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Aero-kinaesthetics : airport aesthetics and the regulation of mobilities in the terminal Hubregtse, Menno Jacobus Stuart 2015

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    AERO-KINAESTHETICS: AIRPORT AESTHETICS AND THE REGULATION OF MOBILITIES IN THE TERMINAL   by  Menno Jacobus Stuart Hubregtse  B.F.A., University of Saskatchewan, 2001 M.A., University of Victoria, 2008    A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY   in   THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES  (Art History and Theory)      THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Vancouver)    October 2015   © Menno Jacobus Stuart Hubregtse, 2015   ii  Abstract This dissertation introduces an aesthetic type named “aero-kinaesthetics” which offers a new understanding of the operation of major international air terminals. It allows for a critical comprehension of the terminal’s objective of securely processing passengers as well as its more spectacular features involving commercial facilities and cultural components. Although this analysis of aero-kinaesthetics is based on the design of numerous international terminals, it focuses on Hong Kong International Airport, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, London Heathrow Terminal 5, and Vancouver’s YVR. This investigation not only examines the architecture and design at these four sites but also the sculptures and installations commissioned for their publicly accessible spaces. Aero-kinaesthetics encompasses two aspects of airport aesthetics pertaining to movement. The first aspect is a functional aesthetic determined by the airport’s role as both a mobility-system that regulates and processes passengers and as a consumption centre that relies on profits generated by passenger spending. The second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, which pertains to the original meaning of aesthetics as ‘perception by feeling,’ considers how air terminal artworks and design might operate on an affective register to elicit virtual sensations of kinaesthesia. Air terminal artworks and design often have movement-related themes. This visual imagery in many cases refers to a quality of movement that is less restricted than the kind of movement that is typically experienced by passengers transiting through the terminal. These two aspects operate in tandem. While the first aspect of airport aesthetics is exploited at my four sites to organize passengers’ movements into ordered, directional stop-and-go flows, the second aspect appears as visual imagery that represents relatively unconstrained movements. The first three chapters examine how and to what extent these two aspects appear at my four sites. iii  The fourth chapter considers how aero-kinaesthetics pertains to the political aspects of controlling passenger movement across borders. The final chapter addresses how this dissertation is a new type of investigation of spatial practices.  iv  Preface  This dissertation is original, unpublished, independent work by the author, Menno Hubregtse. A preliminary version of Chapter Two was presented at the Royal Geographical Society (with IBG) Annual International Conference in 2013. A draft of Chapter Three was presented at the Universities Art Association of Canada Annual Conference in 2013. Chapter Five is based on a paper presented at the Universities Art Association of Canada Annual Conference in 2014.   v  Table of contents  Abstract ................................................................................................................................ ii  Preface ................................................................................................................................. iv  Table of contents ................................................................................................................... v  List of figures ......................................................................................................................vii  Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................... xiii  Introduction ........................................................................................................................... 1  Chapter One: Air terminal design at Schiphol, YVR, Heathrow, and HKIA ......................... 21  Schiphol .................................................................................................................. 23 Vancouver’s YVR ................................................................................................... 38 Heathrow ................................................................................................................. 54 HKIA....................................................................................................................... 68 Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 82  Chapter Two: Aero-kinaesthetics as a type of functional beauty .......................................... 84  Air terminals as spaces of circulation, surveillance, consumption, and spectacle ...... 86 Aero-kinaesthetics as a functional aesthetic............................................................ 103 Commerce and function ......................................................................................... 114 Aero-kinaesthetics, proper function, and agency .................................................... 120 Conclusion ............................................................................................................. 126  Chapter Three: Concepts of affect and kinaesthesia ........................................................... 127  What is affect? ....................................................................................................... 130 Affect and architecture ........................................................................................... 133 Boundaries of affect and articulation ...................................................................... 135 Air terminal artworks and kinaesthesia................................................................... 139 Aero-kinaesthetics and place-themed representations ............................................. 150 Artworks that are exceptions to the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics ................. 161 Conclusion ............................................................................................................. 166  Chapter Four: Border crossings and filtering circulation .................................................... 168  Border screening zones .......................................................................................... 169 In ‘no man’s land’: YVR’s Musqueam Welcome Area and duty-free shops ............ 186 Conclusion ............................................................................................................. 189  vi  Chapter Five: Aero-kinaesthetics and theories of practices ................................................ 192  Conclusion ........................................................................................................................ 200  Figures .............................................................................................................................. 206  Bibliography ..................................................................................................................... 290  vii  List of figures  1. Jonathan Borofsky, I Dreamed I Could Fly, Terminal 1, Toronto Pearson  International Airport, Mississauga, Canada, 2003 .............................................................. 206  2. Aero-kinaesthetics ......................................................................................................... 207  3. Eero Saarinen, Trans World Airlines Terminal, John F. Kennedy (originally  Idlewild) International Airport, New York, New York, 1962 ............................................. 208  4. Eero Saarinen, Trans World Airlines Terminal, John F. Kennedy (originally  Idlewild) International Airport, New York, New York, 1962 ............................................. 209  5. Michel Santry, aerial installation, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998 ..................................................................................... 210  6. Carel Visser, Flying Fish, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1993 ............................................................................................................. 211  7. Bill Reid, The Spirit of Haida Gwaii: The Jade Canoe, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1994..................................................................................................................... 212  8. Marc Brusse, I meet you, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1993 ............................................................................................................. 213  9. Marius Duintjer, Terminal, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1967. Departures area, landside ..................................................................... 214  10. Marius Duintjer, D-Pier, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1967 ............................................................................................................. 215  11. Approximate layout of Schiphol’s Departures Level (not to scale) ............................... 216  12. Marius Duintjer, C-Pier, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1967 ............................................................................................................. 217  13. Benthem Crouwel NACO, Terminal-West, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 1993. Departures area, airside, Lounge 3 .......................... 218  14. Benthem Crouwel NACO, H/M-Pier, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol,  Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 2005 ................................................................................. 219  15. Benthem Crouwel NACO, Terminal-West, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 1993. Departures area, landside ........................................ 220  16. Approximate layout of Schiphol’s Arrivals Level (not to scale) ................................... 221 viii   17. Benthem Crouwel NACO, Schiphol Plaza, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 1995 ................................................................................. 222  18. Dennis Adams, Coda, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1995 ............................................................................................................. 223  19. Shinkichi Tajiri, Knot, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1974 ............................................................................................................. 224  20. Kees Franse, Apple, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1975 ............................................................................................................. 225  21. Carel Visser, Salami, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1967 ............................................................................................................. 226  22. André Volten, Rustcloud, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1967 ............................................................................................................. 227  23. George Rickey, Four Lines, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 1975 ............................................................................................................. 228  24. John Körmeling, Hihi haha, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 1993 ............................................................................................................. 229  25. Jenny Holzer, Untitled, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer,  Netherlands, 1995 ............................................................................................................. 230  26. Benthem Crouwel NACO, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 2002 ................................................................................. 231  27. Booth seat in the shape of a Delft Blue tea cup, Dutch Kitchen, Amsterdam  Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, date unknown ....................................... 232  28. Delft-Blue-themed plant pots, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, date unknown................................................................................................ 233  29. Robert Murray, Cumbria, University of British Columbia, Vancouver,  Canada, 1966..................................................................................................................... 234  30. Lew Parry, Rocket, Vancouver, Canada, 1936, replica 1985. The replica  was constructed by the Vancouver Transportation Club and Sheet Metal  Workers Local 280 ............................................................................................................ 235  31. Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., International Terminal, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1996. Departures area, landside (above), and arrivals area, landside (below) ........ 236 ix   32. Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., International Terminal, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1996. Departures area, airside .............................................................................. 237  33. Lutz Haufschild, The Great Wave, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 1996.  Bill Reid’s The Jade Canoe is in the foreground ................................................................ 238  34. Carpet, International Terminal, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 1996.  Departures area, landside ................................................................................................... 239  35. Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., International Terminal, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1996. Arrivals area, airside .................................................................................. 240  36. Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., International Terminal, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1996. Arrivals area, airside .................................................................................. 241  37. Susan A. Point, Flight (Spindle Whorl), YVR, Richmond, Canada, 1995 ..................... 242  38. Susan A. Point, Musqueam Welcome Figures, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 1996 ........... 243  39. Joe David, Welcome Figures, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 1986 .................................... 244  40. Architectura, International Terminal expansion, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 2000.  Arrivals area, airside. View of ‘Pacific Passage’ with Connie Watts, Hetux, 2000 ............. 245  41. Don Yeomans, Celebrating Flight, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 2007 ............................ 246  42. Stantec, International Terminal expansion, YVR, Richmond, Canada, 2007.  Departures area, airside. View of food court, aquarium, and Lyle Wilson and  John Nutter, Orca Chief and the Kelp Forest, 2007 ........................................................... 247  43. Patrick Amiot and Brigitte Laurent, Flying Traveller, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1996..................................................................................................................... 248  44. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Departures area, landside ........................................... 249  45. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Terminal building (left) and parking garage (right) .... 250  46. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Departures area, airside ............................................. 251  47. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Arrivals area, landside ............................................... 252  x  48. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Landside.................................................................... 253  49. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Arrivals area, landside ............................................... 254  50. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Departures area, landside ........................................... 255  51. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Departures area, airside ............................................. 256  52. Troika, Cloud, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon,  United Kingdom, 2008 ...................................................................................................... 257  53. Langlands and Bell, Moving World (Day), Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport,  London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008 .................................................... 258  54. Langlands and Bell, Moving World (Night), Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport,  London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008 .................................................... 259  55. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Arrivals area, landside ............................................... 260  56. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Departures area, landside ........................................... 261  57. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Departures area, airside ............................................. 262  58. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Aerial view ................................................................. 263  59. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Aerial view ................................................................. 263  60. Foster and Partners, London Stansted Airport, Uttlesford, United Kingdom, 1991. Departures area, landside ................................................................................................... 264  61. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, airside ............................................... 265  62. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, airside ............................................... 266  xi  63. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, landside............................................. 267  64. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, airside (above),  arrivals area, airside (below) .............................................................................................. 268  65. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, landside............................................. 269  66. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, landside............................................. 270  67. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, landside............................................. 271  68. Foster and Partners, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1998. Departures area, airside ............................................... 272  69. Van Lau, Ying Yang, Terminal 1, Hong Kong International Airport,  Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1970 ..................................................................................... 273  70. Roger Freeman, 1910 Farman biplane replica, Terminal 1, Hong Kong  International Airport, Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 1997 .................................................... 274  71. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill LLP, Terminal 2, Hong Kong International  Airport, Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 2007. Departures area, landside ............................... 275  72. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill LLP, Terminal 2, Hong Kong International  Airport, Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 2007. Departures area, landside ............................... 276  73. Auspicious Coloured Ribbon, Terminal 2, Hong Kong International  Airport, Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, date unknown .......................................................... 277  74. Skidmore, Owings & Merrill LLP, Terminal 2, Hong Kong International  Airport, Chek Lap Kok, Hong Kong, 2007. Departures area, landside ............................... 278  75. Richard Rogers Partnership, Terminal 5, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2008. Arrivals area, landside ............................................... 279  76. Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., International Terminal, YVR, Richmond,  Canada, 1996. Departures area, airside .............................................................................. 280  77. Map (with detail), Schiphol Plaza, Amsterdam Airport Schiphol,  Haarlemmermeer, Netherlands, 1995 ................................................................................. 281  xii  78. YVR Map detail .......................................................................................................... 282  79. Map (with detail), Suvarnabhumi Airport (Bangkok International Airport),  Rachathewa, Bang Phli District, Thailand, 2006 ................................................................ 283  80. Scene of The Churning of The Milk Ocean, Suvarnabhumi Airport (Bangkok  International Airport), Rachathewa, Bang Phli District, Thailand, 2006 ............................. 284  81. Richard Wilson, Slipstream, Terminal 2, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2014.................................................................................... 285  82. Richard Wilson, Slipstream, Terminal 2, Heathrow Airport, London Borough of Hillingdon, United Kingdom, 2014.................................................................................... 286  83. Jordan Motor Car Company, advertisement, 1923........................................................ 287  84. Jeff de Boer, When Aviation Was Young, Calgary International Airport,  Calgary, Canada, 2002 ...................................................................................................... 288  85. Trans-Canada Air Lines, advertisement, 1960 .............................................................. 289  xiii  Acknowledgements  I wish to thank my supervisor, Rhodri Windsor Liscombe, for his generous support and valuable insights throughout the research and writing of this thesis. It has been a great pleasure to work with him throughout this process. I also wish to thank my committee members, Charlotte Townsend-Gault and Sherry McKay, for their help with developing my ideas and arguments in this dissertation. I wish to extend my gratitude to the external examiner, Bridget Elliott, and the university examiners, Richard Cavell and Richard Prince, for their suggestions for further research.  Rob Stone, Carol Knicely, Marvin Cohodas, John O’Brian, Scott Watson, and the graduate students in the Department of Art History, Visual Arts, and Theory at UBC have provided helpful comments and feedback since the early stages of this project. Christopher Thomas, Catherine Harding, Erin Campbell, Carolyn Butler-Palmer, Allan Antliff, and Tim Schwanen offered valuable advice and a number of insights. Hein Baijer and Ben Hasselman at Netherlands Airport Consultants B.V., Jan Benthem, Heymen Westerveld, and Iris van Rijk at Benthem Crouwel, Jeiran Ebrahimi at InterVISTAS, and Fenne Roefs and Annemarie van den Bos at Mijksenaar provided their expertise and pointed me towards research materials that helped shape this thesis. I am grateful to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC), the Department of Art History, Visual Arts, and Theory at UBC, and the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies at UBC for providing me with financial assistance. Finally, I wish to thank my family and friends. I am especially indebted to my mother and sister who have provided an enormous amount of support during my doctoral studies. xiv  My extended family also helped me considerably while I was conducting my research in the Netherlands.       