As an initial fence-sitter, I can claim neutrality and perhaps offer some clear-eyed thoughts on the building design before the wrapping comes off fully.
The first thing I noticed walking down John Street towards the Town Basin was that I couldn't see the Hundertwasser at all. I had expected to.
The tower and its crowning golden cupola weren't visible over that other Whangārei landmark, the Hospice Shop on Robert Street.
When it did come into view, it felt like the gold dome was too small or the tower not tall enough. From this distance, I wanted the building to have more presence.
This won't please the haters, but I would have been happy for the building to be bigger, so it might better assert itself over the architecture-less, practical buildings nearby.
Approaching from the west, the ramp-like shape, with stairs and trees visible, draws you to it. From this vantage point, there's an invitation to clamour on top, like it was a castle in a playground. There's something slightly subversive about this that I like.
Getting closer, I noticed the first of the details that were, to me, disappointing. The handrail for the stairs looks too much like the black fencing often found around backyard swimming pools.
And the large round lights on the wall looked similarly domestic, like they were the product of a weekend shop to Bunnings.
Somehow a better way should have been found to provide lighting. It could have been a subtle and creative feature. An opportunity that Friedensreich Hundertwasser, if he was alive and actively designing his building, I'm sure wouldn't have missed.
And I wonder what he would think of the faux classical sculptures (cast in concrete, I'm presuming) of scantily robed women that peak from the top of the building's south-facing façade?
Anyway, they didn't distract too much from the experience of walking along the building's south-facing wall. Which is, up close, more imposing and monumental.
The overall design of the wall, its black-and-white shapes, interspersed with coloured windows and detailing, is impressive. Near the building, you can see the tens of thousands of tiles pressed into the surface, which you don't see at all from a distance. The shimmering unevenness is actually beautiful.
Rounding the building and looking at it from the east is probably the most disappointing aspect. The fake colonial architecture that houses The Bach arts and crafts store is jarring. Though not much could have been done.
Hopefully, something interesting can be made of the narrow gap and blank wall between the Hundertwasser and Mokaba Cafe.
Please, though, not a painted mural. A sculptured or textured relief, perhaps. Not too colourful. Refined and elegant, like you were popping down a narrow alleyway in an old European city. Something to be thought about carefully.
Coming around the front, the tower dominates. I like the cupola. I like, in particular, that even on a dull grey day, it somehow manages to catch the light and shine. I've been delighted by this feature driving around the Town Basin area previously.
Except, I wonder about the plastic-looking blue ball on top of the dome. It looks like a Smurf's nose. Oh well, the build is nothing if not quirky.
The front facade pleasingly lines up with the Mokaba Cafe, which successfully integrates the Hundertwasser with the rest of the buildings along that stretch.
Peeking through the hoardings, I was surprised by the undulating brick, stone and concrete paving. This is a terrain, not a flat walking surface. True to Hundertwasser's preference for curves.
I spotted some seating going in at the base of the tower that looks in prime position for morning sun-worshipping.
This reminds me that as much as it's been enlightening to assess the building at this stage, its real delights will be revealed by getting up close. By touching it, interacting with it during different times of the day and different seasons.
I'm looking forward to having a proper play on it.
Until then, kudos to the people who've made the Hundertwasser happen. That's an impressive feat of perseverance and dedication to a singular cause.