Last month I won the Lili Sarnyai Graduate Research Prize at King’s College, University of Cambridge, for my work on seventeenth-century craftsmen. My thesis aims to shed new light on the networks, practices, and material cultures that shaped artistic production in the early modern period. The award recognises excellence in postgraduate scholarship and celebrates innovative contributions to humanities research at King’s College. Thanks to King’s for a lovely evening!
Leave a CommentRe-post of an article on the York House Water Gate I originally wrote for englishcivilwar.org:
Read first! The York House Water Gate: Part One.
The York House Water Gate has been a source of inspiration for many artists since its completion in 1626, though sadly only as a remnant of the once-great Thames-side mansion rather than as the grand waterside entrance to the ill-fated Duke of Buckingham’s lodgings. Here are some examples …
My recent paper ‘The Sculpture Garden at Denham Place’ recently received a ‘highly commended’ from the judges of the Mavis Batey Essay Prize (The Gardens Trust).
Denham Place in Buckinghamshire was rebuilt by its owner Sir Roger Hill (1642-1729) between 1688 and 1701. Work at the park incorporated a sculpture garden of sixty statues, of which no comparable display in England has been recorded, with only a single topographical painting (above) surviving to illustrate its extravagant layout. My article explores how Sir Roger’s political leanings and family relationships are likely to have influenced the design of his sculpture garden, before considering the garden in the wider context of post-Restoration landscape design.
Update: my article was published in the Summer 2025 issue of the journal Garden History.
Moor Park in Rickmansworth, Hertfordshire, more often than not crops up in books with reference to a) its association with the Duke of Monmouth, or b) its earlier, celebrated, garden. What makes investigation tricky, however, is that no image exists of the house that the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth built on the site of an older Jacobean property in 1679, and no traces of the historic garden survive.
The building itself is now the headquarters of Moor Park Golf Club. Much altered in the eighteenth century, the Palladian exterior is unremarkable, and not the focus of this article*. Of more interest are the interiors, some of which survive from the Monmouths’ rebuild, and I had the opportunity to photograph these on a tour of the house earlier this year.
While questions of attribution of interior features remain, fortunately a series of documents has survived that reference individuals. Hugh May is named as the supervisor of works, with the carver Grinling Gibbons and the Baroque painter Antonio Verrio receiving payments for their work in the ‘Great Room’ (now Thornhill Room) during the period of the Monmouth’s rebuild.
Further significant renovations were undertaken to the exterior and interior in the 1720s. James Thornhill was commissioned to paint the ceiling of the Great Hall and the walls of the stairs, but appears to have resigned his commission after an argument with the new owner, Benjamin Haskins-Stiles. The trompe l’oeil ceiling of the hall (see top), an imitation of the ceiling of St Peter’s, Rome, is assumed to be Thornhill’s work, though the wall paintings (below) were completed by the Italian artists Francesco Sleter and Jacopo Amigoni.
There are landscaped areas of garden to the east of the house, though the once celebrated terraced gardens of the Duchess of Bedford (who owned Moor Park in the 1620s) are long gone. Intriguingly, no archaeology appears to have been done to identify where exactly these were, but a fascinating and detailed account of their appearance was penned by Sir William Temple in 1685, remembering the gardens he had visited thirty years earlier (an artist’s impression based on this account is at the bottom of this page).
I’ve included further photos of Moor Park’s interior below, which each require further investigation. Other outstanding questions of interest include the connections between Moor Park and nearby Cassiobury house (Watford), which were both worked on during the period by Hugh May, and the involvement in the 1720s of the Italian architect, Giacomo Leoni, a somewhat forgotten figure who also worked at Cliveden.
* For detailed info on the history and fabric of the building see P. Drury; S. Jeffery; D. Wrightson, ‘Moor Park in the Seventeenth Century,’ The Antiquaries Journal, 96, 2016, pp 241–90.
A grim stretch of the Blackwall Tunnel northern approach is hardly where you’d expect to find London’s oldest brick building – or an English Civil War gunpowder factory, for that matter.
Bromley Hall is easy to miss. Many times I’ve driven around the A12 paying little attention to the endless exhaust-strained offices, boarded-up factories and self-storage hangers. The carriageway passes right by the door, so you’re also unlikely to see it from afar.
