig 34) (33.) In
the second, louvres also run east to west, but exist on both sides of a lantern. These run
31 Building Services. Op. cit. P.18.
32 Anson & Weintraub, Op. cit. P.5 1.
33 In this section the use of natural light is used for two purposes. These are distinguished by the form of
the roof section. The central blades determine the ambient light and the angled roof section by the side
walls uses natural light as task lighting to illuminate the picture, in combination with artificial means.

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32. Bar Design (Scheme 5) Ground Floor Plan.
33. Bar Design (Scheme 5) First Floor Plan.

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34. Bar Design (Scheme 5) Section.

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35. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Ground Floor Plan.

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36. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Gallery Floor Plan.

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continuously along the top of each gallery block (Figs 37 & 38). Again, adjustments in
the louvre blades determine the direction of the principle light source. Thus, in galleries
one and two, for example, all light comes from the south, and all northern light is
excluded (Fig 39). (34) In both cases, the blades are adjustable. This allows for variation
in the amount of illuminence on the surface of the gallery interior. It also allows for
alternative lighting schemes when required.
The use of artificial light sources is also important for establishing the desired feel to
each gallery, as well as providing the specific service of supplementary or primary task
lighting. (35)
Again, simply put, fluorescent lights produce cool “blue” light, suitable for the ambient
lighting of the late works. Whilst Tungsten filament lamps, at low intensity, produce
warm “yellow” light of a colour temperature range between 2750 and 2950 k. (36) And
these would suit the effect required in the early works. In addition, they would also
supplement any short fall in warm southern light during cloudy days.
Of the two strategies, Scheme 6 appeared to be the more successful, and this was
developed into the more complete proposal.
34. These differences in ambient lighting based on selective natural light sources can be experienced at first
hand in the Tate itself. In a narrow gallery, with a central colonnade, in the south-west centre of the old
building, a room is solely lit by north lights. (Figs 40 & 41.) The space is washed in a cool white light.
This differs sharply in feel from the more traditional gallery sections of the period. These take light from
both north and south. As a result they appear warmer by comparison. (Fig 42)
35 Anson & Weintraub, Op. cit. P. 45.
36 Ibid. P.51

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38. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Gallery Lantern Detail.

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39. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Sectional Perspective through floor galleries.

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40. Existing Plan of Tate Gallery. (Drawing provided by Tate Gallery.)

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41. Sketch of Colonnade Gallery at the Tate Gallery.

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42. Sketch of Typical Victorian Gallery at the Tate Gallery.

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Conclusion
In the introduction to this paper, I stated two (& perhaps a little too vague) principle
aims: The design of a building pleasing in its aspect of structure, function and beauty, and
a design which sort to comment upon the particular issue of its contents. Despite the
distinctions made, I have sort throughout to entwine the two in some meaningful way.
Such a motive, however, is, I believe, rare in the history of the gallery. (37) As such the
project has the difficult problem of suffering from lack of precedent.
However, some examples do exist in which galleries have been designed for work of a
singular or unified theme. I have already mentioned two examples; the new Sainsbury
wing, which houses the Renaissance Collection of the National Gallery, finished in 1991;
and the Clore Gallery housing the Turner Collection at the Tate. A third important
example is the Paul Mellon Centre for British Art at Yale University in New Haven,
USA. This was designed by Louis Kahn and completed in 1977. Given that critical
judgment is usually made via a system of comparison, no doubt it is these few examples
which will fall most readily to the mind of the reader. However, differences in the
approach to this project should be noted in relation to the aims of each of the above.
Indeed, in the case of the Clore Gallery the use of architecture as a means of commentary
upon the work has largely been avoided entirely. Instead, it appears that James Stirling,
the Architect, has used his opportunity to pursue his own ideas on matters of pure
architectural interest and the further development of his personal style; a task which
clearly has little to do with J. M. W. Turner.
In contrast to this, both Venturi and Kahn have made some effort in this direction. In the
Sainsbury wing, Venturi seems to rely on formal strategies. For example, the use of a
colonnade in forced perspective reminds the visitor where (most) of these works ought to
hang. On entering the gallery area, this view, which cuts across the three parallel gallery
groups, recreates the visual experience (though not exactly) of a church, whose axis ends
with the display of a Renaissance altar piece, also in perspective. In other parts, Venturi
also mimics the arrangement of rooms, door openings and works of art in a manner which
may be likened to similar arrangements found in Renaissance palaces. (38)
37 See: Dan Cruickshank, “The Evolution of the Gallery”, Architectural Review, Vol. 190, No
1139, Jan. 1992. P. 63-67.
38 Venturi’s work, of course, does not stay within the rules or even the spirit of early Renaissance
architecture, ecclesiastical or otherwise. So it is arguable that not one aspect of his design has any relevance
to its contents. At best, his playful approach to classical architecture is done more in the spirit of
Mannerism, which covers a period of history after the work it houses. (Even the perspectival staircase is a
comment not upon a Renaissance, but a Baroque architectural innovation.) At worst, his design could
represent nothing more than sheer cynicism for the art displayed, its solemnity and sincerity. However, the
building produces so many conflicting messages that to ‘read’ it with any certainty is truly impossible.

