Architectural aesthetics is built on a vast heritage of (mainly Western) historical development. How do such theories, from classical proportion to Corbusier’s modulor system, compare with scientific theories of perception and what relevance do they have to zoo design now?
To address the second part of that question first, the answer is probably that they are as relevant to any architecture today. The days of designing, Vitruvian style, according to rules are gone and the application of good design principles to areas such as zoo design depends on the individual architect’s mind set, which should be as open and sensitive to the possibilities and requirements of the user as possible. Antoniades puts it thus:
What is “good” in architecture is obviously the most difficult thing to evaluate. It should certainly be the final goal of any creative architect. The concept of “good” has always been the central concern of aesthetics. It is clearly vested with a high degree of relativity: “good” for the architect? “good” for the individual user? or “good” for society? [1]
To which can be added in the present context: “good” for the animals. Antoniades goes on to criticise “superficial” architects who tackle only a few of the parameters, be they conceptual, technical, social or other, of “good” architectural creation. The “inclusivist” architect is willing to explore the creative possibilities of the various aesthetic systems and allow for the involvement of as many people and points of view as possible.[2] Thus zoo design is no different from architectural design in that it indeed requires the architect to actively involve all these elements. The alternatives are either to be self-serving or a technician. But is there an aesthetic system that does not conflict with the unique element of zoo design? The following might as easily apply to zoo exhibits except that for inspiration, one would seek it in the emotional effect of the animal in its natural habitat:
The author of the Yuan Yeh states . . . that there are ‘no definite rules for the planning of gardens’. He thus confronts himself with a paradox: how to write rules without writing rules, or how to communicate principles of creating a garden without making them lifeless prescriptions. . . . In other places the Yuan Yeh avoids rules . . . by the use of that typically Chinese technique--evocative description. By describing the emotional effect of a beautiful scene, the author creates in his reader the desire to create a garden that will trigger the same responses . . .” [3]
The rational Western tradition demands that experts state their views emphatically, and in approaching the arcane world of zoo design, an architect will be grateful for advice such as master planning guidelines given by Hancocks[4]. Even his ten “Zoo Commandments” are followed by the statement that, “These Commandments, like all rules, can be broken, if there is a reason.”[5] Thus, if zoo design is charting a separate course from mainstream architecture, this does not necessarily imply a shift in aesthetic principles, only in their application.
Shettel Neuber [6] cites Campbell as placing the development of exhibit design into three categories: First generation--the small stereotyped cage or pit; second generation--open, moated enclosures with improved views and more space but still rather stark; and third generation--which covers what is described here as ‘naturalistic’ and ‘habitat’. ‘Third generation’ is ill-defined in the sense used by Shettel-Neuber who admits that exhibits vary in the degree to which they are of this generation and states that it is a difficult thing to achieve.
In general, a zoo ought to be able to create true third generation exhibits with animals of the same climate type. Perhaps the term, ‘fourth generation’ can be applied to these. Singapore Zoo has an advantage in displaying tropical species. An example drawn from this dissertation illustrates this. The development of under-water viewed exhibits in Singapore Zoo has followed a similar generational path which could be described as ‘functional’, ‘naturalistic’ and ‘habitat’ stages. The Polar Bear and Sealion exhibits comprise the first two stages. The Crocodile and False Ghavial Exhibit represents an intermediate improvement on the Sealion because it is a locally-found creature. Its original state with a partly tiled pool did not qualify it as a true (mangrove) habitat representation. It was subsequently renovated to bring it up to date. When the pygmy hippo was considered a candidate for under-water viewing, naturalistic substrates were the order of the day; tiles were out. Therefore there was no hindrance to perfecting the simulated habitat.
This is by no means the only classification of exhibits. Unfortunately, comparatively few architects have written on zoo design and the literature is dominated by zoo and social science--especially museum--based authors, so the relationship of zoo design to architecture is dimly drawn. The architectural literature is focused, rightly, on the animal, the habitat [7]. There is a zoo design aesthetic, but the question remains: is it nature, or is it design?
The waning of ‘bathroom’ style exhibits coincided with modern methods of disease control [8] but looked at from an architectural point of view, this austerity has close parallels with the Modern Movement. The creation of super hygienic conditions was made possible by developments in steel, glass and concrete, just as these materials made Modern architecture possible. All kinds of architectural eclecticism could be seen in typical 19th century zoos. Thus, zoo design has reflected mainstream architectural movements since ancient times.
