Having grown up in Ngāmotu New Plymouth, I returned to live with my family a couple of years ago and have enjoyed experiencing old builds with fresh eyes, discovering previously unknown structures, and observing how the architectural landscape has evolved with these newer additions.

A recollection of huge timber-framed pendant lights encouraged a recent visit to a church I spent time in during my childhood. I recalled that it was both epic in scale but also maze-like in parts. Returning as an adult, my full-grown size had not diminished either impression.

CityWest Church was constructed in two parts through the 80s and happily still has its original red hand basins in the bathrooms with matching retro red light shades. The initial hall designed by New Plymouth architect George Richardson became a comparatively small structure with the addition of a vast Lockwood auditorium extending down the slope of the hill. Despite the scale of this build, I was most struck by the slim skylights with cavities framed in wood. Subtle utilitarian incisions, barely noticed by most perhaps, provide endearing slashes of natural light that contrasts with the cinema-like feeling of the main gathering areas.

Speaking of hills, sitting below Pūkākā is one of New Plymouth’s most significant pā sites that then became home to the Imperial military throughout the Land Wars is now the site of Te Whare Hononga. Flanked by the Taranaki Cathedral (which accordingly became a garrison church for the British Army) and a new bronze toki memorial on the burial place of six Waikato warriors fighting in support of Te Ātiawa, this building has a lot of mahi to do. All the more so as this significant site is located on a main thoroughfare, the structure perching right next to one of the busier streets in the city.

Meaning The House That Binds, Te Whare Hononga is an expression of reconciliation and the restored relationship between Ngāti Te Whiti and the Taranaki Cathedral more specifically. Existing in conversation with this church and the past it represents, the whare acknowledges the calamitous events that took place in Taranaki, ultimately changing the course of history in Aotearoa. This is a place where the very relevant but uncomfortable history I was never taught growing up is told.

Treading the line between simplicity of form and layers of symbolism (a favourite element being the concrete details that work as a compass), this new build by Tennent Brown Architects was the recent recipient of a Te Kāhui Whaihanga NZIA 2024 Western Architecture Award. After a bit of initial drama from some vocal locals — which is not at all unusual here — it is wonderful to have this special space nationally acknowledged. On a site where immense devastation was caused, in which trauma the Cathedral participated, this is an example of architecture becoming a signifier of honest reflection and collaborative action.

As I said earlier, Te Whare Hononga does a lot of mahi, one aspect of which is providing a visual representation of diversity and unity. Like most, I pass this building often and it has become a contemporary and contextually relevant monument, a prompt to consider how we might participate in the hopeful future Te Whare Hononga is indicative of.

If you are the passenger in a car or wandering on foot and in either instance spending more time looking at the houses you pass than the street you are on, you may glimpse a building unlike its neighbours. The Japanese Tea House is built in the traditional style and tucked down a long drive in an otherwise ordinary suburban neighbourhood.

Everything including the pebbles on the paths was shipped from Japan. These exotic materials were followed by nineteen traditional craftspeople who built the house in three months and completed its landscaping. The owner travels back from Japan every year to host tea ceremonies during the Taranaki Garden Festival. A very generous gesture in the form of architecture, which like Te Whare Hononga, is created for cross-cultural connection.

Said to be the most authentic of such structures in the country, it is a beautiful space to be invited into (through a doorway so small that a samurai would need to leave his sword outside). The tea ceremony which lasts for an hour is slow, purposeful and precise. The physical structure acts as a permanent iteration of the ceremonial experience. Paper rather than glass fills window shutters, which when closed during the process, remove you entirely from the exterior context. Instead, you kneel in ambient light, as if located within a paper lantern.

Variations in naturalistic surfaces and subtle textured elements provide details to reflect on through the quiet hour. Stones become steps and beams are made from brunches. Built-in vases for ikebana protrude from some walls. Everything encourages a slowing, thoughtful consideration of the innate beauty in natural forms conjuring a sense of harmony. There is a grace to the ceremony as there is to the architecture and both are a gift to Ngāmotu, New Plymouth.

About the writer

Kareen Durbin has a background in fashion but is increasingly working in spatial contexts. Her cross-disciplinary practice considers the intersection between design and social/environmental impacts. She lives and works in Ngāmotu New Plymouth.