Circulation, circulation, circulation was architect Des McMahon's mantra when it came to designing the new wing of the Hugh Lane Gallery on Dublin's Parnell Street.
His aim was that visitors would have a clear path (or in this case three paths) through the gallery spaces to guard against the "two most common malaises in gallery experiences: the unsatisfactory post-exhibition feeling that one has missed something, or the equally unsatisfactory feeling of exhaustion from having felt obliged to see too much".
The starting point is clear: the grand entrance hall to the existing Charlemont House, by William Chambers, has been cleared of exhibits and works as a generous orientation point from which you have a choice of three directions to go in. All of them take you to various parts of the old and new buildings and bring you back, via a different route, to the point at which you started. What is lacking at the moment is signage and museum maps to tell first-time visitors what you will find along each path.
Ahead of the entrance are the existing galleries - built in the 1930s - which have a logical sequence of main exhibition spaces with rooms off to the side. This enfilade arrangement is similar to that in the Louvre and gallery design hasn't changed much since then in many cases, says McMahon.
He borrowed the idea of main spaces and smaller spaces for the new wing but worked them in a more dynamic arrangement, with differing ceiling heights and a circulatory rather than straight path. Such energy is evident from the moment you are whisked into the new wing via a slanted wall off the entrance hall, which works as an arrow guiding you to the contemporary spaces.
This slanted wall pulls the new wing back from two Georgian buildings that front onto Parnell Square, creating a courtyard which is overlooked by the bookshop and café. McMahon recognises that book and cappuccino consumption are important elements of a gallery visit for many.
Ponds in the courtyard are designed to reflect the sky. Such reaching for the firmament is a hallmark of the building which was constructed on the site of the former National Ballroom which saw the instigation of many a wedding and which now has been married into the old Hugh Lane gallery (at two points to minimise the disturbance of the older structure).
So essentially the new part has no external identity. It has been slotted into a site that's largely enclosed by other buildings and has been designed from the inside out. Its engagement with the outside world is through skylights and large windows which give good views, for instance down into the courtyard through glass that meets the floor, although there is one view out to a large, ugly pitched roof clad in the type of "temporary" material that tends to stay for decades.
One of the best views is through the glass wall that creates the link, on Parnell Square, between the old and new building, the clear structure enabling the symmetry of Charlemont House to remain visually intact. Here there are views out over Dublin, with the Spire hitting you face on, and down to the new entrance to the Memorial Gardens.
Another uplifting space bathed in natural light - through a glass roof - is the spine of the new part of the building which works as an orientation point and breather. McMahon wanted to provide refreshment areas - spiritually rather than nutritionally - as a counterpoint to the intensity of looking at art. "Responding to art requires focus and high levels of concentration," he says. "That can be exhausting so we deliberately designed transit spaces between galleries as places of sensory refreshment: exploiting sunlight, shadows, contrast and aspect."
White paint, glass and open-tread stairs are the dominant elements in the building which work as a canvas for the art. For McMahon, art was the thing: "I didn't want to create architecture that competed with the collection, so it was bye, bye Bilbao."
Some designers would have carried the clean lines through to the lighting and integrated it. Here it is tracked around panels in the ceilings and forms an impressive display that would do justice to a rock concert venue. Similarly, those with a passion for order would have placed the gaps beneath the walls - which house the climate- control devices - in a more regular pattern from room to room. In the Sean Scully room one of these is to one end of a wall, although rectangular forms in this space could be said to mirror the art. A shard of light is brought into the space just outside the door through a soaring light well, here walls don't all meet at corners but at offsets creating rectangular play: something that speaks to Scully's work. Yet on the wall at the far end of the room, all is brought into symmetry with the gap beneath the wall spanning from end to end and a vast painting in the middle: fantastic.
McMahon went to New York to discuss the space with Scully and paces the room showing how Scully would step back from a work and say, "this is a good distance".
As well as enabling people to have a good look at the work in each room, the circulatory route and half walls allow glimpses into the next area you are going to visit, so the space guides you effortlessly through with a sense of anticipation.
The building has achieved its aim of enabling the art to sing and there may now even be pressure to hang pieces in the naturally lit spine. The only painting here at the moment is one by Patrick Ireland , at the top of the stairs. The light colours in the painting have become positively luminous, in terms of being lit from within, and have a loominess, in terms of almost coming off the canvas towards you.
This building is an art lover.
'The rooms are splendid and sensitive to artists': gallery guru and artist Patrick Ireland
Patrick Ireland wrote a book on gallery spaces in the 1970s called Inside the White Cube: The Ideology of the Gallery Space and his art work forms the first temporary exhibition in the first floor of the Hugh Lane extension. So what does he make of the space? "I'm very much not in sympathy with architects who build museums because ever since architects learnt from artists the issues of paradox and minimal and post-minimal aesthetics they've indulged their own egos at the expense of the art.
"The first time that happened was in Frank Lloyd Wright's Guggenheim [ in New York] which was notorious for the conflicts between James Johnson Sweeney, the director, and Frank Lloyd Wright [ having art running down the spiralling ramp was one area of contention].
"Sweeney was a wonderful guy who was fighting for the art and the grand egotist Wright responded by saying that Sweeney had the soul of an Irish cop. The soul of an Irish cop is a good thing - he was trying to protect the art, as a cop for the art.
"That was the beginning; then there's Frank Gehry with his rock and roll Bilbao which is not so good for art - it's alright in some places.
"I think museums should be built from the inside out. Des McMahon had a great opportunity because he didn't have to worry too much about the outside. He achieved an almost symphonic play with light.
"He decided, very wisely I think, to get in as much light as he could. In the long room where my paintings are there's one side where the light is natural and there is nothing better for art than changing natural light.
"This was something [ Mark] Rothko was very keen on. I used to watch him painting in his studio in the failing light. This is distinct from the steady bleach out glare of museum lighting which is very artificial. Things always look better in the studio and I think we need to try and preserve some sense of the intimacy of the studio.
"Art is subjected to the vagaries and sophistication of curators. I've seen art destroyed and enhanced. I'm very fortunate because I've had the most sensitive curators. Those in the Hugh Lane have been the best I've dealt with.
"I always say that when I've had a good trip with a museum but this time I mean it. There needs to be a sensitivity in the hanging and concern for enhancement of the work - my work will never look as good again."
"McMahon has nicely proportioned galleries and a sophisticated, easy, almost unconscious, sense of circulation. The rooms are splendid in height and are not too large to overwhelm what's in there. You are able to show the small and the large. "Vast galleries, like Gehry's, make some of Picasso's work look like postage stamps although it's very good for some things, such as Richard Serra's work.
"I have one quarrel with Desmond. When you go into the dark room where the drawings are there's a closed door which cuts off the circulation.
"But he has been very sensitive to artists' needs and the very peculiar demands that contemporary art makes on spaces: the ability to read without distraction, the capacity to go near and spend time, the capacity to get away from painting but not too far away because there's a certain scale after which the paintings lose scale and they just have size.
