Heydar Aliyev Center, Zaha Hadid, Baku
That a public building should be built in honor of or in memory of a political figure and bear their name is nothing new—from historical examples such as the Ganjali Khan Complex in Kerman or the Karim Khani buildings of Shiraz, to contemporary ones, perhaps the most famous being the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris. A building whose architecture, function, and impact on the surrounding urban fabric and space are all well-known. By the same measure, the Heydar Aliyev Center in Baku—ostensibly intended to serve as a museum and cultural center—named after a deceased political figure and designed by an authorial, epoch-making architect, creates a mental backdrop that leads one to expect something in the vein of the Pompidou Center. But for those of us who have taken to the road with Baku as our destination, most of our preconceptions are shattered along the way from Astara to Baku: the moment you cross the border and pass beneath the wrought-iron gateway of the Republic of Azerbaijan, successive photographs of the late Heydar Aliyev and banners several meters wide appear alongside the road every few kilometers, reminding you of his person, his visage, his services, and his virtues—doing to our preconceptions what the pellets of fairground machine guns do to the balloons before them. What makes these pellets more penetrating is the contrast and juxtaposition between the glossy, graphically polished and cohesive banners and the text and environment around them: from roads that make the fairground feeling more tangible, to wretched and dilapidated villages, battered Ladas and clapped-out Volgas, and shabbily dressed men who, to sell a piece of hunted meat, practically throw themselves under passing cars.
The urban setting of the approximately eleven-hectare Aliyev Center plaza is an expanse enclosed between four broad streets, all with wide, smooth sidewalks where, for whatever reason, no pedestrians walk. Instead, the roadways are crammed to the brim with cars that vary widely in model and price but are uniform in their nervous, impatient driving—a tap of the brakes is enough to earn you a sustained blast of the horn. The Aliyev Center has no defined or organic relationship with the surrounding urban fabric
and is essentially, like Azadi Square in Tehran, a separate precinct amid the surrounding streets. On Zaha Hadid's website it states: "The plaza is a continuation of the city's space within the building, or a slope extending from the building into the urban fabric, intended to serve as a spatial intermediary between city and building." On this basis, the design's formation begins at the plaza level, but how much it actually relates to the urban fabric is debatable: fundamentally, the area around the Aliyev Center is not the sort of place where the phrase "urban fabric" can be used with a clear conscience. It is a district located two kilometers northeast of Baku's historic core and the Icherisheher complex—that is, around the southern coastline of the Absheron Peninsula—and appears to have been a peripheral area that was probably absorbed into the city during the mass housing construction of the Soviet era. This district has wide, grid-pattern streets in whose blocks tall and short, old and new buildings have all been built with no relation to one another, and amid all this the Aliyev Center stands like a colossal abstract sculpture that, indifferent to its surroundings, rises alone and solitary from its grassy ground, flaunting the beauty of its graceful form before the environment. While circling the center and trying in confusion to find its entrance, we inadvertently end up on a broad highway heading northeast that also bears Heydar Aliyev's name on its sign. We drive several kilometers before finding the first place to make a U-turn, behind Baku's handsome new Olympic Stadium, adjacent to a neighborhood called Sabunchi—a neighborhood where, if its stout, fair-skinned women were to step behind their curtains, one could imagine having leapt not a few kilometers but several thousand, descending into the slums of an Indian metropolis. The area around the Aliyev Center is being spruced up: a grand and beautiful assembly hall built in the city block west of the center, new buildings under construction, and old modernist structures given a neoclassical makeover—something like the classicist buildings in Tehran's uptown, with a rhythm out of sync with the building's own structure. Aside from the assembly hall, the other buildings make an incongruous backdrop for the Aliyev Center, which is vexing when photographing.
