In 1973, three years into running his own practice, Glenn Murcutt was becoming a specialist in residential alterations and additions. Reflecting on those early years, he describes having used each project as “a little experiment in design – in dealing with wind and light patterns, in using industrial components, and in reducing the amount of detailing.” Glenn had only completed two new houses – including the Wilkinson Award-winning Laurie Short House (1972–73) in Terrey Hills – when Marie Short, the mother of his previous client, approached him to design an extension to a farmhouse on her property in Kempsey, approximately 450 kilometres north of Sydney. When looking at the cost of the renovation, just before construction was about to commence, Glenn suggested to Marie that it might not cost too much more to design a completely new house. The following week, Glenn presented three-quarters of the working drawings for a new house to his client and builder, and, without need for council approval (as the house was set back far enough from the main public road), they were ready to begin the new build.
The resulting house, often referred to as the Marie Short House, has become an architectural icon that has enthused many architects and designers, both in Australia and abroad. Much has been written about this seminal project since it was completed in 1974 – and, almost 50 years later, it endures as a remarkable example of what Glenn describes as “the idea of architecture as a response to the place, and not as an imposition on the place.” In other, more well-known words, it “touches the earth lightly.” Driven by pragmatic concerns for climatic conditions, including orientation, wind patterns and rainfall, the built outcome is a poetic expression of its environment. The modern planning strategies of German-American architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe (1886–1969) are palpable in this house – something Glenn himself recognizes. However, Glenn deferred to local environmental conditions to determine when these strategies required modification – for example, flat roofs were ruled out because of the region’s heavy rainfall. To strengthen the building’s embedded connection to its setting, its olive-grey exterior recedes into the surrounding flora and its shed-like structure is reminiscent of traditional farm buildings. It’s no wonder that, when it was complete, the house became synonymous with the idea of an “Australian architecture.”
Most of the timber was locally sourced and had been collected by the client in anticipation of the build. Artwork: Jack Britten.
Image:
Brett Boardman
The house is built from local timbers, including coachwood lining boards and tallowwood post and beams “that you could eat, they were so beautiful,” as Glenn puts it. In fact, this timber had been collected by Marie over the years and it formed an important part of her brief for Glenn. With this reclaimed timber, she wanted a house that could be disassembled and put back together with relative ease – during the briefing process, she suggested that there was the possibility of changing its siting in future.
After Glenn purchased the Kempsey property from Marie in 1980, this original design approach paid off. He was able to take apart components of the house to make way for an extension “without losing a stick of timber, nor a louvre. Everything was reused.” The original plan comprised two modular pavilions – one for sleeping and one for living. Glenn’s 1980 addition inserted three extra bays to each pavilion, providing accommodation for his family. The new configuration has made the two pavilions more independent than they were originally, allowing for generational separa-tion as required: each wing contains living and sleeping spaces. The linking spine between the two staggered pavilions is punctuated at the central point such that the two communal areas are connected via pivoting doors – and, in the new configuration, this makes the spine less about thoroughfare and more about connectivity.
The ideas of prospect and refuge are completely understood when entering this house: although you can see the surrounding farmland from most rooms, the adjustable, triple-skin facade allows for mediation of the climatic conditions. The house itself is raised on stilts to almost 800 millimetres above ground level to allow air to circulate and cool the building in the warmer months, while also providing shelter for native wildlife (in Glenn’s work, there’s usually more than one reason for every design decision). Kangaroos are often found taking refuge in the undercroft of the house during the hot summer months and, Glenn fondly recalls, during the rain, “the house is surrounded by wildlife.”
The pavilions are elevated to assist airflow and offer wildlife a shady place to escape the summer sun.
Image:
Brett Boardman
There are many lessons to be learnt from the Kempsey house that are resonant with our current world condition. The modesty of the structure, its adaptability to changing needs and its response to climate are all pertinent to the pressing concerns of the environmental crisis. When asked if his intent was to make a sustainable house, Glenn responds, “I don’t talk about sustainability – it’s one part of the responsibility of architecture. I always ask myself what a responsible design response is.” For Glenn, this means in-depth analysis and understanding of a place: sun paths, prevailing winds and other climatic patterns. At the time of designing the Kempsey house, he adds, he realized that “responsibility in building includes putting a building together that can be taken apart, enabling us to reuse the componentry in a responsible way.” In the face of the climate crisis, this consideration for the legacy of our built environment is more relevant than ever.
Of course, not all homes are set in such a desirable location as the Kempsey house, but its design nonetheless offers important reminders about the value of returning to the fundamentals of architecture. When I ask Glenn about how his approach translates to the urban context, he refers to the Magney House in Paddington (1986–90), which was “full of restrictions, but those restrictions produced one of the best houses I’ve done. The urban context is about responding to morphology, materiality, scale, proportion – it’s all part of understanding the nature of a place.” He adds, “The more restrictions you have, the better you’ll do.”
Today, the Kempsey house is still owned by the Murcutt family, and it is well loved by those who have the privilege of spending time there. Standard maintenance is required, consistent with a building of its age, but the integrity of the design has clearly stood the test of time, its modular system easily adapting to changing needs. As you move through the hoop-pine- and brush-box-timber-lined interior, you are always reminded of your place in the world – the house simultaneously embeds you in nature and protects you from it. There is, perhaps surprisingly to some, real comfort in falling asleep to the noise of rain on the corrugated iron rooftops and the subtle snores of the kangaroos under the floorboards.
