Atlantica - 01.02.2006, Side 15

AT L A N T I CA 13
“Nature is not always our friend. If it were, architects
wouldn’t be a necessity. We could simply walk in paradise.”
Renzo Plano
As a young man in Italy, Renzo Piano disappointed his father as soon as
he announced his future career: architecture. To a family of traditional
craftsmen from Genoa, the choice did not ring of influence and elegance as it
might today; it was considered an inferior occupation.
Today, Piano, 68, is arguably one of the most famous architects in the world.
At 33, he designed the iconic Centre George Pompidou in Paris. Since then,
Piano has created dozens of museums, stadiums, and cultural complexes,
including the Osaka Airport in Japan and Potsdamer Platz over the site of the
Berlin Wall. Now, Piano is tackling the new headquarters for The New York Times
in Manhattan, scheduled to finish early next year. The building’s progress is
being watched carefully; the celebrated photographer Annie Leibovitz has even
been documenting the process for over a year.
Tania Menai met up with Piano in Paris to ask him what goes into the making
of an icon.
Tania Menai: The New York Times has been in Times Square since 1905. How
can you bring harmony to a 2,500-person newsroom, at a cultural institution
recently under attack, on a chaotic site in front of Port Authority?
Renzo Piano: Skyscrapers are complex by nature – almost mysterious. They
are usually black or very dark, because they have to protect people from the
sun, or be covered by mirrors. This building, however, will be different. It will be
made of transparent glass and ceramic tiles, which will allow the entrance of an
abundance of light. The project of a newsroom is even more demanding than a
regular office – a newsroom expresses transparency and light.
In New York, it is important to have neither an arrogant nor an aggressive
presence. Frequently, the tall buildings symbolize power. Some are even phallic
symbols. This one won’t be like that; it will show sensitivity.
TM: You once said that it takes a long time for the public to digest and accept
new architecture…
RP: Architecture is part of our habits. My office is here, at Marais, a beautiful
part of Paris. I love this neighborhood. I walk home every night and admire
the buildings around me. But when I look at them more carefully, I realize that
some of the buildings are ugly. Some others are terrible. But they are part of
the experience. We love old buildings. Time makes things beautiful. When a
building is new, even if it’s wonderful, it is still not incorporated into our habits.
It takes five or ten years.
A typical case of this is the Pompidou. In the beginning, it was hated by
many people. Today, it is part of Paris. Three years ago, I wanted to make some
changes to it. But the people at the Historical Movement – who take care of the
historical sites – didn’t allow me to touch it. They told me it didn’t belong to me,
but to Paris.
TM: You’ve said that “museums are the new cathedrals” for architects. Why?
RP: When we designed the Centre George Pompidou – or Beaubourg, as I
still call it – museums were unpopular places. Not that they weren’t dignified,
but they were only visited by specialists. I was 33 and had liked arts since
childhood, and thought that museums remained far from the big public. The
Pompidou didn’t change the history of the old Beaubourg building. It was
an interpretation of the change that had been going on at the time. It mixes
different cultural disciplines, like plastic arts, music and a public library. It was
a way of demystifying the museum concept, opening it to the masses and
creating curiosity.
For a long time, people threw stones at us. They called Pompidou a
supermarché de l’art (an art supermarket), a factory, a refinery. But this was
the beginning of a new era. After the Pompidou, I designed several museums,
like the Menil Collection in Houston and the Beyeler Foundation in Basel,
Switzerland. We have built the new Paul Klee Museum in Bern, the High Art
Museum in Atlanta, and expanded the Art Institute of Chicago – not to mention
the JP Morgan Library in New York. Museums have become popular places.
Just like the cathedrals in the past, these are places for rituals – not religious,
but in the sense of collectivity. Besides displaying art, museums bring people
together, and I am very happy with this.
In fact, now we are facing an opposite problem: the success of the museum.
It sounds strange, but it’s true. Museums should be places where we appreciate
art. Therefore, we need serenity, calm, silence and contemplation. With so many
people visiting, it becomes almost impossible to find some peace.
TM: You build masterpieces all over the world. How much do you have to be
involved in each city?
RP: As an architect, it is possible to make projects without knowing the place
very well. But I would never build anything without spending a long time in the
city. Places tell stories. We just have to stay mute, and carefully listen to each
sound. It is as if you enter a room completely dark: we need one minute to start
seeing something.
TM: So that’s how you built Potsdamer Platz in 1997?
RP: Yes. It was important to listen to Berlin. Berlin holds a very intense history,
especially the Potsdamer Platz, which covered Hitler’s bunker. During the
excavations, we found eight bombs. Thank God they didn’t blow up. I spent
a long time there, trying to capture the history. After the Wall fell, that place
became a historic point. It was the center of the city. Some say that Berlin is a
sad city, made of stones. I disagree. We used trees, water and light colors in our
building. For me, this is a city full of life and happiness.
TM: You have also signed the project for the Kansai International Airport, in
Osaka – a complex of 49 gates over an artificial island, built by the Japanese for
12 billion dollars. It’s said that the island is gradually sinking. Is this true?
RP: No. An artificial island over a depth of 20 meters of water needs 20 years to
let itself settle. However, the Japanese didn’t want to wait that long. They built
the airport after five years. Still, there is no problem at all at the airport. Nor did
we have problems with “tsunamis,” those giant waves that are common in the
region, because the Osaka Bay is protected. The settlement of that island was
interpreted with perversity by the American media. Americans take pleasure in
teasing Japanese people.
By the way, the epicenter of the 1994 earthquake, which shook the city of
Kobi, was exactly below that bay between Kobi and the airport. And at the
airport there wasn’t any broken glass. It is very well built.
TM: You’re also designing the California Academy of Science in San Francisco.
What do you have to keep in mind when you’re building in seismic areas?
RP: Two thirds of the planet is a seismic area. In addition to this project in San
Francisco, we are building a church for ten thousand people in the south of Italy,
in an area that faces the same problem. We have also just built a tower in Giza, in
Tokyo. We are constantly building on those areas. It’s part of our duty.
The job of an architect is to create shelter; it could be in seismic areas, in
places where there are tornadoes, an excess of heat or extreme cold. Since we
finished the Menil Collection in Houston in 1986, five tornadoes have passed
through the city. Six years ago, we built the Jean Marie Tjibaou Cultural Center
on the island of New Caledonia, which is under constant threat of tornadoes.
Nature is not always our friend. If it were, architects wouldn’t be a necessity.
We could simply walk in paradise. a
Transparency and Light
009 airmail Atlantica 206.indd 13 22.2.2006 14:52:22