skin plane lines site plan contour lines of the shell site plan
Main stage-1 Multipurpose hall-2 Courtyard-3 Restaurant-4 Library-5 Meeting room-6 Permanent art gallery-7 Administrative offices-8 Steel platform storage system-9 Presidential suite-10
Architectural Design The primary element shaping the form and space of the Aliyev Center is a curved shell that separates from the ground surface, executes an undulating movement through space, and reconnects with the ground. As if the earth's surface had swelled in a wave and suddenly frozen. The rising of the ground surface, its movement through space, and its transformation into a space-making element is the most distinctive feature of this building, emphasized by the continuation of the outer shell's surface lines across the plaza floor. The process of the ground surface rising begins from the plaza area, but with a gentle rhythm and a short range, and with broken lines: lines that resemble zigzag footprints on the steep face of a mountain. The shape of the plaza surface is not unrelated to the topographic characteristics of its site, and at the site's highest point—to the north—it transforms into the powerful wave of the building's shell. In describing the form and space of this building, one cannot use common terms such as wall, ceiling, and so on, because it virtually lacks such things—all spaces are created by the fluid, uninterrupted movement of surfaces. Where the shell separates from the ground or is split by a gap, the separation between interior and exterior is achieved with a colorless glass curtain whose partial reflectivity shows those outside a vague image of the interior. On Zaha Hadid's website, the shell is likened to a musical piece and its lines to the rhythm that structures the piece. There is also a reference to columns and spatial coverings in Islamic architecture, and the notion that load-bearing columns and piers beneath the ceiling are not terminated but continue through space by means of devices such as karbandi, acquiring an infinite quality. Whether columns and karbandi actually influenced the design of this building
I do not know, but the fluidity of space and the infiniteness of lines and surfaces here goes far beyond what can be seen in columns and karbandi. The fluency of form and variety of space in this building is unparalleled, a living embodiment of "each moment the idol of deceit appears in a new guise": with a shift of just a few meters or a slight turn of the head, a new space and fresh form come into view. The spaces are so pure and the forms so novel that they cannot be likened to anything, and each person, according to their own perception, finds their own associations. As far as I have seen, such freshness and variety of space can only be experienced in some of the most pristine natural landscapes. The exterior surface covering of the shell and its interior surface are a smooth, white material from the fiberglass family that has no distinguishing characteristics in terms of color, texture, or reflectivity. The neutrality of the surface covering helps ensure that the pure space and the play of light and shadow created by the dance of lines and planes are seen without any influence from the color and texture of materials. The floor covering of all spaces shares this same quality, and not just the surfaces but all the building's components and details have been designed in such a minimalist manner that they are virtually invisible—as if nothing exists but pure space. Natural light enters the building through the gaps between the shell's ceiling and the ground surface, as well as through slits in the shell's surface. The variations in lighting within the building are gradual, with no distinct boundary between well-lit and dimly lit areas: the curved interior surfaces, the continuity of spaces, and their white, semi-reflective covering distribute natural light uniformly throughout, and as one moves from the glass curtain wall toward
the building's interior, brightness diminishes gently and its change is hardly perceptible. The primary sources of artificial light are linear fixtures on the underside of the shell ceiling, approximately 10–12 centimeters wide, varying in length, their orientation following the shell's overall movement. These lights are not merely added elements but natural components of the shell, helping one perceive its geometry. Vertical circulation between levels is provided by stairs and elevators that do not derive from the design's primary lines and planes. Only in the museum's initial section, where one moves from the ground level to the first floor, does the shell's inward rotation and simultaneous rising from the ground create a sloped surface
that connects the two levels and whose rise is beautifully visible in the exterior view. Apart from the access stairs to the first-level galleries, the other stairs and elevators are located in the middle of the floor plans and are not visible. Functions of Spaces The building's function as a cultural center and presidential museum begins at the plaza level, whose surface can host public gatherings. The plaza surface at its northern end—where the building sits—is flat, and the paved or lawn-covered area is large enough to accommodate several thousand people without any fuss. However, what we actually see is an open expanse with nothing but two or three passersby and a number of crows, where the hum of traffic dominates the space. In the sloped southern section of the plaza, there is a restaurant and shop whose space is created by the rising of a portion of the plaza floor. Its roof surface is a continuation of the ground-level lawn and its body is glass. Also, an enormous multi-level parking structure has been built beneath this ground. Inside, three sections with three functions have been planned: the presidential museum
(Heydar Aliyev), an auditorium or assembly hall, and a library with multipurpose galleries. Apart from the auditorium, which necessarily has its accounts separate from the other spaces, the other two sections have been resolved within the overall space beneath the shell, and when occupying their floors, the sense of being within the totality of the space persists (the reading room has been closed off and cannot be entered). Both the museum and gallery sections are beneath the parts of the shell that have risen to great height from the ground. The floors of each section do not have identical plans—their shape and size follow the horizontal cross-section of the shell at that level. At the junction of the shell with the horizontal plane of each floor, a gap has been created that produces a sensation of disconnection and
suspension. The auditorium, despite having a space separate from the rest, maintains the same continuity of lines and surfaces, with unbroken lines shaping its floor, ceiling, walls, lighting, and furnishings. The ground-level space (plaza level) is the building's public and shared area, where the entrances open into it. Elements such as the cafeteria and information desk are embedded within it, and service areas (restrooms, cloakroom, etc.) branch off from it. The presidential museum, with its display of Heydar Aliyev's automobiles, effectively begins here as well. In this hall there are no visitors besides ourselves, and only a film crew of 10–12 people has found this an attractive location.
Structure The structure of this building consists of two parts—the outer shell and the interior sections—which are not separate from each other, and the building's structural performance results from the combined action of both. The outer shell's structure is a three-dimensional frame (space frame) woven in the very shape that is visible, though the density, cross-sectional shape, and curvature of its members are not uniform throughout. This structure connects directly to the ground at certain points and in other places rests upon the building's interior structure. The interior structure is a combination of concrete shells and steel beams. In portions of the exterior where the glass curtain wall is tall, round steel columns are visible from the inside, supporting both the shell frame and the glass facade structure. Overall, the building's structure has been adapted to the design's primary lines in such a way that its presence in space goes unnoticed.
