The earliest iconic buildings were a result of fanatical obsessions (whether secular, religious, political or military) that had little to do with contemporary issues of funding, need or public scrutiny. Nevertheless, we still celebrate these architectural or archaeological memories and often give them the title of World Heritage.
In the industrial age, powerful interventions in the built environment occurred as a result of capitalism: industrial activity promoted extraordinary feats of engineering and created unadulterated wealth. The concept of the international exposition, providing a showcase for invention, ingenuity and pure showmanship, was kickstarted not by an architect, but by a gardener.
This was Joseph Paxton who designed the incredible Crystal Palace, for the 1851 Great Exhibition, which was subsequently superseded by other famous structures, such as the Eiffel Tower.
In the meantime, technical advances in steel frames and elevator engineering led to competitions to create the tallest buildings. Chrysler and General Motors fought it out with the latter winning the battle by 60 metres - a result of the determination of John Raskob, the owner of the Empire State Building. Such patrons or developers never anticipated their iconic towers could be terrorist targets: post 9/11, structures such as the Mori Tower in Tokyo now insist on highly sophisticated entry screening.
The urban landscape and its need for iconic buildings is much more complex in the post industrial age. While corporate headquarters encourage powerful architectural statements, we now find that cities are also desperate to enhance their 'brand' through any means available.
Communication towers, conference centres, political chambers, bridges, sports arenas, retail centres even cultural assets are their ways to becoming a city of culture, a major international sporting venue, or simply a place to attract investment and growth. Thomas Krens, the Guggenheim Foundation director, demanded that Bilbao should match the power that Chartres Cathedral wielded over Europe when it was completed in 1257.
In the wake of the rejection of the Fourth Grace in Liverpool and the Victoria & Albert Museum's Spiral, Building Design magazine provided a platform for such eminent architects as Graham Morrison and John Miller to challenge radical designs that they believe are inappropriate for their setting or use. This may also gain support from the call by George Ferguson, the Royal Institute of British Architects' new president, to work towards a 'new urbanism'.
These new urbanist developments combine work, pleasure, homes and businesses - a concept that I always believed to be the very essence of masterplanning. But clearly this is not the case: the process of masterplanning has generally been controlled by a small group of people with limited skills.
Rarely are sociologists, anthropologists, narrative developers, cultural, communications or leisure consultants at the top table. In consequence, high-profile architecture is scattered around like 'exclamation marks instead of prose', to quote Deyan Sudjic, the architecture critic.
Even worse, the process of devolution extends this process to the regions where the creators of naive political agendas insist that planners are able to change tourist habits and regenerate deprived communities. Structures are used as magnets.
Wasteland conveniently becomes a cultural quarter, and this is where the real problem starts: where the iconic architecture has to accommodate a highly complex narrative programme that demands sophisticated curatorial, movement and communications strategies that may have to respond to dramatic change in user profiles and expectations.
Sadly, such structures are procured in the same way as any commercial super development that merely has to raise a respectable rentable value.
While many may balk at the emergence of 'catwalk architects' - superstars used to secure planning, raise finance and drive PR machines - it may be the project managers, stakeholders and procurement teams that are to blame for the apparently doomed iconic age.
The British aversion to well-paid architectural competitions with well-thought through concepts, including interpretive functionality, engineering, cost analysis and coherent business planning, based on a substantial professional brief, has led to a lottery rollercoaster that is about to lose its wheels.
Diversely experienced teams need to commission imaginatively, then hold their ground. In turn, funding bodies need to track their process with complementary skills. How can it be that Libeskind's Spiral suddenly does not deliver against the key requirements of conservation, education and enjoyment of the UK's heritage? Surely this should have been embedded in the brief, or was everybody too impatient to get his virtuoso images into the pages of the broadsheet press?
This may not be the first time this architect has suffered from the episodic process. His striking Jewish Museum in Berlin now houses an inappropriate and poorly conceived exhibition.
Our most frightening exposure to 'architecture as wrapper' was at the National Centre of Popular Music in Sheffield, where four stainless steel drums were designed way ahead of the narrative which we were told 'contains five key stories'. Inexperienced project managers struggled with a budget of around 15 per cent of the capital expenditure to complete the hopelessly muddled installation.
Iconographic structures should combine a selection of qualities that I believe have been missing in many lottery-funded projects through accelerated processes that are often under the control of ambitious yet inexperienced client teams.
I would cite three successful examples. Anish Kapoor's Marsyas at Tate Modern (it was only realised through the extraordinary work of engineer Cecil Balmond), which was, of course, only temporary, but reminds us that not only architects can produce such memorable structures. The second is the programme of underground stations for the Jubilee line commissioned by Roland Paoletti. Leading architects have produced a string of beautifully fit-for-purpose stations that enhance and support our urban environment.
And the Eden Project where a combination of a filmic setting, passion, knowledge and expertise from the client team (by contrast with arrogance and naivety at The Earth Centre) and a steady hand from the architect and engineer has visitors queuing down the A30. Clearly the architect has enjoyed a highly collaborative process producing a narrative that has captured the visitors' imaginations even though it is underinterpreted.
