By 2021, the design and approvals processes for Goodhope were completed and I was back on site witnessing the uncovering of layers during the demolition process. I’ve been fortunate to spend a lot of time on site, from a young age. When I passed my architectural registration exam the builder made a makeshift red carpet for me, laying haphazard formwork across the dirt, ‘red carpet’ spray painted in pink. A genuine gesture. As Goodhope progressed, I found myself on site more often. I have no experience with the theatre industry, but I imagine the delivery of a building is much like putting on a play. Goodhope was more like a play than any other project I’ve worked on. This was a cast not of tradespeople but of craftspeople. This was an opportunity to showcase your craft. Many hands built the set over two years.
At the height of the project, I became like a trench coat salesperson, a dealer of obscure samples, my pockets filled with sections of curtain rails and terrazzo samples. I traded office chairs in alleyways and lugged bricks onto the bus. Choosing the brick for this project was one of the quicker decisions, a Krause brick in a long thin emperor format in a ghost colour. I found a bricklayer who had worked with the brick on Instagram. Harry at the Brickwork Co quickly became part of the Goodhope family. When we toyed with the idea of having custom bricks made for the curves, Harry explained that he could create the same effect using small sections of cut bricks, the bricks were solid.
The two façades of the original buildings were kept visually distinct, preserving their independent identities even as the interior was unified. The Krause brick became the unifying element, weaving through the two buildings, inside and out. The north-facing courtyard became the centre of the project, allowing light and air into the middle of the building, while preserving the view to the harbour. Internally, board-formed concrete and Victorian Ash were paired with the original roof trusses to add texture and warmth to the story.
Site experience can be like a relationship, two years at a time, not an insignificant length. Long enough for the breakup to hurt, for it to take a while for the habits to fade and the feelings to soften. At the end of the project, you’re a different person, for better or worse. You’re a little wiser and there’s a chance you’re a bone-rattling nervous wreck. Some site experiences create new temporary families, large, loud and boisterous families. It’s not just the people on site, but the building itself. At some point, the project comes to an end and it’s time to say goodbye.
I’ve said goodbye to many places over the years, whether they be moments in neighbourhoods or various family homes. With each goodbye, there is a sense of loss. I’ve also experienced what it’s like to change a place. To change space, to change people’s experience of the city, what they see on their walks, what they see from inside their homes. I remember sitting on the steps of the courtyard as photographs were taken for publication. Only four of us were on site, in the quiet of the weekend. I sat with a sense of loss, knowing that I would probably never be with the building in this way again. It was time to pass it over to the true stars of the show. That is what architecture is, set design for your life. The reality is that the building process is a fleeting moment in the life of the building. People will come and go, memories made, and dreams realised. People will share secrets on the steps and breathe sunshine in the courtyard.
If your project involves adapting an existing site or shaping an atmosphere that supports deep creative work, Emma would love to share more about the Goodhope story.