1  Introduction In this thesis I present a new understanding of the aesthetics of international air terminals. These buildings, whose main function is to move passengers, their baggage, and duty-free purchases through the building and onto the airplane, are controlled spaces marked by security, spectacle, and spending. They are designed to order passenger flows and to maximize profits from shops and restaurants. After being deregulated during the 1970s and 80s, airports began to rely on retail profits to pay for operating costs and were redesigned as consumption centres.1 Many of today’s international airports recoup more money from retail spending and parking than the landing fees paid by airlines. On the one hand, planners try to design routes through the terminal that can be easily navigated, while on the other hand, they try to draw passengers to move along routes lined with retail outlets and services. The air terminal moves people using a stop-and-go process – passengers are forwarded along pathways such as corridors and escalators and are contained in spaces such as departure lounges and observation decks.2 Within these architectural spaces, planners typically install visual media such as advertisements and artworks. Although the types of imagery represented vary, many of the artworks convey themes of flight and other kinds of movement. Through an analysis of four major terminals, two in Europe, one in North America, and one in Asia, I consider air terminal aesthetics in terms of its regulation and representation of movement.                                                 1 Brian Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal: New Approaches to Airport Architecture, 2nd ed. (New York: Spon Press, 2005); Rhodri Windsor-Liscombe, “Usual Culture: The Jet,” TOPIA: Canadian Journal of Cultural Studies 11 (2004): 83-99. 2 Peter Adey, “‘May I have your attention’: airport geographies of spectatorship, position, and (im)mobility,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 25, no. 3 (2007): 515-536; Gillian Fuller, “> store > forward >: Architectures of a future tense,” in Aeromobilities, ed. Saulo Cwerner, Sven Kesselring, and John Urry (New York: Routledge, 2009), 63-75. 2  I argue that an aesthetic type that I have named “aero-kinaesthetics” offers a critical interpretation of air terminal’s operation. However, this reassessment of air terminal architecture, design, and artworks focusses on types of aesthetic character instead of an evaluation of specific aesthetic attributes. Moreover, aero-kinaesthetics addresses two aspects of airport aesthetics pertaining to movement. The first aspect considers the functional appeal of architecture, artworks, and design with respect to the airport’s role as both a mobility-system that regulates and processes passengers and as a consumption centre that relies on profits generated by passenger spending. The second aspect turns to the original meaning of aesthetics, or aisthētikos, as concerning that which pertains to sensory perception. I concentrate on air terminal artworks and design that have themes relating to movement. In addition, I examine the types of movement represented and how such representations of movement have the capacity to stimulate kinaesthesia – the body’s sensation of movement. Air terminal artworks and design that have movement-related themes often refer to a quality of movement that is less restricted than the kind of movement that is typically experienced by passengers transiting through the terminal. Moreover, the first aspect of airport aesthetics is often exploited to organize passengers’ movements into ordered, directional stop-and-go flows, while the second aspect, operating on a representational level, in many cases connotes relatively unconstrained movements that elicit sensations of kinaesthesia. These two aspects of aero-kinaesthetics are exemplified by Jonathan Borofsky’s I Dreamed I Could Fly (Figure 1). Situated in Toronto Pearson International’s Terminal 1, this artwork is adjacent to the pre-boarding security zone leading to the D-gates. Passengers departing from the terminal’s D gates must first pass through this screening area. The x-ray machines and metal detectors are not visible to the passengers approaching the security zone 3  as they are obscured by a wall that blocks one’s view to the terminal’s airside. Like most pre-flight security checks, there are rows of retractable cordon barriers that are deployed to create a zigzagging pathway to contain the queue of passengers. Before entering this queue, the passenger’s boarding pass is checked by personnel. Shortly after the last hairpin turn in the zigzagging queueing system, the passenger is directed by security personnel to one of the zone’s checkpoints. Passengers flying first class and passengers with NEXUS cards can bypass this queue and go directly to a checkpoint.3 Before each checkpoint passengers must pass through a doorway in the barrier wall that hides the airside from the landside. Upon reaching the doorway, passengers can catch a glimpse of I Dreamed I Could Fly, which hangs from the ceiling behind this screening zone. After crossing this barrier, passengers must empty their pockets, remove their belt, and take off their coats and place these items in a tray. Laptop computers and liquids exceeding 100 millilitres must be removed from their luggage and placed in a tray as well. While these trays and the passengers’ luggage are being sent along a conveyor belt, each passenger is signaled by a security official to walk through a metal detector. Depending on the detector’s output, the passenger is either waved to move along or further scrutinized by being scanned with a detector wand or patted down by hand. From here the passenger moves to the output side of the luggage x-ray. In some cases, passengers must assent to having their bag searched by personnel based on the x-ray of their luggage. After being cleared to pass, passengers often have little time to collect their belongings and luggage while other passengers behind them in the queue anxiously wait their turn. But when they are walking to the escalators and descending to the gates below,                                                3 NEXUS is a program administered by the Canada Border Services Agency and U.S. Customs and Border Protection that expedites the border-crossing process for “low-risk” travellers. Those who would like to acquire a NEXUS card must apply through these national agencies (see “About Nexus,” Canada Border Services Agency, accessed December 26, 2014,  4  passengers have an unobstructed view of I Dreamed I Could Fly. Its five figures hover below a large round skylight in the ceiling. Each figure is made of aluminum and Lexan, a translucent polymer, and is differently coloured: green, yellow, red, orange, and blue. Their arms and legs are outstretched, and the figures give the impression that they can either fly through the oculus above or swoop through the terminal’s vast spaces. This artwork hangs above a junction in this circulation system. Passengers coming off the escalators must either walk straight to gates D31-45, right to gates D1-28, or left to gates D51-57. There are two consumption spaces adjacent to this intersection: a Tim Horton’s to the left, which sells coffee, doughnuts, cookies, and sandwiches, and to the right is the Watermark store, which sells books, magazines, snacks, drinks, travel accessories, and Canada- and Toronto-themed clothes and gifts such as hand bags with an image of the city’s iconic CN tower. At the time of writing, the store also sold the official merchandise for the 2015 Pan Am Games, which Toronto is hosting. Gillian Fuller identifies a similar difference between the type of movement conveyed by aviation design and the actual experience of air travel.4 She notes that the overall aesthetic of air terminals and aircraft “works to inculcate a sense of smoothness and transparency in movement” but that this aesthetic contrasts with the actual stop-and-go process that tightly regulates the movements of passengers through the terminal.5 Fuller’s analysis concentrates on how the air terminal is experienced as a series of interrupted movements and periods of waiting. While my thesis also examines how air terminals order passenger movement, it departs from her study by examining how air terminals install artworks and other forms of representation that often convey a relatively free sense of movement. Furthermore, my study                                                4 Fuller, “> store > forward >,” 63-75. 5 Ibid., 72. 5  of aero-kinaesthetics offers a critical understanding of how these two types of movements pertaining to air terminal design are characterized by two different aesthetic types. The first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics’ operation – the functional appeal of the air terminal with respect to its function as a mobility-system that regulates the movements of people, things, and capital – I derive from recent theoretical contributions in two disparate fields, aesthetics and mobilities. In terms of aesthetic theory, I draw largely from Glenn Parsons and Allen Carlson’s conception of “Functional Beauty,” which considers an artefact’s aesthetics in terms of the knowledge of its utility.6 For instance, according to their theory the cheetah’s stunning spotted coat, which helps camouflage the animal, would not be considered beautiful simply because of its superficial appearance.7 However, the knowledge that the cheetah’s small head allows for an aerodynamic advantage and how its head “looks fit” in terms of this known function would determine an aspect of this animal’s functional beauty. The second major theoretical influence is John Urry’s investigation of the “mobility turn.”8 Urry theorizes this paradigm in the social sciences in terms of mobility-systems – the infrastructures that enable people, objects, and information to move from place to place – and the effects of these systems on social life. I also draw upon Tim Cresswell’s notion of mobility as “socially produced motion.”9 In terms of the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, which considers the affective potential of air terminal artworks and design and how these things elicit virtual sensations of movement, I look to Nigel Thrift’s theories of affect and the affective engineering of space, Peter Adey’s assessment of how air terminals are designed to influence passengers on a non-cognitive affective register, and Charles Sanders Peirce’s                                                6 Glenn Parsons and Allen Carlson, Functional Beauty (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2008). While Parsons and Carlson refer to their concept as “Functional Beauty,” I spell this expression using lower case letters.  7 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 120-124. 8 John Urry, Mobilities (Malden: Polity, 2007). 9 Tim Cresswell, On the Move: Mobility in the Modern Western World (New York: Routledge, 2006), 3. 6  semiotics, which considers how one’s knowledge of signs is determined by one’s embodied experiences in the material world.10  Figure 2 illustrates the differences between these two aspects of aero-kinaesthetics. The first aspect, which pertains to how air terminals are designed to order movement, is understood as a functional aesthetic. This aesthetic type is based on one’s knowledge of the air terminal’s function and – although not the focus of this study – is judged on a visual register. The second aspect, on the other hand, is a type of aesthetic that concerns a bodily sensation, kinaesthesia, and it is based on a notion of aesthetics that considers how both man-made things like artworks and things in nature are experienced somatically. Susan Buck-Morss argues that this mode of perception needs to be addressed when one considers artworks or other cultural forms: even if there is not a universal common sense of “beauty,” all cognition has, necessarily, a sensory or “aesthetic” component – and this is precisely the component upon which the power of criticism rests. The critical power of art, or any cultural form, may not be perceived universally, but if it is perceived, it hits you in the gut.11  The second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics pertains to representations of movement, which I argue evoke sensations of kinaesthesia. Often, the movements represented are less restricted than those typically experienced by passengers flying commercially. Although passengers experience the terminal’s ordering of movement kinaesthetically, this is not the same type of aesthetic as the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Moreover, this aspect of aero-kinaesthetics is an aesthetic that is considered on a cognitive register and concerns how the terminal is                                                10 N. J. Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling: Towards a Spatial Politics of Affect,” Geografiska Annaler 86, no. 1 (2004): 57-78; Nigel Thrift, Non-representational Theory: Space, Politics, Affect (London: Routledge, 2007); Peter Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” Geoforum 39, no. 1 (2008): 438-451; Mark Gottdiener, Postmodern Semiotics: Material Culture and the Forms of Postmodern Life (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1995); Webb Keane, “Signs Are Not the Garb of Meaning: On the Social Analysis of Material Things,” in Materiality, ed. Daniel Miller (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005), 182-205. 11 Susan Buck-Morss cited in Grant H. Kester, “Aesthetics after the End of Art: An Interview with Susan Buck-Morss,” Art Journal 56, no. 1 (1997): 42-43. 7  understood in terms of its operation. In short, aero-kinaesthetics concerns two different types of aesthetics operating in tandem, which pertain to two different types of movement.  Although my analysis of aero-kinaesthetics is based on the design of numerous international airports, I focus primarily on: Terminal 5 at London Heathrow (designed by Richard Rogers Partnership and completed in 2008), Hong Kong International Airport’s (HKIA) Terminal 1 (Foster and Partners and opened in 1998) and Terminal 2 (Skidmore, Owings & Merrill LLP and opened in 2007), the International Terminal at Vancouver’s YVR (Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc. and completed in 1996), and Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, which consists of the terminal that opened in 1967 (Marius Duintjer) as well as Terminal-West and Schiphol Plaza (Benthem Crouwel NACO), which opened in 1993 and 1995 respectively.12 Heathrow Terminal 5 and HKIA Terminal 1 typify the global airport; they were designed by world-renowned “starchitects” and are among the world’s busiest in terms of international passengers.13 Schiphol, also a major international hub for travellers, exemplifies how airports are designed as urban spaces and shopping destinations for passengers and local visitors; its design has been branded as an “AirportCity”.14 Although YVR has less traffic, its International Terminal was designed to compete with other North American Pacific Rim transfer hubs such as Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.15 In addition, YVR’s International Terminal is a significant example of a “glocal” design. Its Indigenous Northwest Coast artworks assert a place-based identity in a transfer hub intended to operate on a global scale. Schiphol, unlike YVR, does not have a comparable unified                                                12 Throughout the text below, I refer to these four aiports as Heathrow, HKIA, YVR, and Schiphol. These are the names by which they identify themselves on their websites and in their marketing materials. 13 In 2011, Heathrow and HKIA were ranked first- and second-busiest in terms of international passengers (“Year to date International Passenger Traffic,” Airports Council International, accessed August 15, 2011, =aci&cp=1-5-212-1376-1379_666_2__). 14 Cresswell, On the Move, 219-258. 15 Marcus Binney, Airport Builders (Chichester: Academy Editions, 1999), 213. 8  theme amongst its terminal’s artworks, but it too has installed numerous artworks since its official opening. Heathrow Terminal 5 and HKIA have also incorporated artworks into the terminal but not to the same extent as Schiphol and YVR. My investigation not only examines the architecture and design at these four sites but also focuses on the terminals’ artworks, a topic virtually absent in the scholarship on aviation and airspaces. YVR, Heathrow Terminal 5, Schiphol, and HKIA allow for a broad consideration of airport art since they deal with a variety of types of works, media, and forms of display. My research concentrates primarily on sculptures and installations commissioned for publicly accessible spaces at each of these terminals. The footprint and elevations of these and most other terminals are determined by a number of factors. Chief are the airport’s runway layout, road and rail access, the types of aircraft to be serviced, and the number of gates required – all dependent on the anticipated volume of air traffic.16 Besides these requirements, terminals need to be engineered to maximize the efficiency of passenger flows – from ground transportation access to the aircraft. However, my investigation into Schiphol, HKIA, Heathrow Terminal 5, and YVR concentrates on the design and aesthetic of the terminals’ interior spaces – in particular how passengers are directed towards their gate past numerous commercial enterprises. Not centered on the calculation of specific functional attributes, my study instead concentrates on the types of materials and architectural strategies used to order flows, such as the linear pattern of floor tiling at Schiphol Plaza and how artworks assist with wayfinding. My analysis includes a consideration of the symbolic qualities of both artworks and architecture at Heathrow Terminal 5, Schiphol, YVR, and HKIA, in particular how these aesthetic things                                                16 Robert Horonjeff et al., Planning and Design of Airports, 5th ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2010), 383-464; Walter Hart, The Airport Passenger Terminal (Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 1985). 9  often represent an unrestricted type of movement that contrasts with the quality of movement that informs air terminal design – one that is defined by a careful quantification of expected passenger movements and an intended ordering of passenger circulation within the terminal space.  Here I introduce a comparative, iconic example of an air terminal that has been designed to signify a dynamic and unrestricted quality of movement. When it opened in 1962, the Trans World Airlines (TWA) terminal at John F. Kennedy airport in New York was likened to a bird about to take flight (Figure 3).17 Although its architect, Eero Saarinen, denied this association with avian form, he did confirm that the structure was intended to evoke the dynamic aspects of commercial flights, stating that he had designed “a building in which the architecture itself expresses the drama and specialness and excitement of travel…not a static, enclosed place, but a place of movement and transition.”18 Saarinen sought to express this dynamism using a curvilinear aesthetic that extended to every feature from the ceilings to the ticketing desks (Figure 4). Saarinen’s unified aesthetic theme is not an exception in air terminal design. By contrast, when Schiphol’s current terminal first opened in 1967, its interior designer, Kho Liang Ie, used an 8.25-metre module to determine the size and shape of the building’s interior architecture.19 The module size was based on the columns supporting the structure, and within this module Kho drew a grid that determined the size and shape of the tiling, the                                                17 Antonio Román, Eero Saarinen: An Architecture of Multiplicity (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2003), 61. 18 Cited in Jayne Merkel, Eero Saarinen (New York: Phaidon Press, 2005), 205. 19 Marieke Berkers and Iris Burgers, “Two Generations of Functionalist Design for a Threshold World,” in Megastructure Schiphol: Design in Spectacular Simplicity, ed. Koos Bosma (Rotterdam: nai010 publishers, 2013), 271-275. 10  furniture, the shop fronts, and the windows.20 This modular design could be easily repeated throughout the terminal, and the strategy has allowed for renovations and expansions. Unlike Saarinen’s TWA terminal, whose complex curved shapes limited any possible changes to the building, Schiphol has expanded to accommodate increased traffic and changing technologies.21 In Koos Bosma’s Megastructure Schiphol, the terminal’s unified design aesthetic is considered as an example of a ‘Gesamtkunstwerk.’22 The term, originally used by Richard Wagner in 1849 to define his notion of synthesizing all of the arts into one work of art (for the stage) that would convey a single idea, was adopted by architects such as Henry van de Velde and Joseph Olbrich to describe their practice of designing an entire building – its structure, its interior details, and its furnishings – according to one unified design ideal. This notion of a building designed as a total work of art not only applies to Schiphol but also to YVR. Its interior, including the architecture, the carpeting, and the artworks, has been designed according to a theme meant to point to the airport’s region, British Columbia’s Pacific coast, albeit a romanticized evocation of the region’s First Nations and an unspoiled wilderness. In my analysis of contemporary international air terminals, I consider their architecture, artworks, and interior design according to a similar notion. My analysis of the terminals at Schiphol, Heathrow Terminal 5, HKIA, and YVR considers how they are total works of art that convey a unified idea, that is an expression of movement, and how they are total works of engineering defined by one unified design principle, to order passenger flows from the curb to the plane. My attention to the terminal as a total work of art and engineering frames how I consider the terminals’ architectural details, artworks, or any other types of                                                20 Koos Bosma, ed., Megastructure Schiphol: Design in Spectacular Simplicity (Rotterdam: nai010 publishers, 2013), 134, 190-191. 21 Berkers and Burgers, “Two Generations of Functionalist Design for a Threshold World,” 275. 22 Bosma, Megastructure Schiphol, 144-145, 158-159. 11  furnishing. For instance, rather than focussing on an artist’s particular intention or process for creating an artwork, I consider how the artwork contributes to the air terminal’s overall design and purpose.  The air terminal considered as a total design that conveys a sense of movement while ordering passenger flows exemplifies how aero-kinaesthetics consists of two types of aesthetics working in tandem. Attempts to control passengers’ movements within the terminal are a type of regulated mobility, and the design strategies deployed to achieve this purpose are characterized by a functional aesthetic – the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. This contrasts with the types of mobilities depicted in artworks, advertisements, and architecture and design elements connoting forms of movement that differ from the constrained movement experienced by passengers. Drawing as noted from a broad range of scholars and theorists, I shall speculate how these representations might elicit sensations of movement and thereby demonstrate my concept of the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. For instance, how artworks such as Michel Santry’s aerial installation at HKIA and Carel Visser’s Flying Fish at Schiphol operate on an affective register to evoke a sense of relatively unconstrained movement (Figure 5, 6). I also speculate how artworks and architecture that refer to place-based identities such as Bill Reid’s The Spirit of Haida Gwaii: The Jade Canoe at YVR and Marc Brusse’s I meet you at Schiphol inspire a type of kinaesthesia (Figure 7, 8). I argue that these types of representations, which evoke “a sense of place,” also evoke an ideational notion of movement across cartographic space. In my discussion, I also account for some of the planners’ and architects’ decisions regarding the installation of these artworks and designs and their utility. Some of these decisions are related to commercial imperatives in the airport. For instance, planners and architects at YVR have championed the 12  terminal as evoking a “sense of place” because of its design and Northwest Coast First Nations artworks, and they have argued that this evocation of a place-based identity would lead to higher passenger spending in the terminal.23 In the analysis below, I discuss thirty-three artworks that have been installed at HKIA, YVR, Schiphol, and Heathrow Terminal 5. A few of these, however, have been removed either temporarily or permanently at the time of writing. My investigation considers all of the artworks installed at HKIA and Heathrow Terminal 5 as there are only relatively few installed at these terminals. Schiphol and YVR, on the other hand, have installed numerous artworks, and I concentrate on those that pertain to my conception of aero-kinaesthetics. However, I briefly describe some their other artworks to illustrate the range of works installed in these two terminals. My analysis also considers four other artworks installed at four other airports which I use to support my arguments in the following chapters. Although I argue that air terminals are designed to regulate passengers movements around more fixed vectors, I am not suggesting that passengers transiting through the terminal are all moving (or intended to move) in identical directional flows. Rather, passengers are able and even encouraged to deviate from the main direction flow, whether to shop or use the washroom. Indeed, airport planners use passenger simulation software to estimate how quickly and how many passengers can be processed, and they use this information to adjust terminal designs, operations, and scheduling.24 Although these                                                23 Stewart Bell, “A Celebration in Art,” Vancouver Sun, April 25, 1996, sec. D, p. 3. 