Again to quote Sudjic: 'History decides on an iconic structure.' But surely the time has come where screaming at the passerby is not enough. We now have to nurture a holistic process, producing architecture that understands its setting, complements complex functionality and, most importantly, determines a sustainable future. mj
Peter Higgins is the creative director of Land Design Studio
In the industrial age, powerful interventions in the built environment occurred as a result of capitalism: industrial activity promoted extraordinary feats of engineering and created unadulterated wealth. The concept of the international exposition, providing a showcase for invention, ingenuity and pure showmanship, was kickstarted not by an architect, but by a gardener.
This was Joseph Paxton who designed the incredible Crystal Palace, for the 1851 Great Exhibition, which was subsequently superseded by other famous structures, such as the Eiffel Tower.
In the meantime, technical advances in steel frames and elevator engineering led to competitions to create the tallest buildings. Chrysler and General Motors fought it out with the latter winning the battle by 60 metres - a result of the determination of John Raskob, the owner of the Empire State Building. Such patrons or developers never anticipated their iconic towers could be terrorist targets: post 9/11, structures such as the Mori Tower in Tokyo now insist on highly sophisticated entry screening.
The urban landscape and its need for iconic buildings is much more complex in the post industrial age. While corporate headquarters encourage powerful architectural statements, we now find that cities are also desperate to enhance their 'brand' through any means available.
Communication towers, conference centres, political chambers, bridges, sports arenas, retail centres even cultural assets are their ways to becoming a city of culture, a major international sporting venue, or simply a place to attract investment and growth. Thomas Krens, the Guggenheim Foundation director, demanded that Bilbao should match the power that Chartres Cathedral wielded over Europe when it was completed in 1257.
In the wake of the rejection of the Fourth Grace in Liverpool and the Victoria & Albert Museum's Spiral, Building Design magazine provided a platform for such eminent architects as Graham Morrison and John Miller to challenge radical designs that they believe are inappropriate for their setting or use. This may also gain support from the call by George Ferguson, the Royal Institute of British Architects' new president, to work towards a 'new urbanism'.
These new urbanist developments combine work, pleasure, homes and businesses - a concept that I always believed to be the very essence of masterplanning. But clearly this is not the case: the process of masterplanning has generally been controlled by a small group of people with limited skills.
Rarely are sociologists, anthropologists, narrative developers, cultural, communications or leisure consultants at the top table. In consequence, high-profile architecture is scattered around like 'exclamation marks instead of prose', to quote Deyan Sudjic, the architecture critic.
Even worse, the process of devolution extends this process to the regions where the creators of naive political agendas insist that planners are able to change tourist habits and regenerate deprived communities. Structures are used as magnets.
Wasteland conveniently becomes a cultural quarter, and this is where the real problem starts: where the iconic architecture has to accommodate a highly complex narrative programme that demands sophisticated curatorial, movement and communications strategies that may have to respond to dramatic change in user profiles and expectations.
Sadly, such structures are procured in the same way as any commercial super development that merely has to raise a respectable rentable value.
While many may balk at the emergence of 'catwalk architects' - superstars used to secure planning, raise finance and drive PR machines - it may be the project managers, stakeholders and procurement teams that are to blame for the apparently doomed iconic age.
The British aversion to well-paid architectural competitions with well-thought through concepts, including interpretive functionality, engineering, cost analysis and coherent business planning, based on a substantial professional brief, has led to a lottery rollercoaster that is about to lose its wheels.
Diversely experienced teams need to commission imaginatively, then hold their ground. In turn, funding bodies need to track their process with complementary skills. How can it be that Libeskind's Spiral suddenly does not deliver against the key requirements of conservation, education and enjoyment of the UK's heritage? Surely this should have been embedded in the brief, or was everybody too impatient to get his virtuoso images into the pages of the broadsheet press?
This may not be the first time this architect has suffered from the episodic process. His striking Jewish Museum in Berlin now houses an inappropriate and poorly conceived exhibition.
Our most frightening exposure to 'architecture as wrapper' was at the National Centre of Popular Music in Sheffield, where four stainless steel drums were designed way ahead of the narrative which we were told 'contains five key stories'. Inexperienced project managers struggled with a budget of around 15 per cent of the capital expenditure to complete the hopelessly muddled installation.
Iconographic structures should combine a selection of qualities that I believe have been missing in many lottery-funded projects through accelerated processes that are often under the control of ambitious yet inexperienced client teams.
I would cite three successful examples. Anish Kapoor's Marsyas at Tate Modern (it was only realised through the extraordinary work of engineer Cecil Balmond), which was, of course, only temporary, but reminds us that not only architects can produce such memorable structures. The second is the programme of underground stations for the Jubilee line commissioned by Roland Paoletti. Leading architects have produced a string of beautifully fit-for-purpose stations that enhance and support our urban environment.
And the Eden Project where a combination of a filmic setting, passion, knowledge and expertise from the client team (by contrast with arrogance and naivety at The Earth Centre) and a steady hand from the architect and engineer has visitors queuing down the A30. Clearly the architect has enjoyed a highly collaborative process producing a narrative that has captured the visitors' imaginations even though it is underinterpreted.
Again to quote Sudjic: 'History decides on an iconic structure.' But surely the time has come where screaming at the passerby is not enough. We now have to nurture a holistic process, producing architecture that understands its setting, complements complex functionality and, most importantly, determines a sustainable future. mj
Peter Higgins is the creative director of Land Design Studio
