SINGAPORE somehow always seems to miss the mark when it comes to creating a world-class, iconic building.
Raffles City was designed by I. M. Pei, the Singapore Indoor Stadium by Kenzo Tange and the new Supreme Court by Norman Foster. Even VivoCity was designed by a renowned Japanese architect, Toyo Ito. But none of these buildings is known to the rest of the world, even if the famous names behind them are.
Perhaps they were not meant to be iconic in the first place. But if not, why hire such expensive names?
VivoCity, for example, is the biggest mall in Singapore, which already makes it special. Its strength is undoubtedly its efficient design. The interior layout is user-friendly and allows shoppers to navigate easily, unlike smaller, yet more confusing malls such as Marina Square, where shoppers scuttle about like rats in a caged experiment trying to find their way around.
But, externally, on the street side, the white bone- like edifice looks like a giant plaster cast that has fallen out of the sky to land in a broken heap on the harbour front. And the highway running in front of it also does nothing to help its stature.
Arguably, the only iconic building here is The Esplanade, Theatres on the Bay. Its trademark spiky cladding was added for a functional reason - to protect the glass shell and to deflect the sun's heat. Thus, almost by default, it has become the defining feature of the building itself, earning it the affectionate name, The Durian. Talk about bringing arts to the masses.
It is iconic because it is instantly recognisable and people talk about it. It also 'owns' the landscape around it, making the area come alive visually.
Other Singapore buildings do not quite meet the mark for a few (possible) reasons. Maybe the architects did not do their best work here. Or maybe their vision was sidelined along the way by practical considerations.
Mr Theodore Chan, an architect in private practice, says the latter is a very real factor in Singapore: 'There's a lack of artistic respect here. When it comes to architecture, we tend to go for the safe and acceptable, the tried and tested. We lack a daring, pioneering spirit.'
In other words, proposed materials could be swopped for more practical, even cheaper, alternatives in the end, for example. Or certain trimmings which could lift a design may eventually be left out, to save costs. An impassioned architect can protest against these changes, but few would run the risk of offending their paymasters.
A classic case was Danish architect Jorn Utzon, who designed the Sydney Opera House. While the building, now one of the most recognisable in the world, is Sydney's definitive symbol, its construction in the early 1960s was beset with difficulties. Utzon clashed with officials over budgetary issues and was forced to resign from the project in 1966.
In an article in Harvard Design Magazine last year, Professor Bent Flyvbjerg argues that the construction budget for the Sydney Opera House had been deliberately understated for political reasons and that Utzon became the convenient scapegoat for the eventual cost overrun of 1,400 per cent.
The resulting scandal tarnished Utzon's reputation and killed his career. In 2003, on the 30th anniversary of the Opera House, he was finally 'rehabilitated' when he was offered an honorary doctorate for his work on it by the University of Sydney, as well as the keys to the city.
That same year, he also received the Pritzker Prize, architecture's greatest honour. But it had all come too late. Utzon, now 88, does not have a large body of work to his name. Still, Sydney has its iconic building which, in the beginning, was derided by critics as an ugly mistake that resembled a stack of crockery. Budget estimates are sticky issues when it comes to large projects. In a study, Prof Flyvbjerg and his co-workers looked at 300 projects in 20 countries and found that, nine times out of 10, costs mounted after a project had been approved, leaving investors and taxpayers holding the bag.
For the most part, savvy investors tacitly understand that a certain amount of 'deflation' about costs has to be allowed. Otherwise, many projects would never see the light of day. The Brooklyn Bridge, for example, had a cost overrun of 100 per cent.
Anyone who has had to renovate his home knows that the contractor's estimate is just that: The final cost is almost always higher.
Multiply that by a few million times and you have an idea of what is at stake when an iconic building is proposed.
However, it would be unfair to assume that all costs are deliberately underestimated and all revenues overestimated. That would be tantamount to calling all architects irresponsible. And they are not.
Frank Gehry's design for Kerzner CapitaLand's Atlantis Sentosa is perhaps the most dramatic of all the proposed Integrated Resorts on the island. But the Canadian-American architect is also known for building on time and on budget, even if his designs have been criticised for being impractical. For example, the steel cladding of the Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles has been known to bake the surrounding sidewalks.
His most famous work, the Bilbao Guggenheim in Spain, was not only completed according to schedule and cost, but it also made a lot more money than was initially projected.
In his book, The Iconic Building, architect Charles Jencks writes that, of the new tourists who visited Bilbao after the Guggenheim was built, 87 per cent were from outside the Basque region. They boosted tourism spending by more than US$400 million (S$630 million) in just two years. That figure, adds Jencks, would cover the cost of four new Guggenheims, or two of London's Tate Moderns.
These are numbers the Government certainly wants for its two IRs, especially the Sentosa one, where the structure is 'likely to become the new signature image of Sentosa', according to the Singapore Tourism Board's brief for proposals.
The evaluation criteria for the Sentosa IR emphasise tourism appeal and contribution (45 per cent) and architectural, design and concept excellence (25 per cent) over level of development investment committed (20 per cent) and strength of consortium and partners (10 per cent).
Kerzner CapitaLand is obviously hoping that the Bilbao experience will tilt the final decision in its favour. While its proposed $5.28 billion resort has other attractions, including star chefs Joel Robuchon, Gordon Ramsay and Nobu Matsuhisa, the key factor is Gehry's design.
It is truly unique, different from the Bilbao Guggenheim, the Walt Disney Concert Hall or any other existing major Gehry monument because it eschews steel for glass. Yet it is unmistakeably Gehry, with its wild, attention-grabbing phantasmagorical waves.
If chosen, Gehry's building will probably become not only the signature image of Sentosa, but of Singapore itself. But it will definitely not be an easy building to construct or even live with. Its glass structure will undoubtedly need a lot of time and money to upkeep.
But, as Mr Chan says: 'If you want to drive a sports car, be prepared to pay more for petrol.'
At the end of the day, we have to decide if we are willing to sacrifice functionality for creativity and take a gamble on possible greatness or just stick with the tangible and mundane.
There is some sweet irony in the idea that a country known for its obsessive pragmatism and uniformity might just embrace the work of a man celebrated for his 'impractical' buildings. That in itself would be priceless, if not iconic.
sohchin@sph.com.sg
NO DARING SPIRIT
'When it comes to architecture, we tend to go for the safe and acceptable, the tried and tested. We lack a daring, pioneering spirit.'
MR THEODORE CHAN, an architect in private practice.