24 See Peter Adey, “Surveillance at the airport: surveilling mobility/mobilising surveillance,” Environment and Planning A 36, no. 8 (2004): 1365-1380. For reports on how simulation software has been used at YVR and LHR, see Mike Lazzaroni, “Modeling Passenger and Baggage Flow at Vancouver Airport,” Simio Simulation Software, accessed April 6, 2013,; and A. Beck, “Case study: modelling passenger flows in Heathrow Terminal 5,” Journal of Simulation 5, no. 2 (2011): 69-76. See Horonjeff et al.’s discussion of simulation models and their overview of some of the formulae used to estimate passengers’ wait times and queuing lengths (Horonjeff et al., 426-441). 13  programs account for variations in passenger behaviour and attempt to simulate actual conditions, passenger movements in these simulations are defined by complex algorithms and are quantified as vectors, albeit different for each type of simulated passenger. But neither passenger simulation software nor the mathematical formulae used to optimize terminal designs figure in my thesis beyond how passenger behaviour is conceptualized using these design practices. In most cases, passengers do move through the terminal more or less along the intended routes and within the expected timeframes (i.e. the time allotted between check-in and departure), and that phenomenon is central to my concept of aero-kinaesthetics. However, I also consider instances of unexpected passenger behaviours and where air terminal designs malfunction. One tragic incident of an air terminal’s failure to properly regulate passengers’ movements occurred at YVR on October 13 and 14, 2007. Robert Dziekański, a Polish national who did not speak English, became lost en route to the International Terminal’s arrivals area. After he emerged from customs nearly nine hours after landing, Dziekański became agitated and started throwing furniture. Four police officers, called by YVR to deal with the incident, subdued Dziekański with a Taser, a conducted energy weapon, which resulted in his death. This incident raises serious questions about design strategy and illustrates some of the political implications of airport aesthetics. Aside from my consideration of that and two other incidents (Maher Arar and Edward Snowden), my analysis is based on a general notion of the air passenger: an individual who is flying commercially, accesses the terminal by ground transportation, then checks in, drops off luggage, passes through airport security, locates their gate, and waits for their boarding call. Whatever their purpose, from work to tourism or family visits, all passengers need to follow this general process irrespective of class, income, ethnicity, and gender, that might 14  affect their specific experience. Consequently, my investigation of air terminal design at Schiphol, YVR, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA concentrates on the areas that are accessible to all passengers, excluding, for example, lounges that are only accessible to business and first-class passengers. Likewise, I do not concentrate on the design of individual shops and restaurants in these terminals’ spaces.25 Instead, my attention to the commercial aspects of air terminal architecture is focused on how airport planners design corridors and concourses such that passengers are drawn to move towards areas in the terminal that offer shopping and food services.  In the first chapter, I provide a detailed description of Schiphol’s two terminals and Schiphol Plaza, YVR’s International Terminal, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA’s Terminal 1 and 2. After a brief overview of the history of each of these airports, my discussion concentrates on the artworks, architecture, and design with particular respect to how the interior architecture is designed to order passengers’ movements. My discussion of these terminals’ artworks describes their material qualities, what they are intended to represent, and how, in some cases, they are used for wayfinding.  My second chapter expands on that phenomenon. I introduce Parsons and Carlson’s conception of functional beauty. Using their idea that a thing’s functional beauty is determined by a proper function that emerges out of the thing itself (not necessarily the function as intended by its designer), I illustrate how the air terminal as a mobility-system and consumption centre can be considered in terms of a functional aesthetic, which, I argue, is an aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. I develop their concept of functional beauty to embrace                                                25 For an overview of interior design pertaining to air terminal shops and restaurants, see Steve Thomas-Emberson, Airport Interiors: Design for Business (Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 2007). 15  more ordinary experiences that involve aesthetic responses.26 But, before discussing the key aspects of Parsons and Carlson’s functional beauty, I examine how air terminal design has been considered in terms of theoretical considerations of circulation, surveillance, consumption, and spectacle. These critical analyses provide a context to my consideration of air terminals in terms of a functional aesthetic. In this chapter, I also show how some of the architecture, artworks, and design at YVR, Schiphol, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA have a proper function that is related to ordering passengers’ movements in the terminal and stimulating passenger spending. In addition, I speculate how Parsons and Carlson’s conception of proper function resembles recent theories of matter and materiality, and their relevance to my analysis of the operation of aero-kinaesthetics. My third chapter is concentrated on the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Namely, how air terminal architecture, artworks, and design operates on an affective register to stimulate sensations of kinaesthesia. After examining theoretical considerations of affect and the affective engineering of space, I draw upon Peirce’s semiotics to theorize how some artworks and visual imagery in air terminals operate as iconic and indexical signs that elicit bodily sensations of movement (particularly, one that is relatively unconstrained compared to the tight regulation of passengers’ movements in airports and commercial airliners). I also consider how some artworks, and even advertisements, evoke sensations of kinaesthesia via ideations of movement across cartographic space. Such imagery operates symbolically to evoke local and regional identities and geographies. I argue that these representations not only establish the place and location for the passenger but also a specific point in their trajectory across a cartographic representation of space. I also consider artworks that are                                                26 Rhodri Windsor Liscombe theorizes these types of experiences in his analysis of representations of female domestic spaces in 1950s modernist home designs and advertisements (Rhodri Windsor Liscombe, “The Fe-Male Spaces of Modernism: A Western Canadian Perspective,” Prospects 26 [2001]: 667-700).  16  exceptions to the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. This includes a series installed in the mid-1990s at Schiphol that ask the viewer to reflect on the nature of the ordered flows in airport spaces and are unlike the majority of air terminal artworks – which convey relatively unrestricted types of movement or themes of place. The fourth chapter considers how the international air terminal filters circulation between nation states and how this pertains to aero-kinaesthetics. While most passengers cross borders with relative ease, others are detained for further screening or blocked entirely. I examine two cases where passengers did not pass through this screening zone as expected: Arar’s detention and deportation to Syria from John F. Kennedy Airport in New York and Dziekański’s disorientation in the border screening zone at YVR. I also discuss Snowden’s extended stay in the airside at Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport to evade extradition to the U.S. I consider how these passengers’ experiences in these highly controlled spaces offer insights into the politics of border screening and the quasi-stateless space on the airside of the international air terminal. I also consider how these cases relate to airport aesthetics; particularly, how the Dziekański incident prompted redesign and how Arar’s and Snowden’s experiences of the terminal as a ‘no man’s land’ mirrors the political aspects of the Musqueam Welcome Area at YVR. The final chapter considers this thesis in terms of theories of practices. I briefly discuss what this type of cultural theory entails and how it has influenced recent analyses of the built environment. This topic has been predominately examined by cultural geographers; however, it has also received some attention by architectural theorist Neil Leach. I argue that my investigation into aero-kinaesthetics offers a new contribution to the literature on architecture and practices as it considers this concept in terms of an aesthetic theory.  17  My analysis of contemporary air terminal aesthetics expands on the existing literature on terminals.27 My investigation of the concept of aero-kinaesthetics departs from the predominant tradition of conventional architectural historical study. Brian Edwards’s The Modern Airport Terminal is perhaps the most comprehensive study of contemporary air terminal design.28 He considers all aspects of terminal construction including how the building fits in with the rest of the airport infrastructure, technical requirements such as lighting, soundproofing, and safety, and how terminals are designed to facilitate passenger movement. He supports his findings with numerous case studies from recently built terminals across the world. Marcus Binney also provides an overview of recent terminal design, though his analysis is not as extensive as Edwards’s study.29 Binney, who focusses on terminals built during the 1990s or under construction at the time of writing, examines numerous sites and offers brief overviews of the general layout of each terminal and details regarding their construction. Christopher Blow’s overview of contemporary air terminal design offers a detailed discussion of the overall structure of the air terminal, from connection to ground transportation to aircraft docking requirements, but only briefly addresses aspects of interior design such as signage and lighting.30 Steve Thomas-Emberson, on the other hand, focusses on the design and layout of recent air terminal interiors and pays particular attention to commercial operations.31 He also discusses how shops featuring luxury brands have increased in air terminals since the early 2000s.                                                27 My account below concentrates on book-length studies and excludes those on air terminal design that are primarily pictorial overviews such as Chris van Uffelen, Airport Architecture (Berlin: Braun, 2012). In Chapter Two, I consider the books listed below as well as journal articles on the topic. 28 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal. 29 Binney, Airport Builders. 30 Christopher J. Blow, Airport Terminals (Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann Ltd., 1991). 31 Thomas-Emberson, Airport Interiors: Design for Business. 18  Contemporary air terminal design also receives some attention in historical overviews of airport and air terminal layout and design. Alistair Gordon’s and Hugh Pearman’s investigations of air terminal design since the early 20th century both include a discussion on how these structures have changed in response to changes in aircraft design, the shift towards mass air travel, and safety and security requirements.32 Like Gordon and Pearman, Gillian Fuller and Ross Harley also examine air terminal design since the advent of flight, but they focus on the various systems that order mobilities in airport spaces and across space more generally – in the sense that the world’s airports form one global network.33 John Zukowsky and Koos Bosma and Alexander von Vegesack and Jochen Eisenbrand address the history of air terminal architecture in their edited volumes on aviation design.34 These two volumes both contain essays by Bosma on air terminal architecture since the Second World War, and they both examine broader issues such as aircraft construction and their internal arrangement, airline branding, and flight attendants’ uniforms.35  Air terminal design has also received some attention in studies of airports as social spaces. Mark Gottdiener, whose aim is to investigate air spaces in the same fashion as other theorists of social space who have investigated the everyday and life on city streets, briefly                                                32 Alastair Gordon, Naked Airport: A Cultural History of the World's Most Revolutionary Structure (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008); Hugh Pearman, Airports: A Century of Architecture (New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2004). 33 Gillian Fuller and Ross Harley, Aviopolis: a book about airports (London: Black Dog Publishing, 2004). 34 John Zukowsky and Koos Bosma, eds., Building for Air Travel: Architecture and Design for Commercial Aviation (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago, 1996); Alexander von Vegesack and Jochen Eisenbrand, eds., Airworld: Design and Architecture for Air Travel (Weil am Rhein: Vitra Design Stiftung, 2004). 35 Koos Bosma, “In Search of the Perfect Airport,” in Airworld: Design and Architecture for Air Travel, ed. Alexander von Vegesack and Jochen Eisenbrand (Weil am Rhein: Vitra Design Stiftung, 2004), 37-64; Koos Bosma, “European Airports, 1945-1995: Typology, Psychology, and Infrastructure,” in Building for Air Travel: Architecture and Design for Commercial Aviation, ed. John Zukowsky and Koos Bosma (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago, 1996), 51-65. See also Rhodri Windsor Liscombe’s analysis of the spatial arrangement and design of aircraft interiors (Rhodri Windsor Liscombe, “Cabined, cribbed, confined: the aircraft cabin as medium of lifestyle mobility” [Paper presented at the Royal Geographical Society with IBG Annual International Conference, London, United Kingdom, August, 31, 2011]). 19  looks at terminal design and signage.36 David Pascoe considers the airport as a large infrastructural space both on the ground and up to a few thousand feet in the air.37 His attention to this broad space, which considers how it is unique to modernity and how it affects the lives of those passing through them, examines both air terminal architecture during the past century and how airports have been represented in literature, film, and art. In a similar vein to Pascoe’s text, Christopher Schaberg examines literary representations of air terminals and intertwines his analysis of these texts with a discussion of how the air terminal is a space defined by textuality.38 Schaberg draws in some examples of airport artworks; the most notable examples are those pertaining to avian imagery, which he discusses in his chapter, “Bird Citing.”39 He compares artworks modeled after birds and flight to how actual birds pose a threat to commercial air travel as “bird strikes” and considers how passengers, like birds, are offered an aerial view of the earth – a view that is now widely available when one is not in flight via computer applications such as Google Earth.  The most in-depth analysis of airport artworks is Mary Tinti’s PhD dissertation on the topic.40 She focuses on four artworks that she considers to be atypical in terms of air terminal artworks, which are often representations of themes pertaining to flight. Her analysis focuses on how these four works compare with the earlier artworks by the artists in question, the commissioning process, and how these are site-specific artworks – particularly with respect to how these artworks are sited in the physical space and how they reflect on social, cultural, and technological aspects pertaining to airports and air travel. Melissa Laing’s PhD                                                36 Mark Gottdiener, Life in the Air: Surviving the New Culture of Air Travel (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001). 37 David Pascoe, Airspaces (London: Reaktion, 2001). 38 Christopher Schaberg, The Textual Life of Airports: Reading the Culture of Flight (New York: Continuum, 2012). 39 Schaberg, The Textual Life of Airports, 117-139. 40 Mary M. Tinti, “The Contemporary Art of Travel: Siting Public Sculpture within the Culture of Flight” (PhD diss., Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey, 2008), ProQuest (3330924). 20  dissertation also addresses air terminal artworks as well as her own art practice, which critically reflects on the politics of space within the air terminal and aboard commercial aircraft.41 In the following chapters, I draw from these investigations as well as other monographs that focus on single case studies and shorter-length articles pertaining to air terminal design to support my analysis of aero-kinaesthetics. Consequently, my thesis seeks to expand the scope of analyses of airport terminal design by examining how their operation consists of one type of aesthetic and aspects of their spectacular qualities are defined by another type of aesthetic. While contemporary international air terminals are comprised of diverse material and experiential factors, I argue that their design and operation can be understood through the concept of aero-kinaesthetics.                                                 41 Melissa Laing, “Through the Transit Zone: Between Here and There” (PhD diss., University of Sydney, 2008), 21  Chapter One: Air terminal design at Schiphol, YVR, Heathrow, and HKIA  This chapter, which contextualizes the background of my study into aero-kinaesthetics, examines the material aspects of air terminal design at Schiphol, YVR, Heathrow, and HKIA. It considers the historical events that led to the development of the terminals at these spaces, and how they have expanded over time. Schiphol and YVR, which opened in 1916 and 1931 respectively, have undergone major changes and renovations since they first opened. Coincidentally, both airports opened a new terminal in 1967, and these terminals are still in operation. Each has undergone substantial renovations and expansions in response to political and technological changes, increasing passenger loads, and changes in the air industry such as the advent of low-cost carriers. This architecture of accretion differs notably from Hong Kong International’s Terminal 1 and Heathrow Terminal 5, respectively opened in 1996 and 2008 but without any substantial renovations. Although I do not focus on the economic aspects of developing and managing these air terminals, I do briefly describe some of the sums paid to develop these massive buildings and the structure of the companies that manage these operations. These businesses are either publicly or privately owned, but that fact is more or less inconsequential to the terminals’ overall designs. As noted, regardless of management structure, the airport terminal is designed to move passengers from the curb to the plane as efficiently as possible and to maximize passenger spending.  Here, I examine the various aesthetic choices and technological solutions for the design of the structures supporting these terminals and what types of materials are used for the ceilings and walls – particularly, with respect to the facilitation passenger movement through these spaces. For instance, I describe how the ceilings at some of these terminals are designed to give the sense of the required directional flow. Although I address the ground 22  transportation networks that connect the airport with surrounding cities and regions, I omit a description the rail transportation buildings or parking garages. Instead, I account for how the terminals are linked to these transfer points such that the passenger can move from the automobile or train to the check-in counter as efficiently as possible.  This attention to the ordering of passengers’ movements includes various way-finding strategies that architects introduce to help passengers navigate the terminals’ spaces. For instance, at Heathrow Terminal 5 the Richard Rogers Partnership painted some the structural supports in different colours to differentiate the areas in the building. And at YVR and Schiphol airport planners have deployed artworks as easily recognisable landmarks. Consequently, I examine the types of artworks used for these purposes and discuss some of the artwork installed in the international air terminals at YVR, Schiphol, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA. Twenty-seven of the artworks I introduce below will figure into my analyses in the following chapters. I also describe six other artworks: four artworks at Schiphol that are not necessarily pertinent to aero-kinaesthetics but illustrate the scope of artworks installed at this terminal and two historical examples installed at YVR that represent themes of movement.  My aim in this chapter is to provide the reader with an overview of air terminal design, how this differs from site to site, and some of the reasons behind the design choices. This summary of the material aspects of these complex structures sets the stage, so to speak, for the more detailed critical analyses of air terminal architecture, artworks, and design in the following chapters. My description of the architecture, interior design, and artworks at YVR, Schiphol, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA is based on other text sources, such as 23  newspapers, scholarly and trade journals, websites, and books, and my observations during visits to these sites during 2011 and 2014.   Schiphol Schiphol, now one of the world’s busiest international airports, was first used for military purposes during the First World War. In 1916, two fields in the Haarlemmermeer polder near Amsterdam were purchased by the Dutch Minister of War, N. Bosboom, and developed into suitable landing strips for a military aerodrome.42 Schiphol was first used for civilian air transport in 1920 when the Koninklijke Luchtvaart Maatschappij voor Nederland en Koloniën (KLM), the Netherlands’ national airline founded a year earlier, was awarded a contract to fly scheduled flights carrying mail from the airport to London. During the next few years, Schiphol’s operations shifted towards civilian use, becoming KLM’s main airport. In 1926, Amsterdam’s municipal government acquired control of the airport from the Netherlands’ Ministry for Waterworks and Ministry for War. Soon after, the airport’s first passenger terminal was developed: a one-storey building made out of red brick that was completed in time for the city’s hosting of the 1928 Olympic Games. The terminal was substantially redeveloped during 1936 and 1937. The check-in hall was expanded and a second storey was built to house a restaurant and other amenities for visitors, many of whom came to the airport to see what went on outside on the apron and to watch the aircraft come and go.43 In 1936, 322,931 people visited Schiphol, and the airport garnered 68,595 Dutch Guilders from entry fees, which accounted for 27.9 percent of the airport’s annual income.44                                                42 Marc Dierikx and Bram Bouwens, Building Castles of the Air: Schiphol Amsterdam and the development of airport infrastructure in Europe, 1916-1996 (The Hague: Sdu Publishers, 1997), 47-51. 43 Dierikx and Bouwens, 58. 44 Dierikx and Bouwens, 55. 24  During the Second World War, the German Luftwaffe appropriated Schiphol.45 In 1943, Allied forces bombed Schiphol, causing the Luftwaffe to cease operations. After the war ended, the Dutch government examined alternative sites but in October 1945 decided to rebuild the ruined airport as the “World Airport of the Netherlands.”46 By the end of the year, flights were leaving from the airport to the Dutch Indies. Some of these colonies, however, would soon become sovereign states. In 1949 the Dutch East Indies gained its independence and became Indonesia with the exception of Netherlands New Guinea, which was ceded to this new state thirteen years later.  