Torcuil Crichton

I heartily agree: the links across the Irish sea between Scotland and Northern Ireland are well known, and the influence of Scottish architecture, as I will go on to demonstrate, is worldwide. Hon. Members have talked about other stories, but above Sauchiehall Street, wrapped in a white plastic shroud, is the burnt-out shell of the Mack. The site is sealed, like a sarcophagus, against the elements. The art school board, the engineers, the architects and the firefighters have all done their utmost and the walls are still standing, but there is no sign of a phoenix rising from these ashes. The architectural value of Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s masterpiece is recognised all over the world. It was built in two phases, from 1897 to 1899 and again from 1907 to 1909. There has never been a building like it, whether in Scotland, the UK or the world. It is the inspired design of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. He was only 29 when he started work on it, which is quite humbling. Of course he did not do it on his own and he did not spring from nowhere. Not far from here, in west Kensington, the inspiration for a young Mackintosh can be found in the work of another Scottish architect, James M MacLaren. His towers and delicate spires find an echo in the masterpiece on Garnethill, which contains strands of Japanese design, modernism, art nouveau and sheer genius. It was by combining three elements—imagination, engineering and art; as good a definition of good architecture as one can get—that the Mack was created. Unlike many of our other monumental buildings, it actually worked. For over a century, the Mackintosh building performed the purpose for which it was designed, combining exquisite craftmanship and design while producing an incredible production line of talent. I never attended art school, but I was a citizen of Glasgow for many years and I did live next door to the Mack for a time. The second city was my second home, and I have many lifelong friends who are graduates of Glasgow School of Art. As the song goes, “the art school dance goes on forever”. The Mack runs through our personal lives as much as it does through the life of the nation. In my constituency, I have many friends who are alumni of the Mack, such as my good friend Calum Angus Mackay, a photographer, painter and TV producer, who only recently produced a retrospective of 40 years of work since he left the Mack; Roddy Murray, the director of An Lanntair art gallery, ex-Dreamboy, local hero, actor and writer; his cousin, Ishbel Murray, and her brother Kenneth, who are both teachers and fine artists; Maggie Smith, a Harris tweed designer; Kenneth Burns, a landscape painter who has chronicled Glasgow and his native islands; Christine Davidson; and many others. Outwith the islands, there is Andy Scott, the internationally renowned figurative sculpture of the Kelpies, and my friend David Pratt, a photojournalist and war correspondent, who turned his unflinching lens on the flames of the art school as it was consumed a second time. The impact and influence of the art school has been profound on all our lives—not just on those who were lucky enough to pass through its doors. Its structure is integral to Scotland’s identity and central to the image of brand Scotland we want to portray, and an asset to the UK on the world stage.