Through inventive tectonics, Wilson Architects has overlaid a picturesque landscape experience with allusions to an earlier settler culture.
An architectâs stance is conditioned by personal preoccupations, as well as those of the cultural, regulatory and disciplinary settings in which the architect works. The architect for this project, Hamilton Wilson, has a whimsical streak â nurtured first in his undergraduate years through painting, drawing and theatre productions with friends, and in later life alongside his late mother, the renowned Brisbane landscape architect Beth Wilson, in a scholarship of garden design that has resulted in a deep understanding of the gardenesque tradition predominant in Brisbaneâs suburban landscape.
The Kooroomba Chapel adopts a traditional chapel form for its remarkable setting. However, through careful siting, landscape design and tectonics, Wilson alludes to moods â in particular, the eighteenth-century traditions of the Pastoral, the Picturesque and the Sublime â and ideas that have long been of interest to him. Consequently, this project sits apart from the preoccupations of current Australian practice in its concern for how, in the twenty-first century, buildings and landscape can together trigger visceral responses and associations that themselves have a long history in architecture and landscape.
Kooroomba Estate is a vineyard and lavender farm in the Fassifern Valley, west of Brisbane. The estate was formerly part of the Bell familyâs extensive and historic land holding. Architect Guilford Bellâs early childhood home Kooroomba was on this holding and he spent many hours playing in his grandmotherâs celebrated homestead, Coochin Coochin, nearby.1 The chapel commission follows Wilson Architectsâ earlier site planning and design for Kooroomba Estateâs cellar door, restaurant and shop. The estate is nestled against the escarpment of Main Range, part of the Great Dividing Range and the Queensland portion of the World Heritage-listed Gondwana Rainforests. Air masses rising against these ancient escarpments generate local weather; the consequent variations in light and atmospheric pressure dramatically alter the appearance and character of Main Range. Against this foreboding backdrop, Wilson orchestrates a picturesque landscape experience to please even the fussiest of brides.
While the chapelâs belfry and gable roof are momentarily visible from the highway, it is only fully encountered after passing through the existing restaurant complex. When it reappears across fields of lavender and against the backdrop of Main Range, it is a surprise. The tiny building, presenting two facades obliquely in the classical manner, is formed from unlined timber frames supporting rampant hoya vines and is half buried in heaving beds of purple salvias. To the knowing eye, the carefully constructed scene suggests romantic notions of a ruin in the landscape or a bower in a garden. The profusion of this pastoral setting and its picturesque layering of space against the background of Main Range will only be further enhanced when the circle of trees enclosing the lavender field mature.
The chapelâs exact location and orientation in the centre of a natural bowl were fixed by the architect and builder onsite, to focus attention from within on Mount Moon, one of a series of remnant volcanic plugs isolated from Main Range itself. The unlined frame means the escarpment towering above lavender fields and farmland provides the real setting for vows. There is a strong sense of the sublime â think Peter Weirâs Picnic at Hanging Rock, although Wilson is inclined towards Westworld.
Wilson intended the wedding chapel to evoke memories of archetypal bush chapels. It certainly is suggestive of the many disintegrating timber structures that dot the surrounding rural landscape, reminders of the expansion and contraction of settlement. But it also recalls more knowing uses of the timber frame â Richard Gaileyâs nineteenth- century single-skin timber schools and churches, and Robin Dodsâs All Saints Memorial Church (1915) at nearby Tamrookum come to mind. Another architect from this region, Russell Hall, who grew up in the Fassifern Valley, traces his own use of the single-skin frame to the simple farm buildings of his childhood.
Wilsonâs particular take on this idiom comprises a series of steel portals isolated from the floor structure to reduce the impact of differential movement caused by the black soil conditions. Panels of rough-sawn and unseasoned timber stud and trellis