In the following decade, debates raged on about financial responsibility and operational control.47 In 1956, an agreement was reached that an airport company would acquire Schiphol from Amsterdam’s municipal government. Two years later, NV Luchthaven Schiphol was founded and overtook the airport’s operations. The shares in this company were divided among three holders: the Dutch Government, the City of Amsterdam, and the City of Rotterdam.48 Schiphol, by then in need of a substantial redevelopment and expansion soon after the post-war reconstruction, was forced to build a new longer runway plus additional terminal facilities with the introduction of large jet aircraft in the late 1950s. In 1961, the Dutch Government approved the development of an entirely new terminal.49 The terminal was to be designed by Marius Duintjer, the project’s chief architect, Frans de Weger, an engineer, and                                                45 Dierikx and Bouwens, 64-65. 46 John Versleijen, “Schiphol Airport, a planning marathon,” in Schiphol Airport, ed. Reinier Gerritsen, Caroline Gautier, Luuk Kramer, and Lex Reitsma (Rotterdam, NAi Uitgevers, 1999), 16. 47 Dierikx and Bouwens, 122-128.  48 “Facts & 2013 Figures,” Schiphol Group, accessed November 7, 2014,, p. 22. 49 Maarten Kloos and Birgitte de Maar, Schiphol Architecture: Innovative airport design (Amsterdam: ARCAM / Architectura & Natura Press, 1999), 14-17; Marieke Berkers and Iris Burgers, “Structuring Masses: Architecture in a Race Against Time,” in Megastructure Schiphol: Design in Spectacular Simplicity, ed. Koos Bosma (Rotterdam: nai010 publishers, 2013), 254. 25  NACO (Netherlands Airport Consultants), which was responsible for planning the airside and landside operations and organizing the development’s finances, contracts, and staff. In 1962, Kho Liang Ie Associates was hired to design the terminal’s interior.  When the new terminal opened in 1967, the former terminal site began to be used for cargo.50 The new terminal was based on Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. The arrivals area was placed on the ground floor and the departures area on the first level above (Figure 9). Departing passengers were afforded with views of the aprons and aircraft. Despite numerous renovations and expansions, this configuration has been retained. Kho Liang Ie devised a module and a grid based on the distance between the structural column to determine the size of the chairs, tables, and tiling as well as the windows and passageways.51 Even though this grid strictly determined the design of the terminal, it enabled a type of modular design that allowed for flexibility in terms of expansion; each module could be easily repeated if necessary.52 Kho’s grid-design principle has been retained in all of the terminal’s expansions and renovations to this day. Kho’s colour scheme for the 1967 terminal has also remained relatively unchanged.53 In his design he only used muted colours throughout the terminal so that the signs, which were green and yellow, could clearly stand out from the surrounding architecture (Figure 10). He also argued that the passengers’ clothing and luggage would animate the terminal with additional colours. In the subsequent renovations and expansions, the tiling, walls, and ceilings have been predominantly neutral colours such as white, grey, and black, and the signage currently uses yellow with black text, blue with white text, green with white text, or dark grey with yellow or white text.                                                50 Bosma, Megastructure Schiphol, 18. 51 Bosma, Megastructure Schiphol, 134, 190-191. 52 Berkers and Burgers, “Two Generations of Functionalist Design for a Threshold World,” 275-279. 53 Kloos and de Maar, 60-61. 26  Aircraft access was via piers that expand out from the main terminal area (Figure 11). All airport gates are located on the piers, which are designated by letters. When it first opened, the terminal had three piers: C, D, and E.54 The C-pier was expanded in 1970. A new F-pier was completed in 1975. During the same year, the terminal was expanded. In 1983, Schiphol decided that the original E-pier needed to be larger so that it could accommodate wide-body jet aircraft. The new E-pier opened in 1987. In 1989, construction began on an extension to the D-pier which opened the following year.55 This pier would soon become a border line between two passenger streams flying in and out of Schiphol.56 In 1985, some of the states within the European Union signed the Schengen Agreement, intended to eliminate border controls between the signatory states. Ten years later, the Schengen Area was established, and European airports had to be renovated to separate Schengen flights from non-Schengen flights. Most airports in the Schengen Area rearranged their terminals so that passengers flying to and from other Schengen states would be paired with passengers flying domestically.  Schiphol, however, had no existing space that was allocated to domestic flights since the airport’s traffic was mostly international, so the air terminal had to be rearranged to account for the two different passenger streams. The C-pier along with a new B-pier, which opened in 1994, were for passengers flying to and from Schengen states and who did not have to pass through passport control.57 The E- and F-piers along with the G-pier built in 1992 were for passengers flying to and from non-Schengen states and who did need to be                                                54 Kloos and de Maar, 19-30. 55 Kloos and de Maar, 40-42. 56 Cresswell, On the Move, 232-237; Berkers and Burgers, “Structuring Masses: Architecture in a Race Against Time,” 265-266. 57 Kloos and de Maar, 61. 27  screened by border officials.58 The D-pier became the border zone between the Schengen and non-Schengen spaces, and it serviced flights to both areas. The airport needed to have a pier that could service aircraft flying between the two zones. For instance, a flight arriving from Toronto and carrying on to Paris would need to have deplaning passengers pass through a non-Schengen zone and embarking passengers pass through a Schengen zone. When the Schengen Area came into effect in 1995, a glass wall separated the two passenger streams in this pier. The following year the D-pier was expanded into two levels in order to separate the two zones.  At the time of writing, the B-, C-, D-, E-, F-, and G- pier all appear fairly similar. Each pier is a relatively long corridor with gates on each side (Figure 12). Floor-to-ceiling windows offer views out to the aprons on both sides of the piers. They all have light grey floor tiling and use neutral colours for the ceilings and walls. The gates are indicated by signs with a yellow background and black lettering with the same typeface. One exceptional difference is that the wall tiling around the entrance to the restrooms and in their interiors are different colours for each pier. Each one of the piers connects to Schiphol’s lounges, areas that are in the post-security zone that offer numerous shops, restaurants, cafes, and other amenities (Figure 13). The lounges essentially ring the terminal’s pre-security check-in areas and the piers extend from the lounges. In the non-Schengen area there is a corridor connecting its two lounges called Holland Boulevard, which I discuss in more detail below. Then, in November 2005, Schiphol opened a new pier that is dedicated to low-cost carriers such as EasyJet.59 It was built with seven gates and no aerobridges to access the planes. The gates, which are on the ground level, are accessed by escalators from the corridor                                                58 Bosma, Megastructure Schiphol, 132. 59 “Geen Ryanair op de H-pier,” NRC Handelsblad, November 1, 2005, sec. Economie, p. 17; Jelle Brandsma, “Schiphol geeft prijsvechters ruim baan met slurfloze pier,” Trouw, June 8, 2005, sec. Economie, p. 13. 28  above and have waiting areas with only a few seats. Passengers enter and exit the plane by a movable staircase and need to walk across the tarmac to and from the gate. This loading procedure markedly reduces the aircraft’s turnover time between landing and take-off – a key strategy employed by discount carriers to reduce their operation costs. The pier’s gates can either be designated as H for non-Schengen flights or M for Schengen flights, and these passenger streams are separated by a vertical glass wall on the upper corridor (Figure 14). Unlike the other piers, the H/M-pier does not have any shops or restaurants. However, passengers do have access to shops and cafes between security and the pier itself. Passengers flying to non-Schengen locations access the pier from the same post-security area that adjoins the D-, E-, F-, and G-piers. This area has two lounges and the Holland Boulevard. Passengers flying to Schengen locations pass through a security zone and a lounge that only leads to the M-gates. Unlike the other piers at Schiphol, the H/M-pier has only one wall with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out to the aprons, and its flooring is much darker than the light grey tiles used throughout the rest of the terminal. In 1999, NV Luchthaven Schiphol started using the trade name Schiphol Group to reflect its expanding interests in the management and development of airports abroad as well as its ambition to become a private company.60 Two years prior, a subsidiary group, Schiphol Group USA, had acquired a 40-percent stake in JFK International Air Terminal LLC, and it has managed Terminal 4 at JFK since it opened in 2001.61 This subsidiary, which was the first foreign company to operate a terminal in the United States, is an example of the global reach of airport development companies like Schiphol Group. It has since become involved                                                60 Willem Reijn, “Luchthaven Schiphol wil snel privatiseren,” Dagblad voor Zuidwest-Nederland, April 29, 1999. 61 Donald McNeill, “Airports, Territoriality, and Urban Governance,” in Mobile Urbanism: Cities and Policymaking in the Global Age, ed. Eugene McCann and Kevin Ward (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011), 154-155. 29  in the management and development of airports in Australia, Aruba, Indonesia, and Sweden. As Donald McNeill notes, Schiphol’s change in management structure over time illustrates how some airports have shifted from being nationally owned and managed entities, which were allied with nationally owned airlines, to businesses run by “globally operative airport management firms.”62 This shift was partially the result of the privatization of airports. Schiphol’s management company, however, has not been privatized. The Dutch Government, the City of Amsterdam, and the City of Rotterdam, which had been with the company since its inception in 1958, have remained the company’s principal shareholders. The company’s ownership, however, shifted somewhat in 2008, when Schiphol Group formed a partnership with Aéroports de Paris and each company acquired 8 percent of the other company’s shares.63  The most substantial shift in how Schiphol managed its terminal design and development occurred during the 1980s. The company wanted to have an architect that could organize the airport’s design as one cohesive whole rather than a cluster of developments in differing styles.64 The architectural firm, Benthem Crouwel, which had designed projects for the airport including a bicycle shed in 1982 and a bus shelter in 1986,65 was approached for the job. In 1988, Benthem Crouwel began a partnership with NACO, and they remain the principal designers for Schiphol’s expansions and renovations.                                                 62 McNeill, “Airports, Territoriality, and Urban Governance,” 147-166. 63 In 2013, Schiphol Group was divided among its shareholders as follows: the Dutch Government 69.8%, the City of Amsterdam 20.0%, Aérports de Paris 8.0%, and the City of Rotterdam 2.2% (“Facts & 2013 Figures,” Schiphol Group, p. 7). 64 Kloos and de Maar, 25-35. 65 For an overview of the design of the bike shed and bus shelter, see Benthem Crouwel Architects and Kirsten Schipper, eds., BC AD: Benthem Crouwel 1979-2009 (Rotterdam: 010 Publishers, 2010), 422-427. 30  The first major expansion designed by the Benthem Crouwel NACO partnership is Terminal-West, which was completed in 1993.66 Like Duintjer’s 1967 terminal, the arrivals area is on the ground level and the departures area is on the level above. Terminal-West is built out of three 50-metre modules and can be extended up to 350 metres. The new expansion and the existing terminal, which are intended to be perceived as one unified building, are connected by an 80-metre-long corridor. Terminal-West’s ceiling, which has skylights and a more lightweight appearance than the 1967 terminal’s ceiling, is supported by V-shaped columns (Figure 15). The building is encased in glass on both the landside and airside. On the landside, the departures level is separated from the exterior wall and natural light falls onto the arrivals level below (Figure 8). The lower level does not abut an exterior wall since it adjoins Schiphol Plaza, which was completed in 1995 (discussed below). Schiphol Plaza is adjacent to both Terminal-West and the 1967 terminal’s arrivals levels (Figure 16). In the latter building, the floor of the departures level on the landside is built against the exterior wall; therefore, no natural light flows into the lower arrivals area. However, on its maps and signage, Schiphol does not refer to these terminals as two separate structures. Rather, these terminals are presented as a one structure, and it is ordered into three departure areas on the landside, four lounges on the airside, and four arrivals areas. Departures 1 and 2, Lounges 1 and 2, and Arrivals 1 and 2 are in the 1967 terminal, and Departures 3, Lounges 3 and 4, and Arrivals 3 and 4 are in Terminal-West.  In 1990, Nel Verschuuren from Kho Liang Ie Associates was appointed to work with Jan Benthem on Schiphol’s interior design.67 Verschuuren had worked with Kho on the original 1967 terminal and its expansion in 1975. Like Kho’s design for the original 1967                                                66 Kloos and de Maar, 51-53. 67 Berkers and Burgers, “Two Generations of Functionalist Design for a Threshold World,” 276-280; Kloos and de Maar, 60-61.  31  terminal, Verschuuren used neutral colours for Terminal-West’s tiling, ceiling, and walls. She also tried to retain Duintjer and Kho’s design principle that views to the aircraft outside should be as unrestricted as possible. Terminal-West also used a modular grid system to determine the building’s interior architecture but of larger dimensions. This difference, however, is hardly perceptible because light grey tiles of the same size (ca. 30 x 30 cm) now line the floors of both terminals. These same tiles are also used in all the piers except for the low-cost H/M-pier. Verschuuren considered how “eye-catching” objects might be used as landmarks for wayfinding. For instance, on the airside of the terminal Benthem and Verschuuren designed a bar housed within a golden dome that was also intended as a landmark for navigation. Similarly, Verschuuren used artworks as locating devices. In 1995, the airport opened Schiphol Plaza, a triangular building that abuts both terminals and the Netherlands’ national rail company, Nederlandse Spoorwegen, station underneath (Figure 17).68 The building replaced the railway station built in 1976 that stood on the opposite side of the access road. Schiphol Plaza’s ground level has a large central area where passengers and visitors enter from the railway concourse below, the passageways that lead to parking garages, or the entrances that face the Jan Dallaertplein, an outdoor square adjacent to a road accessed by buses and taxis. The ticketing desks for Nederlandse Spoorwegen are in this central area along with a few cafes and bars. A ring around the central area forms a shopping mall that abuts the arrivals areas of both terminals. Skylights allow natural light to flow into the shopping mall corridor.  The ceiling covering the central area in Schiphol Plaza is 12-metres high.69 Benthem Crouwel deliberately chose to build a high ceiling because they wanted to maximize the                                                68 Benthem Crouwel Architects and Schipper, BC AD, 413. 69 Kloos and de Maar, 79-81. 32  visibility of the directional signage since it is a complex space in terms of wayfinding – a number of different passengers streams converge in the central area. Tinted glass was used for the building’s façade to allow for views to the landside exterior and to create a darker interior, which would make electronic signs easier to read. The designers assumed that people are compelled to move towards lighter spaces and that passengers would be drawn to walk to the more brightly lit terminals from the dim Schiphol Plaza. They also used another technique to guide people without relying on signage; the railway concourse below was not entirely soundproofed so that passengers and visitors on the ground level could hear the trains. Another locational element was the installation of Dennis Adams’s Coda at the time of the plaza’s opening. This cubic structure painted with red and white checkers is one of Schiphol’s official meeting points (Figure 18). Coda’s colored pattern is used in aviation to demarcate obstacles and hazards. On each side there is a ledge that visitors can sit on and an opening to the cube’s interior. Inside there are 28 backlit photographs of objects painted with the same red-and-white checkered pattern such as a windsock or a tower located along a runway or on an apron. Each photograph has been taken at an airport in the former Dutch colonies, and the place name appears at the bottom of the image.70 These images call to mind how Schiphol had facilitated the Netherlands’ reach into its colonies prior to decolonization. This eye-catching structure contrasts with the muted colours of the surrounding space and is included on the airport’s maps as a landmark for wayfinding. Coda can be considered in terms of the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. It exemplifies a functional aesthetic when it is considered in terms of its operation for ordering passenger circulation.                                                 70 Schiphol Group, Kunst op Schiphol (Hoofdorp: Brummelkamp, n.d.), n.p. 33  Coda was not the first artwork to be used as a meeting point at Schiphol.71 Shinkichi Tajiri’s Knot, a large white knot wrapped around a pillar on the arrivals level of Duintjer’s terminal, was designated as a meeting point shortly after it was installed in 1974 (Figure 19).72 Although Knot was the airport’s official meeting point, passengers and visitors started to use other artworks in the terminal as meeting points. The most popular was Kees Franse’s Apple, a sculpture made out of wood slices in the form of its title, installed in 1975 (Figure 20).73 This artwork’s capacity to capture the passengers’ attention and its active role in engaging with passengers is reflected by its exterior appearance. The sculpture has been slowly transformed by countless passengers marking their names on the wooden apple using coloured chalk and inks.  A number of the artworks added during the 1960s and 70s were sculptural works in a modernist idiom consisting of simple formal arrangements. For instance, Carel Visser’s Salami, installed in 1967, is a layered stack of thin rectangular metal blocks (Figure 21). It is located outdoors in a rectangular water pool in Jan Dellaertplein near the entrance to Schiphol Plaza. That same year André Volten’s Rustcloud was hung from the terminal’s ceiling (Figure 22). It is made out of small slices of metal I-beams welded together. Rustcloud is currently hanging in the lounge in the Schengen area that leads to the B-, C-, and D- piers. In 1974, the airport added Tajiri’s Knot, and in the following year, Schiphol installed George Rickey’s Four Lines, a kinetic artwork that consists of four stainless steel                                                71 For an overview of artworks installed prior to 2000, see Schiphol Group, Kunst op Schiphol; and Dorothée van Hooff, Tegenbeelden: Marketingstrategie en Kunstopdrachten (Amsterdam: Mondriaan Stichting, 1998). See also “Art at Schiphol - Before passport control,” Schiphol Group, February 2014, accessed April 7, 2015,; and “Art at Schiphol - Beyond passport control,” Schiphol Group, October 2014, accessed April 7, 2015, 72 van Hooff, Tegenbeelden. 73 Like many airport artworks, Apple has been moved from its original location. It now stands in the departures level in Duintjer’s terminal. 34  arms that are free to rotate around the point where they are fixed to the wall (Figure 23). In 1988, the airport decided that it would allocate 0.2 percent of its construction costs for new buildings and renovations to commissioning new artworks. Five years later, it increased funding to 0.5 percent. These funds paid for artworks installed in Terminal-West such as Carel Visser’s Flying Fish (Figure 6), John Körmeling’s Hihi haha (Figure 24), and Marc Brusse’s I meet you (Figure 8). Visser’s Flying Fish is an artwork that characterizes the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics as it recalls both aero and nautical movement – particularly, a relatively free form of movement enacted by an animal, which, unlike the passenger aboard a jet, is in control of its trajectory. Brusse’s I meet you, a pair of oversize Dutch clogs carved out of red stone and placed on top of tall black plinth, also exemplifies this aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. In Chapter Three, I argue that these types of place-themed artworks reinforce the passenger’s sense of moving across the globe and therefore instill a sense of kinaesthesia. In 1995, Schiphol installed a series of artworks that are particularly notable with respect to aero-kinaesthetics. Not only do these works represent themes pertaining to movement, but they critically reflect on the passenger’s experience of transiting through the terminal and flying commercially. They were commissioned by an art committee that was established in 1993, consisting of Saskia Bos, director of the contemporary art gallery De Appel in Amsterdam, Wim Crouwel, the former director of Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam, and Hans Smits, Schiphol’s president at the time. This committee was formed in response to the criticism leveled at some of the artworks installed in Terminal-West when it opened in 1993.74 Art critics panned works such as Brusse’s I meet you and Hugo Kaagman’s Nice Trip, a series of Delft blue tiles that combined traditional Dutch                                                74 van Hooff, Tegenbeelden; and Kloos and de Maar, 108-113. 35  imagery such as windmills and tulips with patterns found in Islamic art. Critics considered these works, which portray overtly obvious Dutch themes, to be too one-dimensional, and the art committee agreed. Shortly after, they formulated a master plan that defined the types of artworks to be commissioned and their location. The committee sought to move away from pieces that they deemed to be simply decorative or touristic. Instead, they favoured artworks that engaged with themes that responded to the passengers’ experience of time and space. They also stipulated that the artworks’ location and signified meaning should respond to how they might be perceived by passengers moving past or around these works. For instance, Marc Ruygrok’s So go on, installed in the D-pier, consisted of three rectangular stacks composed of two lit letters that rose to the ceiling.75 It was intended to be read by passengers as they walked by the work. Each stack spelled out the three words of the work’s title, but each stack was at a different angle so passengers would be enticed to move around the work to grasp its meaning. The phrase “so go on” was meant to refer to the passengers’ passage through the D-pier – either to the aircraft or the baggage claim. Another artwork commissioned by the committee was Adams’s Coda. As noted above, it has a checkered pattern that is used in aviation to designate obstacles along runways and on aprons. This checkered cube not only draws one’s attention to a sign used in aviation, but it also points to Coda’s actual role as an obstacle that passengers must move around in the central area of Schiphol Plaza. Niek Kemps’s Closed Sight also referred to the systems that order aircraft movement. It consisted of 13 monitors laid in the floor on the departures level of Duintjer’s terminal that reproduced the types of images seen on radar screens by air traffic                                                75 Schiphol Group, Kunst op Schiphol; and van Hooff, Tegenbeelden. 