Posted on August 26, 2014
Posted on August 25, 2014
First published September 7th 2013
This sculptural element is part of the the oddly named Elgin Marbles, presently resident in the British Museum having been transposed from its original position on the east pediment of the Parthenon. It has always been a real great favorite of mine. Read More
Posted on August 11, 2014
Posted on August 2, 2014
Starting production on an updated multi-touch edition of Gallipoli: The First Day.
Posted on August 2, 2014
The complex causes of World War One are often swept aside to expose the fate of Archduke Franz Ferdinand as the personification of the outbreak of the Great War.
But behind this text book depiction is the story of a nonconformist’s tragic death alongside his life’s love, Sophie, both caught up in events that on reflection seem destined to have occurred.
This dark providence was only strengthened as it passed from one conspirator to another, through a hapless chain of transactions culminating on a bright summer’s day in Sarajevo, 100 years ago. Bosnia was primed for violent expressions of nationalism, having first passed under the crushing rule of the Ottomans and now that of the Austro-Hapsburg Empire. The Black Hand, part terrorist cell, part branch of Serbia’s military and government, had targeted the Archduke, nephew to the emperor and heir to the empire, for assassination, and then vetoed the idea, but too late to dissuade the Young Bosnia members who would go through with it. Read More
Posted on April 10, 2014
Jørn Utzon was born on the 9th April 1918, months before the end of World War I. ArchDaily ran a nice piece celebrating his birthday here. This evening in London is the launch of an exhibition celebrating the engineering of Sydney Opera House. The Opera House Project will be there, featured on a large touchscreen, and through projected animations that Reuben Hill and I created for the project. So if you’re in London between now and the end of July:
Posted on January 20, 2014
He began to think of death differently at what he took to be about half way through life. Waking in the morning, death was on his lips as he mouthed the meaning of dreams. Their images were in his mind, slowly vaporising in a swirling mist, revealing an ominous certainty like a changed landscape.
The dreams had been about a series of houses and plots of land. The first house he still remembered was gothic, ornate, made from immutable materials, carved rock and stone. It felt unmovable. The part of the dream where he had been inside had already evaporated, but he had been inside. Now he was remembering a later scene, standing outside, attempting to climb the facade, but at the same time joining in a chorus of agreement that this house was haunted, and impenetrable, but if one did find a way in, that one would die. Of dread. They could hear the spirits inside, the sounds were of wailing and groaning and death by fear alone.