Reading — 2026 Jan–Apr Recall Set 1

Sydney Opera House is an example of late modern architecture; it is admired internationally and treasured by the people of Australia. In 1966 the Premier of New South Wales, Australia, announced an international competition for the design of an opera house for Sydney. It attracted more than 200 entries from around the world and was won by Jørn Utzon, a relatively little-known architect from Denmark. The story goes that during the judging of the competition, one judge, American architect Eero Saarinen, arrived in Sydney after the other three judges had started assessing the entries. He looked through their rejected entries and stopped at the Utzon design, declaring it to be outstanding. It was Utzon's life and travels that had shaped his design for the Sydney Opera House. Though he had never visited the site, he used his maritime background to study naval charts of Sydney Harbour. His early exposure to shipbuilding provided the inspiration for the design of the roof, which is a series of curved 'shells' that look like the sails of a sailing ship billowing in the wind. From his travels to Mexico, he had the idea of placing his building on a wide horizontal platform. Construction of the platform began in 1959, and throughout the early 1960s Utzon amended his original designs in order to develop a way to build the large 'shells' that cover the two main halls. The construction of the roof brought together some of the world's best engineers and craftsmen, devising innovative techniques to create a major visual impact in accordance with Utzon's vision. The design was one of the first examples of the use of computer-aided design for complex shapes. Although Utzon had spectacular plans for the interior, he was unable to realise them. Cost overruns contributed to criticism of the project and, after a change of government, the Minister of Works began questioning Utzon's schedules and cost estimates. Payments to Utzon were stopped and he was forced to withdraw as chief architect in 1966. Following his resignation, there were protests through the streets led by prominent architect Harry Seidler and others, demanding that Utzon be reinstated as architect. However, Utzon was not reinstated and left Australia in 1966. He never returned, and new architects were appointed to complete the building in his absence. The original cost estimate for the Opera House was $7 million, with the completion date set for 26 January 1963. However, the Opera House was not formally completed until 1973, having cost $102 million. Since its opening in 1973, Sydney Opera House has earned a reputation as a world-class performing arts centre and become a symbol of both Sydney and Australia. Situated at Bennelong Point on Sydney Harbour, it consists of a series of large precast 'shells' made of concrete, each composed of sections of a sphere of 75.2 metres radius, forming the roofs of the structure, set on a monumental platform. The building is 183 metres long and 120 metres wide at its widest point. It is supported on 588 concrete piers, which are sunk approximately 25 metres below sea level. Although the roof structures are commonly referred to as 'shells', they are precast concrete panels supported by concrete ribs. The 'shells' are covered with 1,056,006 white and cream-coloured tiles manufactured in a factory in Sweden that generally produced stoneware tiles for the paper-mill industry. The design solution and construction of the shell structure took eight years to complete, and the development of the special ceramic tiles took over three years. Apart from the tiles covering the 'shells', the building's exterior is mostly clad with granite quarried in Australia. Contrary to its name, Sydney Opera House includes multiple performance venues. It is among the busiest performing-arts centres in the world, holding over 1,500 performances each year. It hosts a large number of performing-arts companies, including the four resident companies: Opera Australia, the Australian Ballet, the Sydney Theatre Company and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. With its grand setting and cathedral-like atmosphere, the Concert Hall is Sydney Opera House's most prestigious performance space. The largest of all interior venues, it delivers outstanding acoustics thanks to its high ceiling and wood panelling. There is a sizeable outdoor forecourt from which people ascend to the main entrance. The steps, which lead up from the forecourt to the main performance venues, are nearly 100 metres wide. In 1999 Utzon was re-engaged to develop a set of design principles to act as a guide for future changes to the building. All of this design work he did from his base in Europe. These principles help to ensure that the building's architectural integrity is maintained. The first alteration to the exterior was the addition of a new colonnade, which shades nine large glass openings in the previously solid exterior wall. This Utzon-led project, completed in 2006, enabled theatre patrons to see the harbour for the first time from the theatre foyers. The design also incorporates the first public lift and interior escalators to assist less-mobile patrons. Since 2007, the cultural, heritage and architectural importance of Sydney Opera House has been protected by its inclusion on the World Heritage List.