36  control.76 Installed in 1995, this work unfortunately was removed subsequently. Jenny Holzer’s Untitled, installed in Duintjer’s terminal, is a long thin rectangular illuminated text box that hangs vertically from the ceiling (Figure 25). It is visible from a stairwell on the pre-security side and from both the arrivals and departures areas on the post-security side. On the display, a wide array of sentences, mostly general statements that ask for some sort of philosophical reflection, continuously scroll down the text box. Unlike Ruygrok’s work which is a static presentation of text intended to be read by passengers moving around the work, Holzer’s stream of vertically rolling text demands the viewer to stand still to be able to read and comprehend the projected sentences. Moreover, it pulls one’s attention, no matter how little or how unfocused, from moving through the terminal and entices one to pause and reflect on statements such as: “a solid home base builds a sense of self; a strong sense of duty imprisons you; absolute submission can be a form of freedom; abstraction is a type of decadence; abuse of power comes as no surprise; action causes more trouble than thought.” In December 2002, Schiphol opened a satellite gallery of the Rijksmuseum, which was intended to introduce some of the nation’s most famous artworks to passengers transiting through the airport’s non-Schengen area.77 The museum showcases 17th-century paintings by Dutch Masters such as Rembrandt van Rijn, Jan Steen, and Jacob Isaacksz van Ruisdael. Half of the exhibition includes paintings that are permanently on display and the other half is a temporary exhibition of paintings from the Rijksmuseum’s collection, which are changed regularly so that frequent visitors have the opportunity to see different artworks from the Dutch Golden Age. The 160-square-metre gallery is a square box with a golden-hue exterior                                                76 Judith Koelemeijer, “Reageren op de ruimte,” de Volkskrant, May 31, 1995, p. 13; and Hans Den Hartog Jager, “Neergezet om nooit meer te vertrekken,” NRC Handelsblad, July 12, 1996, sec. CS, p. 2. 77 Egbert Koster, “Gedistingeerde verrassing in schreeuwerige verpakking,” Het Financieele Dagblad, December 14, 2002. 37  that is suspended from the ceiling (Figure 26). The museum’s gift shop occupies the space underneath. The gallery’s interior is dimly lit, and it offers passengers a moment of tranquility away from the hustle and bustle below. It is accessed via a stairwell in the museum’s gift shop on the ground floor, which sells things such as models of Amsterdam’s canal houses, Delft blue cups, plates, and tiles, and purses and umbrellas with patterns taken from Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings. The purpose of the Rijksmuseum satellite gallery was to offer a glimpse of Dutch culture for passengers transferring through Schiphol – approximately 40 percent of the total passenger traffic.78 It was also intended to encourage them to travel to Holland and, hopefully, visit the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. For the Schiphol Group, the satellite gallery was part of its mission to create an AirportCity, which was conceived as “a dynamic junction where people and worlds meet each other.”79  The Rijksmuseum is located in Holland Boulevard, a post-security zone situated between the E- and the F-piers. It houses a number of shops, restaurants, and other amenities designed according to stereotypically Dutch themes and that sell quintessential-Dutch goods. Beside the Rijksmuseum is the Dutch Kitchen restaurant and cafe (Figure 27). It has tables that resemble oversized plant pots with tulips and large booths designed as Delft Blue teacups. Holland Boulevard also has a casino, a library, a children’s play area, and a few “typical Dutch living rooms” designed by Studio Linse.80 These mock-up living room spaces contain chairs, sofas, and tables which are intended to showcase the latest trends in “Dutch Design.” Since Holland Boulevard is a corridor that connects the piers in the non-Schengen                                                78 Hilde de Haan, “Oude meesters op Schiphol veilig achter glas,” de Volkskrant, December 10, 2002, sec. Kunst, p. 10. 79 Cited in de Haan, “Oude meesters op Schiphol veilig achter glas,” 10. My translation from the original text in Dutch: “een dynamisch knooppunt waar mensen en werelden elkaar ontmoeten.”  80 “Schiphol: a model of the Dutch way,” Schiphol Group, February 2014, accessed July 8, 2014, 38  area, it is designed such that passengers in a rush can briskly move past all of these showcases of Dutch culture. There is a main passenger thoroughfare with a moving walkway situated along one side of the corridor, which has floor-to-ceiling glass windows and tulip-filled planters. The rectangular planters have Delft-Blue-themed designs that in some cases incorporate airport-related imagery such as jet aircraft (Figure 28). On the other side of the corridor are the shops, cafes, and amenities.   Vancouver’s YVR Like Schiphol, YVR has gradually expanded over time. This airport, opened on July 22, 1931, was situated on 475 acres purchased by the City of Vancouver.81 The Vancouver Municipal Airport began its operations with two hangars, an administration building, one runway, and a seaplane harbour. It was substantially upgraded and developed during the Second World War; the federal government acquired the airport from the city in May 1940 and erected a number of new hangars and buildings on the site. The airport was returned to the City of Vancouver in October 1947, and in the following year it was renamed Vancouver International Airport. During the 1950s, the airport developed two new terminals. The first was built in 1950 after the original administration building burned down the previous year, and it was periodically renovated and extended to meet growing demands. In 1958, a second terminal was opened west of the first; however, it was only intended to be used temporarily as a passenger terminal until a larger more permanent structure was built to meet the                                                81 The city opened its first airport on a leased field on Lulu Island in 1928. For an overview of airport development in Vancouver prior to 1990 and an account of the makeshift fields and waterways used during the city’s early days of aviation, see T. M. McGrath, History of Canadian Airports, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Lugus Publications, 1992), 241-247.  39  anticipated increase in air traffic.82 Only part of the west terminal’s original architecture survives.83 In 1978, it was rebuilt as the South Terminal to service passengers flying across British Columbia with regional carriers such as Orca Airways and Pacific Coastal Airlines.  The two structures from the 1950s were decommissioned as passenger terminals in 1968, when Vancouver International Airport opened a substantially larger terminal on the north side of the airport.84 Soon after Canada’s Department of Transport took over the airport’s operations from the City of Vancouver in 1962, it started planning and developing this new terminal. The steel and reinforced-concrete structure, designed by a local architectural firm, Thompson, Berwick and Pratt, was in a modernist style and cost $32 million to build. In a promotional pamphlet titled, “into the JET AGE,” the Department of Transport declared that “[D]espite the terminal’s size, getting through it is fun.”85 Navigating the new terminal was described as a pleasurable experience because it had escalators and elevators and because way-finding was “easy for travellers of any language as pictures, instead of words, show the short route to services and airport fun spots.”86 Bill Inglis, the airport’s manager, welcomed the new building as “the most modern air terminal in Canada.”87 He claimed that it was unlike many contemporary passenger terminals that were “obsolete the day they open” and that “it won’t be outdated soon because it’s designed to expand.”88                                                 82 Rhodri Windsor Liscombe, “The Vancouver Passenger Terminal Building: Modernism and the Architectonics of Movement,” Docomomo Journal 38 (2008): 45-49. 83 The terminal built in 1950 burned down in 1976. 84 The terminal built in 1968 is approximately 1.5 km northwest of the South Terminal.  85 Canada Department of Transport, “Into the Jet Age: Vancouver International Airport,” 1968. City of Vancouver Archives Pamphlet Collection, AM1519-PAM1968-133. 86 Ibid. 87 “YVR’s Domestic Terminal Turns 40,” SkyTalk 15, no. 12 (2008): 4.  88 Ibid. 40  Vancouver’s new terminal was one of the last air terminals that the Department of Transport had redeveloped during the 1950s and 60s. In the decade prior, the federal department had built new terminals in Gander, Halifax, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, Winnipeg, and Edmonton, and, like Vancouver’s new terminal, these buildings were modernist designs.89 In a number of these terminals, the Department of Transportation installed abstract artworks, whose themes, in some cases, derived from the Canadian landscape. For Vancouver’s airport, the Department of Transport purchased Robert Murray’s Cumbria in 1969, which was installed in the meridian on the roadway leading to the airport.90 This yellow-painted steel sculpture, which Murray completed in 1966, has three large angled planes projecting upwards from its base, likened in a review published in Artforum in 1967 to a jet aircraft about to take off (Figure 29).91 Indeed with its angled wings, this abstract modernist sculpture conveys a theme of flight and exemplifies the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics – a representation of movement that was seen by passengers arriving along the roadway. In 1993 Cumbria was removed from the meridian and, sadly, was damaged in the process.92 Cumbria, however, was not the first aeronautical-themed artwork at YVR. In 1937, the airport installed Rocket, a sculpture of a spacecraft designed by Lew Parry (Figure 30).93 This early example of an aero-kinaesthetic artwork pointed to a type of a movement that was fantastical at the time of its installation. It was inspired by science fiction imagery                                                89 Bernard Flaman, “Public Art and Canadian Cultural Policy: The Airports,” in Public Art in Canada: Critical Perspectives, ed. Annie Gérin and James S. McLean (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2009), 75-94.  90 Rosalind Rorke, “Constructed Destinations: Art and Representations of History at the Vancouver International Airport” (master’s thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2009), 38-40,  91 Rorke, “Constructed Destinations,” 39. 92 Karen Gram, “Artist angry at airport’s treatment of his sculpture,” Vancouver Sun, April 4, 1994, sec. B, p. 2. In 1997 the restored sculpture was installed outside the Lasserre building at The University of British Columbia in Vancouver.  93 Rorke, “Constructed Destinations,” 23-24; “Centennial Rocket,” City of Vancouver, accessed March 28, 2015, Rocket was built in 1936 for the Sheet Metal Workers Local 280’s parade float for a festival celebrating the City of Vancouver’s semi-centennial.  41  and comic books which imagined the futuristic vehicles of space travel and a technology of jet propulsion that would soon be employed in aircraft design. Rocket was incorporated as part of the airport’s official imagery.94 An outline drawing of the sculpture was used on airport letterhead. In 1972 Rocket was removed from the airport site because of rust damage.95  Vancouver’s new terminal had to adjust to a substantial shift in aviation technology only a year after it opened. It was retrofitted to accommodate the newly developed wide-body aircraft. The introduction of these “jumbo jets” allowed air travel to become cheaper and more accessible throughout the 1970s. Vancouver processed 1.9 million passengers in 1968, nearly 6.5 million in 1979, and more than 9 million in 1988.96 The airport, which was originally planned for a capacity of 3.5 million passengers per year, was forced to undertake a number of renovations and minor expansions to accommodate the growing passenger traffic. In 1977, for instance, the car park under the terminal was removed to make way for much needed space. However, the most substantial renovation to the building was the 116,000-square-metre expansion completed in 1996.97 This new space became the International Terminal, and the original building became the Domestic Terminal. This $250 million renovation was administered by the Vancouver International Airport Authority (VIAA). This non-profit private organization acquired the airport in 1992, when Transport Canada transferred its control of Vancouver’s, Calgary’s, Edmonton’s, and Montreal’s                                                94 Jack Schofield, “Memories of YVR’s Airport South,” SkyTalk 18, no. 2 (2011): 9. 95 “Centennial Rocket,” City of Vancouver. The Vancouver Transportation Club and the Sheet Metal Workers Local 280 constructed a replica of Rocket in 1985 based on Lew Parry’s original plans. It was displayed at Expo ’86 in Vancouver and was installed shortly afterwards at the south side of Cambie Street Bridge near West 6th Avenue in Vancouver.  96 McGrath, History of Canadian Airports, 245-246. 97 “Did you know?,” SkyTalk 4, no. 4 (1997): 11 42  airports to local privately managed groups.98 Transport Canada did not sell the airports to the local authorities; they were each handed a 60-year lease. Shortly after acquiring Vancouver’s airport, the VIAA started developing the new International Terminal as well as a new runway and a new control tower.99 Upon completion, the VIAA set out to upgrade the Domestic Terminal, with renovations completed in 1998 and 1999.100 It was upgraded again in 2002 and was expanded by 15,000 square metres in 2009.101 Consequently, the Domestic Terminal looks drastically different today from when it first opened; the smokestacks located outside are one of the few visible remnants of the original design.  My investigation concentrates on the renovations and expansions completed after the VIAA acquired the airport. I focus primarily on the International Terminal and the Link building, which connects the Domestic and International Terminals, completed in 2007. The International Terminal, which officially opened in 1996, was designed by Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., a Vancouver-based architectural firm (Figure 31). During the construction phase, Clive Grout noted that the design theme for the new terminal was “nature and culture” and that “the materials are green and blue, very natural, reflecting the water and the foliage that we have around here.”102 The designers also incorporated ample amounts of wood, a staple of British Columbia’s resource-based economy, as well as rock facing and ceramic tiles. The restaurant and retail spaces were designed to resemble popular tourist destinations within the region: the Steveston waterfront, Granville Island, and Whistler Village. As much                                                98 “Two Montreal airports now run semi-privately,” Vancouver Sun, April 2, 1992, sec. A, p. 7. 99 “The Future’s Cleared For Take Off,” SkyTalk 1, no. 1 (1993): 1-2. 100 “Domestic Terminal Building to Receive Facelift,” SkyTalk 3, no. 10 (1996): 3; “Domestic Terminal Celebrates Third Decade,” SkyTalk 6, no. 1 (1998): 1-2; “Park Theme to Replace Gastown Food Court,” SkyTalk 6, no. 5 (1999): 3. 101 “Domestic Terminal Upgrade On Time and On Budget,” SkyTalk 9, no. 8 (2002): 1-2; “YVR Celebrates Completion of Expanded Domestic Terminal,” SkyTalk 16, no. 9 (2009): 1. 102 Cited in Alan Daniels, “Terminal Attraction: High Hopes for the New Airport,” Vancouver Sun, October 14, 1995, sec. A, p. 18. 43  as the terminal was designed using materials, artworks, and architectural façades intended to evoke YVR’s location in coastal British Columbia, it was not intended to be a “continuous interior” where passengers are only cued to the world outside of the terminal via a pastiche of things putatively quintessential to the region.103 Rather, the terminal is encased in glass and incorporates elevated walkways that allow passengers to look out towards the impressive coast mountain landscape. These views, however, are primarily visible in the post-security area of the terminal (Figure 32). The exterior glazing on the pre-security side facing the access road and parking garage is opaque on the lower half of the wall with the exception of the glass sliding doors and The Great Wave mural (Figure 33). Light streams into this side of the terminal through the upper panels on the exterior glass façade and through the skylights above the steel columns. The airport’s planners and architects championed this design aspect and the vistas it offered, and they noted how it would improve the experience of international travellers arriving in Vancouver.104 In place of the long underground tunnel accessing the border screening area in the old terminal, arriving passengers now walk along elevated passageways enjoying views of the surrounding landscape, before descending to the border screening zone and baggage claim area. This visual distraction from the passenger’s experience of walking through a directional passageway exemplifies the logic of aero-kinaesthetics. Moreover, like the types of imagery that signify relatively unlimited types of movement, the view gives the sense that one is experiencing a more expansive trajectory through space than the actual contained movement in a corridor. And, like the numerous First                                                103 Mark Pimlott argues that airports such as Schiphol are a “continuous interior”; although there are views out to the aprons and the aircraft outside, the spectacular aspect of the terminal is directed inwards to the numerous advertisements and shopping opportunities (Mark Pimlott, “The Continuous Interior: Infrastructure for Publicity and Control,” Harvard Design Magazine 29 [2008-2009]: 77-79). 104 Jes Odam, “There’s more light for arriving passengers as Vancouver airport tunnels come to end,” Vancouver Sun, March 11, 1994, sec. B, p. 1; Daniels, “Terminal Attraction: High Hopes for the New Airport.” 44  Nations artworks installed in the terminal, this view of a distinctive landscape also calls to mind that the passenger has arrived at a specific place – the Pacific Northwest Coast. As I argue, these types of place-based signifiers remind the passenger that they have moved substantially across cartographic space and evoke a sensation of kinaesthesia.  Similarly, the terminal’s design included other elevated walkways and balconies that afford views onto interior spaces below. For instance, standing behind Bill Reid’s The Jade Canoe one can look down from the balcony to Joe David’s Welcome Figures and the “meeters and greeters” awaiting arriving travellers (Figure 31). Glass-enveloped passageways are suspended in the concourse, and their structural supports are clearly visible. The steel columns and struts supporting the ceiling are painted white and are arranged in rows running the length of the terminal (Figure 7). The promotional material distributed at the terminal’s opening emphasized both their functional and aesthetic value:  Steel columns that resemble trees in a forest will gracefully support the roof and floors. Branch-like column struts will reduce roof beam spans, allowing widely-spaced columns. The structure will efficiently resist the forces of man and nature while allowing passengers to see through the building to the distant landscape.105  However, the Vancouver Sun’s Pete McMartin commented that the columns looked simply like steel columns.106 The terminal’s carpeting is another architectural element supposed to signify an aspect of British Columbia’s topography but whose intended meaning has likely been recognized by none but few of the millions of passengers that have transited through the International Terminal since its opening (Figure 34). The short blue stripes scattered over a dark green background are apparently meant to signify log jams in the Fraser River.107                                                 105 Cited in Pete McMartin, “Flight Path to the Future: A View of the New YVR: Beyond the art, major changes,” Vancouver Sun, April 25, 1996, sec. D, p. 1. 106 McMartin, “Flight Path to the Future.” 107 “Locally-inspired art and architecture deliver YVR’s unique sense of place,” SkyTalk 19, no. 10 (2012): 4. 45  The Great Wave, on the other hand, is an apparent and far more effective signifier of the region’s coastline (Figure 33). This glass mural, measuring 40-metres wide and 10-metres tall, is composed of glass strips one inch in width that depict a crashing wave. It acts as a backdrop to YVR’s flagship art piece, Reid’s The Spirit of Haida Gwaii: The Jade Canoe, and was commissioned specifically for this purpose.108 After YVR’s architects and planners decided to locate The Jade Canoe in the pre-security area on the departures level, they sought a design solution that would obscure the south-facing view of the glass wall behind it, as it looked out onto the parking and roadway, but still allowed light to shine in on the sculpture. The planners’ discussion regarding the mural’s imagery included Reid, who preferred a reference to the ocean environment that a Haida canoe would be situated in. These canoes, which were used traditionally to travel from Haida Gwaii to the British Columbia mainland, often encountered stormy seas in Hecate Strait. Lutz Haufschild, who won the commission, attempted to capture the intensity of its crashing waves in his design, which is modeled after Hokusai’s famous early-1830s woodblock print, The Great Wave off Kanagawa. This mural coupled with The Jade Canoe exemplifies the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics as it represents a type of movement that contrasts with the passenger’s typical experience of flying and time spent in the terminal. Moreover, this representation of a wild ocean trek contrasts with how passengers experience movement while viewing this work – by either walking past it or sitting and waiting in the space surrounding the sculpture (Figure 33). This voyage in an open boat also contrasts with the actual experience of flight, which is in a climate-controlled fuselage protected from the exterior elements. Reid’s The Jade Canoe is one of many Northwest Coast First Nations artworks that were purchased or commissioned. It figured prominently in design sketches and was                                                108 Frank O’Neill, “The great wave wall,” SkyTalk 5, no. 4 (1998): 9. 46  envisioned as a prominent place-marker that passengers could use as a meeting point (Figure 7).109 Like all of the artworks installed at YVR, it is accompanied by an informational panel. It includes a brief artist biography and Reid’s statement on the meaning of the artwork. He explains that aboard this traditional Haida dugout canoe are “thirteen supernatural creatures, each related in some way to the Haida’s mythical past.” The panel also explains that this is the second casting of The Spirit of Haida Gwaii. The first bronze casting, known as The Black Canoe, was completed in 1991 and installed at the Canadian Embassy in Washington D.C. The VIAA commissioned the second and final casting in 1993. Unlike the first casting, this bronze sculpture was painted with a jade-green patina. Of all the artworks installed at YVR’s International Terminal, The Jade Canoe has been by and large the most reported on in the Vancouver Sun.110 Reid’s sculpture has also been the subject of numerous articles in YVR’s community newsletter, SkyTalk.111 This no doubt was spurred on by Reid’s reputation as a well-known Northwest Coast First Nations artist. It also appears to have garnered some of its attention, especially in the local newspaper, due to its cost – the VIAA had spent three million dollars to acquire the sculpture.112 Frank O’Neill, chairman of the VIAA’s thematics committee, defended this expenditure on aesthetics and expected the costs to be recouped via increased passenger                                                109 Odam, “There’s more light for arriving passengers as Vancouver airport tunnels come to end.” For an example of a sketch depticing Reid’s sculpture as a focal point in the terminal’s interior, see “Vancouver International Airport Expansion,” SkyTalk 1, no. 5 (1994): special insert. 110 Jamie Lamb, “Airport charges will pay for $3-million sculpture,” Vancouver Sun, January 5, 1994, sec. A, p. 3; Odam, “There’s more light for arriving passengers as Vancouver airport tunnels come to end”; Jamie Lamb, “Art can make an airport terminally interesting,” Vancouver Sun, April 11, 1994, sec. A, p. 3; Robin Ward, “Robin Ward,” Vancouver Sun, September 16, 1995, sec. D, p. 12; McMartin, “Flight Path to the Future”; Gerry Bellett, “Vancouver airport turns 80,” Vancouver Sun, July 22, 2011, sec. A, p. 9. 