This article was written by Nikki Savvides

Hundertwasser Haus Photos by Nikki Savvides

The colourful, the abundant, the manifold, is always better than mediocre, grey and uniform. ~ Friedrichshein Hundertwasser

Before me stands an apartment block like no other. Doused in a myriad of hues - purples, pinks, reds, yellows and periwinkle blues - it is like a sunset, caught within a concrete realm. This is Friedensreich Hundertwasser's Hundertwasser House, a low-income housing block in the centre of Vienna. With its undulating floors, rooftop garden and multicoloured walls it is both functional and beautiful; a practical piece of artwork for which the artist sought no payment. Hundertwasser wanted to prevent something 'ugly' from being erected in its place, so instead he designed a building that melded construction with nature, bringing the forest into the city.

I look up at the building. Wrought-iron juliet balconies cast shadows on its magical walls while the leaves of the plants and trees that grow out from within the building dance in the light breeze. I take in the unruliness of its form, the irregular window placement and the cracks that have formed along its foundations. Moss has grown in places, creeping up into the cracks. Along the gutter sits a row of crows, their black feathers glistening as they ruffle them in the wind.

I've dreamed of visiting this place since I first saw pictures of the House in an art magazine many years ago. Inspired by those images, I borrowed books about Hundertwasser and immersed myself in their content. I learnt that as well as designing buildings, the artist, who was born in Vienna in 1928 and died in 2000, created hundreds of paintings. These are brightly coloured, highly detailed pieces that are glorious in their organic fluidity. Hundertwasser painted shapes comprised of spirals, circles and oblongs: nothing is straight, nothing is square. "The straight line," he said, "is godless and immoral. [The] jungle of straight lines is entangling us more and more like inmates of a prison." Hundertwasser wanted instead to 'engage in creative moulding' in order to create 'new and wonderful architecture.'

In Hundertwasser's works the corners are soft and lines are curved. Even his cityscapes flow naturally like the cement of their buildings has melted. The artist wanted people to understand that they were 'nature's guest,' and his works aimed to show humanity in harmony with nature. Colourful and wild, Hundertwasser captured the essence of forests, mountains and other natural landscapes with his attentive eye and clever hand. He was sure that, through painting, "he could open [gateways] into a world which is both near and far for us, to which we have no admission. . .[a] parallel world" which he saw as 'paradise.' Standing in front of Hundertwasser House gives me a glimpse of what living in this parallel world might be like. So different from the buildings that sit alongside it, the House appears like a crack in the fabric of reality; an unearthly, mystifying object from a world beyond our own.

The day grows long and I must move on. Somewhat reluctantly, I leave Hundertwasser House and walk the few blocks to the artist's other famous Viennese building, the Kunst Haus Wien (Art House Vienna). This is a grand gallery dedicated to the artist's work and here I will get to see, firsthand, the paintings that have inspired me for so long. I've travelled to Vienna especially to see these works, but I also hope that Hundertwasser's city will capture my heart and allow me to call it my new home. I have dreams of becoming an artist and a writer here in this cultural hub for at home (Sydney, Australia) I had lost my motivation. Sydney is a beautiful city, but, like many Australians, I am very aware that it lacks the centuries worth of culture found in European cities like Vienna.

In travelling to this European city I see the potential to revitalise my creative self; to find a home amongst the artists and the galleries; to live and breathe art.  But Vienna is just one stop in a six-month European sojourn. I've seen a lot on my travels that has inspired me creatively: grand palaces with bronze roofs stained green from age, ice-topped alps towering over quaint villages, and street scenes so rustic they could be right out of the middle ages. I've been to Paris and seen the Lourve. I've walked the length of what remains of the Berlin Wall. I've climbed to the top of Gaudi's Sagrada de Familia in Barcelona on a hot day, where up in the spires I felt the first breeze of the cool afternoon change. It seems like every inch of Europe is taken up with layers and layers of life and culture. I love it, but it almost overwhelms me. I've always wondered why Hundertwasser said that 'Europe was all used up,' and now, halfway through my journey, I am beginning to understand what he meant.