A desert refers to a barren section of land, mainly in arid and semi-arid areas, where there is almost no precipitation and the environment is hostile for any creature to inhabit. Deserts have been classified in a number of ways, generally combining total precipitation, how many days the rainfall occurs, temperature, humidity, and sometimes additional factors. In some places, deserts have clear boundaries marked by rivers, mountains or other landforms, while in other places there are no clear-cut borders between deserts and other landscape features. In arid areas where there is no covering of vegetation to protect the land, sand and dust storms frequently take place. This phenomenon often occurs along the desert margins rather than within the deserts, where there is already no finer material left. When a steady wind starts to blow, fine particles on the open ground begin vibrating. As the wind picks up, some of the particles are lifted into the air. When they fall onto the ground, they hit other particles, which are then jerked into the air in their turn, initiating a chain reaction. There has been a great deal of publicity about how severe desertification can be, but the academic circle has never agreed on its causes. A common misunderstanding is that a shortage of precipitation causes desertification—yet land in some barren areas will soon recover after rain falls. In fact, more often than not, human activities are responsible. It is widely accepted that the explosion in world population, especially in developing countries, is the primary cause of soil degradation and desertification. As populations become denser, the cultivation of crops has expanded into progressively drier areas. These regions are especially likely to go through periods of severe drought, which explains why crop failures are common. The raising of most crops requires the natural vegetation cover to be removed first; when crop failures occur, extensive tracts of land are left devoid of plant cover and thus susceptible to wind and water erosion. Throughout the 1990s, dry-land areas experienced a population growth of 18.5 per cent, mostly in severely impoverished developing countries. Livestock farming in semi-arid areas accelerates soil erosion and becomes one of the reasons for advancing desertification. In such areas, where the vegetation is dominated by grasses, the breeding of livestock is a major economic activity. Grasses are necessary for anchoring barren topsoil in a dry-land area. When a specific field is used to graze an excessive herd, it loses vegetation cover, and the soil is trampled as well as pulverised, leaving the topsoil exposed to destructive forces such as wind and unexpected thunderstorms. For centuries, nomads have grazed their flocks and herds wherever pasture could be found, and oases have offered opportunities for a more settled way of living. For some nomads, wherever they move, the desert follows. Trees are of great importance when it comes to maintaining topsoil and slowing down wind speed. In many Asian countries, firewood is the chief fuel used for cooking and heating, which has caused uncontrolled clear-cutting of forests in dry-land ecosystems. When too many trees are cut down, windstorms and dust storms tend to occur. What is worse, political conflicts and wars can also contribute to desertification. To escape invading enemies, refugees often move into some of the most vulnerable ecosystems on the planet. They bring along their traditional cultivation practices, which may not be suitable for their new settlements. In the 20th century, one state in the United States had a large section of farmland that turned into desert. Since then, measures have been enforced so that such a phenomenon will not happen again. To avoid the recurrence of desertification, people must find livelihoods that do not rely on traditional land uses, are less demanding on local natural resources, yet can still generate viable income. Such livelihoods include, but are not limited to, dry-land aquaculture for the raising of fish, crustaceans and industrial compounds derived from micro-algae, greenhouse agriculture, and activities related to tourism. Another way to prevent desertification is to create economic prospects in the city centres of dry-lands and in areas outside them. Changing the wider economic and institutional structures so that people have new ways to support themselves would help alleviate the pressures that drive desertification. In today’s society, new technologies are being used to address the problems brought about by desertification. Satellites, for example, have been utilised to investigate the influence that people and livestock have on our planet. However, this does not mean that alternative technologies are not needed to help tackle the processes of desertification.

