This paper studies the work and practice of Brisbane-based architect Russell Hall to better understand how architects in Australia negotiated the professional and formal changes that emerged in architectural culture from the 1970s. Architectural historiographies tend to discuss postmodernism as plural and multiple, while also boxing it into various branches or strands, such as ecological, traditionalist/historicist, vernacular, or pop/fun. Many of these strands, however, co-exist within the work of architects. When you study their professional biographies up close, it becomes difficult (if not impossible) to sustain these categorisations, as architectural designs often blend different interests in specific, situated ways. If broad categorisations exist about postmodern architectural forms, so too do they exist about postmodern professional practice. In the latter decades of the 20^th century, it is often said, the “hired-gun-architect” and the “conglomerate architecture-building-business corporation” replaced the “gentleman-artist-architect.” However, once again, on the ground, the situation is often more nuanced and multifaceted than that. This paper adopts a biographical approach to better understand how one architect, Hall, negotiated the professional and formal changes that emerged in architectural culture from the 1970s. In doing so, it seeks to improve our understanding of postmodern architectural culture in Australia—and Queensland specifically.

In 1963 the Commonwealth Association of Architects (CAA) was founded as a liaison organization between various national architectural institutes throughout the English-speaking world. The CAA replaced the RIBA ‘Allied Societies’, which had emerged from the desire of British architects practising in colonial countries to adopt RIBA codes of conduct, ethics, and conditions of contract. At a conference held in London in July 1963, it was proposed that the ‘Allied Societies’ be replaced by a new association, the CAA, in which the RIBA would interact with other national architectural institutes ‘on a basis of equality’ rather than from a position of imperial paternalism.

In its first twenty years, the CAA was very active in organizing conferences. Following the inaugural CAA conference in Malta in June 1965, meetings were held in New Delhi (March 1967), Lagos (March 1969), Canberra (1971), Ottawa (November 1973), York (September 1976), Hong Kong (April 1979), Nairobi (October 1981), and Sydney (June 1983). Topics discussed at these conferences ranged from fee scales, registration, liability, and codes of conduct to the role and status of the architect in society. However, CAA conference records reveal that the aspired-to interaction ‘on a basis of equality’ was difficult to achieve because of the vestiges of imperialism and profound professional and institutional differences between the various national architectural institutes involved in the CAA. Furthermore, the association also had to contend with a rift between different factions: there were the ‘gentleman’ architects loyal to Victorian codes of conduct; ‘messiah’ architects dedicated to producing ‘shelter for mankind’; and ‘hired guns’ entrepreneur-architects who pursued profit at any cost. This paper will examine the nine CAA conferences held between 1965 and 1983 to better understand how professional ethics and identities were (re)defined across the Commonwealth at a time when decolonization, globalisation, and neo-liberalisation were on the rise.

The concept of ‘tacit knowledge’ was formulated in 1958 by the Hungarian chemist and philosopher Michael Polanyi. Polemical in nature, it was part of an effort to refute the idea that scientific knowledge can be reduced to closed sets of statements or logical propositions. For Polanyi, scientific knowledge implied a worldly commitment on the scientist’s part, manifest in the artisanal aspects of constructing experimental installations that involve the mastery of embodied non-explicit knowledge, or ‘tacit ways of knowing’. Beyond the mere mastery of technical skills, tacit knowledge could, in Polanyi’s view, also be found in the beliefs and traditions shared by a community of scientists. Generally transmitted in non-verbal form, these beliefs and traditions, Polanyi held, constitute the basis from which explicit knowledge can emerge, and explain why one always knows more about a particular subject than one can put into words. Polanyi thus positioned tacit knowing in between an idea of ‘embodied knowledge’ and ‘[socially] shared knowledge’ that remains unspoken. [...]

This paper examines the shifting urban and architectural manifestations of Christian churches built in twentieth century Brisbane, the capital of Queensland and the third most populous city in Australia. In doing so, it considers how religious communities contributed to the formation of Brisbane’s modern cityscape. Based on texts published in the journals of Brisbane’s four largest Christian denominations, a chronological mapping of the development of the city’s religious territories from 1945 to 1977, and an architectural analysis of a select number of Brisbane churches, this paper demonstrates how during the post-war era Brisbane’s Churches shifted their urban planning approach from representational hilltop landmarks to community centres, and their architectural manifestation from grand (modern) monuments to suburban place makers. It also discusses what urban and community building strategies were pursued in this multi-denominational religious territory, and how this affected church architecture. While comparable shifts did occur elsewhere, both abroad and interstate, the paper argues that Brisbane, with its hilly topography, property-oriented religious leaders, and lack of government-funded community infrastructures, heightened opportunities for the Churches to use modern architecture and urban planning to express their faith and social values.

This paper examines the matter of “architecture of the state” through the development history of the Esso site at Vauxhall Cross in London, which since the early 1990s houses the headquarters of the British Secret Intelligence Service (MI6), designed by Terry Farrell. The story of this site’s decades-long redevelopment saga calls into question what (or who) precisely “the state” is. Is it the (imagined) community that belongs to a state? Is it the governmental institutions and elected officials managing its operation? Or does the constitutional monarchy embody and symbolise the state? What the history of the Esso site and the design of the SIS building demonstrate is that these different groups who are all somehow encompassed in the definition of “the state” do not necessarily hold the same ideas about who “architecture of the state” is to serve, address, or represent.