The early Tudor house was built in 1490 by Holy Trinity Priory, on the site of the earlier Lower Bramerley Manor. Seized during the dissolution of the monasteries, it was refurbished by Henry VII before being used as a gunpowder factory in the 1640s. The building was later used as a printing works and private house before becoming a nurses residence and training hospital in the late 19th century.
Leave a CommentThe Cistercian abbey of Rievaulx (founded 1132) and Premonstratensian foundation of Easby (1152) lie thirty miles apart on an upland tract of North Yorkshire. The Orders closely shared constitutions and spiritual ideas, and these similarities are reflected in Easby’s main abbey complex, begun two decades after Rievaulx, which appears to follow developmental phases common to the Cistercian claustral plan, but with notable divergences. To what extent can these be explained by the Premonstratensian spiritual mission, or was Easby’s development influenced by other factors?
Figure 1: Plan of Rievaulx Abbey (founded 1132). Image: English Heritage
Rievaulx (Fig. 1) is considered a model for a Cistercian house as it was the first to be founded in the north under instruction from Clairvaux. Its plan developed in three broad phases but, as Fergusson notes, despite its innovations and the influence of its French mother house, architectural developments at Cistercian foundations were not always inevitable. The first, 12th century, phase saw the re-building of Rievaulx’s church and east and west ranges as statements of reform under Abbot Aelred. The nave had a nine-bay arcade added, with aisle barrel vaults at right-angles, betraying the influence of its Burgundian architectural model. Transepts, transept chapels and aisle chapels were also added – each square-ended – in a further move towards the ‘persistent simplification’ of Romanesque monastic architecture that better reflected values of simplicity and solitude of location. This approach was continued into the east range: the chapter house, though apsidal, featured a simplified Norman arcade supported by large, round piers. The other principle spaces, such as the day room and huge first-floor dormitory, were also similarly austere in execution.
The south range, however, began to signal a reorientation in Aelred’s planning. An earlier refectory, positioned east-west following Benedictine precedent, was replaced by a larger building erected perpendicular to the cloister. Thompson contends that this change of axis, similarly seen at Fountains and Kirkstall, was principally to allow for the expansion of the adjacent kitchen and warming house. The peak population of 650 religious and lay brothers at Rievaulx appears to support this need for expansion, though greater weight should be attached to the confluence of other theories that would later direct Rievaulx’s claustral plan. These include Aelred’s admiration for Durham’s refectory (also created as an upper hall over a vaulted undercroft), the inclusion of a large, south-facing, Early Gothic window, and the underpinning of these arrangements through scriptural justifications for first-floor dining. This reorganisation of the south range can be seen as a deliberate movement away from the stark simplicity of the earlier works in preparation for a fuller embrace of Early Gothic principles – principally in the greater use of light as a prism for spiritual reflection.
The second, early-13th century phase, saw the architectural realisation of Aelred’s ambitions, but carried an inherent tension. The nave was raised, the presbytery received a seven-bay extension and a reformed choir, and a shrine for Aelred (d.1167) was added behind the altar. The earlier architectural simplicity was now being further challenged by an Early Gothic trend for combining lighter walls and more expressive building techniques. This tension was also felt in the addition of five chapels to the church’s eastern wall. These were flat-ended, eschewing apsidal plans associated with ‘spiritual exhibition’, moving Rievaulx further towards a rectilinear plan that would become characteristically Cistercian. Morris notes, however, that chapels were connected with processional circulation which, while reflecting a 13th century trend for private masses, again signified a growing gap between the simplicity of earlier liturgical arrangements and the abbey’s more elaborate physical manifestation.
The 14th century saw the lay brothers depart Rievaulx, marking the third phase of claustral development. While some extant ruins of the west range pre-date Aelred’s administration, their later conversion to study/storage space, the inclusion of a parlour where monks could meet with family, and extra space in the western nave available for processional use, all signified an increasing semi-public function for the abbey that had moved beyond its founding, hermetic, intentions. Therefore, while Rievaulx is now seen as a model Cistercian claustral design, it was not planned as such. Moreover, it arrived at its plan though a conscious rejection of Norman expressive forms, followed by a dissonant accommodation of austere Cistercian principles with Early Gothic inspiration.
To what extent did Easby’s monastic plan (Fig. 2) follow a similar path? Proximity of founding date, location and shared spiritual ideals would suggest a degree of pragmatic architectural interchange, and evidence of Cistercian precedent is apparent in Easby’s plan. However, also like Rievaulx, architectural changes were reactive to wider forces.
Figure 2: Plan of Easy Abbey (founded 1152). Image: English Heritage.