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Kahn also uses a similar strategy in The Centre for British Art, although here the effects
are contained within the limits of his own formal idiom or style. Thus, instead of
reproducing in detail actual elements found within the English country house, Kahn only
attempts to recreate their essential elements. He relies upon room proportions, spatial
arrangements, the position of walls, windows and openings, the character of materials,
the variable means of natural lighting and the way pictures are hung. There is perhaps no
equal to Kahn’s subtlety when the feel of a private salon is recreated at the rear of the
building. Here paintings are hung in profusion in a series of rooms connected by full floor
to ceiling openings. The arrangement imitates an enfilade, which was also popular in
English Baroque palaces. And, as in these, the works are also lit from the side (in
addition to the more typical top lighting). Perhaps, like Venturi, Kahn has sort to remind
the visitor where these paintings ought to be.
Returning to my own design, clearly some similarities exist in relation to all three
approaches. The initial schemes certainly follow the manner, if not the content of the
Venturi galleries by emphasizing form as a principle method of representation and
commentary. Whilst the final scheme follows Kahn’s approach in terms of its reliance
upon the more abstract tools of architectural discourse: the control of light, scale and
arrangement. However, crucial differences remain and these, I feel, are enough to limit
any judgment of the scheme to its own criteria. In short, the resolution of displaying
landscapes within the confines of interior space in a city context. In contrast, the task set
by Venturi and Kahn is simply more straight-forward. For in both cases commentary in
the manner of an overall theme has been determined by reference to specific internal
places. Of course, Constable’s paintings were intended to hang inside, but that is all one
can say about them. As such the task of designing a place for them could not be derived
by simply recreating the feel or ambience of other building types or locations; (although,
perhaps the final design could be interpreted as having similar formal qualities to early
nineteenth century architecture, and even perhaps gallery design). Instead the problem of
creating an appropriate theoretical discourse, which would ultimately lead to an
appropriate environment for display, had to come from the work itself, and the life and
vision of the painter. The task of achieving any conclusion on both questions has been
difficult. Nevertheless, some resolution between the demands of theoretical intent and
those of matters pertaining to the more mundane demands of conservation, and building
practice has been achieved in a limited form. And, as a discourse between theory and
practice, the study has offered much into the way design develops. Of particular
importance has been the role of selection. Indeed, for action to take place, it seems points
of importance must first be identified from a range of issues or intentions. Each decision
then leads on to the generation of others to be categorized and selected for further
analysis. Design processes, however, are not exactly linear (& hence there is an added
difficulty in their translation to the written word), but act as a matrix of issues by which
the processes of selection, and its genealogy are subjected. This very diversity is itself a
problem, so that all design activity needs a certain degree of self restraint or limitation.
Perhaps, the best strategy for this is the maintenance of a specific goal or theme, however

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obscure, from the very outset. In this respect, my own interpretation and structure
imposed by the life and work of John Constable is a matter of little importance if a design
of some kind, with some kind of logic, has at least been achieved.
43. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Sketch of elevation on John Islip Street.

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44. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Site Plan.

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45. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Scaled Model of Gallery under natural light.

