Tempelhof - Articulating the void
Niamh Lincoln
1. a
Tempelhof - Articulating the void
Niamh Lincoln
With special thanks to Florian Kossak and Klaus DeWinder. Content
January 2014 - A stroll through Tempelhof 8 - 9 Preamble 12
Chapter One - The stages of Tempelhofer Feld. History and continued discourse 16 - 47 From meadow to airfield 16 - 21 The third reich’s aerial gateway 22 - 35 Symbol of liberation 36 - 37 The end of the airport 38 - 39 Tempelhofer Feld as public space 40 - 47
Chapter Two - Tempelhof as void 48 - 88 The void as memory 54 - 59 The void as authentic space 60 - 61 The void as vulnerability 62 - 65 The void as escape 66 - 71 The void as absence of function 72 - 75 The void unrestored 76 - 79 The void as liberation 80 - 89
Chapter Three - Tempelhofer Feld für Alle 90 - 107
The power of non-intervention 108 - 115
Bibliography 118 - 129
Image credits 130 - 135
6 8 - 9 12
16 - 47 16 - 21 22 - 35 36 - 37 38 - 39 40 - 47
48 - 88 54 - 59 60 - 61 62 - 65 66 - 71 72 - 75 76 - 79 80 - 89
90 - 107
108 - 115 1. b 118 - 129
130 - 135
7 Tempelhof is defined by an overwhelming sense of absence; devoid of buildings, trees and topography. The expansive 386 hectare site sits in the midst of three of the densest boroughs in Berlin, an impassive vacuum larger than both Tiergarten and Central Park, yet bearing none of the traits of a traditional urban park. The horizontal vistas are virtually uninterrupted for miles, punctuated by the occasional kite hovering in the skyline. The geometry of the space is delineated by mud-paths and runways. Once destined for machines, these lines are now subverted for human play. On a summer’s day the place is filled with barbecue smoke and cyclists hurtling down the runway. Ernst Sagebiel’s terminal remains unchallenged: a brash, sweeping quadrant fenced off from the rest of the park, severe yet strangely serene in its juxtaposition to the vastness and flatness of the site.
Today there are no barbecues or rollerbladers. It is -11 degrees and I have chal- lenged myself to walk along the perimeter of Tempelhofer Feld. The sky is deeply oppressive and Tempelhof lies under a thick blanket of snow. It is a Tuesday afternoon in late January and the place feels deserted. I have decided to confine my walk to the boundaries of the former airfield, starting on the south east tip of the Park at the junction of Oderstrasse and Warthestrasse. A continuous interlocking fence precisely defines the fringes of Tempelhofer Feld. The southern and less frequented extremity of the park extends alongside a se- quence of brown field sites running parallel to the ring-bahn. The sound of the traffic and S-bahn trains is slightly muffled by the snow. A middle-aged couple cross-ski past me.
As I look towards the Terminal, I can just about make out the speckles in the sky as belonging to the kites of snowboarders gliding along the airstrip. To my left, there is an abrupt transition from the sequence of ex-industrial sites to a string of perfectly manicured allotments.
I have now reached the south west tip of the airfield by Tempelhof S bahn station. The landscape beyond the fence is quite different. As I head north along the side of Tempelhofer Damm the scene to my left has changed, becoming a progression of identical single faceted apartment blocks - or Mietskaserne - in- terspersed by the occasional Spaetkauf. Advancing towards Platz der Luftbrücke,
8 the airport Terminal now reveals itself at full scale. A vast concrete apron sprawls across the base of the Terminal; this area is cordoned off so I veer back east.
I am now walking into the wind surrounded by a dozen kite-snowboard- ers zigzagging across the runway. Everything is monotone. The snow is barely distinguishable from the sombre sky above. I have been in Tempel- hof for more than an hour and the bitter cold has become intolerable. I diverge onto a smaller path towards Columbiadamm. The edge borders the brick wall of a neighbouring mosque and is the only section of the air- field to have some trees. In summer people congregate here to shelter from the sun, but today I have come to shelter from the wind as I make my way back to the Neukölln entrance on Oderstrasse.
1. c
9 10 1. d
11 Tempelhofer Feld presents a very particular form of public space, as a Tempelhofer Feld presents a very particular form of public space, as a 386-hectare vacuum in the city of Berlin. Exploring the dynamics and 386-hectare vacuum in the city of Berlin. Exploring the dynamics and peculiarities that contribute to the experience and understanding of such peculiarities that contribute to the experience and understanding of such a unique space requires not only an exploration of Tempelhof ’s histori- a unique space requires not only an exploration of Tempelhof ’s histori- cal and architectural context, but an examination of the notion of ‘void’ cal and architectural context, but an examination of the notion of ‘void’ space in an urban setting. space in an urban setting. In the particular context of Berlin’s history, “even empty of objects, these In the particular context of Berlin’s history, “even empty of objects, these spaces retain an immense amount of content and weight.” spaces retain an immense amount of content and weight.”1 What is the value of respecting the emptiness of such sites? The concept of ‘void’ is related to theories of urban sociology, in partic- ular Henri Lefebvre’s approach to the production of space and the right The concept of ‘void’ is related to theories of urban sociology, in partic- to the city. Does framing Tempelhof within these paradigms suggest a ular Henri Lefebvre’s approach to the production of space and the right potential trajectory or future? to the city. Does framing Tempelhof within these paradigms suggest a potential trajectory or future? Can the success of Tempelhof ’s reclamation as public space translate to other contexts? Does the prolonged ambiguity of Tempelhof ’s status Can the success of Tempelhof ’s reclamation as public space translate to contribute to a sense of vacuum or, as Tempelhof transcends into a more other contexts? Does the prolonged ambiguity of Tempelhof ’s status formalised public space, could the sense of liberation intrinsic to its cur- contribute to a sense of vacuum or, as Tempelhof transcends into a more rent state disappear? formalised public space, could the sense of liberation intrinsic to its cur- rent state disappear?
1 Christophe Girot, “Eulogy of the void. The lost power of Berlin landscapes after the wall”, Disp 156, (2004), p.39
12 13
2. a CHAPTER 1 The stages of Tempelhofer Feld History and continued discourse
What significance does Tempelhof present in terms of Berlin’s wider narrative? Is it just another landscape scarred by ferment and destruc- tion?
From meadow to airfield
The great expanse of Tempelhof sits in a landscape defined by a virtual absence of topography: flatlands dubbed by postwar West German Chan- cellor, Konrad Adenauer, as the beginning of the Russian steppes.2 It was not a promising site, though representative of Berlin Brandenburg, a region characterized by its “vast inhospitable post- glacial floodplains with poor agricultural soil and desolate sand beds strewn with pine tree thickets”3. Today the former Brandenburg glacial plain is partly exploited for agricultural purposes and urban settlement, the remainder covered in dense pine forest, interspersed by some 3,000 lakes.4
2 Reinhard Mohr, “The myth of Berlin’s Tempelhof ”, Spiegel Online International
16 It was here, on the southern edge of the medieval settlement that became Berlin that the sheep meadows belonging to the Knights Templar became known as Tempelhof. Nearer our time, in the late 19th century the former sheep meadow became a site for military exercises, serving as a parade ground for infantry and cavalry units. In due course the field became a testing ground for military and civilian aviation. It was the inevitable lo- cation for early flight demonstrations by both the French aviation pioneer Armand Zipfel and the American Orville Wright in 1909. 5
The former meadow was also a popular destination for workers from the rapidly industrializing city in search of space and sunlight, escaping for a Sunday outing from their crowded courtyard dwellings. The first public debates regarding the use of the field date back to the 1870’s, with
2. b 29th August 1909 First Zeppelin landing at Tempelhofer Feld before the eyes of 300,000 spectators. 2. c Football game between Viktoria and Germania teams, 1895, Tempelhofer Feld.
5 Reinhard Mohr, “The myth of Berlin’s Tempelhof ”, Spiegel Online International
17 the Prussian military seeking to establish Tempelhofer Feld as a lufts- chiffhafen or aviation centre for zeppelin and airship prototypes, while others favored surrendering the site to the needs of the expanding and overcrowded city, either for housing or as a dedicated recreation space6: alternative visions which continue to provide a source of contention to the present day.
Though the Treaty of Versailles prohibited the production of military aircraft following Germany’s defeat in the Great War, ironically this gave the impetus which pushed German civil aviation ahead of other Euro-
2. d This 1925 Masterplan of Tempelhof airport was consistent with the mu- nicipality of Berlin’s intention of integrating green space into the city (Generalfreiflächenplan). Such a model of inte- grated urban planning was relatively novel for Germany at this point in time.
