11 minute read
Leaving your mark
WORDS: MARGO WHITE • IMAGERY: MIKE HEYDON
LEAVING YOUR
Vandalism or inscription of history – at what point does graffiti become ‘heritage’?
On 31 May 1866, as carpenter John McLaggan was completing his work on Old St Paul’s in Wellington, he wrote his name and those of his eight fellow carpenters on a shallow panel carved out of the first pillar of the western aisle of the cathedral. The men’s names were hidden from view until a century later when, during a restoration of the building, someone noticed that a section of the pillar had screws in it. The panel was unscrewed and the names of McLaggan and his team, who built what is now recognised as one of the best examples of Gothic
Revival architecture in the world, were found written on the back.
“It’s an absolute heritage gem,” says Tamara Patten,
Property Lead, Old St Paul’s, for Heritage New
Zealand Pouhere Taonga.
“We knew who John McLaggan was, as he was a significant carpenter in Wellington, but it’s probably the only evidence we have of other people who worked on the building.”
The panel was screwed back in place, preserving the pillar in its original form and protecting the pencilled signatures from exposure to the elements. Visitors can’t see them, but they’re told that they’re there, and shown photographs of the names on the section of pillar. People are intrigued to hear of the secrets concealed within a building, says Tamara.
History has a way of repeating itself. Between 2019 and 2020, Old St Paul’s underwent earthquake strengthening, following the Kaikōura earthquake. Tamara visited the building as the new foundations were being laid, and saw the builders had signed their names in the concrete. They were embarrassed that she’d seen what they’d done, but she was delighted.
“We’ve got the names of the first builders hidden somewhere in the building, and now we’ve also got the names of the latest builders who worked here hidden in the building. There might be other names somewhere that we haven’t found.”
In another context – on your neighbour’s new driveway, for instance – writing your name in newly laid concrete could be considered an act of vandalism.
“But these guys were deeply involved with the building for over a year, so they slightly cheekily signed their names in the concrete, and I’m delighted they did.
“No-one will see them until the day the church might need to be repaired again. I wouldn’t encourage everyone who works on a building to leave a mark, but one of the things that makes working in heritage so wonderful is finding and telling the stories of people connected to a place, and this is a really nice story.”
Builders and other tradespeople, it turns out, often leave their marks, including on heritage buildings such as Pencarrow Lighthouse, which stands at the entrance to Wellington Harbour.
The first lighthouse in New Zealand embodies the stories of early European settlement, shipwreck and the country’s first female lighthouse keeper. Written on the wall behind the door into the lighthouse are the names of tradespeople who have worked on the lighthouse over the past 40 years. They’re people who’ve helped maintain the building – sandblasting it in preparation for repainting, painting it, repairing the roof and so on.
“They’re not old markings, but I think they’re neat, because it’s about the individuals who have cared for a property,” says Tamsin Falconer, Central Region Manager of Heritage Assets for Heritage New Zealand Pouhere Taonga.
“They’re not tagging their names – ‘I was here with my girlfriend’. It’s more ‘I’m putting my name to my work’.”
Leaving your mark or name behind is a tradition among tradespeople, says Michael (Mike) Deavin, and he’s part of that tradition. As an ecclesiastical joiner, he is about to complete the restoration of the 804 sash windows of Wellington’s Old Government Buildings – after almost two years of work.
He’s left his name, which he has written in pencil, in the pockets of the windows. Lead stands the test of time, he says. “Ink fades, discolours. I have seen writing several hundred years old written with a piece of lead.”
He’s also left a note on the weather, and made a few social comments on current events, such as the latest news on the pandemic. His marks are hidden from view, “but in 100 years’ time, if they need to restore or remove the windows, my name will jump out at them!”
Mike wouldn’t describe his or other builders’ marks as ‘graffiti’, but as a record of maintenance, and of pride in their work.
What would be more conventionally regarded as graffiti also has a place in the heritage value of a building, he’d argue, such as the graffiti in the attic of Old Government Buildings.
As a tour guide of the building, he’s familiar with the graffiti left by civil servants who were likely to have been sent to the attic to do the filing (there are filing cabinets in the wall of the attic). The attic is uncomfortably hot in summer and bitterly cold in winter, and those sent to do the filing found ways to express themselves on the walls. They evidently weren’t always happy. Yes, there are swear words.
There are also caricatures of political figures, a nice drawing of a tall ship passing in front of what looks like Mt Victoria, and a drawing of a naked woman with her legs open “and a very graphic drawing of a vagina”, says Mike.
At the time of writing, he was about to install a 3x2-metre sheet of perspex to protect the graffiti from
1 2 3
See more of Mike Deavin on our video:
www.youtube.com/HeritageNewZealandPouhereTaonga
1 Marks left by builders and other tradespeople at Pencarrow Lighthouse.
2 3 In 1866, carpenter John
McLaggan wrote his name, and those of his eight fellow carpenters who worked on Old St Paul’s in Wellington, on a shallow panel carved out of the first pillar of the western aisle of the cathedral.
