| | Cavernous, confusing, stressful and inefficient - in modern minds airports seem a form of nightmarish purgatory. However it was not always this way. The subtle splendour of the earliest airports resided in the romance of simple, long, grassy fields and the marriage of sky, grass, and concrete finding consummation in the reality of the aeroplane.
World War Two (and more recently the attacks of 9/11) marked a turning point in the history of airport architecture; political and economical systems spread globally, and airports were nervously seen as the all-important gateways to increasingly surveilled nation-states. The democratisation of flight and the burgeoning popularity of tourism meant that while security tightened, architectonically, airports dramatically increased in capacity to keep up with the swarming influx and efflux of passengers, with longer spaces between terminals, often unpleasant shopping and entertainment facilities, lounges, showers, roads, gardens, and a complex and multifarious transport exchange infrastructure. As airports edged further and further away from city centres to open plains to assuage public protests about noise and environmental impact, they became self-contained functioning cities unto themselves.
The new generation of architects on the airport architecture scene are the frontline warriors of the profession: Pritzker Prize winners and bathers in world-renown. They are the likes of Norman Foster, Richard Rogers, and Renzo Piano. And, having noted that the problem with airports could be rectified with a comprehensive "town planning" approach, they have found themselves in the enticingly tyrannical position of creating whole cities to their liking; the largest projects they can ever hope to encounter.
One of the first airports that attempted to integrate a strong design element into airport architecture was JFK, with its TWA terminal completed in 1962 by Eero Saarinen. It is a futuristic and highly abstract sculpture of flight, with few or no straight lines, and its open interior resembling a soaring eagle. It was the first departure from the standard orange carpet of its contemporaries, airports that obviously did not care to indulge an aesthetic element at all. Almost an otherworldly museum dedicated to the callisthenics of air travel, and currently vacant and under redevelopment, JFK's TWA terminal can be said to be the forerunning inspiration for the airports to come.
Out of the indefatigable miasma of dust and smog that hovers low over the Chinese landscape, where hunched, beastly cranes plod through the thick, on the dry plains east of Beijing, a new airport is rising with much the same tenacity and grandeur that marks other Chinese feats - the longest bridge in the world, the biggest dam in the world, and a contender for the tallest skyscraper in the world. The architect at the helm of the new airport is, not surprisingly, Norman Foster, and, after his design for Terminal 3 is complete, Beijing Airport will be the world's largest, surpassing contenders like Hong Kong's Chek Lap Kok (currently the world's largest airport, also designed by Foster) and Heathrow (which is set to double in size after Richard Rogers' construction of Terminal 5 is complete). As the architect guilelessly revels in his monopoly - it is, apparently, going to be "truly awesome!" - the implications for China internationally cannot be overstated.
The project, which is estimated to have cost US $2 billion, and is expected to take less than three years to complete (to be completed in 2007), is the winner of an international design competition, selling itself as beautiful, user-friendly, and energy-saving. Foster's glittery graphic renderings display a sleek red and yellow bubble-like structure, undulating like the contours of a traditional dragon. Its soaring aerodynamic roof, according to Foster, reflects the poetry of flight as well as invoking traditional Chinese colours and symbols. Unlike most airports, which are multi-level jungles, the Beijing Airport, covering a floor area of more than a million square metres, presents only a single space, fully glazed and lofty, its canopy providing daylight while also naturally aiding orientation. The design represents the crest of Foster's learning curve throughout his works on Chek Lap Kok and England's Stansted Airport. It's a mature design that is grounded on the ideal of maximum flexibility to cope with the ever-changing aviation industry.
Also planned on the grand-scale and receiving accolades is the new Barajas Airport in Madrid, by fellow powerhouse Richard Rogers. Officially opened in February 2006 by Spain's Prime Minister, and having already snared the Royal Institute of British Architects' most prestigious Stirling Prize, the 1200m long building took six years to complete and has officially doubled the old airport in size. The addition of Rogers' Terminal 4, with a total area of 1.2 million square metres, means that the airport will be able to accommodate up to 70 million passengers per annum.