6 Christina Czymay, “Military aviation sites in Berlin-Brandenburg” in His- toric Airports. Proceedings of the International ‘L’Europe de l’Air’ Conferences on Aviation Architecture, ed. by Bob Hawkins, Gabriele Lechner and Paul Smith, (Liverpool: English Heritage, 1999), p. 51
18 pean countries. Since the country was not allowed to build for war, its energy and resources were focused on the development of civil aviation. Tempelhof was officially designated as an airport by the Ministry of Transport in October 1923 and, little more than two years later in Janu- ary 1926, 7 the German flag carrier Deutsche Luft Hansen held its inaugu- ral flight at the airfield. Lacking the colonial outposts that gave Britain and France their global reach, Germany used the airplane to extend its influence. Tempelhof became the hub of an airline network that radiated north to Copenhagen, south to Vienna, west to Amsterdam, London and Paris, and east to Warsaw and Moscow.8
By 1924, two runways and an initial terminal had been built and by 1930 up to a third of German air traffic was going through Tempelhof. By the mid 1930s more than 220,00 passengers were passing through annually and it was evident that the terminal could not meet increasing demands in terms of air traffic and volumes of freight. 9
7 Hugh Pearman, Airports a century of Modernist architecture, (New York: Harry N. Abrams. Inc, 2004), p.53 8 Alastair Gordon, Naked Airport a cultural History of the World’s Most Revolution- ary Structures, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), p. 20 9 Ibid, p. 126
19 2. e 1926-29 Tempelhof ’s initial terminal, designed by Paul and Klaus Engler was an unmistakable piece of Modern architecture. 10
10 Hugh Pearman, Airports a century of Modernist architecture, p.49
20 21 The Third Reich’s aerial gateway
It was not until Hitler came to power that the airport building that stands today was built. As proclaimed by a Hitler confidante, Tempelhof “[grew] out of the spirit of the Luftwaffe, tough, soldierly, disciplined.’”11 Plans to transform Tempelhof into the greatest airport in the world were consistent with Hitler’s vision of Neu Germania creating “a symbolic ges- ture, a phoenix rising from the ashes of the Versailles treaty.”12
Ernst Sagebiel, (1892 -1970)- former assistant to expressionist archi- tect Erich Mendelsohn, but by now a party member and protégé of Air Marshal Hermann Göring - was given responsibility for Tempelhof Welt- flughafen: the composite “world airport“ which was to give full expression to the regime’s ambition.13 Sagebiel delivered a building which epitomised the official Reich style, stern and monumental in scale, drawing on the spared down classicism of Karl Friedrich Schinkel, though demonstrating little of his finesse. It was a classicism which was of its time, popular also with Stalin, as seen in the ‘socialist realism’ of the air terminal at Vnuko- vo in Moscow (1937) where the façade shared the same pier pattern as in Tempelhof.
The airport halls and adjoining buildings (1936-1941) extended over a 1.2 kilometre long quadrant fronted by a single limestone façade. The finished complex was intended to resemble an eagle in flight with semi- circular hangars forming the bird’s spread wings. Though the façade was
11 Professor Gerdy Troot, wife of the architect Paul Ludwig Troost: Peter Adam, Art of the Third Reich, (New York: HN Abrams, 1992), p. 248 12 Alastair Gordon, Naked Airport – A Cultural History of the World’s Most Revolu- tionary Structure, p. 127 13 Ibid, p.126
22 garbed in austere classical dress, this was the most modern and ambitious of all 1930s airports. All the functions were consolidated into a single structure – including hangars for storage and maintenance - with sepa- rate levels for passengers, baggage and freight. Planes could come up to boarding points under the cover of an imposing cantilevered awning that protected passengers from bad weather. The terminal’s steel structure makes reference to Mendelsohn’s modernist influence, though the monu- mental language of the exterior belonged to the Nazi regime. 14
14 Brian Ladd, The Ghosts of Berlin – Confronting German History in the Urban Landscape, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1997), p. 145
23 2. f Sagebiel’s terminal entrance. Englers’ plan for Tempelhof did not allow for sufficient expansion. The location of the termi- nal limited the potential for the landing field to grow and accommodate larger planes. Sagebiel’s revised design however opened the airport to expansion while allowing the terminal to achieve a greater urban presence. Indeed this second design addresses the street in the style of a grand railway terminal more than an airport.15
15 Hugh Pearman, Airports a century of Modernist architecture, pp. 54 - 57
24 Tempelhof was a critical component in the Third Reich’s vision of Germania. Indeed, as Brian Ladd notes “the emphatic link between the Reich capital and air travel was arguably a major Nazi contribution to city planning.” 16 Working with Albert Speer, Hitler formulated a plan for Berlin as a modern Rome, worthy of the new Reich, with an immense ceremonial avenue run- ning from a gigantic domed assembly hall in the north, crossing the city’s east-west axis close to the Brandenburg Gate, and continu- ing south to an area just west of Tempelhof, where there was to be a great triumphal arch based on the Arc de Triomphe, though inevitably way larger. An enormous circular concrete block weighing over 12,000 tonnes (schwerbelastungskörper, or “heavy-loading body”) was constructed to help Speer’s engi- neers gauge the ability of the sandy soil to take the vast weight. 17 It proved too large and too solid to demolish, and today sits in mute witness to Hitler’s megalomania.
2. g Tempelhof terminal All urban planning is intrinsically connected consolidates the square on to a degree of authority and power. Yet, this the South Eastern tip finalising the ambition of such utter ruthlessness – in- course of the procession to the Great Hall.
16 Brian Ladd, The Ghosts of Berlin – Confronting German History in the Urban Landscape, p.145 17 Gavin Hodge, ed., Mythos Germania: Shadows and Traces of the Reich Capital, (Berlin: Lehmanns, 2008), pp. 60 - 61
25 tended to impose an inert plan upon a city as complex as Berlin - sets ur- ban planning of the Third Reich apart from the “technocratic rationality of all modern urban societies”18. In The Conscience of Words, Elias Canetti illustrates how the impetus behind Nazi architecture and urban planning was to acquire power through the instigation of crowds.19 Hitler’s vision for Berlin pursued a spectacle of processions and marching masses. His conception of architecture was so far removed from any individual human scale that, upon Speer’s release from prison in 1966 he exclaimed before the remains of the House of German Tourism he had once designed that “I saw in a few seconds what I had been blind to for years: our plan com- pletely lacked a sense of proportion.”20
Hitler directly opposed modernism’s thirst for perpetual change and mo- mentum by conceiving of an ‘immortal’ city defined by an architecture of clarity, monumentality and inertia. 21This thriving for longevity and life- lessness was, in the words of Brian Ladd, apparent in Hitler’s choice of:
“a simplified classicism for his architecture and of granite for his fa- cades, as well as in his contempt for the living urban traditions embodied in the streets and buildings he either ignored or demolished. Rarely has the intimate link between creation and destruction been so apparent.
18 Ibid, p.139 19 Elias Canetti, The Conscience of Words, (New York: Seabury, 1979), pp. 145-153 20 Albert Speer, Inside the Third Reich, trans. by Richard and Clara Winston, (New York: Avon, 1971), p.189 21 Hitler saw in architecture the most potent manifestation of national ideology. “These buildings are bearers and guardians of a higher culture [and as such should] represent the highest justification for the political strength of the German nation, the moral justification for the raw realm of power.” Extract from a speech of Hitler’s in: Elaine S Hochman, Architects of fortune: Mies van der Rohe and the Third Reich, (New York: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1989), p.191
26 […] The creative work in which Hitler took such pride was built on the obliteration of cities, communities, and entire peoples – “races,” in Nazi terminology.”22
Ernst Sagebiel’s Tempelhof terminal articulates this overt architecture of monumental permanence. It was the largest building in Europe when it was conceived and the façade epitomises the brashness and bravado of fascist ambition. The clarity of its aesthetic, read through the repeti- tion of simple limestone columns along the facade, aimed to convey the discipline and rigour of the Nazi regime. A vast concrete apron sprawls across the foot of the Terminal, which overlooks the airfield in a tremen- dous seemingly endless embrace.
Tempelhof Weltflughafen, however, was still incomplete by the time Hitler invaded Poland and the 80,000-strong crowds, who were to have sat on the 1.6 kilometre long tiered roof to admire Göring’s air displays, unable to come. “Instead, forced-labour was used to continue building work, while Ju-87 dive-bombers and Fw-190 fighters were assembled in the concrete railways and road tunnels underneath the terminal.”23
22 Brian Ladd, The Ghosts of Berlin – Confronting German History in the Urban Landscape, p. 140 23 Jonathan Glancey, “Board now, gates closing”, the Guardian
27 2. h Tempelhof airport, 1968. The sheer scale and form of the building, the expression of the gigantic window frames, the simple classism of the columns, monumental entrances and the stone facing are all testament to the archi- tectural aspirations of the Third Reich.
28 2i. Romantic rendering of Tempelhof airport, 1935. Ernst Sagebiel.
