High-rise Tallinn
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| High-rise Tallinn | |
| Siiri Vallner | |
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I like cities where high buildings stand side by side. More things happen in such cities; people there are shrewder and maybe more beautiful as well. Until recent years, everything outside the Tallinn Old Town was remarkably sparse and low. After a brief flourishing in the Middle Ages, Tallinn's development remained provincially modest. The 159-metre height of St Olaf's Church (now 36 metres lower) made it one of the highest buildings of its time; today, no truly high constructions appear here. The 19th century industrial revolution quietly passed the town by, whereas both Helsinki and Riga produced kilometres of streets lined with high stone buildings. The previous century brought large numbers of inhabitants with different backgrounds, but in the opinion of architects, Tallinn never quite achieved the dimensions of a true city. Tallinn's silhouette started to change rather slowly at the beginning of the 1990s, but ever more rapidly thereafter. All of a sudden the entire city centre was turned upside down - the wind howled in unexpected places, cars found their way onto the streets, traffic lights acquired a new rhythm, and building sites sprang up everywhere. The general public began to get nervous, and late last spring a heated discussion broke out. Society was split into three groups - the bad developers, innocent city dwellers, and between them the helpless hapless architects, town planners and politicians. In a short while it became clear that changes in the urban space concern everyone, although they are directly useful to only a few of us. The culprit was not found, but in order to prevent further surprises, the national heritage people hastily determined that the top of St Olaf's was the official highest point in Tallinn. In addition, new members were added to the architectural council of the city government. |
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As an architect, I rarely appreciate a high-rise building. For me, this typology forms a separate sub-species somewhere near the supermarket. Perhaps at some point it was an innovative genre, a quintessence of everything modern, but today the architecture of high-rise buildings is basically conservative. No expectations here of experiments, novel solutions, sharpness or the impact of surprising space. A high building is primarily a manifestation of money and power. Tallinn is no exception here - the average high structure has no architectural ambitions of any kind that might quite calmly privatise yet another piece of public urban space. Apartment advertisements stress the location (a home in the heart of the city; the best location in the city centre), views (a better look at life - a flat above the city), or achieved position (the highest home in town - 64.1 metres above the Estonian average).
A typical Tallinn high-rise building is located in the so-called city, for example in the district around Maakri Street, one of the oldest suburbs of Tallinn that used to hold everything 'unsuitable' for a town (such as lepers and tanners). However, high-rise buildings often crop up in remarkably beautiful natural spots (the vicinity of Pirita Road or Rocca al Mare). Depending on the architect, the exterior design of concrete buildings might display small experiments of form (e.g. Union Bank, City Plaza), but on the whole designing various patterns of colourful aluminium and glass panels will do (e.g. Maakri House). A new high-rise building generally tries to look expensive and luxurious, although in most cases it does not succeed. There is no constructive novelty and architectural detail is limited to choosing between catalogue products. Estonia has no excess of wealth typical of the Western world: people consume straightforward, palpable things. Mood, culture and other such weird and confusing values remain, at least for the time being, outside the sphere of interest. This is clearly reflected in the emerging urban scene. A plot is stuffed full of buildings, and there is no attempt to create any urban space where people would want to linger. Why should a private investor think about such things if he doesn't have to? Despite everything, in slightly crepuscular evening light the view of the new companions of the old town's towers is quite enchanting.
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In bygone days, higher places were meant for deities, in lesser cases for their mortal surrogates. Today, constructing high-rise buildings is the province of huge corporations all over the world. Their aim, among other things, is to demonstrate their success, significance and reliability. In big, densely inhabited, cities the builders strive upwards because of the cost of land; in sparsely inhabited Tallinn, this is not a problem. No rational reasons can therefore be found for the high-rise buildings in Tallinn.,br>
During the Soviet period, everybody aspired to do things as they did abroad. In the 1960s, imitating the proportions of the skyscrapers brought to Tallinn several slender buildings with unfortunate planning - for example the buildings for Estonian Radio and the trade unions. The trade union building is already being reconstructed. Ignoring the dimensions, these were almost 'the real thing', despite existing in a world of dwarfs. In order to achieve the slender appearance of 21st century skyscrapers, the floor space of the currently erected high-rise buildings in the Maakri area should be about 100-120 square metres. The first law of high-rise buildings, however, is that they become profitable, with a floor space of over 1500 square metres. Analysing the situation, it is quite clear that developers and architects largely neglect rationality. Künnapu & Padrik's house on Tartu Road, for example, has earned praise for its slender structure, but the floor space there is less than 500 square metres. There are various problems in filling Tallinn with high-rise buildings that the town planners have not really considered. A glance at the world map shows that most cities with skyscrapers are situated much further south than Tallinn, and none have such long shadows in mid-winter as in Tallinn. Our geographical position on the 59th latitude means that the sun shines at 10 degrees at Christmas. During that time, each metre of a building adds five metres to its shadow. Tallinn might well become the city of the longest shadows in the world. On the whole, Estonian architecture aspires to Nordic restraint, but the new silhouette of Tallinn introduces more temperamental and brutal overtones. Can't be helped - the famous 'good taste' of Estonian architects is not reflected in urban construction. I personally would never exchange today's Tallinn for the former gentle and low one. P.S. 20-30 floors constitute no height to boast of; Tallinn's high-rise buildings hardly reach the knee level of the 509-metre skyscraper that will be completed in Taipei next year. The technological limit today is considered to be approximately 1.5 kilometres - such a mega-building would probably accommodate all the inhabitants of Tallinn, and the rest of the territory could be turned into a nice park. Siiri Vallner (1972), architect at the architectural office KAVAKAVA |
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| Estonian Art 2/03 (13) | Published by the Estonian Institute 2003 | ISSN 1406-5711 (Online) | ISSN 1406-3549 (Printed version) | einst@einst.ee | tel: (372) 631 43 55 | fax: (372) 631 43 56 | |
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