FRANTIC is the most appropriate word to describe my emotions. Already late for an appointment with the person I’m meeting for the first time, I discover that he’s not contactable by phone. The problem is further compounded when another dilemma arises: Do I proceed to the agreed meeting place and hope he’s there or just forget about the whole matter and return to the hotel?
Standing by the kerb near Circular Quay, I weigh my options. Ok, just go ahead as planned. The balance is tipped by the tantalising promise of a rare behind-the-scene look at one of Australia's most iconic buildings, the Sydney Opera House.
“Excuse me. Are you Eoghan Lewis?” I ask the person standing beside the left pillar of the Queen Elizabeth II Gate, the closest entrance of the Sydney Botanical Gardens to the Opera House. He looks up from under his broad-brimmed hat and the late afternoon sun reveals a cheery face with boyish good looks. A wave of relief reverberates through me when Lewis grins generously and nods his head in acknowledgement.
After dispensing with the formalities, Lewis lets out a chuckle when I apologise for turning up late. “Fifteen minutes is a piece of cake. I was once made to wait three whole weeks!” he adds to my utter amazement.
ARCHITECTURE OVER SPORTS
“It happened during the Sydney Summer Olympics in September 2000 when this Sydney Architecture Walks was still at its infancy. I sat on the steps of the Opera House, twice a day — every day, holding a little sign and waited for those who were interested in architecture and design. No one did. Not even my friends. It was obvious that people were more interested in sports than buildings,” explains Lewis before adding that one finally walked up to him after he’d persevered for 21 days!
Since then, the one man crusade that started off as a rambling join-the-dots between his favourite buildings has evolved rather rapidly into a family of narrative-driven architectural conversations on foot and on bikes led by a team of passionate architect-guides.
Taking shelter under a nearby tree, Lewis confides that the Sydney Architecture Walks is an extension of teaching and presents a great opportunity for him to ramble on about the things close to his heart. The principal architect of Sydney practice Eoghan Lewis Architects reckons that cities are society's greatest cultural expression — where its architecture can be clambered over and its many interesting stories talked about at length.
GLOBAL ICONS
Gesturing towards the imposing Sydney Opera House, Lewis claims that very few buildings have the unique ability of defining an entire nation. “The Petronas Twin Towers in your country, Malaysia is a great case in point. The other is the Taj Mahal in Agra, India. Here, this iconic building located by the shores of Sydney Harbour brings Australia to the fore,” says Lewis.
The idea of having a symbolic identity for the people of Australia began to surface in 1948 when a new optimistic nation, slowly emerging from the ruptures of war, was looking for ways to define itself. At around the same time, English composer Sir Eugene Goossens, who moved to Sydney in 1947 to take up the position of conductor of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, called for a new home for the city’s opera company when he drew attention to the existing inadequate facilities.
The next day, the Sydney Morning Herald reported in detail about Goossens' ambitions for a fine concert hall for the orchestra, with perfect acoustics and seating accommodation for 3,500 people, a home for an opera company and a smaller hall for chamber music. It said Goossens saw no reason why a city the size of Sydney, with such keen music interest, couldn’t have them.
Another key advocate was Joseph Cahill, a railway worker who entered politics and became New South Wales' Prime Minister in 1952. Cahill shared Goossens’ belief that everyone, regardless of class or background, had the right to enjoy fine music. Soon after assuming the premiership, Cahill promised an opera house for Sydney and in 1954 convened a conference to build support for the idea of what he described as an edifice that would be a credit to Australia for hundreds of years.
COMPETITION LAUNCHED
Cahill launched an international design competition on Feb 15, 1956. The competition guidelines were contained in a 25-page booklet known as the Brown Book and was filled with black and white photos of the proposed site at Bennelong Point. Interested competitors were required to submit their ideas together with a fee of 10 Australian pounds.
Most of the submissions received were dreadful. Some looked like concrete blocks reminiscent of Soviet-style architecture while others resembled military barracks. Among the many, one stuck out like a sore thumb as it was hardly a proposal at all. Submitted just before the competition closed in December that same year, it was simply a series of 12 sketches prepared by Danish architect Jørn Utzon.
Utzon, the son of a naval architect, was a genius in his chosen field. Despite not having set foot in Australia, he successfully conceptualised how his creation would look on the shores of Sydney Harbour by imagining it set near Copenhagen, overlooking the strait that separates Denmark from Sweden.
Judging by a specially chosen four-member team of internationally renowned architects began in January 1957. One of them was famed American architect Eero Saarinen, who wasn’t present when the selection committee first met. The other three architects took one look at Utzon’s submission, which was numbered 218 — one of the last of more than 223 entries received from 28 countries, and destined it for the pile reserved rejects.