29 Although still functioning as an airport, Tempelhofer Feld had also housed a Gestapo prison and Concentration Camp prior to the opening of Saachsenhausen. This detention facility was located to the North West corner of the field in the former Columbia Haus military prison. Here, an estimated 10,000 detainees were tortured and murdered on the grounds of political and ideological opposition.24
24 Maria Theresia Starzmann, “Excavating Tempelhof airfield: objects of memo- ry and the politics of absence”, Rethinking history: The journal of theory and practice, 18:2, (2013), p. 213
30 2. j. Sagebiel’s models of Tempelhof terminal. 1938 2. k.
31 32 2. l. Boarding area extending below a 40 m canopy. The canopy was designed to resemble an eagle in flight.
33 2.m. Anselm Kiefer, “Tempelhof ”, 2010-11. Exhibited at the WhiteCube, Bermondsey London.
German artist Anselm Kieffer sees in Tempelhof the potentials of a latter day cathedral “a mystical site of aspiration, of absurdity, even apocalypse.”25 Kiefer’s paintings are composed of various tones of decay: violent morasses of impasto grey transmuted into patches of ochre and green. “For the artist, with its loaded history and severe neo-classical architecture, Templehof is not a place for trivia.”26
25 White Cube, “Anselm Kiefer Il Mistero delle Cattedrali”, White Cube Bermondsey, London
26 Simon Bayliss, “Ashes to Ashes Review of Anselm Kiefer: Il Mistero delle Catte- drali”, The Painting Imperative – international contemporary painting magazine
34 35 Symbol of liberation
Seized and damaged by the Red Army in 1945, Tempelhof was taken over by the US Air force, becoming part of what would become West Berlin. When the western Allies – the US, Britain and France – decided to unite three sectors, leaving the eastern sector of the capital and the surround- ing territory under the control of the Soviets, the situation between east and western powers rapidly deteriorated. In response to a currency reform, the Soviet Union imposed a blockade upon railway, road and canal access to the areas of Berlin operating under Allied control. The objective was to gain control over the city and demonstrate that Berlin was entirely dependent upon Soviet food, fuel and aid for survival. The western Allies reacted by organising the Berlin airlift (or Luftbrücke) which, in the space of 11 months, would successfully deliver 47000 tonnes of goods to the city by flying 200,000 planes primarily into Tempelhof. 27 The airport played a decisive role as the site of the historical airlift in the liberation of Berlin from Soviet Blockade. The immense success of the airlift was a defeat for the Soviet Union, which eventually lifted the block- ade of Berlin in May 1949. 28 It is the memory of the Berlin airlift that resonates loudest in the city’s collective memory of Tempelhof today. The approach to the terminal was adorned with an extensive monument to the airlift and renamed Platz der Luftbrücke, or Airlift Square, in 1951. Tempelhof had now become a symbol of German-Allied friendship.
27 Tempelhofer Freiheit, “Berlin blockade and airlift”, Tempelhofer Freiheit,
36 2. n
37 2. o.
38 The end of the airport
Following the airlift, the airport continued to function as a US military base while civil air traffic also increased. Somewhat ironically, it was the US Air force who completed Sagebiel’s design in the 1950s. Berlin Tegel airport, constructed in 1948 to alleviate pressure on Tempelhof during the airlift, was to eventually replace it altogether. From 1968, Tempelhof served solely as a US military air base and airport to the Federal Govern- ment’s national airlines. The US base eventually shut down in 1993 while the airport continued to serve a limited service to a now unified Berlin. 29
In 1996, Berlin mayor Eberhard Diepgen put forward a “Consensus reso- lution” that outlined his desire of concentrating Berlin civil air traffic in one airport: Berlin Brandenburg International (on the site of Berlin Sch previously the airport of East Berlin). Although the majority of votes cast in April 2007 were in favour of keeping the airport open, voter turn out was too low to qualify this as a valid result and so, air traffic officially ceased at Tempelhof in October 2008. 30
29 Tempelhofer Freiheit, “History at a Glance”, Tempelhofer Freiheit
39 Tempelhofer Feld as public space
Although Tempelhofer Feld belonged to the German Federal government and Federal state of Berlin and was therefore by definition “public”, the site was made inaccessible following the airport’s closure, cordoned off by an interlocking fence. The Berlin Senate had no specific agenda as to how it might be developed.
Despite initially expressing an intention to open the field by April 2009, this never materialized and the site was instead put under the control of the Berliner Immobiliengesellschaft or BIM – a private agency responsible for managing city property on the Senate’s behalf.31 The BIM were opposed to exploring the potential that Tempelhofer Feld could offer to the city as untapped public space32, and instead ensured that Tempelhofer Feld would be absolutely inaccessible, by installing a second fence and CCTV; a devel- opment which fueled the growth of opposition campaigns and a heated media debate.
Fearing a repeat of the Senate’s contested redevelopment strategy for the river Spree – Media Spree - several grassroots initiatives organised demonstrations to vocalise their dismay at the Senate’s decision to ex- clude public participation in discussions about the future of Tempelhof. The ‘Bürgerinitiative’ or citizens initiative ‘Tempelhof für alle’ instigated a 3,000-person protest proclaiming the right to the city. It split into two distinct factions: one encouraging community involvement in devising an alternate citizen initiated plan; the other preferring direct-action under the slogan ‘Have you ever squatted an airport?’ Through squatting, it
31 BIM, “Die BIM -Immobiliendienstleister für das Land Berlin”, BIM
Die Welt, “Mit dem Flughafen Tempelhof ist kein Gewinn zu machen” Die Welt
40 positioned the conflict at Tempelhof within the broader struggle over gentrification in Berlin.33
Following heightened pressure upon the Senate, the former airfield was eventually opened to the public in May 2010. Discussion about the future use of Tempelhof remained at the forefront of media debate, as the ur- ban planning authority continued to launch several design competitions on the airports’ future use. Although contested, the Senate eventually ap- proved a masterplan for Tempelhofer Feld. In a bid to respond to Berlin’s mounting housing pressures, the intention was to dedicate the eastern section of the site along Oderstrasse to building more housing and to es-
2. p. Tempelhof für alle protest scheduled for 20th June 2009 was confronted by a disproportionate police force. The protesters were unable to infiltrate the field.
33 Max Zuckermann and Frithjof Wodarg, “Stop Gentrification Take Your Right to the City’, Humanity in Action < http://www.humanityinaction.org/knowledgebase/31-stop-gentrification-take-your- right-to-the-city> [accessed on 12/08/2014]
41 tablish an educational sector along the southern edge, with the core being retained as a more deliberately landscaped park. 34 While the planning authorities continued with organising urban design competitions, there was a growing debate not just on the use of Tempelhof as public space but more broadly on urban issues in Berlin and how Berliners could be empowered in the planning process.
A concern for many was that the essence of Tempelhof would be lost: a space characterised by stretches of seemingly limitless ground devoid of cars or commerce, a void empty of conventional topography, but an unsettling and unique space challenging understood norms of urbani- ty and function. The initiative ‘100% Tempelhof ’ launched a petition to oppose the masterplan which resulted in a referendum to preserve the field without development.35 The referendum in May 2014 confirmed that the former airfield should remain unchanged, with a 65% majority voting against the Senate’s development plans.
The story of Tempelhof is emblematic of Berlin’s turbulent history and intrinsically connected to the city’s political and economic trajectory. At every stage in its history it has epitomised the city: from serving as a parade ground of the Prussian military, to fulfilling Germany’s ambition to be at the forefront of European aviation; from anchoring the southern end of Speer’s plan of Neu Germania, to playing a decisive role in West Berlin’s liberation from the Soviet Blockade; and, while finally succumb-
34 Tempelhofer Freiheit, ‘Planning and Development, Tempelhofer Freiheit
42 2. q
2. r
43 ing to post industrial urban pressures, as the city sought a new site for an even larger airport, Tempelhof ’s most recent success has been its affir- mation as a public space giving testimony to Berlin’s cultural tradition of appropriation.
1906 - 1923
1945 - 1954 2. s
44 1906 - 1923 1923 - 1938
1945 - 1954 2014 2. s
45 2. t. Tempelhof. 386 hectare void.
Tiergarten
Spree
Tempelhofer Feld
46
3. a 3. b.
50 CHAPTER 2 Tempelhof as Void
Tempelhof is conspicuous by its multiple expressions of void. How is this absence articulated? How is the notion of absence positioned within the broader context of Berlin’s voids? What implications do they present to urbanity?
