CURTAIN-WALL SYSTEM

The curtain wall, one of architecture’s most provocative metaphors, is surprisingly
difficult to pin down with a precise definition. Because it can be examined from multiple
perspectives—in terms of functional relationships, as an aesthetic object, or as a massproduced
system available within the construction marketplace—some ambiguity is both
inevitable and provocative.
In the first case, the curtain wall is defined in terms of its functional relationship to the
building’s structure. It then refers to the cladding, or enclosure, of a building as
something both separate from and attached to the building’s skeletal framework. Where
load-bearing walls provide both structure and enclosure, there can be no curtain wall.
However, difficulties emerge within this first definition when the question of “in-fill” is
considered: are conventional windows (or other in-fill material), when fixed inside the
boundaries of a structural frame, considered to represent curtain-wall construction? Such
construction is certainly “attached” to the structural frame but not exactly “hanging” from
it. When is a window just a window within a frame, and when does it transform into a
curtain wall? The answer might have more to do with one’s aesthetic bias than with the
actual functional relationship between cladding and structure.
From a functional perspective, curtain walls necessarily appeared precisely at the same
time as skeletal frameworks—toward the end of the 19th century. Yet the first such walls
were often strikingly similar to the thick masonry walls that they might have been
expected to supersede. Although no longer load-bearing structures, relatively thick
masonry curtain walls continued to be used in steel-and concrete-framed buildings for
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other reasons. First, thinner masonry walls—before the development of internal cavities
to block the migration of moisture through the wall—tended to have problems with water
penetration. Second, lighter facades consisting of metal or glass panels were often
considered aesthetically unsuitable for serious works of architecture because of a legacy
and tradition that linked monumental architecture to masonry construction. Third, the use
of more modern cladding alternatives required breakthroughs in environmental control
technologies—air conditioning and insulation being the most important—before they
could be deployed over large surface areas enclosing habitable spaces. Finally, building
code officials, increasingly sensitive to the real danger of urban conflagrations, prevented
the use of new, lightweight materials in exterior walls—even after other technical and
environmental issues had been addressed—if they were unable to match the proven fire
resistance of masonry.
Although defined initially in terms of its functional relationship to structure, toward
the middle of the 20th century the curtain wall began to be alternatively defined by its
function as an environmental filter—as a membrane mediating between desired interior
conditions and variable exterior circumstances. Sunscreens (bris es -soleil), double glazing, and
pressure-equalized rain screens were among the functional responses to this concern,
culminating in the late 20th century’s technologically sophisticated “bioclimatic” designs.
In these “green” buildings, an array of computer- and user-controlled devices may be
embedded within the curtain wall to encourage the use of fresh air and natural daylighting
while at the same time aiming to improve user comfort, reduce energy consumption, and
promote a “sustainable” lifestyle.
Curtain walls can also be defined as the embodiment of an aesthetic intention—the
second of the three perspectives mentioned previously. Numerous such curtain-wall
themes can be identified in 20th-century architecture. They coalesce, in general, around
the revolutionary “new” materials of metal and glass: metal (as industrialized, massproduced,
streamlined panel), glass (as transparent or reflective surface, crystalline solid,
or harbinger of an enlightened culture), or metal and glass com- bined (as woven “fabric”
or abstract grid). Still, other more traditional materials and systems, including stucco,
concrete, brick, and stone veneer, have also played a role in validating the curtain wall
within various aesthetic domains and not merely as the by-product of functional
considerations. The ideal of an all-glass skin perhaps was the most persistent curtain-wall
theme of the 20th century. Starting with metal window systems containing relatively
small glass panes and moving toward larger glass sizes with smaller mullion profiles, the
most technically advanced glass walls of the late 20th century managed to eliminate
mullions entirely, whether by using the glass itself as a structural material, relying on
structural sealant joints, or by pinning the glass to elegantly detailed lightweight steel
substructures.
Ironically, the initial aesthetic formulation of the modern metal-and-glass curtain wall
preceded the invention of multistory skeletal frameworks. Greenhouses were being built
in Europe, even in the mid-17th century, with large areas of glass divided by wooden, and
later iron, mullions. By the mid-19th century, skins of metal and glass were commonly
used for the roofs of markets, gallerias, and train stations. London’s Crystal Palace of
1851 was extremely influential not only in validating the architectural use of iron and
glass but also in foreshadowing its rationalization as an industrialized system.
It is as a system—the third perspective mentioned previously—that the curtain wall
became widely available within the building construction marketplace. Early 20thcentury
curtain walls tended to be unique and custom made, fabricated individually from
the cast iron, rolled steel, and plate glass that were just beginning to appear as
industrialized commodities. However, by the mid-1930s the emerging sheet-metal
technologies (and aesthetics) associated with the mass production of airplanes and
automobiles began to be seriously adapted to building construction, especially the
development of metal curtain-wall panels. Starting at the end of World War II, the 20th
century’s ubiquitous metal-and-glass curtain-wall systems—repetitive grids of extruded
aluminum mullions and horizontal rails fastened to a building’s structural skeleton and
supporting panels of glass or metal—increasingly began to appear on commercial and
institutional buildings. The newly invented float process made large areas of glass even
more feasible beginning in the 1950s.