As anyone with even a passing interest in cultural institutions will know, art museums are adapting to keep up with changes in society. Do any of these newly developed spaces indicate a fundamental shift in the ways we engage with art at the beginning of the twenty-first century? The answer is a qualified Yes and also, it must be said, No. A clear sense of this can be gained by considering the 2003 redevelopment of the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV) in Melbourne, Australia’s second largest city, in the light of the aspirations embodied in the original building that served as its template. The first building was considered a thoroughly modern museum when it opened to the public in 1968. We should not forget that it was also bold, entrepreneurial and innovative in ways that have done great credit to the vision and foresight of the architect, Roy Grounds. For one thing, the 1968 building signalled a strong sense of engagement with Asian and Pacific cultures, both in its architecture and through the layout of its collections. Its entrance lobby was designed to facilitate the rapid and efficient circulation of visitors. It also contained a series of greatly expanded temporary exhibition galleries and a vast Great Hall, which represented an unprecedented emphasis on the ancillary roles of corporate functions and public performances in the contemporary museum. This last feature might have seemed excessive to some, yet how wise it has proven over the years as museums have come to place increasing emphasis on corporate sponsorship, and on the need to generate additional funds via room hire. Furthermore, the Great Hall has for forty years provided an area for children to roam at large before being escorted through the much less spatially accommodating galleries themselves. As an unintimidating introduction to the lifelong rigours of visiting art museums, its impact on attendance cannot be overestimated. At the same time, other aspects of the 1968 NGV have not withstood the test of time so well. Foremost among these are the huge expanse of the exterior’s windowless wall and the surrounding moat, which creates a rather unwelcoming expression of the museum as a temple of culture set apart from the everyday world. Over time, this idea has been questioned, and has been superseded by the growing impetus towards the alternative model of the museum as a more open-ended and visitor-friendly forum that engages the public more effectively. With these considerations in mind, Mario Bellini’s redeveloped NGV opened in 2003 and his design reflects what the new, improved, twenty-first century global museum feels it should be emphasising to its visitors. Here the institution’s energies are focused, not so much on the technical subtleties of how to design the galleries themselves, as on presenting to the public a spectacular image of the museum itself as a welcoming yet efficient facilitator of social interaction, popular entertainment and public knowledge. All of this is certainly impressive, but where has the art gone? We are not allowed to see the exhibitions until we have completed the necessary inductions. We are greeted by a hugely expanded cloakroom screening off our vision to the right, followed by a large visitor information office leading to the ticket booths. Above us is the cafe and to our left we cannot escape the NGV shop set alongside the exit. And what of the redesigned galleries themselves? In fact, they represent a wonderfully elegant reframing of the permanent collections in ways that should offer first-time visitors and seasoned members alike many new avenues for engagement in the years to come. But herein lies the conundrum posed by the NGV renovation and by the global sweep of new museum projects more generally. The mainstay elements of a permanent collection can become all too easily lost in the increased prominence that these rebranding exercises tend to place on the more glamorously spectacular aspects of the institution itself. At its most extreme, this results in the construction of new buildings that supplant the artworks inside them to become the major attractions themselves. These challenges are most keenly felt in the area of the temporary exhibition. Entrance to the NGV permanent collection is now free, so the NGV needs something to keep the paying public coming back. The answer lies in the international ‘blockbuster’ exhibition. The Impressionists, for example, netted a total of 380,000 visitors, making it one of the most popular exhibitions in Australian history. There has also been, it needs to be said, a commendable attempt to leaven the international masterpieces with selected highlights from the permanent collection. Overall, though, the prevalence of these ‘rental’ blockbusters cannot but help introduce a certain ‘off the rack’ feeling to the institution’s exhibition programme. More importantly perhaps, they clearly narrow the options for other worthy but less glamorous projects, and they take energy away from the curators’ potential to do further work on and around the permanent collection itself. Yet the show must go on, and shows can’t exist without the public. Even the most adroit organisation, as the NGV assuredly is, needs to be able to juggle numerous, often conflicting priorities: the need to advance scholarship, on the one hand, versus the imperative of access on the other; the need to introduce audiences to new areas, versus the necessity of luring them in with instant brand recognition. Nobody said it was going to be easy, and the effect of too much innovation in museums can be disastrous.