Easby Abbey was similarly founded in a river valley for farming and drainage reasons, but of greater significance for its plan was the decision to position it on an existing ecclesiastical site. St. Agatha’s church was included within the abbey precinct, and the irregular quadrilateral shape of the abbey cloister seems to have been influenced by the need to accommodate the monastery within a defined ancient space. The claustral buildings, however, at first glance appear to conform to Cistercian convention: the church, north of the cloister, dates from the 12th century, and like Rievaulx had aisles added and its presbytery lengthened in the early-14th century. Flat-ended transept chapels and a sacristry south of the choir were also added in this phase, but were additions that, by this time (as seen earlier at sister houses such as Leiston and Talley), were already features of a typical Premonstratensian plan.
To understand why the layout of Easby’s other claustral buildings came to reflect characteristics of the Premonstratensian Order requires understanding of its spiritual mission and organisational structure. It was an expectation of White Canons that, unlike the White Monks, they would spend time in the community, preaching and carrying out charitable work in addition to managing their granges. A circary system of governance also evolved, detached from the mother house of Prémontré in France, that allowed for a wider variety of architectural solutions.
This free-thinking is evident in Easby’s east and west ranges. While the chapter house (again flat-ended) and its adjacent rooms are located below the south transept, there is no dormitory above (the upper-storey space appears to have been a grand apartment). Instead, the monks’ dormitory was located in the west range, conjoined with guest lodgings in a ‘exceptional and probably unique’ configuration. Colvin notes that little is known about the accommodation of Premonstratensian lay brothers within the monastic plan; as ordained priests, the White Canons had less time than the White Monks for manual labour, so it must be assumed that a larger proportion of Premonstratensian lay brothers were living out on their granges or elsewhere. Unlike at Rievaulx, the configuration of Easby’s west range is the product of a single phase of early-13th planning, so can therefore be attributed to reasons that are identifiably Premonstratensian in origin.
Easby’s south range, similarly built within the same 13th century phase, also shows evidence of Premonstratensian assimilation of Cistercian precedent. The kitchen, warming house and refectory are in the same position as at Rievaulx, but with the refectory building situated east-to-west. The refectory itself, however, was also positioned on the first floor with a huge, east-facing window in the Decorative style – indicative of the works being carried out fifty years later than at Rievaulx. However, clear precedent of a similar dining arrangement can be seen at other Premonstratensian houses, including Tupholme (1155) and Eaglestone (late-12th century), suggesting two-storey refectories were already common practice for the White Canons by the time Easby was under construction.
Easby’s claustral plan, therefore, borrowed from the Cistercians but diverged significantly from it. That Easby was founded a year after the Cistercian general chapter of 1152, which halted further rapid Cistercian expansion, further suggests that the Premonstratensians took the opportunity to adapt an already highly appropriate Cistercian plan for their own spiritual duties. Rievaulx in the 12th and 13th centuries was largely the product of an abbot’s somewhat tentative ambition to combine Cistercian spiritual values with progressive Anglo-French architectural thinking. The claustral plan of Easby, conversely, reveals no individual guiding hand. Rather, the most significant developmental factor was an architectural confidence derived from a more autonomous circary system that better-suited the White Canons’ spiritual mission.
Bibliography
G. Coppack, P. Fergusson and S. Harrison, Rievaulx Abbey (London, 2006)
Fergusson, Architecture of Solitude: Cistercian Abbeys in Twelfth-Century England (Princeton, 1984)
P. Fergusson, ‘The Twelfth Century Refectories of Rievaulx and Byland Abbeys’, Cistercian Art and Architecture in the British Isles, C. Norton and D. Park (eds) (Cambridge, 1986)
J. Gribbin, The Premonstratensian Order in Late Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2000)
R. Morris, Cathedrals and Abbeys of England and Wales (London, 1979)
Rudolph, ‘Architectural Theory, the Sacred Economy, and the Public Presentation of Monastic Architecture: The Classic Cistercian Plan’, Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 78:3 (2019)
A. H. Thompson, English Monasteries (Cambridge, 1923)
Rievaulx Abbey (English Heritage)
Easby Abbey (English Heritage)
Last week I attended Historic Buildings and Places’ annual lecture at the Alan Baxter Gallery in Farringdon, where I was awarded the Stephen Croad Essay Prize 2023 for my paper on Balthazar Gerbier and Hamstead Marshall.
