Queenstown and Christchurch are twin poles of New Zealand's landscape of risk. As the country's 'adventure capital', Queenstown is a spectacular landscape in which risk is a commodity. Christchurch's landscape is also risky, ruptured by earthquakes, tentatively rebuilding. As a far-flung group of tiny islands in a vast ocean, New Zealand is the poster-child of the sublime.
Queenstown and Christchurch tell two different, yet complementary, stories about the sublime.
Christchurch and Queenstown are vehicles for exploring the 21st-century sublime, for reflecting on its expansive influence on shaping cultural landscapes. Christchurch and Queenstown stretch and challenge the sublime's influence on the designed landscape. Circling the paradoxes of risk and safety, suffering and pleasure, the sublime feeds an infinite appetite for fear as entertainment, and at the same time calls for an empathetic caring for a broken landscape and its residents.
Earthquakes rupture not only the objective realm of the physical landscape, but also the subjective landscape of emotions. Using the concepts of topophilia and topophobia developed by Yi-Fu Tuan as theories of love and fear of place, this paper investigates the impact of
Christchurch’s earthquakes of 2010 and 2011 on relationships with the city’s landscape.
Published accounts of the earthquakes in newspapers from around New Zealand are examined for evidence of how people responded to the situation, in particular their shifting relationship with familiar landscapes. The reports illustrate how residents and visitors reacted to the actual
and perceived changes to their surroundings, grappling with how a familiar place had become alien and often startling. The extreme nature of the event and the death toll of 185 heightened perceptions of the landscape, and even the most taken-for-granted elements of the landscape became amplified in significance. Enhanced understanding of the landscape of emotions is a vital component of wellbeing. Through recognising that the impact of disasters and perceived threats to familiar places has a profound emotional effect, the significance of sense of place to wellbeing can be appreciated.
Millions of urban residents around the world in the coming century will experience severe landscape change – including increased frequencies of flooding due to intensifying storm events and impacts from sea level rise. For cities, collisions of environmental change with mismatched cultural systems present a major threat to infrastructure systems that support urban living. Landscape architects who address these issues express a need to realign infrastructure with underlying natural systems, criticizing the lack of social and environmental considerations in engineering works. Our ability to manage both society and the landscapes we live in to better adapt to unpredictable events and landscape changes is essential if we are to sustain the health and safety of our families, neighbourhoods, and wider community networks.
When extreme events like earthquakes or flooding occur in developed areas, the feasibility of returning the land to pre-disturbance use can be questioned. In Christchurch for example, a large expanse of land (630 hectares) within the city was severely damaged by the earthquakes and judged too impractical to repair in the short term. The central government now owns the land and is currently in the process of demolishing the mostly residential houses that formed the predominant land use. Furthermore, cascading impacts from the earthquakes have resulted in a general land subsidence of .5m over much of eastern Christchurch, causing disruptive and damaging flooding. Yet, although disasters can cause severe social and environmental distress, they also hold great potential as a catalyst to increasing adaption. But how might landscape architecture be better positioned to respond to the potential for transformation after disaster?
This research asks two core questions: what roles can the discipline of landscape architecture play in improving the resilience of communities so they become more able to adapt to change? And what imaginative concepts could be designed for alternative forms of residential development that better empower residents to understand and adapt the infrastructure that supports them?
Through design-directed inquiry, the research found landscape architecture theory to be well positioned to contribute to goals of social-ecological systems resilience. The discipline of landscape architecture could become influential in resilience-oriented multi disciplinary collaborations, with our particular strengths lying in six key areas: the integration of ecological and social processes, improving social capital, engaging with temporality, design-led innovation potential, increasing diversity and our ability to work across multiple scales. Furthermore, several innovative ideas were developed, through a site-based design exploration located within the residential red zone, that attempt to challenge conventional modes of urban living – concepts such as time-based land use, understanding roads as urban waterways, and landscape design and management strategies that increase community participation and awareness of the temporality in landscapes.
The city of Christchurch, New Zealand, was until very recently a “Junior England”—a small city that still bore the strong imprint of nineteenth-century British colonization, alongside a growing interest in the underlying biophysical setting and the indigenous pre-European landscape. All of this has changed as the city has been subjected to a devastating series of earthquakes, beginning in September 2010, and still continuing, with over 12,000 aftershocks recorded. One of these aftershocks, on February 22, 2011, was very close to the city center and very shallow with disastrous consequences, including a death toll of 185. Many buildings collapsed, and many more need to be demolished for safety purposes, meaning that over 80 percent of the central city will have gone. Tied up with this is the city’s precious heritage—its buildings and parks, rivers, and trees. The threats to heritage throw debates over economics and emotion into sharp relief. A number of nostalgic positions emerge from the dust and rubble, and in one form is a reverse-amnesia—an insistence of the past in the present. Individuals can respond to nostalgia in very different ways, at one extreme become mired in it and unable to move on, and at the other, dismissive of nostalgia as a luxury in the face of more pressing crises. The range of positions on nostalgia represent the complexity of heritage debates, attachment, and identity—and the ways in which disasters amplify the ongoing discourse on approaches to conservation and the value of historic landscapes.
