The Importance of Unspectacular Architecture
Advice for the Singapore-bound traveler: do leave the airport pleasure palace, eventually.
~1,300 words, a seven-minute read
Singapore’s 2019-completed Jewel Changi Airport is one of the most spectacular interior spaces in the world. Designed by Israeli-Canadian-American Architect Moshe Safdie, the self branded “wondrous world where nature meets retail'' is indeed a feast for the senses enjoyed by jet-lagged flâneurs/flâneuses and Singaporean residents alike. While retail is certainly an integral part of the space, to describe Jewel as a shopping mall would be like describing the Great Wall of China as an observation deck. In their elliptical configuration, stores and restaurants are simply a frame for the “natural” part of the Jewel landscape (and it is a landscape): an enormous terraced garden draped over five stories of various consumer functions, punctuated at the center by a 130 foot (40m) waterfall that cascades from a toroidal, all-encompassing glass diagrid roof into a massive acrylic-walled hyperbolic column that dives two more stories below. But that’s not all. Experience-oriented amenities like a glass bridge and crawlable, vertigo-inducing Sky Nets (amusingly, the Sky Nets are sponsored by a life insurance company: “Manulife is the proud sponsor of the Manulife Sky Nets…Manulife has got you covered.”) allow visitors to indulge in a variety of spatially thrilling activities. All of this in one building makes for a truly awe-inspiring marvel of design and engineering (not to mention political willpower and bureaucratic coordination). If it strikes you as excessive, that’s because it is. That’s the point. Changi is both a hub and a destination of major international importance, and the modus operandi seems to be that first impressions of a place (even on a layover) matter. A lot.
(Incidentally, it feels worth recognizing that Jewel’s waterfall apparently sustains itself largely on collected rainwater. Sensory indulgence meets sustainability!)
Jewel is so impressive that it is rapidly attaining status as a symbol of national identity. Anecdotally, local visitors have described feeling “proud to be Singaporean” when describing their first encounter with it. Significantly, Singapore’s Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong delivered the 2019 National Day Message from one of its upper level terraces. His slightly-stage-left position is noteworthy: the waterfall itself is to the right and completes the symmetrical composition of the frame. Since its grand opening (where it was christened with an elaborate water and light show, because obviously), the public has been able to enter for free, at any hour of any day (except during temporary COVID-19 related closures). Easily accessed from the Changi Airport MRT station, Jewel has indeed become a kind of prized public space despite its peculiar location sandwiched between runways.
As expected, some flattering architectural reviews have been published. The New York Times published at least two, here and here, and the two previous paragraphs probably count. But in spite of the hype, and the continual cascade of various (deserved) awards, a more contemplative passer-through may reflect on the broader lineage of interior public spaces in Singapore. Less extravagant places in the country make the case that spectacles — like waterfalls or forest walks or Apple stores or martini-wielding robots — are not always a prerequisite for enjoyable urban places.
Often found in air-conditioned atriums of malls ubiquitous on the island-megastructure that is Singapore, ordinary spaces are the background of everyday life for millions. Free and open during most waking hours, such spaces are seemingly everywhere, often a short walk away from MRT stations. And in the race to produce ever more elaborate, iconic, and click-inciting spaces, it is helpful to remember that ordinary, even “boring” places play an important role in civic life.
Singapore inhabitants are well aware that its climate could be summed up — as scholar Erik L’Horeaux once said — as “hot and wet”. So since modern shopping malls began to be constructed in ever-greater quantities in the early 70’s, air conditioned atria of various shapes and sizes have often served as an extension of the public realm, even if privately owned. The oppressive day-time climate invariably leads individuals to seek comfortable, conditioned spaces. This may be most strikingly apparent on Sundays, the traditional day off for immigrant-communities who gather with friends and family. Curiously, it is in this context that many older shopping malls not originally intended to have strong ethnic identities have nevertheless been “adopted” by various minorities who have established businesses there over time. Examples include Lucky Plaza (Filipinos), Golden Mile Complex (Thais), City Plaza (Indonesians), and others.
(For the interested reader, a much more thorough account of the dynamics between public space and various users and groups can be found in Limin Hee’s Constructing Singapore Public Space.)
Mall atriums also became ingrained with the culture of a rising consumer middle-class in Singapore that rapidly developed From Third World to First. (That’s the title of a massive book by Singapore founding father Lee Kwan Yew; required reading for anyone interested in Singaporean politics.) For this reason, sociologist Beng Huat Chua became fascinated with a place called Takashimaya Square. Built as part of the Ngee Ann City Mall in 1993, Takashimaya Square is a relatively simple interior event and food court seating area. But it was special enough to be the subject of an observational study by Chua in Life is Not Complete Without Shopping. In his charming account of one ordinary Saturday morning, teenagers mix with families mix with couples mix with impromptu performances in a theatrical display of interiorized public life in the “square”. An in-person visit to Takashimaya Square reveals the subtle but powerful architectural device that enables its above-average social atmosphere: three bench-deep steps ring the perimeter of the space. Casually, the steps invite occupants to use them like a shallow rack of bleachers. Other than that, the space is relatively unremarkable. It’s located in the basement (B2 actually), without natural light, surrounded by no-frills food and retail offerings, and appointed with durable but expected material finishes. In spite of this apparent mediocrity, Chua points out that it seems to draw a substantial range of Singaporean society who voluntarily escape the tropical heat and enjoy the age-old city-life ritual of seeing and being seen.
(On second thought, mediocre might be an unfair description. There is a nice fountain at one end; nothing like Changi’s waterfall of course, but tasteful nonetheless. Water always seems to do wonders for a place. And, the overall proportions of the space are good. Not too big, or tall, not too small, or shallow. Anyway, in the spirit of this article, mediocrity is virtue, not pejorative.)
Sadly, a Covid/post-Covid (the difference between the two seems less and less obvious) trend is worth some attention. As of springtime this year, atriums in spaces like Lucky Plaza and Takashimaya Square are being (at least during occasional visits by this author) roped off. Supposedly a crowd control measure to prevent the spread of infectious disease, there is some grumbling that Covid-rooted practices like these will remain in place longer than necessary. On the one hand, strict control over behavior in public space is not totally surprising in the Fine City of Singapore. (Singapore is jokingly labeled a “fine city”, since its cleanliness and safety comes along with stiff fines for various behaviors, including jaywalking and spitting.) On the other hand, one wonders about the future of “ordinary” public spaces in light of Jewel’s extraordinary popularity. Why is the spectacular place open all the time while the normal places are roped off?
Cities ought to have and to some degree thrive on the provision of highly Instagrammable things. But as places like Jewel are visited by millions, so too are plantless, ordinary spaces with boring (or, one might rather say, subtle) architecture. It would be a shame if these fade into the rubble left by glossy new developments. However more marvelous interior architecture may be made, unspectacular spaces may be best not left too far behind.
© 2022 James Carrico