Climate Control Whatever the building's climate control system may be, its components and elements are invisible in the space. However, the spatial unity—particularly such a large and tall space with a form that bears no relation to the natural behavior of air currents—is something that does not at all please the designers of HVAC systems. They break their backs trying to impose what they consider comfort conditions throughout the space: while on the ground level you are perfectly comfortable in a winter jacket, on the upper levels (museum or galleries) you are perfectly uncomfortable in a single shirt.
Urban and Environmental Effects On Zaha Hadid's website, something to this effect has been written: "This building is intended to symbolize a forward-looking vision and liberation from the dogmatic modernism of the Soviet era, and that in a city whose architectural and urban composition is entirely influenced by that outlook." But whether the Aliyev Center has actually been effective in liberating Baku from that prescriptive and inflexible planning is debatable: I alluded to our fantasies and our expectation that we would find the Aliyev Center to be an active, vibrant cultural hub that engages with its environment and context. Instead, we encounter a colossal sculpture devoid of citizens, where not a bird stirs in its plaza, where everyone on the neighboring streets races past indifferently, and anyone who slows down for a look is vehemently scolded. To enter, you undergo a body search; SLR cameras are forbidden; at every turn you encounter "prohibited" and "forbidden" warnings; the auditorium is also off-limits—we sneak in, and we are lucky that the guard who catches us turns out to be from Tabriz and does nothing beyond ejecting us from the hall (otherwise, who knows what the consequences of entering the "special presidential precinct"
might have been). In the galleries, much of the space is devoted to large, detailed models of buildings constructed during the era of "independence," the common trait of all these structures being their size and expense. In the presidential museum, alongside the display of Heydar Aliyev's personal belongings using every manner of audio-visual, graphic, and multimedia trick, the political and cultural history of the "Republic of Azerbaijan"—or rather the aspirations and delusions of its current leaders—is narrated. Both here and everywhere else in this city where tourists might appear, great effort is made to impress upon you such notions as: the Republic of Azerbaijan has been under occupation throughout history and it was the brethren of the Turkish Republic who liberated them from the cage of Persians and Russians; Nezami and Khaghani, since they are from Ganja and Shirvan, are not Iranian, and if their poetry is in Persian it was only because they were forced to write in it; Nain carpets and Bakhtiari kilims—labeled with exactly these titles—are products of the Republic of Azerbaijan's carpet-weaving school; from eastern India to western Asia and North Africa, every type of musical instrument was invented and perfected in the Republic of Azerbaijan.... That an outstanding work of architecture should be viewed as an opportunity for historical fabrication, that visitors are searched to the marrow to enter, that the number of guards should be several times that of visitors, that the auditorium should exist solely to dazzle the heads of foreign states, that even its cleaning staff should be hand-picked from among beautiful, slender young women—all of this is their own affair. But as far as my intellect reaches, the form and space of this building are utterly unsuited to such purposes, and its formal and spatial fluidity and transparency are inherently at odds with any formulaic, prescriptive thinking and every "it is forbidden." The continuous and interwoven spaces of this building do not tolerate "look away and stay away," and the infinite variety of its vantage points is incompatible with the imposition of a single viewpoint. But whatever
it may be, this building—however it is used—cannot be said to have become ineffective or inconsequential: granted that it may not actually function as a cultural center and the people of Baku may have boycotted it, but it has certainly been influential in the identity of this city and will surely be a precious heritage in the future. As Haji Mirza Aghasi said, if it does not serve as water for this generation, it will be bread for generations to come. Such a singular gem will be valuable and a source of pride for any city and country, especially a newly emerged country whose very name and authenticity are subject to serious doubts.
Footnotes: 1- Absheron: a peninsula in the western Caspian Sea that extends approximately 70 kilometers eastward into the water. Its name apparently means a place where the sea water washes over it with the tides. The city of Baku and two other cities, Khirdalan and Sumgait, along with a number of settlements and small towns, have been built on this approximately 1,700-square-kilometer expanse. 2- Icherisheher: the old citadel and original core of Baku, which was active from ancient times through approximately the late Qajar period. Its peak of prosperity was during the Shirvanshah era, and most of its current buildings are relics of that period. In the years after "independence" it has been restored in a manner that has given it a fantastical, cartoonish atmosphere. 3- A mention of the terminal at Kansai Island Airport in Osaka Bay is not out of place here: there, too, a terminal with four levels has a unified interior space of over twenty meters in height. But the form of its main ceiling has been designed in accordance with air current movement and, together with an array of visible channels, blowers, and extractors, enables the terminal's air circulation and ventilation. The result is that in a building simultaneously hosting several hundred times more people than the Aliyev Center, the air is not at all heavy, hot, or cold, and everywhere on every level one feels a gentle current of clean air at a pleasant temperature. 4- What a fitting coincidence: the late Haji also uttered a pithy saying regarding the separation of this land from Iran.... 5- For more about the name of this region, one can refer to the book Azerbaijan and Arran by Enayatollah Reza.