Tempelhof manifests itself through its inescapable state of emptiness. Berlin’s skyline is reduced to an intangible haze along the seemingly infinite expanses of concrete, meadow and airstrips. Standing at the most Easterly edge of the field, there is no visual obstruction to Tempelhofer Damm, 2.5 kilometres away. The treeless extent of the space opens the view to the city to all sides; Berlin’s traffic is barely perceived as a distant murmur. Along the Oderstrasse entrance the Allmende Kontor plot sits as an urban gardening scheme aimed at challenging Germany’s tradi- tion of allotment ownership by inviting anyone to take part. An array of recycled pallets defines a sequence of benches and raised beds where vegetables are grown. The horizon is delicately peppered with kites and windsurfers with Ernst Sagebiel’s terminal standing undefied in the background. But, monumental as the terminal is, it is the vacuity and immensity of the space which is the defining feature of Tempelhof. .
51 The void as memory
Berlin’s history as a city in constant redefinition has resulted in a land- scape of sharp incongruities “a city of bold gestures of ferment and destruction.”36 The juxtaposition of voids – with the removal or renewal of the past alongside a cityscape equally informed by continued use, mass reconstruction and reinterpretation - has defined Berlin at an urban level. In The Voids of Berlin Andreas Huyssen positions this scarring of the cityscape in its historical context:
“It was left to fascism to transform Berlin into the literal void that was the landscape of ruins in 1945. Especially in the center of Berlin, British and American bombers had joined forces with Albert Speer’s wrecking crews who had intended to create a tabula rasa for Germania, the renamed capital of a victorious Reich. And the creation of voids did not stop then; it continued through the 1950s under the heading of Sanierung (urban renewal) when entire quarters of the old Berlin were razed to the ground to make room for the simplistic versions of modern architecture and planning characteristic of the times.”37
This narrative of erasure continued throughout the Cold War with the no man’s land and threshold spaces created by ‘ The Wall’ remaining abandoned and unusable. This notion of the void – and the differences in its composition - has implications for our understanding of urbanity; not just spatial, but also social and mnemonic; especially so in Berlin where, though “the ‘void’ may have been filled physically … the memory and
36 Brian Ladd, The Ghosts of Berlin – Confronting German History in the Urban Landscape, p.3 37 Andreas Huyssen, “The Voids of Berlin”, Critical Inquiry, 24, (1997), pp. 63 - 64.
54 history will always linger.” 38
Wim Wenders evokes this fragmentation in the 1987 film the Wings of Desire, a portrayal of West Berlin’s isolation shortly before the opening of the Wall. He presents an old man meandering through the barren space that was Potsdamer Platz in the 1980s desperately in search of the Potsdamer Platz he recalls.
The film also focuses on a traveling circus that inhabits various empty spaces in the city “superimposing onto the old map of the city a new one made of absences, carved out of the old urban material. These wan- derings and tracings through such a scarred landscape are the writing of history.”39 Berlin displays many of these voids, each carrying a very distinct aura. Indeed, Wim Wenders claims that these spaces introduced through his films hold a personality of their own.40
38 Ibid, p. 73 39 Cesare Casarino, “Fragments on ‘Wings of Desire’ Or, Fragmentary Represen- tation as Historical Necessity”, Social Text, 24, (Durham: Duke University Press, 1990), p. 169 40 “I realized that I somehow always think of the landscape in a scene as an additional character. A street, or a housefront, or a mountain, or a bridge, or a river or whatever are not just a background. They also have a history, a personality, and identity that deserves to be taken seri- ously. They influence the human characters in the front of the frame, they create a mood, a sense of time, a certain emotion. They can be ugly or beautiful, old or young. But they are certainly present, and even for an actor that’s all that counts.” Wim Wenders, “The urban landscape from the point of view of images.” in On Film – Essays and Conversations, (London: Faber and Faber, 2001), p. 379
55 3. e. Screenshot from the Wings of Desire.
“In the Berlin of Wings of Desire (a Berlin prior to the opening of the Wall, a city (re)construct- ed around physical/historical gaps, a boundary-ridden city) the fragmentation of everyday expe- rience has reached newer and further intensities and pervasion. Indeed, in the film fragmentation is represented as the enabling condition of metropolitan experience.” 41
41 Cesare Casarino, “Fragments on ‘Wings of Desire’ Or, Fragmentary Represen- tation as Historical Necessity”, p. 174
56 Since reunification, many of these voids have been filled, protected or reconfigured anew. 42 Tempelhof presents a new form of void, on a much greater scale and in response to a different historical context. While the majority of Berlin’s empty spaces “are gaps which have been imposed (literally) from above onto the physiognomy of the city”43, Tempelhof is the outcome of political and economic pressures to equip the city with a single and larger airport Berlin Branderburg. As such, the vacuum at Tempelhof is not an erasure of a previous historical space but a ‘planned’ void creating its own opportunity and challenge.
Yet, Tempelhof is “equally charged with an acute meaning or Stim- mung”44, as a space carrying very specific mnemonic and historical conno- tations. Tempelhof was not just a manifestation of fascist monumentality and Welthaupstadt Germania - anchoring one end of the city plan as “the Reich’s aerial gateway”45 - but more importantly became a symbol of hope
42 Potsdamer Platz was amongst the most controversial post reunification devel- opment schemes devised. It existed as a historically charged terrain vague that Berliners embraced for years. Its reconfiguration has erased this essence. Daniel Libeskind’s 1992 proposal for Potsdamer Platz however took note of the space’s mnemonic resonance to the city, suggesting that: “We must develop a feel for places, streets, and houses that need our support. Take the open area at the Potsdamer Platz. I suggest a wilderness, one kilometer long, within which everything can stay as it is. The street simply ends in the bushes. Wonderful. After all, this area is the result of today’s divine natural law: nobody wanted it, nobody planned it, and yet it is firmly implanted in all our minds. And there in our minds, this image of the Potsdam- er Platz void will remain for decades. Something like that cannot be easily erased.” Daniel Libeskind, “Daniel Libeskind mit Daniel Libeskind: Potsdamer Platz” in Radix-Matrix: Architekturenund Schriften, ed. by Alois Martin Miller, (Munich: 1994), p. 149.
43 Cesare Casarino, “Fragments on ‘Wings of Desire’ Or, Fragmentary Represen- tation as Historical Necessity”, p.169 44 Christophe Girot, “Eulogy of the void. The lost power of Berlin landscapes after the wall”, p. 35 45 Alastair Gordon, Naked Airport – A Cultural History of the World’s Most Revolu-
57 and liberation as the umbilical cord to the West during the Soviet block- ade. Voids are rarely associated with memories of hope and optimism for, as noted by Brian Ladd, Berlin is usually read as “a city whose buildings, ruins and voids groan under the burden of painful memories”46
tionary Structure, p. 126 46 Brian Ladd, The Ghosts of Berlin – Confronting German History in the Urban Landscape, p. 3
3. f. Sagebiel’s terminal 2014
58 59 The void as authentic space
Tempelhof ’s current state offers the possibility of another form of memory, inherent in the vastness and authenticity of the space, which has remained virtually untouched since the last passenger plane took- off in 2008. Borrowing from Walter Benjamin, Ana Souto explains that “authenticity should have the ability to legitimize a site as a repository of memory and as such it should enjoy a certain aura that is not reproduc- ible.”47
In his essay Memory Landscapes and the Labour of the Negative in Berlin, Jonathan Bach argues that through the careful articulation of certain instances of void, a memorialisation is achieved that plays on a fluctuation of the past and present:
“[Voids] are not merely metaphors, but negative spaces that make possi- ble the link between the past as an ‘intractable other’ that escapes closure and the present as the intractable self that insatiably seeks to claim experience for itself/it’s self.”48
Adding to this, Dylan Trigg justifies the significance of ‘absence’ in a site of memory as being attributed to the composition of a “counter-narra- tive in which testimony becomes guided by voids rather than points of
47 Ana Souto, “Architecture and Memory – Berlin a phenomenological approach” in The territories of identity – Architecture in the age of evolving globalization, edt. Soumyen Bandyopadhyay and Guillermo Garma Montiel, (Oxon: Routledge, 2013), pp. 77-78 48 Jonathan Bach, “Memory Landscapes and the Labour of the Negative in Ber- lin”, International Journal of Politics, Culture and Society, 26: 1, (2013), p. 36
60 presence.”49 Although the vacuity experienced at Tempelhofer Feld can be considered to be the “hallmark of Berlin’s paradoxical status as a capital without capital”,50 rather than a physical consequence of war, the fact that Tempelhof ’s narrative is so intrinsically connected to that of Berlin’s and that its vast space presents itself to the city physically unscarred, gives the site a very particular ‘aura.’ It is an ‘aura’ which through location and scale cannot be replicated.
3. g.
49 Dylan Trigg, “The place of trauma: memory, hauntings, and the temporality of ruins”, Memory Studies, 2: 1, (2009), p.89 50 Jonathan Bach, “Memory Landscapes and the Labour of the Negative in Ber- lin”, p. 37
61 3. h.
