The Cape Town grain elevator, originally built by the government in Table Bay Harbour over 90 years ago, has recently opened as the Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art Africa (Zeitz MOCAA). Over R500m was spent on renovating the space which opened with 80 gallery spaces.
In 1995, when I filmed the loading of the last ship with grain in the
harbour, it was clear that the grain elevator was nearing the end of its
working life. The structure – described in
1923 as a “grey towering slab of concrete” – posed a clear challenge to the
Cape Town Waterfront’s retail, commercial and residential mix.
Much of the publicity around the creation of the museum plays into the
colonialist narrative of a “soulless” place in Africa, discovered and
represented by Europeans for the greater good. This is unfortunate and an
unfair reflection of the attitudes of the major players involved in the
project.
The reason for arguing this is that the elevator wasn’t just a big empty
concrete building, waiting to be discovered. Its cultural and historical
significance go far beyond the invariably repeated line that it was once the
“tallest building” in Cape Town.
So why did the Waterfront go to so much trouble and expense to reuse it? Why
didn’t they simply demolish it, and build something new? The answer lies in the
cultural and heritage significance embodied in the elevator, in the materiality
of the original concrete structure; the qualities of the geometric forms
created by the array of circular and star-shaped storage silos; and the many
scars and callouses of a long and hard, working life.
A rich history
Visible as a landmark, from the city and the sea, at 57m tall, the elevator was
the most visible symbol of the industrial heritage of the docks, and of the
importance of grain in South Africa’s economy. The grain elevator wasn’t a
“pretty” building in the conventional sense. But in demonstrating the
relationship between architectural form and function, it had an aesthetic and
architectural importance closely linked to International Modern
Movement architecture.
Archaeological research combined with archival research revealed that the
elevator was part of a “networked industrial landscape” of elevators that
stretched more than 1,500km across the country. These were overlaid onto a
railway network on which its existence depended.
The 1920s saw the South African government developing the agricultural sector
as an export industry to support white commercial farmers. Its aim was to
reduce the number of rural unemployed “poor whites”.
Parallel initiatives included increasing state involvement in the manufacturing
economy, and massive investment in infrastructure, particularly the railways,
and state corporations.
A bulk handling system was essential if South Africa’s maize exports were to be
increased. So in 1923 the South African Railways and Harbours Administration
was given the task of
building grain elevators in Cape Town and Durban. Another 34 smaller elevators
were also planned for the commercial grain producing areas. Farmers delivered
grain into their local elevator, from where it was railed to port elevators in
Cape Town and Durban for export. Cape Town elevator’s role in this was to
continue for almost 80 years.
Demolition averted
The question posed by my doctoral thesis (UCT) was whether such a place could –
or even should – be conserved within the broad framework of sustainable
development.
In 2000, as the elevator prepared to close, I persuaded the Waterfront to
commission South Africa’s first conservation plan for
a working, 20th century, industrial building. Each element of the site was
photographed, mapped and inventoried. Its function and significance were
discussed, then proposals were put forward for future conservation or
otherwise.
These proposals, later incorporated into a doctoral thesis, persuaded the
heritage authorities and the City of Cape Town, to rule against demolition. The
conservation plan was debated within various liaison and design committees, but
regrettably was never taken to a full public participation process.
Nonetheless, as the threat of demolition receded, the question of what to do
with the elevator remained. An economically sustainable new use for it had to
be found. At the time, the Waterfront rejected suggestions of art galleries and
museums. It argued that South Africa had neither the demographics, nor the
interest in art to sustain such a project.
A decade after closure, with the Waterfront under new ownership and management,
a different set of views emerged. There was an understanding that the grain
elevator was a heritage asset. There was also an acknowledgement that even if
it could never pay for itself, it could add value to any development around it.
The elevator now became the centrepiece for a new “Silo Precinct”.
In early 2012 Thomas Heatherwick,
London-based designer and architect, presented ideas for the adaptation and
reuse of the grain elevator. Heatherwick worked closely with the authentic
qualities of the building, and the cultural significance detailed in the
original conservation plan.
His scheme was exciting and imaginative. It avoided many of the pitfalls
encountered by previous silo conversions. Most importantly, the overall form
and proportions of the principal structures would be retained without
significant compromise.
As the Waterfront prepared to implement Heatherwick’s scheme, artefacts were
identified for retention in situ, storage for possible reinstatement or reuse,
or disposal.
What’s not visible
Sadly the historical significance of the elevator will be largely invisible and
incomprehensible for many visitors. I believe this can still be addressed. For
example, there’s the opportunity for a technical explanation of the workings of
the building, and its operation. And there’s an opportunity to explore the
socio-political and economic aspects of the elevator, and its place in broader
South African history.
From
a heritage perspective, the transformation of Cape Town’s grain elevator
delivers an innovative and creative solution to retaining and reusing
industrial heritage sites. It also validates an archaeological approach to
working with complex industrial sites.