By the 1970s, when economics, management and scientific methods had gained currency, the personal service of an individual architect had become the corporate service of an architectural firm, while the practice of architecture had become less a profession and more and more a business. Furthermore, beginning in the 1970s, to counter the ravages of developers and package-dealers, architects and architectural firms also increasingly widened the range of services that they offered. Many began working with developers, while others became developers themselves, or ventured into the building industry. In addition to expanding their professional services, some also expanded their geographic scope and became global entrepreneurs. Although this narrative is well known, little scholarship exists that examines precisely how such changes occurred on the ground — at least in the case of Australia. This paper is a first step in addressing this dearth by examining the career and work of Edwin Codd (1939–), an Australian architect, educator, businessman, and global entrepreneur who saw it as his mission to transform the way in which architecture was taught, procured, and produced. Commencing in the late 1960s and extending to the early 2000s, Codd’s career paralleled and propelled the aforementioned changes in the profession of architecture in Australia, from technologist-businessman-architect to global entrepreneur. The paper draws on interviews with Codd and his (former) collaborators, and on archival research and a literature review of contemporary periodicals. These primary sources have been complemented with a reading of secondary sources on the history of architecture in Australia following the 1960s.

This chapter chronicles the pre-history of Neo, a 27-hectare urban development project in Brussels (Belgium), which is situated on the Heysel Plateau, in the northwest of the Brussels Capital Region, and scheduled for completion in 2023. Like many comparable contemporary urban development projects, Neo is driven by a public-private partnership. It is funded by Unibail-Rodamco, CFE, and Besix, as well as the City of Brussels and the Brussels Capital Region. Recent scholarship has qualified public-private partnerships as the “Trojan horse of neoliberal development,” arguing that once the process is in motion, the interests of communities are often overwhelmed by those of the most powerful member of the partnership: the private sector. Chronicling the pre-history of Neo, by narrating the development of earlier, comparable urban development projects, this chapter aims to do three things: first, to explore the ideological foundations of public-private partnerships; second, to untangle why the reputation of public-private partnerships has been tarnished; and finally, to put forward a speculative prognosis for the outcome of Neo.

Our time is an urban age. More people live in cities than ever before, cities are growing larger and denser than ever, and urbanity has reached unprecedented levels of complexity. This boom in urbanization, today evident around the globe, began in earnest around the turn of the twentieth century, when technological advancement and the extraction of seemingly endless supplies of natural resources dovetailed to propel urban development. As urban populations steadily increased, architects and planners were not only faced with designing housing and public space but also with responding to emerging societal challenges such as (geo)political tensions, reconstruction after two world wars, decolonization, economic crises, growing climatic concerns, and cultural shifts. Through the analysis of more than one hundred richly illustrated urban design projects and initiatives, this book provides the first comprehensive history of how these challenges have continuously propelled new attitudes and approaches in the discipline of urban design since the early 1900s.

When in the mid-1950s, the shopping center typology reached the Low Countries, it confronted governments, policy makers, architects, and planners with the question of how to introduce and adapt this novel commercial typology to the local context. To respond to this question, several “missions” were organized to study this phenomenon abroad. The conclusion was that two distinct shopping center paradigms existed: the American model, as it could be observed in the United States and Canada, and the European model, as it had emerged in Sweden, France, and Great Britain. This article investigates what these missions identified as the distinctive characteristics of these two shopping center models, and which specific recommendations regarding urban and suburban retailing and distribution were derived from them. Finally, the article examines how these suggestions were implemented in or translated into the first shopping center designs in the Low Countries: “Shopping 1” in Genk (Belgium) and Amstelveen shopping center in the Netherlands.

Between the late 1940s and the mid-1960s, growing economic prosperity and social stability drove the emergence of a mass consumption society in the UK and brought about revolutionary changes in the structure of the country's retail sector. These included the implementation of self-service, the establishment of supermarkets, the expansion of shopping areas in pedestrian zones in existing city centres and – last but not least – the development of new shopping centres. Some of the earliest shopping centres were located at the heart of new towns and were destined to function as the ‘civic centre’ of these new towns. Milton Keynes' Centre, which opened in September 1979, is one of the most prominent examples. Today, the building is heritage listed, but when it first opened it attracted substantial criticism from the public, the popular press and architecture critics alike. Not entirely ‘public’ nor completely ‘private’, constructed at a turning point from modernism to post-modernism, and entrenched between welfare state ideals and neo-liberal politics, it assumed an uneasy position ‘in between’. Combining writing by the Milton Keynes Development Corporation with contemporary architectural critique and popular discourse, this article investigates how its architects and planners endeavoured to reconcile these dialectics in their design. It exposes their struggle to relate the architecture of the Centre to new social ideals that emerged in post-war years and define a novel formal language able to respond to the ongoing political and economic transformations that gradually dismantled the welfare state and paved the way for the ‘triumph’ of neo-liberalism.