SAARINEN FAVOURS UTZON
At this juncture, Lewis pulls out a stack of large black and white photographs from a folder in his bag and uses them to weave a most amazing tale. “Upon his arrival in Sydney, Saarinen asked to review all the submissions, including those that had been rejected. He saw Utzon’s design and exclaimed that it was by far the best. His colleagues were speechless. Despite acknowledging its boldness, they deemed it to be unbuildable as Utzon hadn’t provided any engineering drawings or construction details. Saarinen’s prestige, however, carried the day and his choice was declared the winner,” elaborates Lewis.
Shifting his focus to another photograph, Lewis remarks: “At around the same time as the Opera House competition, Saarinen was in the midst of designing what would become his most famous building, the TWA Passenger Terminal at John F Kennedy International Airport in Queens, New York. Look closely and you can see that Saarinen's wing-shaped concrete roof is rather similar to those in Utzon’s design. Perhaps that was the reason he chose Utzon's work, who knows?”
Putting away his materials, Lewis declares that it’s time to head over to the Opera House and study Utzon's work in detail. During the short walk, Lewis reveals that the ground we’re walking on used to be the railroad yard for the Sydney train system. A considerable amount of work was invested to relocate the tracks before the ceremony to mark the start of construction was held on Mar, 2 1959.
TEETHING PROBLEMS
The builders were beset with problems right from the start. The primary quandary was that they had no idea how to transform Utzon’s vision into reality. Eventually, it was decided the ribs supporting the roof shells would be made from precast concrete. Each rib, broken into several sections, was manufactured on site and lifted into position by cranes. The ribs were purposely made hollow so that steel cables running through them gave sufficient structural strength to the completed skeleton.
As Utzon didn’t provide any clues on how to enclose the ends of the multiple roof shells, local contractors were forced to depend on their own ingenuity. The final result of their decision to use a combination of steel and glass was stunning to say the least. When completed, it closely resembled the bridge of a ship when viewed from inside.
Venturing further into the main lobby area, Lewis points out that the Opera House consists of two main concert venues and a variety of smaller theatres and presentation spaces. Considering that they were built some 60 years ago, the designs were definitely ahead of their time. The acoustics in the main hall are so exceptional that, even until today, those sitting in the back rows are able to hear the music as if they were right next to the performer.
CHALLENGES FACED
The Opera House was formally completed in 1973 at a total cost of $102 million (RM309 million). The original cost and scheduling estimates prior to construction in 1957 was merely valued at $7 million and completion date was set for Australia Day, Jan 26, 1963. Dire financial constraints towards the final two years prompted the creation of a special lottery. Within two years, the local residents bought enough tickets to pay for Utzon’s dream to become a reality.
The 10-year delay was mainly attributed to political headwinds caused by several changes in local government. At times, construction languished and engineers threw up their hands in frustration as funds ran out while newly political candidates gained mileage by questioning the wisdom of building the Opera House during campaigning.
While admiring the external features of the Opera House, Lewis draws attention to the lack of visible gutters. Instead, the gaps in the concrete slabs forming the walkway surrounding the buildings allow rain water to flow into a cleverly concealed drainage system that empties directly into Sydney Harbour.
“This same concealment technique is also employed to put the heating and cooling mechanisms out of public view as Utzon insisted that the roof shouldn’t have any opening provisions for chimneys and cooling ducts. Everything is mounted beneath the roof and hidden by the ceiling below,” adds Lewis, gesturing towards several subtle openings near the walls that allow for efficient ventilation.
Finally our eyes come to rest on the most important feature of the Opera House, its ceramic roof tiles. Lewis tells me that they appear to be bright white on a sunny day, but are actually two shades of light brown, the colour of the cotton sails they’re designed to emulate.
During construction, Utzon desired for the tiles to gloss but he didn’t want them to be mirror-like and cause glare. He found exactly what he wanted in Japanese ceramic bowls. Taking three years to perfect the formula, Höganäs of Sweden produced the exact luminous effect Utzon wanted in what was to become known as the Sydney Tile. The subtle coarseness of the surface also gave the tiles a self-cleaning function where dirt and debris on them can be easily washed away by each passing rain storm.
Looking at the overall effect for the final time before leaving, Lewis comments: “This is the result of Utzon's vision of a large, white sculpture in a harbour setting that catches and mirrors the sky with all its varied lights from dawn to dusk, day to day, throughout the year. American architect Louis Kahn was definitely spot on when he commented that ‘the sun didn’t know how beautiful its light was, until it was reflected off this building’.”
I can feel Lewis' deep sense of pride for the Opera House and utmost respect for Utzon's genius. The Sydney Opera House will forever remain Utzon's gift to Australia. Designated a World Heritage Site by the United Nations, the youngest building ever to be so honoured, it is truly one of the greatest iconic buildings of the 20th century. An image of great beauty that has become known throughout the world and a symbol for not only a city, but a whole country and continent.