111 “The Spirit Awakes,” SkyTalk 1, no. 6 (1994): 1, 5; Brian Day, “New Terminal Unlike Any Other… In a Land Unlike Any Other…,” SkyTalk 2, no. 3 (1994): 8-9; Frank O’Neill, “Where It’s Art,” SkyTalk 4, no. 2 (1996): 5, 15; Frank O’Neill, “Where It’s Art,” SkyTalk 4, no. 7 (1997): 8-9; O’Neill, “The great wave wall,” 9; “Bill Reid’s masterpiece is a gathering point in YVR’s International Terminal,” SkyTalk 18, no. 1 (2011): 5; “Bill Reid’s masterpiece provides a gathering point at YVR,” SkyTalk 18, no. 8 (2011): 11. 112 Lamb, “Airport charges will pay for $3-million sculpture,” 3; Lamb, “Art can make an airport terminally interesting,” 3;  47  spending. He argued, “What art can do is create an ambiance and a feeling that puts people in a good mood. That, by the way, has a great commercial spinoff.”113 This anticipated correlation between artworks and passenger spending appears to have influenced the planning decisions regarding the placement of artworks within the terminal. Reid’s sculpture, for instance, was deliberately located close to the restaurants and food outlets on the departures level.114 Its nearest neighbour is a Starbucks Coffee stand that abuts the eastern side of the amphitheatre-like space surrounding the work, and a larger food court is situated to the north. Just few steps west of The Jade Canoe is the “Gifts of the Raven” shop, which sells carvings by Northwest Coast First Nations artists as well as blankets, pepper mills, mugs, and water bottles illustrated with Northwest Coast First Nations designs.  It is noteworthy that the airport’s most expensive work is also emblazoned on a currency note that has been widely used at YVR after it was brought into circulation in 2004. The green Canadian twenty-dollar note from the Canadian Journey series is illustrated with an etching of Reid’s Spirit of Haida Gwaii.115 Bills of this denomination are the most frequently distributed from Canadian automated teller machines, including those at YVR, which are often the first point of contact with Canadian currency for international passengers arriving at the airport. Some of these passengers, along with countless numbers of other passengers and visitors to YVR, have likely paid for a coffee or a snack from the Starbucks Coffee stand next to Reid’s sculpture with a twenty-dollar bill depicting this iconic artwork. However, the number of passengers paying with this bill has been diminishing since November 2012, when the Bank of Canada introduced a redesigned polymer twenty-dollar                                                113 Cited in Bell, “A Celebration in Art,” 3. 114 O’Neill, “The great wave wall,” 9. 115 The Canadian Journey series was brought into circulation between 2001 and 2006 (“Canadian Journey,” Bank of Canada, accessed June 5, 2013,  48  note which does not feature Reid’s artwork. While the reproduction of the Spirit of Haida Gwaii on a currency note is not related to the sculpture’s role at YVR, this coupling of an airport artwork and money reflects the commercial aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Moreover, terminals are designed to move passengers past consumption spaces and spectacular elements are installed to entice them to spend. Reid’s sculpture was not the only First Nations artwork that was installed to enhance the architectural design. Susan A. Point’s Flight (Spindle Whorl), her and Shane Pointe’s Musqueam Welcome Figures, and four woven tapestries by Krista Point, Robyn Sparrow, Debra Sparrow, and Gina Grant and Helen Callbreath were incorporated into the design of a set of escalators and stairs leading from level 4 to the Canada Border Services Agency screening area on level 3 (Figure 35, 36).116 All travellers arriving on flights originating outside of Canada must walk through this passageway, which was envisioned as a welcoming area exhibiting the artworks of the Musqueam people, whose traditional lands include the unceded territory occupied by YVR.117 On the stairway’s intermediate landing, passengers walk past Flight (Spindle Whorl), a red-cedar disc 4.8 metres in diameter that hangs in front of a granite wall with water cascading down its face (Figure 37). Point’s enlarged spindle whorl, a tool that is typically six-inches wide and used by the Musqueam to spin yarn, occupies a central focal point for those looking back at the stairway from the border screening area.118 The water that rushes down the granite wall is directed into two channels that flow alongside two escalators flanking a central stairway (Figure 36). This rushing water                                                116 For an architect’s rendering of how these artworks were to be installed and how they were to correspond with the planned stairway, see Day, “New Terminal,” 8-9. 117 “Musqueam Declaration,” June 10, 1976, Vancouver, British Columbia, Musqueam Indian Band, accessed November 19, 2014, 118 “Flight (Spindle Whorl),” YVR, accessed June 11, 2013, Unlike the traditional spindle whorls used to make yarn, Point’s sculpture at YVR does not include the shaft that is fixed to the centre of the disc. 49  was intended to refer to the Fraser River delta, the traditional fishing and hunting grounds of the Musqueam people. As passengers head down this lower set of escalators and stairs, they are faced with the Musqueam Welcome Figures, a male carved by Shane Pointe and a female carved by Susan A. Point. Both were made out of red cedar and stand 5.2 metres high. These two houseposts are aligned with the two channels of water running on either side of the staircase. In May 1997, Shane Pointe’s male figure was replaced with a new male figure by Susan A. Point, which she carved out of the same red-cedar log as her female figure (Figure 38).119 Hanging from the ceiling beside the two escalators are the four Musqueam tapestries (Figure 35). The visual imagery represented by the artworks in the Musqueam Welcome Area is intended depict two themes: flight and the Musqueam people.120 For instance, Point’s spindle whorl and male figure have eagles carved into them, and the men illustrated on the whorl have salmon ensigns adorned on their chests, which is meant to refer to one of the Musqueam’s primary food sources. The Musqueam Welcome Area incorporates both aspects of aero-kinaesthetics into its design. As passengers are directed along a stairwell, they are presented with numerous movement-themed and place-themed representations.  In 1998, VIAA installed an additional set of Northwest Coast First Nations welcome figures that greet passengers arriving on international and U.S. flights (Figure 31, 39).121 Nuu-chah-nulth artist Joe David’s male and female figures were carved for the British Columbia Pavilion at Expo ’86 and were modeled after traditional Clayoquot welcome figures. These two cedar statues stand in a publicly accessible space of the International                                                119 Shane Pointe’s male figure was moved to the Domestic Terminal where it was installed alongside a female figure carved by Pointe (Frank O’Neill, “Where It’s Art: Soul Mates,” SkyTalk 4, no. 8 [1997]: 8, 14). 120 O’Neill, “Where It’s Art: Soul Mates,” 8; and “Musqueam Welcome Area,” YVR, accessed June 11, 2013, 121 “Figures Provide Special Welcome,” SkyTalk 5, no. 10 (1998): 13; and Frank O’Neill, “Where It’s Art: Welcome to Vancouver,” SkyTalk 6, no. 2 (1998): 8. Joe David’s Welcome Figures are on loan from the Museum of Vancouver. 50  Terminal’s arrivals level where “meeters and greeters” await arriving passengers, who enter into this less restricted area through a secured exit that is a short distance from the Canada Customs screening zone in the baggage claim area. A metre-high steel-and-glass wall with a wooden railing partitions the route that arriving passengers are intended to follow and the waiting area meant to contain the meeters and greeters.  Within a year of the new International Terminal’s official opening in 1996, the VIAA approved a plan for an expansion on the east side of the building.122 This addition was designed by the same architectural firm that had designed the existing International Terminal, Waisman Dewar Grout Carter Inc., which had been renamed Architectura.123 This 18,000-square-metre expansion to the terminal included an extension of the concourse, completed in 1999, and seven new gates, completed in 2000, that were dedicated to flights departing to and arriving from the United States.124 Passengers deplaning at these gates are led along an “arrivals theatre” called ‘Pacific Passage’ which replicates an outdoor scene purportedly similar to the landscapes on Haida Gwaii (Figure 40). It includes a manufactured beachfront with a whaling canoe carved by Nuu-chah-nulth artist Tim Paul and a wharf that passengers can walk onto as well as replicated sections of forest made with real timber and ornamented with shrubs and ferns. Connie Watts’s Hetux, a thunderbird, hangs from the ceiling above the passageway. The 14,100-square-metre expansion to the concourse brought additional check-                                               122 Stephen Charles, “Rainforest Theme for $114 million Expansion,” SkyTalk 4, no. 6 (1997): 8. 123 Trevor Boddy, “The airport terminal as rain-forest theme park,” The Globe and Mail, November 9, 1996, sec. C, p. 20; Alan Daniels, “Airport subsidiary wins $200-million Chile deal,” Vancouver Sun, November 19, 1997, sec. D, p. 1; “Vancouver International Airport,” Stantec, accessed November 19, 2014, 124 Ken MacQueen, “Design blurs line between nature, indoors: Airport arrivals wing draws its new look from coastal environment,” Vancouver Sun, March 18, 2000, sec. B, p. 5; “Glass-Enclosed Bridges Give ‘Arrivals’ Sneak B.C. Preview,” SkyTalk 7, no. 5 (2000): 1, 9; and Philip Raphael, “Whaling Canoe, Shoreline, Old Growth Forest, Greet Arrivals at $147M Terminal Expansion,” SkyTalk 7, no. 4 (2000): 1, 8. The budget for this expansion was $147 million, but it had cost $27 million less to build the new addition.  51  in counters to the pre-security area of the departures level and was built with the same materials used in the west side of the International Terminal.125 The design of the eastern concourse includes the entrance to the airport’s Fairmont Hotel, which was also completed in 1999. This fourteen-storey building has 392 soundproofed rooms and a roof resembling an aircraft wing.126 It is set back from the eastern concourse’s exterior south-facing wall, which has the hotel’s chateau-style entranceway tacked onto it.  In 2004 the VIAA announced its plans for a $1.4 billion renovation that besides upgrades to the Domestic and International Terminals included a new “link” building. This would connect the two terminals and the Canada Line, a rapid transit link to downtown Vancouver and Richmond completed for the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympic Games.127 The Link Building, a five-storey, elliptical-shaped, steel and glass structure, opened in 2007.128 It also provides additional space for international check-ins and extra offices for VIAA staff. The glass curtain wall, which spans the building’s entire height on the eastern side, allows light to pour into an atrium where Don Yeomans’s 10-metre totem pole, Celebrating Flight, stands (Figure 41). A number of green-and-blue-coloured curved glass panels hang from the ceiling above the atrium and are suspended under light fixtures; this arc-shaped arrangement is intended to resemble the aurora borealis. Like the Musqueam Welcome Area in the International Terminal, the Link Building has a manufactured waterway                                                125 Stephen Charles, “New Hotel’s roofline to resemble aircraft wing,” SkyTalk 5, no. 3 (1998): 4; “Airport Place Hotel Taking Shape,” SkyTalk 6, no. 4 (1999): 6.  126 Sarah Schmidt, “Airport hotel flies a different path,” The Globe and Mail, July 20, 1999, sec. B, p. 13. 127 “$1.4-Billion Capital Program Unveiled,” SkyTalk 11, no. 5 (2004): 1-2; “Building The Gateway,” SkyTalk 12, no. 9 (2005): 1, 3.  128 “Link Construction Project receives architectural award of merit,” SkyTalk 15, no. 3 (2008): 1; Larry Berg, “President’s Corner: Arrivals 2008: What’s to come in the year ahead,” SkyTalk 15, no. 3 (2008): 3; “A new Link at YVR,” SkyTalk 15, no. 5 (2008): 1. In January 2012, the Link Building’s atrium was named after Graham Clarke, one of VIAA’s founding directors (see “Graham Clarke Atrium: Honouring 25 years of service,” SkyTalk 19, no. 1 [2012]: 3). 52  flowing in its interior. A rocky cliff face in the atrium has water running down it and into a pool at its base on the ground level.  The expansion to the International Terminal, which opened in 2007, included a new post-security west chevron with four additional gates. The VIAA retained the same architectural firm (which was renamed Stantec) that had designed the International Terminal and its previous expansions.129 Like the existing terminal, the interior design of this 36,000-square-metre development was inspired by British Columbia’s west coast.130 At the centre of the building is a stream which flows through a manufactured rocky channel lined with fallen timber (Figure 42). The tables and chairs for the food court flank this “supernatural”131 scene, and restaurants, cafes, and shops circle its periphery. A 114,000-litre saltwater aquarium containing approximately 850 sea animals was installed at the end of the stream. Staff from the Vancouver Aquarium maintain the tank. The structure that holds the tank includes Lyle Wilson and John Nutter’s Orca Chief and the Kelp Forest, which is situated directly above the aquarium’s glass pane that offers a view into British Columbia’s marine habitat. The nature theme also extended to the design of the light fixtures; their shape and scattered arrangement is intended to allude to the log jams found in many of British Columbia’s rivers.132 Larry Berg, the VIAA’s President and Chief Executive Officer, noted that this reference is a “tribute to the key role the forestry industry has played in the development of our province.”133 Along with Orca Chief and the Kelp Forest, three other new artworks were                                                129 “Vancouver International Airport,” Stantec.  130 “YVR Celebrates Completion of International Terminal Expansion,” SkyTalk 14, no. 9 (2007): 1, 3; “Marine Exhibits,” SkyTalk 14, no. 9 (2007): 7. 131 In its advertisements to attract tourism, British Columbia has branded itself as “Super, Natural British Columbia” since 1978. The imagery in these ads predominately feature photographs of the ocean, mountains, forests, and wildlife (George Allen, “Place Branding: New Tools for Economic Development,” Design Management Review 18, no. 2 [2007]: 65-66).  132 Larry Berg, “President’s Corner: Land, Sea and Sky – A Natural Fit for YVR,” SkyTalk 14, no. 10 (2007): 3. 133 Ibid. 53  installed in the expansion at the time of its opening: Gordon Smith’s Beach Tangle, Eric Robertson’s Net Work, and Dempsey Bob’s Fog Woman and Raven.134  Although the International Terminal’s and Link Building’s interiors have been predominantly designed to refer to the culture and topography of coastal British Columbia, the VIAA did install a few artworks that do not signify qualities and characteristics typically considered endemic to the region. For instance, Patrick Amiot and Brigitte Laurent’s Flying Traveller, an acrylic-painted fibreglass sculpture depicting a man in full stride with two suitcases in hand and his hat blown off his head, was installed in the International Terminal in 1996 (Figure 43).135 Prior to the terminal’s opening, O’Neill met Amiot and asked if he and Laurent would create a sculpture for YVR that had either a forestry and fisheries theme. Instead of creating an artwork depicting one of British Columbia’s resource industries, the duo sculpted and painted a frazzled Caucasian man who could be running to a departure gate at YVR or any other airport in world. O’Neill conceded that the Flying Traveller was fitting for an airport, and it was installed shortly past security. In YVR’s newsletter, SkyTalk, he explained that the sculpture “provides a whimsical moment for passengers” and “has the effect of ‘lightening up’ the airport experience for travellers who have just gone through body scan and x-ray of hand-carried baggage.”136 Amiot and Laurent’s sculpture stood in the post-security area of the International Terminal for at least ten years before being moved to the post-security area in the Domestic Terminal.137 Another artwork installed in the International Terminal that depicts a theme universal to all airports is Da Vinci Flying                                                134 “Art Features in New International Terminal Wing,” SkyTalk 14, no. 9 (2007): 7. 135 Frank O’Neill, “Where It’s Art,” SkyTalk 4, no. 3 (1997): 5. 136 Ibid. 137 The September 2006 issue of SkyTalk notes that the artwork is in the International Terminal (see Artie Chumpol, “Meet Rita Beiks: YVR’s Art Visionary,” SkyTalk 13, no. 11 [2006]: 6). Flying Traveller was likely moved to the Domestic Terminal when it was expanded in 2009. The August 2009 issue of SkyTalk includes an image of the artwork in an article welcoming the new expansion’s shops and services (see “C-Pier shops, restaurants and services,” SkyTalk 16, no. 9 [2009]: 7). 54  Machine, a full-scale replica of one of Leonardo da Vinci’s designs for an aircraft.138 The model was built by Robert Byers for the Royal British Columbia Museum’s exhibition on da Vinci and sold to the VIAA at an auction a few months after the exhibition closed in 1999. Byers’s construction, which has an impressive 9.15-metre wingspan and is made out of wood, silk, copper nails, hemp rope, and twine, was hung above the baggage carousels in the arrivals area shortly after the VIAA acquired the work. Sadly, it has since been removed.139 While Amiot and Laurent’s Flying Traveller represents a type of movement experienced by some air passengers, the Da Vinci Flying Machine calls to mind a type of kinaesthesia that contrasts with our contemporary experience of air travel and exemplifies the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Whereas Amiot and Laurent’s stressed traveller races his way through the terminal’s stop-and-go process and will embark on a plane as a passenger, Da Vinci’s aviator is unencumbered by any time schedules as he uses a set of artificial wings to experience a relatively unrestricted trajectory in airspace.  Heathrow Today’s biggest airport operating in London is Heathrow Airport. This massive complex, which is one of the world’s busiest airports, is located 25 kilometres west of the city’s core. It, however, was not the city’s first civilian airport but the city’s third. It was preceded by Croydon and Gatwick. Croydon Airport, a military airfield situated 19 kilometres southwest of the City of London, was repurposed as the city’s civilian airport and                                                138 Frank O’Neill, “Where It’s Art: Da Vinci’s Flying Machine lands at YVR,” SkyTalk 6, no. 8 (1999): 8; “Da Vinci model to greet passengers at YVR,” SkyTalk 6, no. 12 (1999): 8. 139 Da Vinci Flying Machine was removed sometime after 2005. A photograph of a didactic panel accompanying the artwork was taken on October 13, 2005, at YVR and uploaded to Flickr, a photo-sharing website (see Roland Tanglao, “Flying Machine at YVR,” Flickr, October 13, 2005, accessed June 17, 2013, 55  opened in 1920.140 The city’s second airport, Gatwick, is located 46 kilometres south of the city centre and first opened in 1936. Its terminal, nicknamed the “beehive,” was a unique circular structure with six covered fingers leading to the aircraft. However, operations ceased at Gatwick the following year because of flooding, and it was not reopened until 1958. Heathrow Airport, when officially opened as a civilian airport in 1946, replaced Croydon as the nation’s principal airport soon after it was built. It was originally a private aerodrome, owned by aircraft builder and engineer Charles Richard Fairey.141 In 1930, Fairey acquired 150 acres of flat and treeless land near Harmondsworth, and he built a hangar and developed a turf runway. Fairey built and tested aircraft at Harmondsworth until 1944, when the Air Ministry obtained his land for its military operations in the Second World War. The Air Ministry claimed that it would be converted into a RAF airport used to ship troops and supplies to East Asia where they would fight Japanese forces. However, the Air Ministry’s actual plans were to convert this site into London’s main civilian airport once the war ended – the ministry was able to use its wartime powers quickly to acquire 2800 acres of land and mitigate public opposition to a new civilian airport. Along with Fairey’s aerodrome, the Air Ministry acquired two small hamlets, Heath Row and Perry Oaks. The villagers were forced to leave, and their cottages and buildings were bulldozed to make way for the new airport and its runways.  Heathrow Airport, which was renamed “London Airport” shortly after it opened in 1946, began its operations with tented passenger terminals.142 Inside one of the tents was a W.H. Smith & Sons shop, which sold newspapers, magazines, and cigarettes (this shop has proven to be rather successful at Heathrow – WH Smith shops are situated before and after                                                140 Dierikx and Bouwens, 41-43, 98-102. 141 Alan Gallop, Time Flies: Heathrow at 60 (Stroud: Sutton Publishing Limited, 2005), 18-33. 142 Gallop, 48-55. 56  security at each of the terminals). By the end of the year, the airport had erected passenger terminals built out of the same type of construction materials used in prefabricated homes built after the war. In 1955, London Airport opened a more permanent steel-framed passenger terminal encased with glass, red brick, and stone.143 Frederick Gibberd, a British architect, designed the new terminal as well as a new control tower and an office building with a public observation deck on its roof, which were also completed in 1955.144 These buildings, which were located in a central area inside a triangle of runways, were accessed by a newly built 2060-foot-long tunnel that passed under one of the runways. Passengers arriving by bus or by car had to travel under the earth before entering the “airport city” where they would embark on their journey in the sky. Many of the airlines flying out of London Airport moved into the new terminal, which contained numerous restaurants, lounges, and shops. The main part of the terminal was named the Europa Building, and it serviced flights to destinations across Europe. A western section of the building, named the Britannic Building, serviced domestic flights. The airlines that maintained their operations in the older terminal moved out of the building in 1961, when London Airport opened its Oceanic Building also designed by Gibberd.145 Unlike his 1955 terminal, this steel-framed structure was not clad with red brick but with marble and ample amounts of glass.  In 1966, the British Airport Authority (BAA) assumed the operations of London Airport.146 The British government handed the airport, which had received massive amounts of investment and had continually failed to generate profits, to this independent body along                                                143 Gallop, 97-103, 116-120. 144 Public observation areas at airports, normally accessed by paying a small entrance fee, had been popular since the early days of aviation. In 1959, over one million people visited London Airport’s observation deck (Gallop, 129). These public observation areas became less visited with rise of mass air travel. Heathrow Airport closed its rooftop observation deck during the early 1980s; although there were far fewer visitors than when it first opened, the observation area was closed to the public because of security concerns.  145 Gallop, 133-134. 146 Gallop, 131-142. 57  with Stansted, Gatwick, and Prestwick Airport in Glasgow. Shortly after it acquired London Airport, the BAA renamed the airport Heathrow Airport, and its three-letter code was changed from LAP to LHR. In 1969, Heathrow Airport opened its third Gibberd-designed passenger terminal, Terminal 1, and the Europa Building and Oceanic Building were renamed Terminal 2 and Terminal 3, respectively. In terms of architectural style, none of Gibberd’s three terminals were alike. However, his new Terminal 1 was built with some red brick, a material he had used extensively in his design for the terminal, control tower, and office building that opened in 1955. With the advent of the jumbo jet and the subsequent spike in air travel during the 1970s, more and more passengers departed, landed, and transferred at Heathrow Airport, and its three terminals became more and more crowded. In the late 1970s, BAA started developing its plans for a fourth terminal.147 This new structure, however, had to be situated away from the other three terminals because the central area between the runways had reached its capacity. BAA decided that Terminal 4 would be built across the runway to the south of the central area, and it commissioned the architectural firm Scott, Brownrigg & Turner to design the building. Before BAA could bring this massive project to fruition, it had to await the approval of a public inquiry. It was approved, and the new terminal officially opened in 1986. In the same year, the British government signed the Airports Act, which sought to privatize BAA.148 In July the following year, BAA was listed on the London Stock Exchange and valued at 1255 million pounds sterling.  