The last twenty years or so, however, has seen a decisive break from enclosure design more attuned to the prevailing architectural philosophy than to the real needs of the ‘clients’.[9] A case could also be made that this still parallels the post-modern trend to socially responsive, humane architecture (what Antoniades calls inclusivist).
In the process, a small but growing number of architectural and landscape architectural specialist zoo design practices and (mainly North American) design and build contractors have established themselves. In the process too, the rest of the architectural profession probably remains alienated from zoo design. The project for the local zoo is less the ‘fun’ commission where sculptural expression could be given full rein; but it remains the commission which demands novel, unique solutions. A basic aspect of the design process is to look at the problem in different ways so that both a better solution is produced and the same stock solutions are avoided.
Exhibits as architectural volumes. Polakowski, as has been noted, describes a number of spatial illusions applicable to zoo exhibits. These ascribe certain qualities to exhibit spaces according to certain characteristics. An analogy is also made with the theatre with the exhibit view framed by a proscenium. The author goes on to develop a view of exhibits in volumetric terms defined by various planes--base, vertical and overhead. [10] These ‘planes’ include the variety of solid and planar objects set into them, often as a biological necessity, but also seen as opportunities for modulating the visitor experience. The base plane contains the habitat features required by the animals, while vertical planes are associated with containment; and the overhead plane controls light and shade and hence mood.
Ascribing architectural qualities to exhibits is useful in allowing the designer to relate the design problems to their training and in thinking about the human experience of the exhibit. It is necessary to balance this with awareness of the meaning of space for animals[11], especially its temporal aspect.
Ingraham, in her treatment of the zoo cage, refers to another architectural trait:
One might say, perhaps, that the zoo, with its a, b, c taxonomies, expresses its architectural rhythms--its a-b-b-a--in the zoo cage. [12]
Rhythm, along with proportion, scale and the properties and definition of volume, is an important concept both in the dynamic experience of exhibits sequentially and in the static view; though the nature of the relation of their formal expression to natural landscapes is not clear. Ambiguity of form is probably equally important and as has been noted elsewhere, randomicity and rhythms in nature are extremely complex, even if these obey underlying rules. Music provides a good example. In the Western Classical system, at least, music is based on only a handful of principles embodied in musical notation; and yet we need a logarithmic scale to measure the range of audible pitch. Most things manmade are said to have been invented by nature first--can nature itself be invented? Human models of nature are arrived at from analysis of nature; can nature therefore be synthesised? Two examples are the Smithsonian Institute's artificially maintained coral reef and “Biosphere II”. These are perhaps simple mimicry.
Symbolism and meaning. Another point of reference between architecture and zoo design is worth mentioning. Ingraham (cited earlier) continues with the idea that the exhibit--the cage in this case--is in some way analogous to the animal it confines. If the enclosure is a ‘house’ built for a particular animal, then it must be suited to that animal. The morphology of houses for humans only indirectly reflects the occupants particular needs, being filtered through a general style to address the particular. Thus it is no accident, to Ingraham, that the pacing tiger like a pacing prisoner produces the enclosure with the image of a prison. Even the image of the tiger’s vertical stripes against the vertical bars of the cage is invoked. [13]
If there is a morphological connection between the enclosure and the animal, it is not likely to be so whimsical. The habitat as an extension of the animal, perhaps; as the horse is an extension of the rider. However, it is just as “childlike”, as Ingraham puts it, to suggest that our habitat constructions in the confines of a zoo are as fitted to the animal as nature provides: “But it seems to me that zoos (like Disneyland) are quintessential examples of what it means for adults to build within the mythology of the ‘childlike’” [14], especially in the diminution of scale. This applies not only to the cage or the single exhibit. Thematic, landscape immersion “biomes” are, “ more pointedly ‘architectural’ than the traditional organisation of zoos by genus or species. Animals are organised by the structural similarity of their environment” [15], but the animals are not in the wild. It is not in reality the exercise in ecological balance it portrays.
This returns to the earlier theme of interpretation and whether the purpose of zoo design is merely to entertain; but it reveal the power of the architectural experience on visitors. Skilfully handled in co-ordination with a good educational programme, it can uplift visitors and then remind them that it is only a representation of reality, but that it may become the only reality for some species very soon, if nothing is done to save the real habitats.