62 The void as vulnerability
Walter Benjamin sees in the notion of aura a tremendous capacity for Baudelaire’s mémoire involontaire 51 – the ability of forging personal connections between memory, experience and perception. In the case of Tempelhof, the perception of the vastness of the space and the immedia- cy of the physical experience of emptiness give rise to a personal senti- ment bordering on agoraphobia. Standing at the centre of the field fills me with paradoxical feelings of utter liberation and vulnerability. The emptiness is articulated in front of me, behind, to my left and right. The space is so barren that not a tree or hint of topography can provide the brief illusion of shelter. It is perhaps as a result of such sentiments of fear in face of open space – irrespective of the urban planners’ desire to assign function, ‘destination’ and arguably profit to every component of urbanity - that there has been so much uncertainty and conflict over the Senate’s ambitions of developing in Tempelhof.
Empty space is indigestible, intimidating, removed from rational logic. The term Horror Vacui is directly attributed to Aristotle’s denial of the presence of vacuum in nature, arguing that surrounding denser material would fill the void as well as revoking its existence, as emptiness by defi- nition cannot exist, being featureless and indiscernible. 52 As such a void confronts human logic and our desire of assigning sense to everything. 53
51 Walter Benjamin, “On Some Motifs in Baudelaire”, Illuminations, trans. by Har- ry Zohn, (New York: Schocken Books, 1969), p. 188 52 John Thorp, “Aristotle’s Horror Vacui”, Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 20, (1990), pp. 149 - 166 53 William Lidwell, Kristina Holden, Jill Butler, Universal Principles of Design, (Beverley: MA Rockport, 2011), p. 128
63 In his novel The Plague, Albert Camus likens the feeling of exile to:
“ That sensation of a void within which never left us, that irrational longing to hark back to the past or else to speed up the march of time, and those keen shafts of memory that stung like fire.”54
Here, the void (or in this particular context, an internalised void) is framed by its inability of situating itself within the present. As previous- ly suggested, a state of emptiness can offer a particular form of memory which, in the case of Tempelhof, is intrinsic to the significance of its role in the narrative of Berlin.
Emptiness, though intimidating and seemingly outside of rational logic, can also evoke a sense of freedom and liberty; with liberty being associ- ated with the acceptance of void. In his embracing of the Absurd, Albert Camus makes reference to the conflict that arises from the human need to seek fundamental value and significance to everything, against an inability to find any. Both Camus and Jean Paul Sartre believed that an acceptance of the absurd could help in achieving a sense of freedom, “since existence itself has no meaning, we must learn to bear an irresolvable emptiness.” 55
While it would be difficult and unwise to ascribe any particular psycho- logical or philosophical mentality to decisions taken in relation to Tem-
54 Albert Camus, “The Plague” Penguin Modern Classics, trans. by Stuart Gilbert (Middlesex: 1972), p. 60 55 Ronald Aronson, “Albert Camus”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, ed. by Edward N. Zalta, (2012)
64 pelhof, nonetheless this forms part of a world of contemporary cultur- al reference, the mémoire involontaire, which perhaps accounts for our reaction to the space, and the personal sensation of both liberation and vulnerability experienced there.
3. i.
65 The void as escape
At a more literal level, Tempelhofer Feld is unmistakeably read as former airfield and so, in this respect, cannot be wholly considered to exist as ‘void’. However, the absence (apart from the terminal) of almost all struc- tures or topographical features, due to the intrinsic nature of the space, enables it to be read as belonging to very distinct temporal contexts. The testimony “guided by the void” at Tempelhof (to borrow Dylan Trigg’s expression), speaks not of Sagebiel’s terminal, or the destruction of war, but instead proposes a counter-narrative of optimism and hope. It is a narrative which refers to the airlift, and where the former meadow con- tinues to provide space and sunlight to those escaping the ‘mietskaserne’ or ‘rental barracks’ of contemporary Berlin.
3. j.
66 Tempelhofer Feld stands in direct contrast to the high density of the typ- ical Berlin tenement block typical of the encroaching city. As described by Brian Ladd,
“The typical apartment block was five stories high, with a façade fifty to hundred feet wide, decorated in whichever ornate historicist style was in fashion at the time of construction. Behind the massive front façade lay a narrow courtyard, which were connected in back by a transverse wing parallel to the street façade. On smaller lots, one side or the rear of the courtyard might face the walls of neighbouring buildings, but each building’s courtyards were accessible only through archways connected to its own street entrance. On particularly deep lots, there might be a second or even third courtyard behind the first one.” 56
These blocks were pejoratively referred to as “Mietskaserne” or ‘rental barracks’ and were specific to Berlin. It is believed that by 1910, “the av- erage number of residents per building in the entire city was seventy-six, the highest in the Western World.”57 Tempelhofer Feld’s immediate proximity to the densest boroughs of Neukölln, Kreuzberg and Schöne- berg highlighted this juxtaposition, not only in the early decades of the twentieth century but also in the twenty first, where the crowded city is the counter reality to the expanse and emptiness of the space at its core.
3. k. Screenshot from the Wings of Desire.58
56 Brian Ladd, The Ghosts of Berlin – Confronting German History in the Urban Landscape, p. 101 57 Ibid, p. 101 58 “There is profound sadness in the beauty of this hovering and gliding above the
67 city and plunging into its midst, as if they were attempts to commemorate something about to disappear, to capture something in its last instant, as if every moment were the last moment.” Cesare Casarino, “Fragments on ‘Wings of Desire’ Or, Fragmentary Representation as Historical Necessity”, Social Text, 24, (Durham: Duke University Press, 1990), p. 175
68 69 3. m.
70 The void as absence of function
The emptiness experienced at Tempelhofer Feld is not solely due to its lack of visual obstruction; it is equally a space which, given its central lo- cation, is defined by an absence of purpose. The former airfield’s position at the heart of the city contradicts our expected models of urbanity. It is neither a space geared towards commercial or residential purpose nor does it have a deliberately conceived function. Rather, it is quite simply ‘public space’: vast, untouched and removed from any system of conven- tional valorisation. As such, it directly challenges established models of urban centrality that assume a city centre of corporate or commercial valorisation. Although this could suggest that Tempelhof stands, to an extent, as a counter-narrative to systems of capitalist urban centrality, this fact alone cannot be extrapolated to deduce that Tempelhof rep- resents an ‘anti-urban model’. While the juxtaposition of a dedicated open space within a densely dressed urban core is typical of modern cities, it is the language of the space that creates a provocation. The state of vacuity that it presents (through the absence of trees, topography, construction) means that Tempelhof is more explicitly read as a space awaiting development. It is this particular contradiction - the presenta- tion of a space open to development that is left untouched and without definitive purpose – that challenges conventional valorisation.
The void unrestored
71 3. n.
72 73 At another level, Tempelhof follows in a Berlin tradition where past transport residues have been adopted and reinterpreted as urban parks. Berlin attaches a particular tenderness to the commemoration of its urban infrastructure systems. Although Tempelhof is the first airport to truly transcend into the public domain as urban park, many redundant rail infrastructures (of which there are numerous in Berlin) have evolved in this manner. 59 In every instance they have maintained their form, mak- ing close reference to their previous state but in a new context.
Berlin expresses its urban infrastructure systems more explicitly than most other cities , with its transport residues, construction pipes and building materials remaining for the most part exposed. 60 In the book The Future of Nostalgia, Svetlana Boym argues that, “in no other city in the world are the means of transportation […] commemorated with such tenderness as in Berlin.”61 She gives the example of Grünewald S Bahn station, which was one of the principle sites of deportation for Ber- lin Jews. She explains that the essence of commemoration at Grünewald lies in its ability of “leaving [an] unfunctional space, beyond repair and renewal.”62 She elaborates that,
“The history here is not housed in a museum but open to the elements. In the Grünewald station the past is not present as a symbol but as another
59 The abundance of unused rail infrastructure came about as a result of both the autonomous political status of West Berlin and the former Reichsbahn losing its function to metropolitan railway. 60 Svetlana Boym, The Future of Nostalgia, (New York: Basic Books, 2001), p. 195 61 Ibid, p. 195 62 Ibid, p. 194
74 dimension of existence, as another landscape that haunts our everyday errands through the city.”63
As such the void, whether experienced in Grünewald or Tempelhof, pres- ents itself, in Boym’s words, an “antidote to restorative nostalgia.”64
63 Ibid, pp. 194 - 195 64 Ibid, p. 195
75 3. o. Schöneberg Südgelände park.
76 77 The void as liberation
Since the Senate’s initial decision to open Tempelhofer Feld to the public in May 2010, the space has been renamed Tempelhofer Freiheit (or Tem- pelhof Freedom in English). The freedom experienced at Tempelhof is inherent in its history, both as site to West Berlin’s liberation from Soviet blockade and through the more recent success in reclaiming the airfield from development. However, as previously suggested this essence also comes from its scale and state of emptiness. While this can be framed in abstract terms through philosophical theories of void, the freedom expe- rienced can also be considered from another psychological perspective, as a result of Tempelhof ’s change of status from ‘airport’ to ‘landscape’.