Alongside the endless culture and the beauty I've seen rivers turned into muck, coursing their smelly way through rural French towns. I've seen fields of dry yellow grass and tree stumps, the sad reminders of an Italian forest that is no more. In the Czech Republic I saw a town littered with rubbish and stinking of burning tyres, while in Holland I swam in the sea alongside used drink bottles and scraps of newspaper. I start to realise why Hundertwasser moved to New Zealand in his later years: to be closer to the natural world he loved so much and to escape the pollution of Europe.

On my way from Hundertwasser House to the Kunst Haus, deep in thought, I run into another artist making the pilgrimage. Gabe is from Toronto and has, like me, come to the city to learn more about Hundertwasser's city. "Vienna," he says, "oozes history and culture." The street is hundreds of years old but the art is new. He points ahead to show what he means: rising up over the cobbled footpath is a modern sculpture: a huge head without eyes. There are many scenes like this in Vienna, medieval castles nestled amongst contemporary galleries made of steel and glass; regal statues standing tall and proud before the colourful graffitied walls of buildings. And here, nestled amongst art deco apartment blocks is the comparatively new and vibrant Kunst Haus Wien, its walls covered in black and white mosaic, flecked here and there with blue and silver. Colourful pillars rim its doorway, and small pink flowers grow from between cracks high above our heads. As with Hundertwasser House, branches extend outwards from inside the building, casting cool shadows on the street below.

Gabe and I wander inside. A large tree grows out of the centre of the building, rising up through the levels, splitting the earthy, brown-tiled floor with its hardy trunk. The floor itself is root-like: it rises and falls in waves and ripples and bumps. The tree is surrounded on all sides by walls that are covered in Hundertwasser's bright artworks, bringing the space alive with colour. I am in awe: here are all the beautiful pieces I know so well from books, but in real life I can do nothing but stand and stare. To my left is one of my favourite paintings, Coral Flowers, painted by the artist in Kyoto in 1987. Seeing it up close is an amazing experience. The colours seem more vibrant; the shapes stronger. My eyes are transfixed on the cool depths of the blues; the comforting brightness of purples; the hypnotic glow of reds and yellows.

Gabe breaks my trance, grabbing my arm and leading me up the spiral staircase to the second floor. Large windows are open to the outside, and flowers and vines creep into the room. On one wall is written:

I want to show how basically simple it is to have paradise on earth. Paradise is there, but we destroy it.

Here, in the Kunst Haus, Hundertwasser has created his own paradise between four walls: like Hundertwasser House, it is like entering a parallel world full of mystique and beauty. I sit down in a soft, overstuffed chair and take it all in. Blues, greens and silvers swirl in tiled patterns across the ceiling. The air, smelling sweet like leaves, flowers and moss, fills my nostrils and lulls me to sleep. The soft murmur of people, soaking in the ambience, rises and falls like the ocean's waves. When I close my eyes I feel like I am somewhere I know well: caught between the beach and the bush; between the wild, open spaces and clear blue sky of my antipodean home. I can almost feel the sunshine warm my face and arms, and the cool spray of saltwater on my tongue.

Weeks later, I sit aboard a train, heading to Portugal. We traverse a cliff-top, looking down on the aquamarine ocean below. On the other side of the train the scenery is stark; dry copses of trees and huge yellow rocks litter the landscape. I fling open the window and breathe in the air. I miss the open spaces of my home. I've travelled from city to city but I grow tired, welcoming the break from buildings and art galleries, monuments and masses of people. I want to swim at the clean beaches, and take in the eucalyptus tang of the bush air. Closing my eyes as I inhale deeply I see, etched in the inside of my eyelids, a myriad of Hundertwasser-like scenes. With them I feel a strong sense of home, and a longing for my beautiful harbour city ringed by bush and mountains.

In Europe I've found my inspiration, but it will be in Australia that I fulfil my artistic dreams. Like Hundertwasser, I am going across the seas to be closer to nature, to take what I've seen back with me and make my own paradise at home.

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