My Space: Professor Anthony Hōete

It’s hard to know where to rest your eyes when first entering Anthony Hōete’s office.

Amongst shelves double stacked with books about architecture around the world are myriad more treasures: a doorstop of an award from the Royal Institute of British Architects; a cowhide upholstered Le Corbusier LC4 chaise longue; an exquisitely carved taiaha.

There’s also a collection of architectural models – one reflection, says Anthony, of his background as a practising architect. The professor of architecture and planning joined the University in 2020 after more than 30 years in practice, predominantly in the UK, where he worked on award-winning projects (including a co-designed primary school that was built from Lego).

Despite his long time offshore, Anthony has remained deeply connected to New Zealand, particularly projects related to Māori built heritage. He has been one of the driving forces behind the care for Hinemihi, a historic whare on the grounds of Clandon House in the UK. And since his return to Aotearoa, one area of his research has been the pre-colonial construction technique ‘mīmirū’, a traditional method using tensioned ropes that his research has shown provides seismic strength.

Here he shares some of his connections to his own space at the University – and the many items within it.

You first studied architecture here at the University of Auckland. Was this office familiar when you returned to work here?

By some twist of fate, I did my thesis with Professor Peter Bartlett who occupied this very office. So, I have been here before – although not as often as most of my students visit now. I operate within a different teaching culture; there’s much more of an open-door policy, which is quite deliberate because once you shut that door, you close off the opportunity for serendipitous meetings.

You have a lot of books. Did you bring many back with you from the UK?

Most of the books I brought back with me, although not all of them are here. And I probably need more space because they’re doubled up on the shelves.
I have a lot of meetings here and the books are helpful to refer to – they’re always being pulled out. Some of them you can’t buy anymore and are now extremely expensive. I’m kind of a bibliophile.

You also have a lot of physical models. Did you bring these back, too, or were they made here?

It’s a combination. Some of the smaller 3D models were printed in London and are still in their original packaging as boxed models, which were particularly useful for sending out to clients abroad.

However, the biggest model here is more than a cubic metre in size. Often, we had to transport models from the London office to presentations around Europe. The logistics were tricky, given the fragility of a model. 

So, when it came to my doctoral presentation in Barcelona, Game of Architecture, rather than take lots of different models of the 100 or so housing projects I had worked on, I decided to spatially compose all those projects in a compact cubic form. As a rubric of the rules and regulations of housing, that model is a puzzle. It is one totalising model that efficiently represents multiple projects.

And, of course, it can be taken apart. 

What’s an item you’re most connected to?

One item I am fond of is a taiaha that I used as the basis for the design of a railed fence for a housing project in London. The mould for the fence was based on a less ornate version of the head, or upoko, of a taiaha originally given to my son Māui.

The taiaha was carved by Robert Rika, the nephew of renowned Māori heritage conservator Jim Schuster. Jim was also once my schoolteacher in Kawerau and so when, 25 years later, we met again in London to work on Hinemihi, the whare in Surrey, the taiaha represented the valour and strength of being Māori while living in Britain.

From there, I was drawn to the idea of culturally transforming the ubiquitous London railed fence into a Māori palisade – a symbol of my own displaced existence.

And what about the chaise longue? Do you use it?

Not during term time, but once the research summer comes, yes.

Sometimes, the sun is streaming into the office, and I’ll put it out on the balcony. It’s great for a little sunshine reading – or at least until my colleagues interrupt and ask what I am doing.

Caitlin Sykes