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46. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Sketch of elevation on John Islip Street at night

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47. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Roof Plan
END

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References
Anson, Gordon O. and
Steven Weintraub.
“Technics: Natural Light in Museums: asset or a threat?”
Progressive Architecture, May 1990. P. 49-54.
Architectural Review Theme: “Museum & Memory,” Vol. 190, No. 1139, Jan.
1992 - includes articles on ten museum and gallery
designs, an article on gallery lighting and a history of the
gallery.
Bayley, Stephen. Nature, Work & Art. O.U.P. 1977.
Bowman, Mark. “Building Services; Tate Gallery, Liverpool,” Building
Vol. 253, No. 7556, July, 1988. P. 66-67.
Boyden, J. & R. Gardener. “Tate Gallery, Liverpool,” International Lighting Review,
Jan. 1990.
Brawne, Michael. “The Picture Wall,” Architectural Review, May, 1959.
Brawne, Michael “Object on View,” Architectural Review, Nov. 1959.
Buchanan, Peter. “Tate on the Mersey,” Architectural Review, Vol. 184,
No. 1097, July, 1988. P. 18-27.
Buchanan, Peter. “Up into the light,” The Sackler Galleries, The Royal
Academy, London, Architectural Review, Vol. 189, No.
1138, Dec. 1991. P. 56-61.
Journal of the Institute of
Building Services.
“Light, air and architecture,” Vol. 9, No. 7, July, 1987. P.
17-21.
Cruickshank, Dan. “Playing high games,” Architects Journal, 22 April, 1987.
Dixon, John Morris &
Rowan Moore
“Learning from London,” Sainsbury wing. National
Gallery, London, Progressive Architecture, August, 1991.
Fisher, Thomas. “Museum Form & Function,” Progressive Architecture,
May, 1990.
Gombrich, Ernst. H. The Story of Art, Phaidon, Oxford, 1984. (1st Ed. 1950).

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Hamlyn, Robin. “The Clore project. The shaping of a gallery.” The Clore
Gallery. An illustrated account of the new building for the
Turner Collection, The Tate Gallery, London, 1987.
International Lighting
Review.
“The Vincent Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.”
International Lighting Review. Feb. 1990.
Jenkins, David & Dan
Cruickshank.
“Capital Gains,” The Sainsbury Wing, The National
Gallery, London, Architects Journal, Vol. 194, No. 7,
21 August, 1991.
Jenks, Charles. “Clore Contextualism,” in “Tate and Clore”, Architectural
Review, Vol. 181, No. 1084, June, 1987. - Interview with
James Stirling.
Jones, Peter Brundell. “Texas Masterpiece”, The Kimbell Museum at Forth
Worth, Texas. Architects Journal, Vol. 195, No. 9, 4
March, 1992.
Loe, David. “Architectural Light. 5 lighting for display,” Architects
Journal, Vol, 87, No. 17, 27 April, 1988.
Mathews, Geoff. Museums & Art Galleries. A design & development guide.
Butterworth - Heinemann, Oxford, 1991.
Malotki, Hans T. Von &
others.
Light in Museums & Galleries, Concord Lighting Ltd.,
London, (1985).
Maxwell, Robert. Both serious & popular: Venturi’s Sainsbury Wing,”
Architecture Today, July, 1991.
Parris, Leslie. Constable, Pictures from the exhibition, Tate Gallery,
London, 1991.
Parris, Leslie & Ian
Fleming-Williams.
Constable, The Tate Gallery, London, 1991.
Pritchard, D.C. Lighting, Longman, London, 1985.
Read, Herbert. The Meaning of Art, Faber & Faber, London, 1972.
(1st Ed. 1931).
Reynolds, Graham. Constable, the natural painter,
Cory, Adams and Mackay, London, 1965.

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Summerson, John. “Vitruvius ridens or laughter at the Clore,” in “Tate &
Clore,” Architectural Review, Vol. 181, No. 1084, June,
1987. P. 38-50.
Sutherland, John. Constable, Phaidon, London, 1972.
Walker, John John Constable,Thames and Hudson, London, 1979.
Wilson, Peter. “A new light on Turner: Reconciling conservation and
display,” The Clore Gallery, an illustrated account of the
new building for the Turner Collection, The Tate Gallery,
London, 1987.