The term ‘landscape’ denotes a rather abstract, and perhaps intangible concept of something that only comes to life when one “turns nature into a landscape in a constitutive act of seeing” 65 i.e. as an aesthetic construct. 66 According to Imanuel Kant’s theory of Disinterested Pleasure, for a view to be aesthetic it must be considered with cognitive and logical detach- ment. 67 In the case of Tempelhofer Feld, appreciating the former airfield as landscape could only be achieved following a formalised change of state from airport to public space. While in operation as an airport, the
65 Almut Jirku, “Historic transport landscapes in Berlin” in Historic Airports – Proceedings of the International L’Europe de l’Air Conferences on Aviation Architecture, ed. by Bob Hawkins, Gabriele Lechner and Paul Smith (Liverpool: English Heritage, 1999), p. 210
66 Liina Unt, Landscape as Playground, (Aalto University Schools of Art, Design and Architecture: Aalto University publication series Doctoral Dissertations, 2012), p. 40 67 Nick Zangwill, “Kant on Pleasure in the Agreeable”, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 53, 2, (Wiley, 1995), pp. 167 - 175
78 condition of the airfield could hardly be interpreted as anything beyond its primary duty as airport. As Almut Jirku68 elaborates, when in transit, “you are in a hurry, it is difficult to distance yourself enough internally to gain an aesthetic view.”69The overt purpose of the airport becomes the central language of the space distracting one from any removed apprecia- tion of the field on purely aesthetic grounds.
The transition that Tempelhof has followed, in being transformed from airport to public space, can also be perceived as a reassertion of nature over technology; analogous in some respects to a site falling into a state of ruin. Walter Benjamin regarded ruins as “allegories of thinking itself ”70. Yet the allure of the ruin moves beyond a purely intellectu- al fascination. Quoting Georg Simmel in his essay Die Ruine, Robert Ginsberg suggests that it is “in the upsurge of nature and the downfall of human-made structure, [that] the ruin presents the meta-physical and aesthetic attraction of profound peace.”71 In the case of Tempelhof, this evolution of status, from the specificity of an airport to a less precisely tamed open space resulted at various levels – physical, aural as well as psychological – in a new experience of peace and a new imagery of tran- quility.
68 Almut Jirku works alongside the Berlin’s Senate Department for Urban Devel- opment. 69 Almut Jirku, “Historic transport landscapes in Berlin” in Historic Airports – Pro- ceedings of the International L’Europe de l’Air Conferences on Aviation Architecture, p. 210 70 Walter Benjamin, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, (London: NLB, 1977), pp. 177–178. 71 Georg Simmel quoted by Robert Ginsberg in: Robert Ginsberg, The Aesthetics of Ruins, (Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi Press, 2004), p. 491
79 3. p.
80 81 At the same time, the imagery of tranquility is accompanied by a sense of liberation: the language of the ex-airport remains expressed – through the airstrips and terminal – yet you are invited to address the space in a totally new way. The image and sensory experience of stroll- ing aimlessly down the former runway could not be any more opposite to those of a stressed traveler darting through an airport terminal on transit. This liberation and sense of excitement from engaging with the airfield in a new, previously forbidden manner is not dissimilar to the ex- hilaration of walking across a freshly frozen river or to the thrill experi- enced when a blizzard interrupts a city’s conventional rhythms.
On a similar vein, for Jonathan Bach, “the negative is not merely the in- verse of something (as in a photographic negative) but is created through an oscillation between presence and absence.”72 He goes on to frame the evolution of a void through appropriation or a change in state as another architecture of absence that “negate[s] the presence of absence through transvaluation.”73 It would appear that framed in this particular context, Tempelhofer Feld is perhaps positioned between these two conditions of absence.
72 Jonathan Bach, “Memory Landscapes and the Labour of the Negative in Ber- lin”, p. 32 73 Ibid, p. 38
82 3. q.
83 3. r.
84 Perhaps Tempelhof ’s state of emptiness can be framed through Ignasi De Sola Morales’ depiction of the terrain vague as “a place where the memory of the past seems to predominate over the present, […] outside the circuit of the productive structures of the city. […] In the end it looks like the counter-image of the city, both in the sense of a critique and a clue for a possible way to go beyond. […]” 74
74 Ignasi De Sola Morales quoted in:
Francesco Careri, Walkscapes: Walking as an Aesthetic Practice, (Barcelona: Gustavo Gili, 2002), p.41 85 86 87 3. t.
88 89 CHAPTER THREE Tempelhofer Feld für Alle? The void as locus for action
In this chapter, I intend to position Tempelhofer Feld’s vacuity amongst theories of production of space. Having framed the significance of Tem- pelhofer Feld in broader philosophical and psychological terms, this chap- ter aims to situate its impact on urbanity within a sociological framework.
The previous chapter suggests that the individuality of Tempelhof is a result of the space’s multiple expressions of void. The absence is articu- lated spatially through the confrontation of a seemingly limitless barren field. However, given its location at the centre of a leading European capital, Tempelhof manifests above all an apparent absence of overt ur- ban and economic purpose.
It is this particular condition - a lack of defined function with, for a long while a totally unknown ‘destination’ for the space - that has positioned Tempelhof at the forefront of urban debate in Berlin. Does situating Tempelhof in terms of Lefebvre’s trialectics of space provide an under- standing of its dynamics and possible evolution?
Tempelhof portrays a form of indeterminacy and openness. As Saskia Sassen explains, the notion of the urban void is of relevance in that it “picks up on the layered spatial history of cities”75 and therefore, framed
75 Saskia Sassen,“Informal economies and cultures in global cities - A conversation between Saskia Sassen and Philipp Oswalt” in Urban Catalyst – The Power of Temporary
90 in Lefebvrian terms, holds the potential for enormous productive power. In The Production of Space, Henri Lefebvre argues that space is both a complex social product and construct that influences spatial practice and perception: “(Social) space is a (social) product [...] the space thus pro- duced also serves as a tool of thought and of action [...] in addition to being a means of production it is also a means of control, and hence of domination, of power.”76
Lefebvre’s spatial theory delineates a ‘trialetics’ of space whereby space can be defined as the product of a triple dialectic of the perceived, conceived and lived space. “Space is available. Why? Because it is almost empty or seems to be […] Free space belongs to thought, to action. Technocratic thought oscillates between the representations of emp- ty space, nearly geometric, occupied by the results of those logics and strategies.”77 Here Lefebvre sees in urbanism a repressive, reductive logic that ultimately seeks to fulfill a capitalist agenda through “the control of space, the struggle against the trend toward lower profits, and so on.”78 He refers to such a conception of space as conceived space or representation of space. It is “conceptualized space, the space of scientists, planners, urbanists, technocratic subdividers and social engineers”. 79 He identifies this as the dominant means of production and distinguishes it from lived
Use, ed. by Philipp Oswalt, Klaus Overmeyer, Phillip Misselwitz, (Berlin: DOM Publish- ers, 2013), p. 109 76 Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. by Donald Nicholson Smith (Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 1991), p. 26 77 Henri Lefebvre, The Urban Revolution, trans. by Robert Bononno, (Minneapolis: University of Minesota Press, 2003), p. 154 78 Ibid, p.156 79 Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, p. 38
91 4. a.
92 93 space or representational space which is “space as directly lived through its associated images and symbols, and hence the space of ‘inhabitants’ and ‘users’” 80 This third space has the ability of surpassing and reconfigur- ing the conceived space.
Lefebvre goes on to define ‘appropriation’ as a process whereby a space is diverted to fulfill and expand human needs: “An existing space may outlive its original purpose and the raison d’être which determines its forms, functions, and structures; it may thus in a sense become vacant, and susceptible of being diverted, reappropriated and put to a use quite different from its initial one.”81 In this instance, nature’s space transcends into a new mode of spatiality.
The Tempelhofer Feld narrative can be framed through Lefebvre’s spatial theory. Its initial development came about as appropriation of agricul- tural land at the outset of the spatial production process. “Nature is now seen as merely the raw material out of which the productive forces of a variety of social systems have forged their particular spaces.”82 The cur- rent state of Tempelhofer Feld has occurred as a result of several spatial practices: as a historical product, through spatial appropriation whereby the former airfield can be regarded as a social product. The success in reclaiming the field from being assigned an ‘economic logic’ putting the space at risk of what Lefebvre would refer to as an abstract space positions its spatial trajectory within the context of social space.
