Think of medieval cathedrals in the flat fields of Northern France or the tracery of gothic architecture. Even on the observation deck of the tallest building we cannot escape the ground.Īs buildings became more sophisticated, they began to feel their way into the sky. The buildings and cities that surround us are exquisite caves. Architecture then is simply an act of rearranging of the planets surface. Its components have all been extracted from the earth's surface: quarried as stones, ores and so on. The pile is structurally in compression, pulled towards the centre of the earth by gravity. It is an act of piling components on top of one another.
#Cargolifter hangar germany Patch
Tied to a singular iteration on a patch of the planet, buildings often find themselves fantasising about qualities they will never possess.Īrchitecture happens at ground level. Perhaps because architecture is in its very nature limited to a specific place, its secret dream is one of escape.
Awkwardness, naivety, and gaucheness lend a sharp edge. Perhaps because of its un-intended, and accidental genesis has left an un-architectural raw burr. In extremis, the CargoLifter/Tropical Island story is an architectural parable.
It is the kind of space that surrounds you, envelops you, until you could almost believe in some kind of truth. It's volume is all-encompassing, like a cathedral. Its volume is eerie: a deep mystery manufactured by super sized engineering. On the other hand, the sheer volume of space recalls a very different heritage. And by escaping traditions of architecture one might slip the ties of social structure, the tedium of bourgeois living, or the unaccountable mess of organic growth. Hangers and their ilk represent an escape through engineering from traditions of architecture. Their recent history has been as muse to various varieties of modern architectural movements: from the Modernism of Le Corbusier, via the techno-utopian vision of Archigram to the corporate precision of Norman Foster. Hangers, and other similar industrial structures inherit a complex genealogy. Like a vacuum, its emptiness exerted external force, sucking in potential content. Enough to charge the erotic coupling of infrastructure and leisure. Enough even to precipitate an unlikely a use as a Tropical Island resort. Enough to create a sense of impending event. Its scale was enough to convince prospective shareholders to invest. It was intended to house the huge airships, though they never materialised. A vast, uninterrupted volume - the largest clear span in the world. The two incarnations share one un-ignorable element: the hanger. The Tropical Island promises escape from post-industrial Germany to a fantasy destination. CargoLifter, before its collapse, promised escape from geography - a way of moving things around the world cheaply and efficiently. Perhaps, deep down in each project lurks the same kind of feeling - a shared romantic desire for escape. What strange magnetism draws them together? Why would the flaws of one attract the other so strongly? A Montague CargoLifter to a Capulet Tropical Island. The Cargo Lifter and the Tropical Island Resort might be a love story between two very different characters across the lines of genre, and in spite of the prejudice of function. It's the kind of place that happens through the unfolding of a story rather than logic. It is a phenomenon rather than a design, a history not a process. A bright, fake landscape trapped under the hangers' shell like a snow dome without snow.Īctually, even a Bond villain might struggle to create something quite so strange. It's what you might get if you asked a Bond villain to design you a CenterParks: A Tropical Island Resort built in the giant hanger of CargoLifter - the ill-fated German airship of the 1990s. Anything to Feel Weightless Again: The Cargo Lifter and the Tropical Island Resort
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