Other panelized curtain-wall systems also appeared as cladding options: these
included composite metal panels containing lightweight cores of honeycombed material
or foam plastic insulation sandwiched between two layers of thin sheet metal (aluminum
or steel); precast concrete panels, custom designed for each job but still manufactured
within a rationalized, systematic production setting; and thin stone veneer panels, factory
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cut to a thickness as little as one inch, then attached to the building’s structure using
proprietary metal clips and anchors. Even traditional brick and stucco became integrated
into manufactured curtain-wall systems: brick as part of layered cavity wall systems and
stucco, most commonly in the form of EIFS (exterior insulation and finish systems),
consisting of thin polymer-based plaster laminae applied with fiberglass reinforcing mesh
to a surface of rigid foam insulation. Among the numerous architects or designers
associated with the development of curtain-wall technology or its aesthetic refinement, a
partial list would include Nicholas Grimshaw, Norman Foster, Walter Gropius, Le
Corbusier, Richard Meier, Jean Nouvel, I.M.Pei, Cesar Pelli, Jean Prouvé, Peter Rice,
Kevin Roche, Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Eero Saarinen, Ken Yeang, and the firm of
Skidmore, Owings and Merrill.
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CULTURAL CENTRE JEAN-MARIE TJIBAOU, NOUMÉA, NEW CALEDONIA


Designed by Renzo Piano; completed 1998
Since the mid-19th century, the Melanesian island community of New Caledonia in
the South Pacific Ocean has been a French territory. Prized for its valuable nickel
deposits, sections of New Caledonia have been extensively mined by the French, leaving
the countryside a disturbing melange of natural landforms and man-made quarries. The
desire for cultural recognition became the catalyst for a strong Kanak nationalist
movement, which formed in the 1980s. However, despite growing French recognition of
the plight of the Kanak people, by 1988 the movement had been largely unsuccessful
political extremists assassinated. In the following year, civil unrest grew in New
Caledonia, among the Kanak leader, Jean-Marie Tjibaou, and several of his followers.
Tjibaou’s death, and the rift it symbolized between the French government and the native
Kanak people, led French President Mitterand to support the construction of a cultural
center in New Caledonia as the first step in a process of political and cultural
reconciliation. A limited international architectural competition for the Tjibaou Cultural
Centre was held in 1991, and a design from architect Renzo Piano and his Building
Workshop was awarded first prize.
The site for the building is a spectacular promontory on the Tina Peninsula at the
eastern edge of New Caledonia’s capital city, Nouméa. The promontory, a densely
vegetated strip of land, lies between a small lagoon and the Bay of Magenta. It is
sufficiently close to the city that it fulfills Tjibaou’s aims for such a center to be
accessible to urban Kanaks, yet it is also within the natural landscape. Piano’s winning
scheme features a picturesque, and perhaps romanticized, cluster of structures that closely
resemble overscaled traditional huts. In this preliminary scheme, these huts, or “cases,” as
they are known in French, are distributed around a narrow spine that runs along the ridge
of the promontory. Despite being criticized for its complex technical detailing and its
heavy-handed formal references to regional culture, Piano’s preliminary design was
strongly supported by the Kanak people, and work was begun on the project in 1992.
In its final form, as completed in 1998, the Tjibaou Cultural Centre consists of a
central open spine with three clusters of cases, ten in total, all to the southeastern side of
the spine. To the opposite side is a series of lower, rectilinear volumes, which are
recessed up to three stories deep into the site. The largest of these volumes, a 400-seat
theater, is also extended into the landscape to create an outdoor performance space. A
public car park is at one end of the promontory, and visitors approach the building
obliquely, first seeing the distinctive roof silhouette of the cases before rising up from the
lower, lagoon side to the main entry. The spine is entered, as is appropriate for a visitor to
a Kanak building, at right angles approximately one-third of the way along its length. An
underground tunnel, roughly parallel to the spine, provides for servicing to all areas of the
development.
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Each of the ten cases is circular in plan and is clad, for three-quarters of its
circumference, in a double layer of vertical timber ribs that support a
system of in-fill panels comprising horizontal timber slats and glass and
timber louvers. The inner wall of timber ribs is vertical, whereas the outer
wall bows out from the base of the circle and is tied back at its apex like a
billowing timber sail. Both inner and outer ribs are cut away at the rear, or
lower, side adjacent to the circulation spine, and a steeply inclined circular
metal roof is supported on the inner wall. At their peaks the tallest of the
timber ribs reach a height of approximately 90 feet (28 meters) and are
clearly visible from the distance. All of the joints are steel, and the ribs are
constructed of iroko wood, which is naturally termite resistant and is able
to be laminated. The gap between the inner and outer rib walls is carefully
controlled to capture light winds to cool the structure while allowing the
interior to be sealed in the event of cyclones.
Internally, the cases house gallery spaces, a multimedia library, and several small lecture
theaters. The three clusters, although not as obvious as they are in the original scheme,
still divide the cases into different functional zones, with the public galleries toward the
northeast and the more private, or controlled, galleries to the southwest.
The cases, which come in three sizes, are the most visible and iconic elements of the
design. They recall the structure, texture, and spatial distribution of the traditional Kanak
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village. They also have a natural tactility and level of detail that are similar to the
complexity of the surrounding vegetation (particularly the tall Norfolk Island pines). The
cases successfully evoke a regional cultural form, the Kanak village, without resorting to
kitsch representation and without demeaning local tradition. This is arguably the
buildings’ greatest success—they are both stridently modern in technology and detailing
yet able to capture some sense of the spirit of the land and its people. For this reason the
buildings are often identified with critical regionalist practices that reject overt mimicry
of traditional forms in favor of designs that capture some aspect of regional tectonics,
light quality, or spatial practices.
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