Lefebvre considers abstract space as a product of neoliberal capitalism
80 Ibid, p.39 81 Ibid, p. 7 82 Ibid, p.31
94 “which includes the ‘world of commodities’, its ‘logic’ and its worldwide strategies as well as the power of money and that of the political state”.83 Tempelhofer Feld can be seen, in Lefebvrian terms, as presenting a dif- ferential space - a space that adopts a specific form of appropriation, which “acknowledges the centrality of embodied experience to the production, reproduction and contestation of urban space”.84
Lefebvre’s position suggests a consideration of space beyond the physi- cal and absolute space, to space being understood as social process. This social production of space is formative, giving rise to loci for thought and action. Certainly, Tempelhof epitomises such a space, situated outside of value-driven logic and spatial frames allowing “many residents to connect to the rapidly transforming city in which they live.” 85
Intrinsic to the concept of differential space is an understanding of the rights to the city movement. For Lefebvre, “the city, the urban, is seen not as the existing, but as the alternative content in a new society”.86 The rights to the city, framed in his terms, refers to an urban politics of en- franchisement, which “confronts the current structure of capitalist citi-
83 Ibid, p. 53 84 Alan Latham, Derek McCormack, Kim McNamara, & Donald McNeil, Key Con- cepts in Urban Geography, (London: Sage Publications Ltd 2009), p. 111
85 Saskia Sassen and Philipp Oswalt,“Informal economies and cultures in global cities - A conversation between Saskia Sassen and Philipp Oswalt”, p. 109 86 Peter Marcuse, “The Right to the City and Occupy: History and Evolution”, BLOG 15 < http://pmarcuse.wordpress.com/2012/08/02/blog-15-the-right-to-the-city-and- occupy-history-and-evolution/> [accessed on 06.01.2014]
95 4. b.
96 97 zenship.“ 87 It underpins a “cry and demand”, a slogan that, according to Peter Macuse, “legitimises and ties together many concrete demands but is not limited to them – but envisages a revolutionary change in what current cities are.”88 Lefebvre sees in the term city, the opportunity for a society to implement an idealised model of urbanity, as such, proclaiming its right is regarded as a moral, civil plea. In the context of Tempelhof, this demand has permeated through the various citizen initiatives and campaigns aimed at disrupting and replacing the Senate’s dynamic mas- terplan and successfully repositioning its future within the public realm.
How does the accomplishment of reclaiming the airfield as public space position Tempelhof within the rights to the city movement? Indeed, how does the Tempelhof sit in relation to similar initiatives, most notably the Occupy movement? Both represent populist movements outside of broader state political processes, offering an alternative and radical en- gagement with public space. Occupy, however, sought for a more explicit expression of how a new form of politics might be conceived. Inherent to both was a form of territoriality.
For Occupy, the ambition was to deliberately inhabit plots of land unoccu-
87 As Mark Purcell points out, a new urban politics is contingent upon the social and spatial structure of a city. It cannot be assumed that with the right to the city come necessarily desirable effects. Mark Purcell, “Excavating Lefebvre: The right to the city and its urban politics of the inhabitant”, GeoJournal, 58, (2002), p. 100
88 Peter Marcuse, “The Right to the City and Occupy: History and Evolution”, BLOG 15 < http://pmarcuse.wordpress.com/2012/08/02/blog-15-the-right-to-the-city-and- occupy-history-and-evolution/> [accessed on 06.01.2014]
98 pied by vertical corporate architecture. Occupy protestors saw in the in- herent nature of cities an agency for social movement and protest, as such public urban space would become vital components of the evolving model of participatory cities that they advocated.89
In the case of Occupy, making claims to public space brought to light obvi- ous discrepancies in urban life. The juxtaposition achieved by the sheer mass of protestors sleeping in tents against a backdrop of high rise office buildings stressed concerns over poverty and homelessness to a seemingly disinterested audience. The occupation of symbolically charged areas of public space90 succeeded in its ability to thrust the discourse about in- equality to the forefront of public debate driving elected political officials to acknowledge their grievance. For Occupy it was not merely a matter of recovering local space but of reinstating public discourse within the public sphere, which it aimed to re-politicise.
The objective of Occupy, therefore, had more extensive political motiva- tions than Tempelhof; the ambition was to highlight inequality in in- creasingly stratified societies by confronting the issue of current citizen disenfranchisement.
In the case of Tempelhof, the appropriation of the space was the primary objective, rather than being an instrument to politicise society – though
89 Bettina Kohler and Markus Wissen, “Globalising Protest: Urban conflicts and Global Social Movements” in The Urban Sociology Reader, ed. by Jan Lin and Christopfer Mele, (New York: Routledge, 2005), pp. 346-353 90 Privately owned Zuccoti Park - in the heart of New York’s financial district - was occupied to highlighted concerns about the role of private interests in urban gover- nance. It was politically sensitive as Zuccoti park was the product of zoning concessions to developers and therefore, occupation was also a means of re-politicising the space and the debate on its use.
99 4. c.
100 101 some certainly had that ambition. - Through the reclamation of Tempel- hof, the majority of associated citizen initiatives fought directly for the appropriation of a specific space rather than as part of a broader political agenda. Ultimately the success of the Tempelhof initiative was that its aims were explicitly articulated, defined in terms of a particular urban space, which otherwise existed without a clearly articulated purpose. As such, the ambitions of the Tempelhof für Alle initiative were more immedi- ate and tangible.
Berlin is a city that has had to continually redefine itself and to reposi- tion its planning and building strategies within the framework of its new identity. “This permanent laboratory situation, some call it ‘Berlin Tran- sit’, cannot be directly applied to other cities.”91 Certainly, few European cities have experienced the same degree of expansion, destruction and change. Inevitably, “battles for power have been played out in the physical spaces of the city since the construction of the Berlin Wall.”92 Disputes over forbidden space hold historical precedent in the city’s more recent narrative.
The critical mass of empty spaces in Berlin, given the city’s financial decline, has understandably provided strong justification for politicians and planners to reconfigure the voids for economic growth. At the same time, the fragmentation of Berlin’s urban landscape has facilitated other possibilities for the city, allowing it to develop as an alternative cultural
91 Mathias Heyden / ISPARA, “Evolving Participatory Design: A Report from Berlin, Reaching Beyond”, Field:Journal, 2, 1, (2008), p. 33
92 Max Zuckermann and Frithjof Wodarg, “Stop Gentrification Take Your Right to the City”, Humanity in Action < http://www.humanityinaction.org/knowledgebase/31-stop-gentrification-take- your-right-to-the-city> [accessed on 12/08/2014]
102 centre despite, or due to, a lack of utility-driven development.93 Indeed, Berlin has displayed an on-going tradition of unofficial spatial appropri- ation pre-dating unification. Perhaps it is within this cultural context of reclamation – which originates from the 1970s - 80s squatting movement – that Berlin’s citizens have successfully secured Tempelhof as a locus of non-commercial development within the public realm. Could Tempelhof therefore be considered as having superseded what Lefebvre would refer to as representation of space to make way for a lieu de desir?
93 Saskia Sassen and Philipp Oswalt,“Informal economies and cultures in global cities - A conversation between Saskia Sassen and Philipp Oswalt”, p. 109
103 4. d.
104 105 5. a.
106 107 The power of non-intervention
In their book Spaces of Uncertainty, Kenny Cupers and Markus Miessen equate the lack of specificity of vacant spaces to:
“ places [which] become spaces of expression for new, vital meanings, carried by groups or individuals. The meanings they obtain are always diverse and changing. The places are dynamic and unstable.” 94
Vacant land offers the possibility of an alternative urbanism aside from the constraints or ‘oppressions’ projected by traditional planning pro- cesses. It thrusts an active responsibility upon the urban citizen. As Rem Koolhaas proclaims “In this sense […] it is also outside the consumerist onslaught, bombardment and encroachment of meaning, signification and messages. The void claims a kind of erasure from all the oppression, in which architecture plays an important part.”95
Though vacant spaces are dynamic, as Cupers and Miessen note, they can also be unstable. While Tempelhof offers the possibility of an urbanism outside traditional planning processes, this possibility will require the exercise of active responsibility on the part of Berlin’s citizens to en- sure that pressure to reconfigure the space for economic or consumerist activity will not lead to alternative futures where the space is subject to conventional exploitation. While it offers possibility of an alternative urbanism, this possibility includes being exposed to the exigencies of the unknown future.