Gerbier is perhaps best know to seventeenth century historians as a Dutch courtier who helped the Duke of Buckingham develop his art collection, but Gerbier also designed buildings. The drawings for one of these, Hamstead Marshall, survive in the Bodleian Library. The house was somewhat unusual for its time (construction began in 1662), and my article fills in some gaps about its construction, discusses some possible problems encountered, and suggests what Gerbier was ultimately trying to achieve by building what I call a ‘proto-Baroque’ house for his patron, the 1st Earl of Craven.
After receiving my certificate, I gave a short talk on why the topic is of interest to me and my key findings. The essay will be published in Historic Buildings and Places’ journal next year.
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A couple of evening photos from the Coal Drops Yard redevelopment. I worked for a number of years at King’s Place on York Road, and witnessed the adjacent Granary Square transformation, though at the time the coal sheds shown in these images (built in 1851 and 1860 and used for storing coal from Yorkshire before it was transported on Regent’s Canal) lay boarded-up and abandoned after their later use as warehouses and nightclubs.
The wider development of the area continues apace, and appears successful, with one’s attention still largely drawn to the architecture over the former coal sheds’ commercial occupants. The Granary Square development in particular also has a very different feel in the daytime, attracting more families to the canal steps and fountains.
The whole King’s Cross development has not been without controversy, however, with questions raised over affordable housing and ‘pseudo-public spaces’.
heatherwick.com/project/coal-drops-yard
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On a recent trip to Oxford I passed the Danby Gate (1632-33), the historic entrance to Oxford Botanic Garden. The weather was considerably sunnier than the last time I visited, when I was measuring, sketching and photographing the gate for a survey.
A couple of memories stood out: firstly, in hindsight how probably mad I was to choose a building that required the drawing of such heavily rusticated and ornamented features. Secondly, and rather obviously, perhaps, but of considerable consequence when producing a printed record, was how much difference the availability of light makes when taking high-resolution photos.
My final measured drawing of the north elevation of the gate is at the top of this article (this is the entrance side set back off the High Street opposite Magdalen College, though the actual visitor entrance is now through the wall to the left of the arch). After much rubbing out, I decided to take a less-is-more approach, lightly hatching the rustication on the pilasters and only tracing the outline of the statues of Charles I and Charles II in the left and right niches, and the bust of Henry Danvers, 1st Earl of Danby, who paid for the gate, in the pediment above.
The inscriptions on the pediment on both the north and south sides were similarly tricky to get right, particularly the serifs on the letters at such a reduced scale.
While not particularly complex in plan, the gate is not symmetrical or equally proportioned north and south of the wall. Neither are the internal and external fluted niches of equal size, requiring some nimble compass work.
This survey was the first time I had used a DISTO laser measure to record ceiling and roof heights. The accuracy of the tool appeared variable as the light fluctuated, though when the clouds came over this at least meant the laser point could be seen at the top of the pediment.
While not a novice in enhancing images, applying techniques to high-resolution photos taken on a very gloomy day was extremely time-consuming, with varying results. Particularly tricky was achieving consistency when increasing light levels and adding clarity to images showing both the whole of the gate and close-up details.
The statues of the Stuart kings in Roman dress had recently underdone repair, but their elevated positions also made it hard to photographing smaller details. Even standing on a stool only resulted in grainy images when enhanced.
My survey also included research on the gate’s history. I had previously done some work on Nicholas Stone, who built the gate in 1632-33, together with the garden wall and a couple of smaller arches to the east and west, though only a potted history of Stone’s work was required for this project. Stone was also working on a house at Cornbury during the same period, using Headington stone provided by the Strong family of masons. To what extent work was simultaneously being co-ordinated between both sites is, for me, one of the most interesting outstanding questions.
To some degree the Danby Gate suffers as a small historic building in a city with lots more larger and more visible ones. Its proximity to larger buildings and rather hidden location at the end of Oxford High Street both contribute to its diminished visibility.
The Danby Gate is however important as a complete surviving work by a leading figure in the development of classical architecture in the seventeenth century. For this reason, perhaps, its architectural significance deserves greater appreciation.
Leave a CommentI recently stumbled across the work of a Charlie Gee, a young apprentice stonemason who works in the Stoneyard at York Minster. If you’ve ever wondered how medieval craftsmen did it, this is the place to look! His videos are quite mesmerising, and have attracted almost 250k followers on Instagram, one of the best places to admire his craftsmanship.
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