Although the public inquiry slowed development of Terminal 4, it was nowhere near as long as the public inquiry into the development of Terminal 5, which was the longest in                                                147 Gallop, 188-191. 148 Thomas-Emberson, 15. 58  U.K. history.149 Even before Terminal 4 was completed, BAA was looking to build a fifth terminal at the western edge of the land between the two runways. The construction of this new terminal required a major redevelopment of the existing site. A sewage treatment plant had to be moved, two rivers had to be diverted, a new roadway had to be built, and the rail and London Underground lines accessing Heathrow had to be extended. As expected, the proposal for this massive development was subject to a public inquiry. BAA spent two years preparing its case, and the inquiry began in 1995. The main stakeholders in the inquiry were BAA, British Airways, a number of local community councils, and the Highways Agency. The inquiry, which ran for 525 days and closed in 1999, mainly addressed the reasoning behind Heathrow’s proposed expansion, the impact of a new motorway leading to the terminal, the airport’s noise levels, and environmental and air quality concerns.  In 2001, the British government announced the outcome of the inquiry – BAA was officially approved to build the new terminal.150 More than a decade had passed since the first architectural plans were drawn for Terminal 5.151 Richard Rogers Partnership had won the competition for Terminal 5 in 1989, and the firm’s original plans were substantially altered by the time the terminal opened in 2008.152 Following the public inquiry, the                                                149 Gallop, 195-201. 150 See Sharon Doherty’s overview of the planning inquiry and how this impacted the development of Terminal 5 (Sharon Doherty, Heathrow’s Terminal 5: History in the Making [Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 2008], 47-60). 151 In November 2000, Lord Norman Foster criticized this planning process at a meeting of the Associate Parliamentary Group on Architecture and Planning at the House of Commons, and he compared the quick completion of the new airport in Hong Kong with the long drawn out process for Terminal 5 (David Taylor, “Foster lobbies MPs for Rogers’ Terminal Five plans,” Architect’s Journal 212, no. 19 [2000]: 12). Foster and Partners had won the commission for HKIA three years after the Richard Rogers Partnership won the commission for Terminal 5, and while HKIA was completed two years prior to this meeting, the plans for Terminal 5 were still waiting to be approved.  152 For an earlier iteration of the Terminal 5’s design, see Brian Edwards, “Rogers’ Fifth,” Architectural Review 201, no. 5 (1997): 72-77; and Paul Finch, “The plan leaving Heathrow has been delayed…,” Architects’ Journal 203 (1996): 8-9.  59  partnership had to make some concessions such as reducing the site’s footprint.153 A number of the design choices that the firm had wanted to employ at Terminal 5 were incorporated into Madrid-Barajas Airport Terminal 4, which the firm designed in conjunction with Estudio Lamela and opened in 2006.154 For instance, the terminal at Madrid-Barajas was designed with a wave-like roof with multiple undulations which is similar to the original plans for Terminal 5’s roof. But the roof that was ultimately built over the main concourse at Terminal 5 has one simple curve (Figure 44). The curved ceiling’s high point, 40 metres above ground, runs longitudinally across the rectangular building, which has a footprint that measures 400 metres by 176 metres.155 The parking garage, which has six levels, is a separate structure 35 metres to the west of the main terminal (Figure 45). Cars, taxis, and buses approach the airport via a large curved ramp that leads to the top level of the parking garage where there is a passenger pick-up and drop-off zone. Passengers can enter the terminal via bridges connecting the top floor of the car park to the departures level in the terminal or through covered passageways under these bridges on the ground level, which is the arrivals level in the terminal. The decision to build the car park and the land transportation access point as a separate structure from the terminal was partly driven by security concerns – the 35-metre separation could mitigate the potential damage caused by a car bomb. The terminal’s main structure is essentially the building’s envelope, which is the curved roof supported by a series of structural trees on the inside of the building and the four glass curtain walls encasing the space (Figure 46). The interior construction is independent from the exterior shell, which                                                153 Hugh Pearman, “Fifth dimension,” RIBA Journal 115, no. 3 (2008): 40.  154 Kenneth Powell, “Flight Attendant,” Architects’ Journal 217, no. 21 (2003): 24-25.  155 Pearman, “Fifth dimension,” 36-41; and Jill Macnair, “Terminal Condition,” Architects’ Journal 226, no. 1 (2007): 26-33. 60  allows for changes to the interior spatial arrangement without having to do any renovations to the support structure.  Hugh Pearman notes that Terminal 5’s section and elevation are non-conventional in terms of air terminal design.156 Because of the building’s limited footprint, designers needed to organize the space on more vertical levels than most other terminals which tend to expand horizontally. The interior space is divided into four storeys above ground and three below. On the pre-security side, there are two levels above ground that are accessible to passengers: the departures area on the top level (Figure 44) and the arrivals area on the ground level (Figure 47, 48). On the post-security side, the departures area is split into two levels (Figure 46). The top level is on the same level as the departures area on the pre-security side and accommodates shopping and restaurants. The gates are situated one level below, which also has shops, restaurants, and cafes, as well as seating areas. Passengers arriving at the terminal move through two levels on the post-security side: the baggage claim is on the ground level and the UK border control is one floor above. On the pre-security side, passengers need to descend to an underground level to access the Heathrow Express, a non-stop high-speed train to central London, and the London Underground, the city’s public transit railway system. On the post-security side, there is also an underground level that accesses a rail line – the shuttle that connects to Terminals 5B and 5C. These are two satellite buildings east of the main terminal building. Terminal 5B was completed at the same time as the main structure, and Terminal 5C opened in 2011.157  The pre-security departures level spans the length of the building and encompasses a vast space (Figure 44). Even though this space is relatively open compared to the more                                                156 Pearman, “Fifth dimension,” 40. 157 “Terminal 5 C opens,” Heathrow Airport Information, accessed July 21, 2014, 61  complex layouts at accreted terminals such as Schiphol, the planners have incorporated some wayfinding strategies into the architecture. This includes a different colour scheme for the various access points to the terminal. Moreover, there are four bridges that connect this level to the car park and at the entrance to each one there is an elevator and a set of escalators that lead down to the arrivals area below. Each one of these bridge-elevator-escalator modules is designated by a different colour; the structures supporting the elevators and the I-beams supporting the bridges are painted in red, orange, green, and purple (Figure 45, 48, 49). The escalators and elevators that access the Heathrow Express and London Underground are situated in a large blue support structure nestled between the car park and the terminal and situated between the green and purple bridges. These are the only the support structures on the pre-security side of the building that are painted with distinct colours. The columns and beams supporting the roof, curtain glass walls, and other structures are painted white or grey. The colour-coded mobility modules are landmarks in this expansive space and undoubtedly aid with the passengers’ navigation of the terminal. The green and orange modules are used to designate meeting points (Figure 49). Each one has a long vertical banner in the same colour that hangs in the arrivals area and indicates that it is a meeting point: green is the north meeting point and orange is the south meeting point. Although Terminal 5 is designed with some colour, it is a rather limited application compared to Terminal 4 at Madrid-Barajas where Richard Rogers Partnership used a generous amount of colour to aid with passenger navigation.158 The columns and curved beams supporting the wave-like roof are painted in a rainbow of colours that gradually shift in hue as one moves along the length of the concourse. Richard Rogers Partnership’s wayfinding strategy and organization of terminal                                                158 Royal Academy of Arts, Richard Rogers RA Inside Out (London: Royal Academy, 2013), Gallery Guide, July 18 – October 13, 2013, Burlington Gardens. 62  space is the type of functional aesthetic that comprises the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Although this ordering of movement involves a kinaesthetic experience for passengers, this aesthetic type is defined by a cognitive understanding of how this architectural strategy operates to regulate passenger circulation.  Even though the departures area on the pre-security side at Terminal 5 is vast, it is easy to orient oneself within the concourse because of the relatively unobstructed views of the ceiling and walls (Figure 50). Three of the glass curtain walls are visible from most points in the check-in area. The wall of glass facing the airside, however, is blocked by a barrier that contains the security checkpoints. The curved ceiling, which has skylights running widthwise, is mostly visible with the exception of what is blocked by the barrier. On the post-security side, the views of the ceiling and glass walls are often obstructed because of the two-level installation of retail shops and restaurants. In the spaces where there is an upward view, the ceiling’s curvature and striated skylights offer a sense of which direction one is facing (Figure 51). Passengers do, however, get an expansive view of the space at two points on the top level, where there are balconies that offer views of the level below, of the ceiling above, and through the wall of glass to the jet aircraft outside on the apron (Figure 46). Looking down from these balconies, passengers can see the seating areas, shops, and restaurants below. These types of views are not available in the arrivals area on the airside of the terminal, which are on the two levels below. But unlike the departures area, passengers rarely need to orient themselves with respect to the layout of the terminal as their options in terms of movement are far more limited. Signage and corridors directs them to the baggage claim and border control. Passengers transferring to other flights are directed to corridors leading back into the departures area or to shuttles heading to Heathrow’s other terminals. 63  Unlike departing passengers, who are free to move through a vast space with numerous consumer choices while they spend time waiting, arriving and transferring passengers in the airside arrivals area are expected to follow routes in one direction and only stop at the screening points, the baggage claim, and the toilets if necessary. Departing passengers appear to be encouraged to explore the terminal since they are not notified of their gate prior to passing through security. Electronic screens on the post-security side display the gate information. For flights within the UK and Europe, gates are posted 45-60 minutes before the departure time. For all other destinations, gates are posted 75 minutes beforehand. For flights departing from Terminal 5B and 5C, the gates are posted 2 hours beforehand to give passengers enough time to catch the shuttle to these satellite concourses. From my observations at Terminal 5, there are only few passengers that take a seat and wait near the gates, which is likely due to the announcement of the gate information only shortly before passengers need to board their plane. Most passengers wait in the central seating areas, walk through the terminal, shop in the numerous stores, or eat and drink at the restaurants and cafes. Unlike YVR and Schiphol where there are numerous artworks installed throughout the terminal, Heathrow’s Terminal 5 has commissioned only two artworks for the spaces accessible to all passengers. Most of the artworks commissioned for the terminal hang in the British Airways (BA) lounges, which are reserved for business- and first-class passengers.159 One of the artworks that all passengers can view is Troika’s Cloud (Figure 52). However, it is not situated along a main passenger route – it hangs between two escalators that lead to and from one of the BA lounges. The sculpture, which is 16-feet long and 7-feet wide, is a                                                159 For an overview of some of the artworks commissioned for the BA lounges, see Richard Cork, “Airport Art,” British Airways High Life, October 2010, accessed July 11, 2014, 64  black flattened capsule-like shape with flip dots that alternate between silver and black on its exterior.160 These 4638 flip dots are programmed to create patterns that continually change. The design brief asked for an artwork that responded to its location in the terminal – by an escalator that moves passengers from a busy departures area to a quieter first-class lounge.161 Troika looked to an aviation-related theme to convey the transition from the bustling transit space to the “serene” lounge. Eva Rucki, one Troika’s founding members, noted that Cloud is “a metaphor for a plane’s takeoff, traveling through a layer of clouds to reach calm skies above.”162 The flip dots on the rounded shape’s exterior also intended to point to transportation systems and travel. This system of alternating silver and black dots was used in railway station and air terminal signage during the 1970s and 80s before being replaced by digital readouts. Not only does the visual shift from silver to black recall this type of signage, but the sound that the flip dots make as they change “is also instantly reminiscent of travel” according to Troika’s Sebastien Noel.163 Although this work is unlike the artworks that I argue typify the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, it nonetheless has a kinaesthetic aspect in terms of its nostalgic reminder of earlier experiences of travel for some passengers. The other commissioned artwork accessible to all passengers is Moving World (Night and Day) by Langlands and Bell (Ben Langlands and Nikki Bell) (Figure 53, 54). It consists of two 18-metre-long glass walls with granite bases that each have a series of three-letter airport codes fixed to them.164 Like Cloud these two glass walls are located away from the terminal’s high traffic areas; they are outside at the opposite ends of the boulevard running                                                160 Tim McKeough, “Silver lining,” Interior Design 79, no. 5 (2008): 271-273. 161 MediaArtTube, “Troika - Cloud, Kinetic Sculpture 2008,” YouTube, March 14, 2010, accessed July 11, 2014,  162 Cited in McKeough, “Silver lining,” 271. 163 Cited in Gavin Lucas, “Troika: Simplicity, playfulness & an essential desire for provocation,” Creative Review 28, no. 4 (2008): 50. 164 Elizabeth Lynch, “Commissions,” Sculpture 27, no. 9 (2008): 22-23; Ben Langlands, Nikki Bell, and Richard Wilding, Moving World: Heathrow Terminal 5 (London: Contemporary Art Society, 2008). 65  between the main terminal building and the parking garage. The glass wall by the terminal’s northwest corner is black and the glass wall by the southwest corner is white. On both walls, the three-letter airport codes are illuminated by blue neon lights. The lighting sequence varies, but it is not entirely random – the groups of letters lit tend to gradually move around the semi-circles from left to right. In Chapter Three, I discuss how this series of three-letter airport codes is a reflection on the types of connections that exist between the world’s major cities. Although Cloud is situated in a space where there are some passengers moving by, typically business- and first-class passengers on their way to one of the terminal’s upscale lounges, Moving World is situated in a space where there is barely any passenger traffic. The glass walls are situated a fair distance from the nearest covered passageways that connect the car park to the terminal. Only those who glance off to the building’s perimeter while crossing the 35-metre gap might see Langlands and Bell’s work – the walls are somewhat obscured by a row of trees on each side of the terminal (Figure 45). When Moving World was commissioned, it was expected to be in an urban space alive with numerous pedestrians.165 However, from my observations based on a number of visits to the terminal, there were only a few passengers that ventured away from the covered walkways to spend some time outside in the boulevard between the terminal and the parking garage. Most of the people that I noticed in this outdoor space were airport workers having a cigarette break or eating their lunch while sitting on the granite plinths at the base of Moving World’s walls.  Unlike YVR and Schiphol, the functional application of artworks for wayfinding purposes does not appear to be necessary at Terminal 5. Its large concourse is a far less complex space than the accreted terminal spaces at YVR and Schiphol. Although this lack of a functional need for artworks may have been behind BAA’s decision to install relatively few                                                165 Langlands, Bell, and Wilding, Moving World, n.p. 66  artworks at Terminal 5, it may have also been because of financial and commercial pressure. As Schiphol’s architect Jan Benthem explains, proposals for artworks are often challenged by those in charge of commerce at the airport since they are constantly seeking more advertising and commercial space to boost revenue.166 Some of these advertisements, however, are designed using similar conventions employed in contemporary art. In the landside arrivals area at Heathrow Terminal 5, a light box displaying an advertisement for the upscale clothing retailer Burberry is installed in the wall and is backlit in a similar fashion as Jeff Wall’s photographic transparencies such as The Destroyed Room, 1978, and The Vampires’ Picnic, 1991 (Figure 55). Some airport planners, like those at YVR, recognize that artworks, particularly those that elicit a “sense of place,” might entice passenger spending. In a similar vein, Schiphol’s satellite of the Rijksmuseum is a space reserved for artworks associated with the nation’s identity, and it neighbors numerous commercial operations that sell quintessentially Dutch-themed goods. Heathrow’s Terminal 5 was designed to acknowledge its location, albeit less blatantly than YVR and Schiphol’s Holland Boulevard. In its brief, BAA asked for an architectural design that was “unmistakably from the UK.”167 BAA had selected one of the most famous contemporary architects in the UK if not the world, Sir Richard Rogers, and looked to his firm to create a terminal that would “act as a front door to the country.”168 Rogers’s firm, who BAA regarded as “the guardian of design principles,” was tasked with designing all of Terminal 5’s buildings in a similar architectural style.169 One of Rogers’s signature design strategies is to not cover up any of the structural elements. In a number of                                                166 Altan Erdogan, “Een luchthaven met stadse trekken,” de Volkskrant, September 6, 2003, sec. Magazine, p. 14. 167 Edwards, “Rogers’ Fifth,” 72. 168 Ibid. 169 Ibid. 67  his buildings, such as the Lloyd’s building in London, the columns and beams supporting the structure are clearly visible on the outside of the building along with heating ducts and escalators. At Terminal 5, most of the structure supporting the impressive curved ceiling is visible from the interior of the building, the primary vantage point for most airport users. The building’s largest structural node, which joins two round beams connecting to the floor and four round beams connecting to ceiling, appears to be celebrated as one of the key aesthetic features of the building (Figure 48, 56). At a retrospective exhibition on Rogers’s work at the Royal Academy of Arts in London in 2013, a model of this node, painted in pink, was on display.170 Passengers moving through the terminal can hardly miss seeing these structural nodes. There are eleven nodes along each of the two long sides of the terminal, and they are at the same height as the departures area’s top level. On the pre-security side, they are situated between the terminal’s glass curtain wall and the glass barrier wall that runs along the perimeter of the departures level. Passengers entering the departures area on the bridges coming from the car park or up the escalators from the arrivals area pass within metres of these large nodes, and those familiar with Rogers’s buildings may recognize that these were designed by his firm. However, it is likely that only few of the passengers moving through this terminal recognize that it has been designed by a famous UK architectural firm. The strongest reference to the building’s location in the UK is in the retail area of the post-security side of the departures level. One of the first shops passengers see upon exiting security is Harrods, London’s famous upscale department store (Figure 57). This retail space, which is one of the largest in the terminal, is situated near the exits of both security checkpoints. There is also a smaller Harrods outlet on the lower level of the departures area. Passengers on the lower                                                170 For more details on this exhibition, see Royal Academy of Arts, “Richard Rogers RA Inside Out.” 68  level are also afforded a clear view of the larger outlet on floor above since it is beside both balconies overlooking the two large central seating areas, and its illuminated sign is visible from below.   HKIA In the previous three case studies, I have illustrated how architects and planners need to adjust their air terminal designs according to existing buildings and airport infrastructure. YVR’s International Terminal, Duintjer’s terminal and Terminal-West at Schiphol, and Heathrow Terminal 5 have all been built on sites where runways were already in place and other terminals had been in use. In this respect, Terminal 1 at Hong Kong International Airport is an exception. HKIA in its entirety – the runways, the terminals, the access roads, the train station, etc. – were built on a new site that was reclaimed from the water west of Hong Kong (Figure 58, 59). HKIA, also known as Chek Lap Kok, was built to replace the city’s former airport, Kai Tak, in Kowloon, Hong Kong, which had been in operation since 1925.171 Kai Tak, which was located near a dense urban area, was reaching capacity and could not be expanded to deal with the expected rises in passenger traffic. HKIA was perceived as the last major undertaking by the British in Hong Kong before the former British colony was handed over to China in 1997.172 The new airport, which opened July 6, 1998, was built upon two islands and a large portion of reclaimed land surrounding them.173 Lam Chau Island and Chek Lap Kok Island, which had a mountain one hundred metres high, were reconfigured to have a flat plane with an elevation of ca. 6.5 metres extending 6                                                171 “Kai Tak Airport 1925-1998,” Government of the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, accessed October 28, 2014, 172 Ranulph Glanville, “Foster megastructure set for opening,” Architects’ Journal 208, (1998): 10-12.  