94 Kenny Cupers and Markus Miessen, Spaces of Uncertainty, (Wuppertal: Mueller und Bussmann, 2002), p.132 95 Rem Koolhaas, Rem Koolhaas – conversations with students, ed. by S. Kwinter, (Princeton Architectural Press, 1996), p.63
108 Absence can provide the impetus for new activity or, as in the case of Tempelhof, alternative forms of appropriation, where the discourse on the appropriateness of these alternatives is in itself a crucial element in the public nature of the space. In conversation with Tobias Armborst, Margaret Crawford – describes how she sees in public space an intrinsic duty for consideration of different forms of appropriation and manipula- tion:
“the whole message of public ownership is that everyone owns these public spaces. So in a sense it makes a space genuinely public when someone actually tries to enact that ownership. This is different from the ‘for everybody’ public space, which actually means ‘for nobody’. It’s very paradoxical, but if you are able to manipulate time in the city it gives you a lot of room to manoeuvre.”96
Spatial appropriation gives rise to a level of contestation as people devel- op their personal and differing interpretations of the space. It is precisely this contestation, which helps to position the space firmly inside the pub- lic sphere and accounts for the manner in which Tempelhof has a crucial discursive presence for the city. The alternatives which this discursive presence played in Berlin suggest, at a minimum, possibilities and futures for similar discourse in other contexts: not necessarily in relation to the specificities of a space or structures, but to the nature of their appro- priation. The specificities and context of Berlin may have predicated, or made possible, a particular outcome in the case of Tempelhof, one which may not be so replicable in different political and social circumstances, but
96 Margaret Crawford and Tobias Armbost, “Everyday Urbanism” in Urban Catalyst – The Power of Temporary Use, ed. by Philipp Oswalt, Klaus Overmeyer, Phillip Misselwitz, (Berlin: DOM Publishers, 2013), p. 158
109 one which, nonetheless provides a mapping of ways to envisage different futures.
Alternative forms of appropriation can also entail an acceptance of non-intervention, manifest as a form of manipulation where the public enacts its ownership through multiple forms of personalised acts of social appropriation.
Tempelhof has been reframed as malleable space, which, by defini- tion, lends itself to multiple forms of social appropriation. On a sunny day, people cycle and rollerblade along the continuous runway, or park themselves amongst the few trees in what was once a recreation area for American military personnel. Families watch football on their TV screens, distractedly monitoring their children as they enthusiastically chase each other along the dirt paths and onto the runway. The Almende Kontor becomes as much a refuge for teenage smoking as an alternative urban gardening scheme.
Although the modes of appropriation evident at Tempelhof may not be particularly remarkable, it is a space where everybody can enjoy a high degree of freedom away from overt technocratic control - there are few rules or codes of conduct dictating how one is to engage with the space. Tempelhof ’s absence of topography makes the space feel profoundly egalitarian – there is nowhere to seek refuge from others within the vast open expanse. It is a space where different temporal contexts are jux- taposed, where Sagebiel’s neo-classical terminal forms the backdrop for techno parties and wind surfing competitions. A piece of architecture that was once emblematic of Nazi oppression sits in conjunction with a level of hedonism that Sagebiel’s world would have strictly forbidden. By inviting these instances of unexpected encounter, does Tempelhof lend itself to a form of urbanity that Lefebvre would have acclaimed or does it
110 suggest a new form of appropriation which, because of the very openness and uncertainty of Tempelhof, creates a void which can be fed by our imagination and the possibilities for different futures which, as such, can never be fully resolved or definitively articulated.
111 5. b.
112 113 6. a.
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Figure 1a. August 2014. Looking to Ring Bahn. Tempelhof. Figure 1b. January 2014. Looking to Tempelhofer Damm from southern runway. Tempelhof. Figure 1c. January 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 1d. January 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 2a. Tempelhof from above circa 1948. Source: National Museum, “Berlin: City held Hostage”, National Museum Figure 2b. 29th August 1909 First Zeppelin landing at Tempelhofer Feld before the eyes of 300,000 spectators. Source: Bezirksamt Tempelhof, ed., Landing on Tempelhof. 75 Jahre Zen- tralflughafen, 50 Jahre Luftbrücke, (Berlin: 1998), p.25 Figure 2c. Football game between Viktoria and Germania teams, 1895, Tempelhofer Feld. Source: Kreuzberged, “Green in the city: Tempelhofer Feld”, Kreuzberged Figure 2d. 1925 Masterplan. 128 Source: Helmut Conin, Gelandet in Berlin. Zur Geschichte der Berliner Flughäfen, (Köln: 1974) p. 73 Figure 2e. Engler’s terminal. Source: Hugh Pearman, Airports a century of Modernist architecture, (New York: Harry N. Abrams. Inc, 2004), p.49 Figure 2f. Sagebiel’s terminal entrance. Source: Hugh Pearman, Airports a century of Modernist architecture, (New York: Harry N. Abrams. Inc, 2004), p.55 Figure 2g. Albert Speer’s Germania. Source: Manfred Hecker, “Berlin – Tempelhof: a city- airport of the 1930s” in Historic Airports. Proceedings of the International ‘L’Europe de l’Air’ Conferences on Aviation Architecture, ed. by Bob Hawkins, Gabriele Lechner, Paul Smith, (Liverpool: English Heritage, 1999), p.92 Figure 2h. Tempelhof airport, 1968. Source: Manfred Hecker, “Berlin – Tempelhof: a city- airport of the 1930s”, p.93 Figure 2i. Romantic rendering of Tempelhof airport, 1935. Source: Werner Jockeit and Cornelia Wendt, “Approaching the built heritage: the conservation plan for Berlin-Tempelhof ” in Historic Airports. Proceedings of the International ‘L’Europe de l’Air’ Conferences on Aviation Architecture, ed. by Bob Hawkins, Gabriele Lechner, Paul Smith, (Liver- pool: English Heritage, 1999), p. 160 Figure 2j. Sagebiel’s models of Tempelhof terminal. 1938 Source: Axel Drieschner, “Ernst Sagebiel’s Tempelhof airport: typology, iconography and politics” in Historic Airports. Proceedings of the Interna- 129 tional ‘L’Europe de l’Air’ Conferences on Aviation Architecture, ed. by Bob Hawkins, Gabriele Lechner, Paul Smith, (Liverpool: English Heritage, 1999), p.108 Figure 2k. Sagebiel’s models of Tempelhof terminal. 1938 Source: Axel Drieschner, “Ernst Sagebiel’s Tempelhof airport: typology, iconography and politics”, p. 101 Figure 2l. Boarding area extending below a 40 m canopy. The canopy was meant to resemble an eagle in flight. Source: Manfred Hecker, “Berlin – Tempelhof: a city- airport of the 1930s”, p. 97 Figure 2m. Anselm Kiefer, Tempelhof, 2010-11. Exhibited at the White Cube, Bermondsey London. Source: White Cube, “Anselm Kiefer Il Mistero delle Cattedral”, White Cube Bermondsey, London Figure 2n. Tempelhof airlift Source: Landesarchiv Berlin, “Luftbruecke”, Landesarchiv Berlin Figure 2o. Departure hall, 1962 Source: Manfred Hecker, “Berlin Tempelhof: a city- airport of the 1930s”, p. 95 Figure 2p. Police presence at the June 2009 protest. 130 Translating Berlin,“Tempelhof: Vom Flughafen zum Park”, Translating Berlin Source: Figure 2q. 100% volksentscheid. Source: Jens Nitschke-Dierenfeld Figure 2r. Tempelhof masterplan 2011. Source: Tempelhofer Freiheit, “Masterplan”, Tempelhofer Freiheit Figure 2s. Maps of Tempelhofer Feld (1906 - 2014). Source: Pharus, “Pläne über 100 Jahren”, Pharus Figure 2t. 386 hectare vacuum. Figure 3a. February 2013. Looking to the terminal from Oderstrasse. Tempelhof. Figure 3b. August 2014. Absence of topography. Tempelhof. Figure 3c. April 2013. Allmende Kontor. Tempelhof. Figure 3d. April 2013. Tempelhof. Figure 3e. Screenshot Wings of Desire. Potsdamer Platz. 131 Figure 3f. Sagebiel’s terminal. Tempelhof. 2014 Figure 3g. August 2014. Walking along the runway. Figure 3h. August 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 3i. January 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 3j. August 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 3k. Screenshot Wings of Desire. Mietskaserne. Figure 31. Mietskaserne tenament block on Hermannstrasse. Figure 3m. August 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 3n. July 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 3o. Schöneberg Südgelände park. Figure 3p. August 2014. Southern runway. Tempelhof. Figure 3q. April 2013. Tempelhof. Figure 3r. March 2012. Northern runway. Tempelhof. Figure 3t. October 2012. Oderstrasse Haupteingang. Tempelhof. 132 Figure 4b. July 2014. Before the storm. Southern runway. Tempelhof. Figure 4c. June 2013. Warthestrasse entrance. Tempelhof. Figure 4d. August 2014. Tempelhof. Figure 5a. July 2014. Before the storm. Southern runway. Tempelhof. Figure 5b. Sunday Autumn afternoon 2012. Tempelhof. Figure 6a. July 2014. Bails of hay on Tempelhof. Figure 6b. August 2014. Tempelhof. 133 6. b. 134 135