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Illustrations
Frontispiece: “The Haywain,” 1821, Exhibited 1821 oil on canvas 1305 x 1855. John
Constable RA.
1. Existing site plan.
2. Elevation of former the nurses’ home on John Islip Street.
3. Elevation of former hospital administration building.
4. Illustration of the former hospital administration building.
5. Plan of site prior to Clore Gallery extension.
6. Illustration of the Millbank housing estate on John Islip Street
7. Illustration of the north wall of the Tate Gallery: from left to right, it shows the west
elevation of the Clore Gallery, a small section of the original building by Sydney Smith,
and the Llwelyn Davis extension.
8. Illustration of the west elevation to the Llwelyn Davis extension on John Islip Street.
9. Illustration of the west elevation to the Clore Gallery.
10. Illustration of the north elevation to the Clore Gallery.
11. Site plan showing shadow line at the rear of the Tate Gallery.
12. Side wall design, (Scheme 1) site plan.
13. Site plan by James Stirling, designed between 1979 & 1986.
14. Rectangular courtyard design (Scheme 2) sketch plan.
15. Rectangular courtyard design (Scheme 2) sketch.
16. Detail sketch showing the juxtaposition of ‘nature’ framed in a Constable painting
and ‘nature’ (in reality) framed by a window opening. (Not included in text.)
17. Sketch plan of radial site plan.
18. Side wall design (Scheme 1) ground floor plan.
19. Side wall design (Scheme 1) first floor plan.
20. Side wall design (Scheme 1) section.
21. The rectangular courtyard design (Scheme 2) sketch plans.
22. The square courtyard design (Scheme 3), site plan and section sketches.
23. The square courtyard design (Scheme 3), ground floor plan.
24. The square courtyard design (Scheme 3), first floor plan.
25. The square courtyard design (Scheme 3), section detail.
26. The fragmented courtyard design (Scheme 4) sketch plan.
27. The fragmented courtyard design (Scheme 4) Isometric sketch.
28. “The Wheatfield,” 1815-16, exh. 1816 oil on canvas 537 x 772. John Constable RA.
29. “Cloud study with birds,” 1821. Oil on paper on board 255 x 305. John Constable
RA.
30. “The leaping horse,” 1825, exh. 1825, oil on canvas 1422 x 1873. John Constable
RA.
31. The Kruithof Curve. Reproduced from Anson, Gordon 0. & Steven Weintraub,
“Technics: Natural Light in Museums: An Asset or a Threat?” Progressive Architecture,
May, 1990. P.50

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32. Bar design. (Scheme 5) Ground floor plan.
33. Bar design. (Scheme 5) First floor plan.
34. Bar design. (Scheme 5) Section.
35. Bar design. (Scheme 6) Ground floor plan.
36. Bar design. (Scheme 6) First floor design.
37. Bar design. (Scheme 6) Section perspective through one gallery.
38. Bar design. (Scheme 6) Lantern detail.
39. Bar design. (Scheme 6) Section perspective through floor galleries.
40. Plan of Tate Gallery.
41. Sketch of Colonnade gallery at the Tate.
42. Sketch of typical Victorian gallery at the Tate.
43. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Sketch of elevation on John Islip Street
44. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Site Plan.
45. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Scaled Model of Gallery (under natural light)
46. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Sketch of elevation on John Islip Street at night
47. Bar Design (Scheme 6) Roof Plan
48. Demolition options.
(Illustrations of Constable’s paintings are not included in text.)

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Appendix – 1: Schedules of Accommodation
A. PROPOSED SCHEDULE OF ACCOMMODATION FOR SCHEME 1.
1 Gallery accommodation: (wall length & area). Wall length & Area
a. Main gallery space for large oils. 140m & 450 m2.
b. Ground floor galleries for small oils. 120m & 350m2.
c. Ground floor galleries for drawings and
mezzotints.
34m & 100m2.
d. Temporary exhibition space. 250m2.
Sub-total. 1150m2.
2. Galleries services.
a. Reception & Entrance. 100m2.
b. Staff Room. 40m2.
c. W.C.s 20m2.
d. Circulation. 160m2
e. Storage of paintings. 150m2
f. Plant room (H.A.V.C.) 300m2
Sub-total. 770m2.
Total area l920m2.

