The Tate Modern

Lamp is of ‘Obedience’suggestingbuildings should conform to existing English values, with no originality for its own sake. In modern British society many of these ideas would be controversial and theirrelevance questioned.

THE TATE MODERN

Modern architecture, perhaps not at its greatest, but at its most functional, comes from the Tate Modern. The dominant features withinthe building portray the history of this site, for it was not always the modern art gallery it is today. Built in two phases between 1947 and 1963, Bankside Power Station was designed by Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, who was also the architect of Battersea Power Stationsituated upstream of our focus. Bankside lay unoccupied after an increase in oil prices in 1981 until 1994, when the Tate collection at Millbank sought a larger home. An international architectural competition handed over the building to theSwiss practice, Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron. Although an internationally recognised cultural landmark, the modern design is born out of an obsolete functionality, an efficient use of architecture which may not be as well regarded by Ruskin’s principles.

The Lamp of Sacrifice, dealing with a connection to God, should, through Ruskin’ s eyes, mean that ‘of two marbles, equally beautiful, applicable and durable….the more costly [would be chosen] because it was so.’(Ruskin, 1894, p. 17)It is a dedication to a higher meaning and this understanding of the principle leads me to discuss its relevance to the Tate Modern. Although there is little, arguably no, biblical references in the building, there is a sense of dedication. This vastspace has been donated, sacrificed, to the public, for their enjoyment of the art within. It is perfectly formed to highlight its contents. On entering, the turbine hall engulfs, and sacrifices any embellishment, other than the bare structure, to draw the eye to the art. The building, although iconic, is not, unlike the Shard, abuilding built to be iconic. I would agree with Ruskin when saying the Tateis the ‘opposite of the prevalent feeling of modern times, which desires to produce the largest results at the least cost.’ (Ruskin, 1894, p. 17) Much of this vast space is unoccupied, unused and in fact, useless. However, much like a cathedral(Anon., 2011), it serves as a dedication to the contents, sacrificing exterior renovation for an industrial heritage. The minimalism inside, is, as Franco Bertoni (Bertoni, 2002, p. 10) suggests, a review of discipline, sacrificing theunnecessary to emphasise the important, and although unreligious, the Lamp of Sacrifice considersthe Tate Modern an effectivemedium on which to present ideas.

Nobility works with the sacrifice of a building and a truth can certainly be seen in the Tate Modern, as the austerity, which the art critic David Lee (Anon., 2000)mentioned, captures the severityof a building with exposed brickworkand girdered roof, right throughto the concrete

galleries and white-washed walls. The exposure of the building juxtaposes what Ruskin considers deceit within modern art. The sacrifice of extravagant features hits the visitor with unadulterated force. The depth and darkness of the ceilings isnot exposed by lights, the view is not obstructed by walls or detracted fromby sharp colours. However the relevance of Ruskin’ s work can be questionedwhen he suggests that only ‘materials accessible in quantity, and on the surface of the earth, ’(Ruskin, 1894, p. 43)should be used. Although, there is atruth tothe point where an admirer cansee the vastness of the space and gauge the work of the architects, the use of steel in bracing the main turbine hall does little to exemplify the mass being put on this material for the strain is taken with ease. Although this is acceptable, even aesthetically pleasing, the point Ruskin attests to is that these materials do little to honour this expanse. Once, where huge stone arches would have vaulted, there is now riveted steel beams which advocate the industrial history which is paramount to the truth of this structure.

Arguably, I would consider the ‘Lamp of Power’ to be most important to the Tate Modern. Ruskin mentions that all buildings, ‘show man either as gathering or governing.’(Ruskin, 1894, p. 71)One is an adoration ofthe works of God, the other,an understanding of the dominion over theseworks. The Tate falls into the latter as a sublime structure, which sits, not domineering of the landscape, but with quiet power, drawing the eye along both river banks and across the Millennium Bridge. The visitor is engulfed by the depth of the turbine hall, the minimalism emphasisingtheisolation of the individual, with little else added. Ruskin explains further, ‘there must be one bounding line from base to coping,’ (Ruskin, 1894, p. 75) which is fulfilled by the strong vertical line carried up from the ground through the chimney, drawing the eye back down into the mass of the building. I believe most relevant to modern architecture is the comparison to nature. We determine a power in nature that comes from an undisturbed surface (The Wilderness and the West, 1997) , something about a barren landscape that emanates power. It takes little to humiliate a mountainby the placing of a small hut or even trail just as a vast expanse of forest, as Ruskin mentions(Ruskin, 1894, p. 77), is a powerful force. The same effect is createdby the brickfacadeof the Tate Modern. The flow of the exteriorbrown formsan undisturbedmass replicatingthe power we feel on entrance of the vast cavern.

Drawing from the power of nature Ruskin states that ‘man cannot advance in the invention of beauty, without directly imitating natural form.’ (Ruskin, 1894, p. 101) His belief that architecture must stem from nature, although understandable, is perhaps limiting. For one, beauty is subjectiveand cannot be achieved through a sole method.Personally, I find beauty in the way a plain, brick power station encloses such glorious exhibition spaces with little indication from the exterior. However, this relates to the truth of materials, for there are

limitations to the way bricks and mortar can be built, and to a lesser extent, glass and steel. Development in ideas and resources leads toa development in beautybutelements canstillbe drawn from Ruskin’s use of nature. Having listened to Bill O’Reilly(O'Reilly, 2011), talk on the fact thatour existence isby chance, thesimplicity of nature can be applied to the Tate Modern. A housing, with little embellishment even acknowledgement of the contents, simply accentuates the artwork inside, without knowledge of this purpose. Therefore, although this Lamp of Ruskin’ s may be outdated, thelines of thought connect his principlesof nature withthe root of beauty.

Perhaps controversially so, the Lamp of Life, is one that needs to be considered further in modern society. Ruskin talks about the emotion and the individualitythat goes into a building, ‘so long as men work as men, putting their heart into what they do, and doing their best’; (Ruskin, 1894, p. 162) then architecture shall be endowed with another dimension. A preservation of craftsmen, rather than cold, clean cut machinery, makes the difference between a house and the home. Tate Modern bares none of this; its bricks are commonplace, the metalwork ismechanised, and its strip lights are bare. The coldness ofwhitewashed walls and isolation in the turbine hall replicates the expanses between artwork. With little memory of those who crafted these walls 50 years ago, the structure is a blank slate; the observers are solely affected by the contents and the artists that live within them. The isolation emphasises the architecture as a memorial to the emotionless industrial history of this building. However, Ruskin considers a more important question to be whether a building was built with enjoyment. (Ruskin, 1894, p. 165) Although the power station would have little consideration of this question, the quality and effect of renovationsuggests an understanding and enjoyment of the effect such contrasts in design can have.

The ‘Lamp of Memory’is infused inthe Tate Modern, as Ruskin believes ina buildingbecoming ‘memorial or monumental [so] that….true perfection is attained.’(Ruskin, 1894, p. 170)In terms of the Tate, itself a memorial to the prior power station, which has been restored not to the former glorious hub of the city, but as a quiet remembrance of all involved in its life. Ruskin mentions that ‘we have no right to touch them,’(Ruskin, 1894, p. 186)and that they should be left as a remembrance to the craftsmenfor future generations. The Tate Modern would stand as a desolate building, perhaps proud, but decrepit. A careful readjustment and recognition of the power and purpose of the walls reinvented this building as both a memorial and a gallery for the future. Thisdual purposeis more successful than either separate, and can be proved more interesting as combined memories link the societies and histories of the building. Ruskin’ s point, although understandable in highlighting the importance of memories, is false in