Robin Boyd's architectural genius

Right before we left Melbourne—like, 2 days before we left—I squeezed in a tour of the Robin Boyd Residence II*, and hoo boy, was it awesome.

Allow me to wax poetic: In the grand tapestry of Australian architecture, one name stands out, shimmering with the kind of brilliance that only true visionaries possess, that of Robin Boyd. With his keen eye and sharp wit, Boyd led a crusade against the mundane and the mediocre across Australia, championing a style as bold as it was beautiful.

Okay, poetry over.

Born in 1919 to an illustrious Australian art and creativity dynasty, his heritage was rich with painters, sculptors, writers, and architects. Growing up, Boyd was steeped in artistic fervor and intellectual freedom, which undoubtedly shaped his approach to architecture and design. His artistic pedigree also gave him a distinct perspective that allowed him to see beyond the architectural norms of the day.

As an author, critic, and educator, Boyd wasn’t just a part of the architectural conversation, he drove it. And he was pretty funny about it, too. His critiques of architecture and architects sparkled with a wry and often pointed sense of humor.

His seminal work, The Australian Ugliness, published in 1960, showcases his brilliance. In it, he deplores what he presents as the Three Terrible Ideas** inherent in Australian architecture of the time—a trend toward what he called "featurism"***, the use of materials and styles that simply didn’t fit the Australian landscape, and the wholesale elimination of trees^†—with a mix of bemusement and earnest concern.

He didn't make a lot of friends with that book, I can tell you. But they're still talking about it, 84 years later. In fact, a group of architects and academics wrote a follow-up in 2020, After The Australian Ugliness.

I heard a great story during the tour’s intro talk.^†† While he was a night school student at Melbourne Technical College and the Melbourne University Architectural Atelier and working days at the offices of A & K Henderson, he found time to edit the school's architecture and arts publication. In one issue, he referred to a block of expensive flats designed by a local architect as not just the trash that falls out when you upend a rubbish bin but the weird jiggly gooey mass at the bottom that holds on until it finally plops out on the ground.^††† The architect sued him and demanded a retraction. Boyd, as a college student, couldn’t pay. And while he did issue a retraction, he included a footnote saying that he still believed his original statement was true.º

Let's move on to the actual house.

At first sight, the house is a bold statement against the conventional—especially if you imagine it as it looked in 1959, flanked by two grand Victorian mansions. Its floating roof is suspended by steel cables that have stretched a bit over the years, causing it to take on an even more beautiful bow that seems to drape itself over the glass curtain walls.

The front door at the upper end of a floating stair ushers you into a house devoid of hallways and bisected by an interior courtyard. The main living area, perched on an elevated mezzanine that doubled as the Boyd’s master bedroom, was a revelation.ºº This room, utterly lacking in walls or barriers at the edge of the floating platform, is gorgeous and flows seamlessly onto the upper deck.

The deck overlooked the central courtyard and the children’s section of the house on the other side. Can you imagine being a kid here? In the 60s? They had their own rooms with their own bathrooms in their own mini house, practically, and their own TV. The mind boggles.

The courtyard level is below the main living area and is reached by more floating stairs. This is where you find the kitchen and dining-room-cum-family-room. The courtyard is open to the sky, but there are walkways on both sides covered by sections of the suspended roof. Perfect in the mild Melbourne weather, honestly. The central courtyard acts as the heart, a tranquil light space protected from the elements and encircled by glass. This sanctuary is both protected and exposed, a delicate balance that few designs manage to achieve. The merging of private and communal spaces, inside and out, was revolutionary for its time and remains inspiring today.

Robin Boyd passed away in 1971 at the age of 52. He’d returned from an international trip with an infection that turned into a type of pneumonia that required heavy dosing of antibiotics. Three months later, he was no better, if not worse. So his doctors decided to remove all his teeth under general anesthetic.ººº Surprise, he had a stroke and died three days later.

After raising their family in this fantastic house, Robin's wife Patricia remained there after his death. She ultimately remarried, and they stayed in the house. When Mr. Patricia #2 died in the early 2000s, she decided to move out. So she moved just a few blocks away into an apartment in the 20-story Domain Park Flats, the only multi-dwelling building Robin Boyd ever designed. When she died in 2009, she gifted the house to the Robin Boyd Foundation, which maintains it and conducts these monthly lectures photo ops tours.

With its unique design and architectural choices, this house was not just a home but a masterpiece that challenged conventions and embraced innovation. I loved it. It is remarkable.