This is how I found myself in a small village called Comrie in the southern Highlands, wandering around the streets and shops whilst I waited for a concert to begin.
In the centre of Comrie is a quaint little pebbled bridge spanning a river, beside which is a whitewashed church and a small square. On the corner of this square you will find a beautiful white-harled building — eye-catching for its projecting corner turret, which gives the building something of a romantic, castle-like vibe.
It just so happened that the day I was in Comrie was Doors Open Days, Scotland's largest free heritage festival. Held every September, on this day one is able to freely access hundreds of historic buildings, landmarks, and hidden spaces usually closed to the public.
And so I was able to fully explore this gorgeous, strange building. I wandered around the ground floor shop, admiring the rich dark wood of the shelves, imagining the industry and business that must have gone on here in days long past.
I then headed upstairs to the first floor flat, where I took in the spacious, airy rooms. I was particularly struck by how the main room ran into the projecting turret, or tourelle, from which one could see the River Earn sparkling in the late-summer light, with the wooded hills beyond.
Were I to be asked what I considered to be the typical style of ‘‘Scottish’’ architecture, I would point to the pebble-dashed white and grey cottages on Lewis and Harris, or perhaps the little low-slung bungalows of the Highlands.
I’d also think of the urban grandeur of Edinburgh — the austere grey stone of the city’s tenements and terraces. These are the forms that have come to stand, almost unconsciously, for a national style. But Scottish architecture and design owes much to Charles Rennie Mackintosh, with his distinctive aesthetic of clean lines, geometric forms, and a restrained yet expressive use of ornament.
Charles Rennie Mackintosh was born in Glasgow in 1868, one of 11 children in a working-class family (I thought I had it tough, being one of nine).
A talented and pioneering Scottish architect, designer and artist, Mackintosh trained as an architect at a time when design was beginning to shift and evolve. While the 19th century was marked by ornament and revivalism, the 20th would move toward modernism’s cleaner lines and functional clarity.
Mackintosh’s work bridged this gap. Alongside his equally creative and talented wife, Margaret Macdonald, Mackintosh was profoundly influential on European design movements such as Art Nouveau and Secessionism.
Mackintosh however exercised restraint. His buildings and interiors are marked by strong geometry, elongated verticals, and a careful economy of decoration; punctuated, at times, by the soft curvature of a stylised rose, for example, or the delicate tracery of a leaded window.
Consider, for instance, the Glasgow School of Art, a building that seems both historic and modern. Rising in firm, confident lines, the building imparts a kind of disciplined elegance.
And then there’s the Willow Tea Rooms in Glasgow, perhaps my favourite Mackintosh offering. Designed in 1903, this building is one of the most complete expressions of Mackintosh’s “total design” philosophy, where architecture, interior, and furnishing are conceived as a unified whole.
Commissioned by entrepreneur Kate Cranston, the tea room represents Mackintosh’s understanding of Gesamtkunstwerk (a German term meaning ‘‘total work of art’’) — namely, the artistic ideal where multiple art forms (architecture, design, music, painting, decorative arts) are unified into a single, cohesive whole.
With the Willow Tea Rooms, Mackintosh designed everything from the facade to the cutlery to the waitresses’ uniforms, while his wife Margaret decorated the walls with gesso relief panels.
The tea rooms are tucked alongside Sauchiehall St, and at first glance appear relatively restrained. The interior however unfolds into a sequence of carefully orchestrated spaces, each with its own mood.
The light is filtered through leaded glass, softened and patterned. Mackintosh’s style is evident not merely in the lines of the building but in the furniture itself, most prominently his signature high-backed chairs. Sitting there with a cup of tea and a cream scone is a heavenly experience.
Mackintosh died almost a century ago, yet there is much about his work that feels very contemporary today.
Consider for instance his careful use of grids, straight lines, and controlled proportions — a geometry of restraint, if you will.
Then there’s his iconic high-back chair design, which has been reproduced the world over. There’s also Mackintosh’s concept of ‘‘total design’’, or the ‘‘room as artwork’’; Mackintosh designed everything — furniture, lighting, wall patterns, even cutlery in many of his projects.
This holistic design approach can be seen in boutique hotels and branded interiors today; designers aim for cohesive environments rather than standalone objects. His influence lives on.
For all the modernity of his designs however, Mackintosh was very engaged with the architectural traditions of Scotland.
There is something of the solidity of stone tenements and the roughcast simplicity of Highland buildings in his designs, while his sensitivity to light reflects the particular qualities of the Scottish climate with its shifting skies, long dusks, and muted brightness.
Perhaps this is what I like about the Mackintosh building in Comrie. It’s not gaudy or overstated; it doesn’t dominate the town square, but rather sits comfortably within its surroundings. The turret of course lends a touch of romance, but the overall effect is measured and deliberate. We tend to view figures like Charles Rennie Mackintosh in terms of their most famous works, the buildings that draw visitors to Glasgow and anchor guidebooks.
So it’s lovely to encounter Mackintosh’s architecture in a little place like Comrie, where his designs are monumental but lived in; not set apart, but embedded within the everyday fabric of a town.
Jean Balchin is an ODT columnist who has started a new life in Edinburgh.