IMAGERY: HERITAGE
NEW ZEALAND POUHERE
TAONGA
4 Ecclesiastical joiner
Mike Deavin is also a tour guide at Wellington’s Old
Government Buildings, where visitors can see first-hand the graffiti in the building’s attic. the knocks and rubs of passing legs and shoulders. It was written by people in the early decades of the 20th century and is a testimony to lives lived, and our history.
“I did say to my boss, ‘We’ll be drawing attention to the vagina!’ But it’s art! We can’t remove it. We decided that people have to be broadminded.”
So while some of the writing on walls, or inside the windows, such as that left by tradespeople, could be described as legitimate graffiti, at what point does unwanted graffiti also become part of the fabric and texture of heritage? This is a question those working in heritage often grapple with, and with no clear consensus.
It depends on context, the age of the mark, who left it, their intent, what the mark reveals, and the story it tells.
Tamsin points to the writing on the original walls of Hurworth Cottage, built between 1855 and 1856 by Pākehā settler and future four-time premier of New Zealand (Sir) Harry Atkinson, and the only remaining building of the small Taranaki settlement of Hurworth that flourished during the 1850s.
In 1860, during the first Taranaki War, Atkinson and his family fled their home, concerned their safety was at risk, as did Atkinson’s extended family, who were living in the surrounding cottages.
The cottage was renovated over the years by various owners, until it was donated to Heritage New Zealand Pouhere Taonga in 1967 and was restored to its original specifications in the following years. It was during this time that the wallpaper was peeled back, revealing the messages and drawings that family members had left for each other when they returned to check on their property.
There are hand-drawn cartoons of a naked Māori warrior with moko, chasing three fleeing soldiers. There is a party invitation: “Hemi Barrett takes a farewell/ Benefit on Thursday night/ Previous to his departure for Victoria/ On his way to Europe/ Colonial Hospital March 23.”
It’s thought that as 23 March fell on a Thursday in 1865, this was written in that year. Hēmi’s identity is unknown, but, as Tamsin says, “Seeing those messages on the wall transports you back to the stories of the people, what it meant for them to abandon their homes, what was behind the conflict, and the many issues around that.
“I can’t imagine what it would have been like, in the 1970s, to pull back the wallpaper and see this, to realise the historical significance of what they had found.”
1 2 3 Mike Deavin surveys some of the graffiti in the attic of Old Government
Buildings; he has left his name in pencil hidden in the pockets of the restored sash windows.
4 5 Marks left on the original walls of Hurworth
Cottage, Taranaki, include messages and drawings.
IMAGERY: RICHARD
ROBERTS, TOUCH DESIGN
1
3
You could call it graffiti, although the people who made it were writing on their own walls, rather than on someone else’s property. That section of wall is now protected with a sheet of clear acrylic so visitors can see the words and images but cannot touch them.
“It really humanises the cottage: the people who were there, who took pieces of charcoal from the fireplace and left messages for each other.”
The value we place on the writing on any wall changes with the passing of time, as has been described and detailed by Dan Boys, Creative Director of AT Creative, formerly known as Audio Trails, which brings attention to natural and cultural heritage through the creation of downloadable audio guides and locationaware apps. This includes alerting people to and engaging them in what would be called ‘graffiti’.
Dan has run tours and workshops on the graffiti scratched onto the Grade 1-listed Triumphal Arch at Cannock Chase, north of Birmingham in the UK, of which nine have the initials NZ or NZRB (New Zealand Rifle Brigade) adjacent to their names, covering the period 1917–19.
Given the age and military context of the graffiti, there is a good argument for those marks to be seen as contributing to the heritage value of the arch, if not to heritage in its own right. What might have been considered an act of vandalism at the time by the then owners of the estate “now gives us a connection to those men who in many cases lost their lives shortly after making their marks”, says Dan.
Graffiti is complicated though, especially for heritage advisors, who must navigate the line between protecting heritage buildings and their furnishings from unwanted graffiti and advising on dealing with unwanted graffiti, but also recognising and preserving graffiti that has become part of the heritage fabric.
Alison Dangerfield, Area Manager Central West for Heritage New Zealand Pouhere Taonga, appreciates the significance of graffiti, but says this significance can depend upon when it happened and what the story encapsulated.
“It depends on the message, which can be everything from challenging to poignant. Graffiti can be evidence of what people were thinking.”
However, she cautions against romanticising graffiti, often defined as ‘defacing’ other people’s property.
“The value of any graffiti depends on what people are saying. But if they see someone else’s property as a blank canvas on which to express themselves, I’d prefer them to express themselves somewhere else.”
Dan agrees. When considering graffiti and what constitutes heritage, there is the recurring question of permission.
“You have to put yourself in the shoes of the mark-maker and also the person who owns or is the guardian of the property or monument and so on.
“If someone scribed their name on my house, I’d be pretty annoyed, but if I found some marks from 30, 40 or 50 years ago that contained a name, year and/or message, I’d find that pretty exciting.
“So I don’t think there is a set time scale when graffiti becomes heritage. It is all about context and what it means to the reader or viewer, and their relationship with the person or people, the story, and the history.”
To see more of the Old Government Buildings graffiti, view our video story here: www.youtube.com/ HeritageNewZealand PouhereTaonga
