In the early hours of Saturday, June 16, I turned on the news and saw those horrendous images of the Glasgow School of Art going up in flames yet again. It was like a bad dream: a glowing orange inferno caught live on mobile phones. It brought back memories of the fire four years ago which destroyed the most beautiful space in the building, the Library, one of the greatest rooms in the entire history of architecture. But this time the damage has been more far reaching. The building was undergoing restoration, but now the entire interior has been gutted from one end to the other. All that remains is the masonry shell and this will have been dangerously damaged by the very high temperatures. In reality, I fear that this masterpiece is gone for ever.
I am devastated by this loss. The Glasgow School of Art was like an old friend and every time I visited it, I discovered a new dimension of the work itself and of architecture in general. The Library was an inspiration: the abstraction of a woodland clearing with something of the character of a Japanese temple. The exterior of the west wing was a masterpiece of ambiguities between figure and ground, space and mass. Charles Rennie Mackintosh's magisterial work was in and of itself a teaching building: it taught students to see, to experience space and light, to feel textures, colors and materials. It touched the mind and the senses of all who passed through. It rested in memory. This was high architecture but it was somehow casual and convivial. It encouraged the mess of creation in its studios and promoted the mixing of people on its landings and stairs. It became a collective landmark, but only after decades of neglect during the years of Glasgow's decline.
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