The new Terminal's focus is aesthetic: the project is remarkably handsome. The materials are eclectic, colourful, and energetic, and the structure and layout are highly amenable, creating a peaceful environment. The architect has repeatedly emphasised the priority of "fun", and the terminal successfully reverts back to the halcyon days where travel came first and the airport was incidental. Here, the often (and rightly) stereotyped airport nightmares (ill-controlled passenger flow; every woe associated with luggage handling) no longer usurp what should be the sole exhilaration of flight and adventure. What's going on here is a diagrammatically straightforward, linear approach to airport architecture, where a clear sequence of spaces is designated for the arrivial and departure. An unmistakable line of movement passes through parallel banks of accommodation - check-in, customs, security, gate lounges. Placed orthogonally to the flow are adjacent facilities like train stations, car parks, roads and satellite piers.
Of note, part of the scheme was to make the destination (the plane) readily perceivable for the passenger, this one gesture in itself detangling much of the stress associated with flying. But of its many beauties, the judges of the Stirling displayed a special penchant for the roof: "the elegant oversailing roof is a unifying device and succeeds in being both dominant and yet calmly and self-assuredly understated." This undulating roof provides daylight to the upper levels, and with a series of "canyons" cut through the floors, light seeps through to the lower levels. The roof, louvres for solar control and gigantic V-shaped structural columns provide a robust architectural order. Bamboo slats line the project, adding a humble, organic feel, and contrasting with the modular repetition of the skeletal steel roof structure that is supported by a monolithic concrete frame. Even the air conditioning units were aestheticised and punctuate the baggage handling space like sculptures.
What's most fascinating is that all these architects seem to be speaking and working in unison, as though they have each independently, and coincidentally, sought the same solution to the airport crisis. Rogers' Terminal 5 at Heathrow also promises none other than open spaces, natural light, good views of the airfield and a trademark undulating roof. Foster's Chek Lap Kok, built on what was once a mountainous island, provides a logical sequence of spaces, some enclosed, some open under floating vaults, so that an overall impression of spaciousness is created. Materials are used sensuously; huge granite monoliths dispel the banality of the airport experience; and a bird's eye view of the architecture reveals the terminal in the shape of the most gigantic aeroplane of them all.
The old wisdom of airports being comprised of only two elements - landside and airside - is reverted to in Foster's Stansted Airport, where "straightforward and direct" are again the architects' words of choice. Foster here decided to turn the building upside down, and created a subterranean realm underneath the entire concourse floor holding the heavy environmental service installations that are usually bound up with the bulky roof. The undercroft also contains baggage handling, and the railway line. Even Renzo Piano conforms. His celebrated airport at Kansai, Japan, which was built on an artificial island, boasts size (100,000 passengers per day); a wave-form roof that encourages dynamic air flow; an aerial view that resembles a glider resting on the island; and an invocation of tranquillity and nature, the architect revelling in the symbiosis of wind, water and earth. It's a winning model, and yields a collective sigh of relief. Finally, the airports are catching up with the aeroplanes. + Previous. The landside element of Norman Foster's new Beijing Airport sweeps around a circular lake, sprinkled with beautiful fountains.
Top. Richard Rogers' RIBA Sterling Prize-winning Barajas Airport, Madrid. A relaxed and bright atmosphere inside the building was imperative; and the sequence of bright colours, equidistant from one another, also serve as an uplifting means of visual orientation.
Second. In Barajas, a plethora of visual references and an incredibly straightforward, linear, diagrammatic line of passage through the airport is not abated by the six-storey height of the structure. Third. Rendering of a plane docking area in Foster's yet to be completed Beijing Airport Bottom. Set to be the world's largest, the structure of Beijing airport salutes traditional Chinese colours, swooping like a dragon. Images courtesy of Foster and Partners, Richard Rogers Partnership and the Stedilijk Museum. |
