EDITORIAL IN HONOUR OF
JAMES WALTON
Franco Frescura
In 1974, for reasons best known to itself, the University of the Witwatersrand awarded me a R25 book prize for undergraduate research in History of Architecture. Having something of a reputation to uphold, my first choice was a volume entitled "The Foreign Policy of Communist China". The remaining R7 was spent on a copy of James Walton's "African Village". To this day, Beijing's political machinations remain an inscrutable mystery to me. Walton's volume, on the other hand, has become one of my most treasured possessions.
As I soon discovered, "African Village" was neither the first nor has it been the last opus to flow from James' prolific pen. It is thanks to him that succeeding generations of architectural students have been introduced to the rich textures and imaginative forms of our folk architecture.
This is just as well for, as many of my colleagues in the teaching profession will testify, an appreciation of the vernacular built environment is somewhat of an acquired taste. Students often are all too easily seduced by the glossy forms, machine aesthetics and megalomaniac grandeur of modern movement buildings so predilected by the architectural press. The words of Laugier who, in 1753, admonished us to "look to the humble hut", are soon lost beneath a plethora of superlatives and post-rationalised hype aimed at promoting the concept of the Architect as a powerful, virile, patriarchal Renaissance figure. Those who choose to sample the subtle cultural nuances of an architecture which is the result of complex human interactions often have to fight off the hammer blows of conspicuous consumerism in an industrial society which has become divorced from its historical and cultural roots.
Yet the architecture of what Rapoport has called the "Grand Design Tradition" only comprises an extremely small percentage of the world's built environment. The remainder is normally the work of peasant farmers, owner-builders and crafters who operate in a gray area where aesthetics is governed by pragmatic functionalism, and is not the product of style or an effete fashion statement. Often these environments are the result of social process in which women play an important, if not a leading, role in its production. Thus, in many ways, a denial of vernacular architecture is also a refutation of the function of women in the creation of shelter, and goes some way in reinforcing the stereotype of Architecture as the cultural construct of patriarchal society.
Although James Walton's work is not necessarily grounded in more recent philosophies which see material culture as a series of texts, sub-text and silences to be read and interpreted, it does in many ways precede them. His books and articles do not set out to celebrate specific academic theory, or to act as a show-case for the author's intellect. They are a modest and often understated recognition of the fact that men and women of all cultures, religions and continents come together on a daily basis and collaborate in the production of shelter. Their work is thus relatively humble, and to represent it otherwise would be a denial of its origins.
There is, of course, no doubt that there exists in the vernacular vast scope for glossy celebration. Titles such as "African Mural", "Spectacular Vernacular", and "The Unconventional Builders" abound in our literature, and uniformly suffer from an unfortunate tendency to highlight the visually magnificent, the unique, and the idiosyncratic. Therefore, by seeking to elevate the vernacular to the status of the "heroic", they too seek to perpetuate the modernist vision of the built environment.
Fortunately this has not been the way of James Walton. His texts are presented in a straight-forward, readable and unpretentious manner, and the only elaboration he allows himself is the inclusion of the clear and incisive pen-and-ink sketches which have become the hall-mark of his work. In the process he has also understood the character of his readership. When it comes to the written word architects are notoriously illiterate, and their books and articles often require extensive graphic explanation. To his credit, James does not pander up to such short-comings, but allows his work to be read, interpreted and enjoyed at a number of levels.
In the final analysis, however, the work of James Walton is defined by the fact that it was carried out at a time when a concern for our material culture and the conservation of our architectural heritage did not feature highly on our national agenda. It coincided with a period when the rural society of our country was in the throes of being transformed by the forces of racism, colonialism and competing nationalisms. These brought with them a bitter harvest of rural poverty, land alienation, migrant labour and the break-down of historical family structures. Many of the architectures, technologies and artifacts which James Walton documented will never again see the light of the African sun.
In this volume, therefore, we join in saluting a man whose example has inspired a whole generation of architectural historians; whose energy has ignited, fuelled and sustained a whole school of enquiry; and whose vision has made it possible for future generations of South Africans to look back upon their architecture with a sense pride and of achievement. Academics are a notoriously fickle band, but I believe that when all is said and done, history will look kindly upon the work of James Walton.
POSTSCRIPT
This Editorial was published in the South African Journal of Art and Architectural History, Vol 4, Nos 1-4, 54-74 (1995), which I was invited to edit. The journal was compiled as a festschrift in honour of James Walton, and included essays by Victor Papanek, Tim Maggs, Barrie Biermann, Graham J Hardie, Dennis Claude, Brian Kearney, Dennis Radford, Paul Oliver and myself. Fourteen years later, I still receive requests from people hoping to find a copy.