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B. PROPOSED SCHEDULE OF ACCOMMODATION FOR ENLARGED SCHEMES
(TYPICAL).
1 Gallery accommodation: (Wall length & Area)
1 The valley: 32m & 80m2.
2 The village: 32m & 80m2.
3 The River: 32m & 80m2.
4&5 Paintings from nature: 50m & 160m2.
6 Early set-pieces: 32m2 & 80m2.
7&8 Hampstead: 50m & 160 m2.
9 Salisbury: 32m & 80m2.
10 Brighton: 32m & 80m2.
11 Later set-pieces. 42m & 160mn2.
12 l830s: 40m&160m2
a drawings: 54m & 120m2.
b mezzotints : 22m & 40m2.
c temporary exhibition: 32m & 80m2.
Sub-total: 482m &
1360m2.

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2. Gallery Services. (Area)
Reception & Entrance: 200m2.
Staff changing rooms: 80m2.
W.C.’s: 80m2.
Circulation & lifts: 250m2.
Coats: 80m2.
Computer centre: 80m2.
Reading room & meetings: 100m2.
Lecture theatre & foyer (30 people). 150m2.
Restaurant (50 people). 200m2.
Kitchen. 100m2.
Storage & loading clock 100m2.
Bookshop 80m2.
Shops for rent. 250m2.
Storage for paintings. 200m2.
sub total : 1650m2
Plant / H.A.V.C: 400m2.
Gallery total: 3790m2

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3 Tate Gallery Administration Block (Area)
a Offices: 300m2.
b Lecture room (30 people): 160m2.
c Library: 300m2.
d Study area: 200m2.
e W.C.’s: 40m2.
f Staff common room: 40m2.
g Conservation department
Workshops 200m2.
Storage 100m2.
Offices: 40m2.
W.C.s: 10m2.
Goods & Circulation 50m2.
Subtotal: 400m2.
h Ten artists studios: 200m2.
i Three flats for visiting Professors: 150m2.
j Storage for paintings 300m2.
k Storage & loading docks: 100m2.
l Plant room H.A.V.C: 500m2.
Total 2730m2.
m Car parking (30 vehicles)

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C. SCHEDULE OF ACCOMMODLATION FOR THE FINAL DESIGN (SCHEME 6).
1 Gallery accommodation: (Wall length & Area)
1 The valley: 40m & 108m2.
2 The village: 38m & 108m2.
3 The River: 34m & 80m2.
4&5 Paintings from nature: 62m & 160m2.
6 Early set-pieces: 34m2 & 90m2.
7&8 Hampstead: 64m & 160 m2.
9 Salisbury: 34m & 90m2.
10 Brighton: 38m & 90m2.
11 Later set-pieces. 56m & 205mn2.
12 l830s: 60m & 205m2
a drawings: 54m & 110m2.
b mezzotints : 22m & 40m2.
c temporary exhibition: 28m & 80m2.
sub-total: 564m &
1546m2.

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2. Gallery Services. (Area)
Reception & Entrance: 200m2.
Staff changing rooms: 80m2.
W.C.’s: 80m2.
Circulation & lifts: 250m2.
Coats: 80m2.
Computer centre: 80m2.
Reading room & meetings: 100m2.
Lecture theatre & foyer (30 people). 150m2.
Restaurant (50 people). 200m2.
Kitchen. 100m2.
Storage & loading clock 100m2.
Bookshop 80m2.
Shops for rent. 250m2.
Storage for paintings. 200m2.
sub total : 1650m2
Plant / H.A.V.C: 400m2.
Gallery total: 3790m2

