Reflecting on how hospital architecture and design can uplift the human spirit through beauty, simplicity, and care.
I recently spent a week in hospital, my eyes closed most of the time. I must confess, it was very challenging. The one comfort I found was listening to the sound of other people’s voices. Above all, it was the presence of the nurses, whose skill, professionalism, dedication and compassion were humbling. I do not overstate this.
The hospital room is a square pragmatic space, with four beds occupied by strangers. The sound of steel trolleys on the flat lino floor tells me that everything is designed for simple, no-frills functionality. I will admit, as a design professional, I was more confident with the nurses and doctors than the decor.
When I closed my eyes during this time I did not think of grand buildings, special architecture or amazing homes, but the faces of those close to me. I questioned the priority I put on design and architecture in times of real need — what purpose does it actually serve? It is said that great design must have an element of humanity. Yet in this bland hospital ward, humanity was everywhere and it wasn’t brought on by design, but by the people.
During this time, because of COVID-19, patients were not allowed to have visitors, which made the experience all the more daunting. The nurses stepped up again, consoling patients, no matter who they were. After a few days I was able to go downstairs and get some fresh air. When I emerged into daylight, I stepped into one of the most beautiful courtyards in Australia. It is the rear of the old Sydney Hospital designed in the 1800s by Thomas Rowe. Here, for generations, both prince and pauper have strolled, sat and convalesced in a beautiful Italianate-style piazza, complete with a central water fountain and coffee stand. Suddenly I realised the city founders had gone to the effort of building something grand. Is this an example of the power of architecture? Is this the meaning of why we make an effort to design beautiful things? The stonework, the detailing, the ornate balconies, fountain and spires combine to create a special space that lifts the spirit and perhaps, in its own way, heals.
After a few days I sat in the courtyard and tried to sketch, which for me is the only real way of understanding and appreciating a space. I believe that all creatives wishing to design should pick up a pencil and, however crude, rough or naïve, make a mark and decipher what is in front of you. One evening I had a chat with the security guard at the entrance door. Despite having no design training, he knew the courtyard and the building’s framing were special. He was keen to learn why, so I launched into the principles of Italianate revivalist design.
Back up on the ward, one of my favourite nurses was talking about retirement and has recently been left a sizeable inheritance. She is single and tossing up whether to move to Italy or Greece as she had travelled there years ago and the romance had never left her. Then again, she says there’s a beautiful spot on the North Island of New Zealand where she could build her dream home and have some land. She may have been imagining a simple rectilinear house with a gable and smoking chimney. Like the courtyard outside, it’s a vision of a safe, beautiful refuge. She speaks of simple things such as a window catching sunlight, a glimpse of nature, maybe even some water. I can hear her spirit lift when she speaks about it. However humble, it is her grand design and I know it will be imbued with the most important feature of all — humanity. And I am happy for her.
Thank you to all the hospital staff and front-line health care workers whose work and humanity is the most important thing of all and truly inspiring.
Article Featured in Grand Designs Australia Magazine Issue 10.5