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Appendix – 2: Correspondence
Not included in this edition
Appendix – 3: Demolition Proposals
DISCUSSION OF FORMER HOSPITAL AND ITS ORDERING PRINCIPLES IN
RELATION TO THE ISSUE OF DEMOLITION
The Victorian hospital is a good example of nineteenth century rationalism. Its formal
and spatial arrangements are indicative of contemporary thought, its structure and
content.
In principle, the system of thought is displayed in the medium of architecture as a
combination of simple binary classifications, which are united in similar forms or
distinguished by hierarchical arrangements. These then represent opinion on medical
matters and social distinctions. Of the latter, the design shows much evidence. For
example distinctions are made between places of manual labour and clerical work, served
and service spaces, spaces for movement and spaces for centralized activity, public and
private spaces, distinctions between front and back, places of authority and subordination,
and places of rest and work. Of the former, health and environmental issues are
represented in the arrangement of space inside and space outside, and in the clarity of
spatial distinctions and its importance to the problem of disease containment. Finally I
should also mention a certain distinction, deliberate or sub-conscious, which shows
continuing evidence of the relative importance of non-rational ordering principles. Aside
from the use of the classical idiom, of particular interest is the use (perhaps analogically
excusable) of the human body as a model for unifying the disparate elements of the
whole complex. Before dealing with the issue of demolition, I shall deal with each of
these aspects in more detail in order to show both the richness and delicate complexity,
which thoughtless demolition would destroy entirely.
The building is a series of wings arranged at right angles to a central communications
spine (on two levels) (Fig. 5). These are spaced at regular intervals, five on each side. The
spine runs east to west. The wings run north to south. This description already shows that
spaces have been classified according to two types of space: space for movement and
space for rest or centralized activity. A broad distinction is also made between the wings
on the north side of the spine and those on the south, and relate to the relative advantages
and disadvantages of the orientation to sun light and prevailing winds. (The north - south
axis of the wings means equal access to sunlight on each side of each wing). The north is
clearly the back, and the south is the front: The former is entirely private, and the latter is
largely public, or publicly utilized. These distinctions are reinforced by their different
functions. To the north, the wings operate as ‘servant spaces’ and comprise of rooms for
manual mechanical work, theatres and storage. It also includes the nurses’ wing to the

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west: An indication of the relative social status of nurses in relation to the public and the
hospital social hierarchy. (This is in spite its decorated classical frontage and side street
access.) This point is reinforced by the centralized location of the administration building
on the south side. (Oddly found in the ‘served’ space zone, with patients wards). The
location seems to have practical purposes: The ease of public access and its control, for
example. Although, it is questionable whether or not such an entrance was used by the
sick, its location then, seems to have more to do with the ease of internal care, and the
projection of power both on the inside and on the outside. In the later case, the entrance
acts as a representation of the social aspirations of the medical profession (and, in this
instance, the military). Hence it is relatively opulent and grand in size (Fig. 4). Its
arrangement, parallel to the spine adds to its size in breath (and takes advantages of the
orientation to sun light). Its height, breath and orientation distinguish its identity and
status from the remaining (served) wings on the south side; the hospital wards. Their
position, on the public side of the spine, represents their social position as places which
are both part of society outside and the social order of the hospital institution on the
inside. Environmentally, they are best positioned for access to sun light, and the twenty
metre distance between the wards are sufficient to provide for protected sun lit
‘courtyard’ spaces, for exercise and convalescence. Finally, one should also note what
seems to be the most distinguishing feature of the hospital. This is the clarity of the
distinctions made between its various parts: a point which results from the need to isolate
and contain the outbreak of infectious diseases from one part of the hospital to another.
Form, function and meaning are thus intimately bound together in a way that is both
rational and systematic. Even the formal analogy with the human body is essentially
rational or functional. (The administration building acts as the body’s head and nerve
centre, its face to the world; the access spine imitates the function of the spinal-cord
albeit at right angles to the ‘head’ and its building wings act as the limbs of the body with
their attendant physical functions ).
To demolish any part of the complex would of necessity change its essential meaning as a
formal representation - albeit historical in context. Partial demolition would have been
possible without a complete loss of coherency. (Figs. i & ii). However, given the
demolition carried out so far and the listed building status of the nurses’ home, no other
option, other than the complete demolition of the site to plan would seem appropriate.
Appendix – 4: The Schedule of Paintings & Proposed Layout
Not included in this edition. The schedule of paintings, however, follows the 1991
exhibition at the Tate Gallery. The proposed layout drawings were included with the
original submission to Kingston University School of Architecture in 1992.

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48. Demolition Options.

Dissertation1992

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Dissertation1992