173 Ken MacQueen, “China’s New Pride: Colossal Hong Kong airport becomes the gateway to Asia,” Vancouver Sun, April 11, 1998, sec. A, p. 13. 69  kilometres in length and 3.5 kilometres in width.174 HKIA was not the first airport to be built on reclaimed land in the sea. Kansai International Airport in Osaka Prefecture, Japan, designed by Renzo Piano and completed in 1994, was built on artificial island in Osaka Bay.175 At Kansai and HKIA, designers were forced to build on reclaimed land because of the surrounding mountainous terrain and the existing flat spaces were already allocated for other developments.176 HKIA was part of a larger Airport Core Program, costing 20 billion USD, which included a six-lane highway that would connect the airport to Hong Kong, two suspension bridges, a high-speed train that stops in Hong Kong, Kowloon, and Tsing Yi, and a new neighborhood, Tung Chung New Town, on Lantau Island.177  When Sir David Wilson, the Hong Kong Governor, announced the government’s decision to build this impressive project in October 1989, it was intended bring stability to Hong Kong, which was rattled by the Tiananmen Square riots earlier that year in June and was nervously awaiting its handover to China in 1997.178 Even though China saw the need for a new airport in Hong Kong, it did not approve of the massive scale and cost of the project, which was to be paid for by both public funds and private investment. China was concerned that the British colonial government in Hong Kong would spend nearly all of the colony’s financial reserves before the handover date. The Hong Kong government, which sought to forge ahead with the project regardless of China’s concerns, found that it could not get the financing for the airport from banks without China’s formal approval. In September 1991, Britain and China signed a Memorandum of Understanding, which assured that the                                                174 Clifford A. Pearson, “Hong Kong Airport,” Architectural Record 186, no. 11 (1998): 94.  175 Peter Buchanan, “Kansai,” Architectural Review 196 (1994): 31-81.  176 Peter Davey, “Chek Lap Kok,” Architectural Review 197 (1995): 54. 177 Pearson, “Hong Kong Airport,” 94; Glanville, “Foster megastructure set for opening,” 10-12.  178 Barbara Basler, “Hong Kong Builds for the Future: Big Airport Project Is Under Way,” New York Times, October 16, 1989, Sec. D, p. 10; John Elliott, “Terminal tension ahead of 1997,” Financial Post, March 27, 1991, sec. 1, p. 8. 70  Chinese government would be involved in all decisions relating to the project.179 In 1995, the two nations signed a further agreement on the amount of money the airport authority could borrow and how it would manage its finances.180 The Hong Kong Airport Authority was officially formed later on that year. This organization, which is owned by the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region’s government, manages the airport’s operations and development.181 At the time of the airport’s opening, HKIA’s Terminal 1 was the world’s largest air terminal and also considered “the largest enclosed public space ever made.”182 The terminal, which encompassed ca. 550,000 square metres of floor area, was designed to process 35 million passengers per year. The airport’s planners had also already accounted for potential expansions. If a satellite terminal were to be built on the site, HKIA would be able to process up to 80 million passengers per year by 2040. The consortium that won the commission in March 1992 – Foster and Partners, BAA, and Mott Connell – was largely British, and design for the most impressive structure on the site, Terminal 1, derives from an air terminal on British soil.183 Foster and Partners based their plans for HKIA’s main terminal on what they had learned while designing London’s Stansted Airport, which opened in 1991. The lessons learned at Stansted helped expedite the design process for HKIA’s Terminal 1, which was completed in a mere six years.                                                 179 Anthony B. L. Cheung, “How Autonomous are Public Corporations in Hong Kong? The Case of the Airport Authority,” Public Organization Review 6, no. 3 (2006): 223-224. 180 “Accord for Hong Kong’s New Airport,” New York Times, July 1, 1995, sec. 1, p. 34. 181 “Our Business - Airport Authority - Introduction,” Hong Kong International Airport, accessed November 6, 2014, See Cheung’s analysis of how the Hong Kong Airport Authority is a hybrid organization driven by both commercial and government interests (Cheung, “How Autonomous are Public Corporations in Hong Kong? The Case of the Airport Authority,” 221-236). 182 Pearson, “Hong Kong Airport,” 93. 183 Pearson, “Hong Kong Airport,” 94-97. 71  Pearman argues that when Stansted opened it truly was a “revolutionary” new design, comparable to Eero Saarinen’s Dulles Airport in Washington D.C. which opened in 1962.184 At Stansted, Foster and Partners redefined airport design by moving the baggage handling systems to the basement and opening up the terminal space under one large roof (Figure 60). Much of Terminal 1’s design owes to what Foster and Partners had developed for Stansted. Both airports are built with modules that are repeated in space. Their design for a standardized module at Terminal 1 allowed for an economical and flexible design. The module at Terminal 1 differs from the design at Stansted, where each square module curves in two directions and has a central skylight. At Terminal 1 the module is designed with one longitudinal curve, and the succession of these of modules give the sense of a directional flow across the length of the airport (Figure 61). At Stansted, on the other hand, the square modules read more like a grid that expands across two axes in space. With respect to aero-kinaesthetics, the longitudinal module at HKIA Terminal 1 exemplifies a functional aesthetic concerning circulation. It operates as a cue to entice passengers to move along this axis, which is the general direction they need to follow as they walk from the check-in to the gate.  In conjunction with the engineering firm Ove Arup and Partners, Foster and Partners designed a 36-metre-wide module for HKIA Terminal 1 made out of steel.185 Each module has a ceiling constructed out of lightweight steel with a row of triangular skylights that runs the length of the longitudinal curve. Below the skylights is a gantry, which deflects and diffuses the light across the curved ceiling. The gantry is also equipped with artificial lighting and has a walkway for maintenance crews. This module is repeated across the entirety of the building’s space, creating a series of 36-metre-wide barrel vaults. Foster and Partners used                                                184 Hugh Pearman, “The Onward Journey,” Architectural Review 224 (2008): 71-72. 185 Jack Robbins, “Lightweight Steel Roof Almost Seems to Take Off,” Architectural Record 186, no. 11 (1998): 100.  72  these modules to create a symmetrical design with the north side of terminal mirroring its south side (Figure 58, 59). The terminal was designed not only with an attention to how it would look on the inside but also from the outside with a view from above.186 Brian Edwards notes that the building’s plan, which arriving and departing passengers can see from the window of their jet, “recalls the footprint of a primitive aeroplane.”187 On the east side of the terminal, a series of nine barrel vaults cover the landside departures area which is a large rectangular space. Immediately adjacent to this space on the west, is a triangular space also covered by nine barrel vaults, which contains the airside terminal’s shopping spaces and food court. At the base of this triangle, there are two rectangular wings each composed of five barrel vaults that extend north and south, which contain a few of the terminal’s gates. The central barrel vault connected to the central rectangular and triangular spaces projects towards the west before forking off into two angled wings each composed of eight barrel vaults. This Y-shaped concourse contains most of the terminal’s gates. The long central vault, when seen inside the building, exemplifies the sense of the lengthwise flow through the terminal (Figure 61). Although these vaults were made from standardized parts, their height varies throughout the terminal. The central vault is the highest in the building, and the vaults extending to the north and south gradually diminish in height. This is most pronounced in the angled wings at the west end of the terminal where the vaults rise as low as 4 metres (Figure 62), much lower than the central vault that hovers 22 metres above the check-in counters (Figure 63).188 The concrete columns that support the vaults vary in height, and each has a steel node bolted to the top that allowed for the vaults to be installed at varying angles. The vaults also vary in height along their east-west axis. Passengers can see this variation in                                                186 Peter Davey, “Plane Sailing,” Architectural Review 204, no. 1219 (1998): 50-63. 187 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, 187. 188 Robbins, “Lightweight Steel Roof Almost Seems to Take Off,” 100. 73  height when looking down the length of the long central vault from the food court on the airport’s landside (Figure 64).  Hong Kong’s Terminal 1 is arranged such that the arrivals level is below the departures level. Passengers arriving at the gates are funneled through this lower level to the Hong Kong border screening area or over to connecting flights. Passengers arriving at gates on the west side of the terminal are directed to take a shuttle train that runs below the arrivals level along the long central concourse. Passengers departing from the gates at the west end of the terminal can also take this shuttle train in the other direction to avoid walking the length of the central concourse. Departing passengers must pass down a series of escalators located shortly after the pre-security baggage check on the east side of the terminal to access the train. Arriving and departing passengers do not encounter one another on the shuttle train, as they are directed along separate routes and enter and exit the shuttle at different points. Upon exiting the train, arriving passengers are ferried up escalators and deposited near the Hong Kong border screening zone.  Arriving passengers remain on this same level as they collect their luggage from the baggage claim and pass through the gateway to the landside area. From here they can walk through the space where meeters and greeters await and head directly to the high-speed train to Hong Kong, Kowloon, and Tsing Yi without needing to change levels (Figure 65). This rail station, which was also designed by Foster and Partners, accords with the design logic of the air terminal. Trains arriving at HKIA from the city stop on a level of the rail station that is connected by a series of bridges to the terminal’s check-in area. These bridges are one of two sets of bridges that cross an expansive space in Terminal 1’s landside area. In this respect, the building is similar to Heathrow Terminal 5 74  whose space is also defined by bridges leading to the various transport systems accessing the airport. Though unlike Heathrow Terminal 5, the bridges are angled ramps going both up and down to different levels of access points on the exterior of the building (Figure 66). The uppermost level on the exterior of Terminal 1 is a roadway where automobiles, taxis, and buses can drop off passengers. The ramps connecting from this level run downwards towards the check-in areas on the terminal’s departures level. Below this roadway, there is a corridor that runs the length of Terminal 1’s eastern exterior. From this corridor, there are four ramps running upwards towards Terminal 1’s check-in area. On the other side of this corridor there are three bridges on the exterior of the terminal that connect to the top-level of the high-speed rail station. The angled ramps that cross through Terminal 1’s concourse on the landside area are ordered in a symmetrical fashion, as are the escalators that have been built into the space. From Terminal 1’s landside arrivals area there is a central escalator and lift module that leads to the departures area above. There are also two sets of escalators leading from the arrivals level to the departures level on the north and south sides of terminal. The angled ramps are divided into two sets of four and are situated between the central escalators and the escalators near the exterior sides. These two sets of ramps are in a mirror image of each other. Starting with the building’s centre and moving to the terminal’s exterior, they are ordered as follows: train to check-in, roadway to check-in, train to check-in, and roadway to check-in. Under the outermost ramps on both sides of the terminal, there are escalators that lead down to the arrivals level from the corridor connecting to the arriving trains. It appears that these were built for the meeters and greeters that come to the airport via the high-speed rail line as these escalators are in line with the two points where arriving passengers exit from the airside to 75  the landside. In terms of wayfinding, this symmetrical layout of these ramps differs from the coloured mobility-modules at Heathrow Terminal 5. Although there is no differentiation among each ramp along the width of the terminal, these structures run lengthwise across the terminal’s space and emphasize the same directional flow as the ceiling’s longitudinal modules. The departures level is also a symmetrical design. There are two security checkpoints, one on the north side and the other on the south. In between these checkpoints is a two-level restaurant and shopping area (Figure 67). Restaurants on the second level offer views across the concourse’s large expansive space. At the top of the escalators on the second level, airport visitors can look through a glass barrier to the food court on the terminal’s airside (Figure 64). They can also look down to the movement of passengers on the arrivals level before they have passed through the border screening zone and picked up their luggage from the baggage claim area. As discussed above, this vantage point allows for a view along the terminal’s long central vault.  Upon exiting security on either the north or the south side of the terminal, passengers enter a shopping space. Between these two shopping spaces is a food court, which has seating that offers views down the concourse as well as down to some of the shops on the level below (Figure 68). This upper level of the airside departures area is situated above an extensive shopping mall on the departures area’s lower floor. Passengers must take an escalator down to this lower level as all of the terminal’s gates are accessed from the floor below. The shopping mall is situated at an intersection point between the gates along the long singular central vault and the north and south wings on the eastern side of terminal’s post-security area. This intersection also has escalators that descend to the underground rail line 76  connecting to the two wings at the western side of terminal and another set of escalators that descend to the waiting areas for gates 501-530. These waiting areas are situated on the same the level as the tarmac. Unlike the gates above where passengers board their planes via air bridges, passengers are driven from these gates directly to their aircraft by bus or shuttled to the North Satellite Concourse building that houses gates 501-510.189 This tarmac level is one of the few areas in the terminal where the interior architecture does not have a symmetrical arrangement. The interior architecture of the passenger-accessible areas on the floors above are designed such that the north and south sides of the terminal more or less mirror each other along the building’s east-west axis. This includes the more permanent architecture in the space such as escalators, people movers, bridges, and security check points. As to be expected, the distribution of shops, restaurants, and advertisements in the terminal is not symmetrical along this axis. As discussed above, the barrel vaults are also arranged symmetrically along the building’s east-west axis (Figure 58, 59). This symmetrical ordering of the interior space contrasts with air terminals that have grown via accretion such as YVR. One of the factors that likely allowed Foster and Partners to design a terminal with a symmetrical footprint and a symmetrically ordered system of passenger routes was the nature of the site. By starting with a vacant site and erecting an entire airport from scratch, the planners could integrate the designs for the terminal, the high-speed rail station, and the roadways.  As discussed above, the design for Heathrow Terminal 5 had to accord with existing infrastructure on the site. Like HKIA’s Terminal 1, Heathrow Terminal 5 has a symmetrical footprint, its outer shell has a symmetrical shape, and its structural nodes are distributed                                                189 The North Satellite Concourse building opened in 2010 (“HKIA Enjoys Record-Breaking Year in 2010,” Hong Kong Government News, January 16, 2011). 77  evenly throughout the space. However, unlike HKIA’s Terminal 1 with its symmetrical arrangement of bridges leading to the roadway and train station, the coloured bridges and mobility modules at Heathrow Terminal 5 have an uneven distribution in the space. Between each of the coloured mobility modules, there are two of Rogers’s structural nodes – with the exception of the space between the blue mobility module and the purple module, where there is only one node. The blue module, which is the access point for the Heathrow Express and London Underground, is a markedly different design from the other coloured mobility modules leading to the parking garage. The red, orange, and green modules are on its south side and the purple module is on its north side. Because the unique blue module is not situated at the building’s centre, Heathrow Terminal 5 does not reach the same level of symmetrical logic as Chek Lap Kok’s Terminal 1.  In terms of artworks, HKIA’s Terminal 1 is similar to Heathrow Terminal 5 since it has only a few installations. Van Lau’s Ying Yang is situated in a shopping space on the western side of terminal where the concourse branches to the two angled north and south wings (Figure 69). This aluminum and brass sculpture is installed under an escalator that leads to first-class lounges a floor above. A plaque at the base of the sculpture explains: “With an aluminium ring as the principal form, brass forms of Ying and Yang (Chinese cosmo elements) are added and etched with traditional Chinese decorative patterns, making it an art work to suggest the mythical philosophical thoughts that merging of Ying and Yang elements will give rise to cosmo evolution and bring about existence of all beings.” Aside from Ying Yang, the only other installation in Terminal 1 is a replica 1910 Farman biplane that is suspended from the ceiling in the landside area of the terminal (Figure 70).190 Arriving                                                190 This replica Farman biplane was built by Roger Freeman and his team at Vintage Aviation Services in Texas (Rachel Clarke, “Ready to take off at Chep Lap Kok: copy of biplane last seen in 1911,” South China Morning 78  passengers exiting the airside on the south side of terminal can see the biplane as they enter the space where meeters and greeters are waiting. Departing passengers entering the terminal on the south side can view the plane up close as it hangs between two of the sets of angled ramps that lead to the check-in area. A plaque on the departures level explains the first aircraft to take flight in Hong Kong was a Farman biplane that Belgian aviator Charles van den Born flew on March 18, 1911, at Sha Tin. It also explains that this replica, which is a fully functional aircraft, flew at HKIA on November 15, 1997, and that: “The flight and this display are lasting tributes to the birth of aviation in Hong Kong and the pioneering spirit that built our aviation industry.”191 I argue that the Farman biplane represents a type of movement that characterizes the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. It signifies an early form of aviation where pilots were not constrained by the type of regulations that now govern the airspace at HKIA. When Terminal 1 opened in 1998, there were two other artworks installed in building: Tao Ho’s A Synergy of Dynamic Energy and Michel Santry’s aerial installation.192 Ho’s sculpture, constructed out of coloured aluminium tubes and stainless steel wire, consisted of 18 icosahedra, which was meant to symbolize the relationship between the 18 districts in Hong Kong. Ho’s artwork, which was suspended from the ceiling in the western side of the terminal where the concourse branches into its angled north and south wings, has since been                                                                                                                                                  Post, November 7, 1997, p. 5). Freeman had to reconstruct the aircraft from photographs as there were no existing plans for the biplane and the original was destroyed at a riot after one of van den Born’s flights in Canton in 1911. Freeman’s replica has a 13.1-metre wing span, is 14.3 metres long, weighs 544 kilograms, and has a top speed of 61 km/h.  191 The plaque notes that the Hong Kong Historical Aircraft Association commissioned the replica and was funded by Shell Hong Kong Limited.  Freeman piloted the replica when it made its inaugural flight at Chek Lap Kok in November 1997 (Alison Smith, “Historic replica flies in face of progress at Chek Lap Kok,” South China Morning Post, November 16, 1997, p. 1). In April the following year, the biplane was moved into the terminal and suspended from the ceiling (Sanna So, “Historic moment flies on in plane replica at airport,” Hong Kong Standard, April 23, 1998). 192 “HK airport authority commissions artworks for passenger terminal,” Xinhua News Agency, October 20, 1997. 79  removed. Santry’s installation, which was comprised of three separate sections, was constructed out of stainless steel tubing, painted steel tubing, colourful light weight cloths, and rigging for yachts (Figure 5). It was suspended from the ceiling in the landside area of Terminal 1. He maintains that his installation, which resembles winged craft and sails, is also a place-based reference as it refers to the airplanes at HKIA and the boats in Hong Kong’s harbour.193 He also explains that the shapes for the central section of the work were “inspired by the flying figures” that are depicted in paintings found at China’s Dunhuang Caves.194 Santry’s work was removed in 2003, and I discuss the rationale behind this decision in the following chapter.195 In June 2007, a second terminal opened at HKIA.196 Skidmore, Owings & Merrill LLP designed the 30,000-square-metre building that contains Terminal 2 and SkyPlaza, a shopping mall that is part of the terminal’s structure.197 The new terminal’s purpose was to reduce some of the congestion at Terminal 1. Terminal 2, which was expected to process up to fifteen percent of the passengers departing from HKIA, increased the number of check-in counters at the airport but not the number of gates. Passengers checking in at Terminal 2 pass through security in the building and then need to board an underground train to the gates at Terminal 1.  Terminal 2’s design is somewhat different than Terminal 1. The ceiling does not suggest the same type of directional flow as the ceiling at Terminal 1 as it has a series of undulating ripples running in multiple directions, similar to the types of waves formed on a                                                193 “Hong Kong International Airport,” Michel Santry Sculptor, accessed December 27, 2012, 194 Ibid. 195 Glenda Korporaal, “Sculpture sails into problems,” The Australian, January 31, 2003, sec. Arts, p. 14. 196 Ng Kang-chung, “Airport extension set for takeoff,” South China Morning Post, June 2, 2007, p. 2. 197 “Hong Kong International Airport – Terminal 2 and Skyplaza,” Skidmore, Owings & Merrill LLP, accessed November 3, 2014. 80  lake’s surface by a light breeze (Figure 71). As with Terminal 1, it can be accessed by the high-speed rail line from Hong Kong, Kowloon, and Tsing Yi. Passengers traveling to Terminal 2 exit the train at the same stop as Terminal 1, but instead of exiting by the doors facing west, they must exit the doors facing east. Terminal 2 also has a series of bridges that run from the building’s entrance to the departures area (Figure 72). There are two bridges connecting from the train station that slope downwards to the check-in counters, and there are four bridges that slope upwards from the roadway to the check-in counters. They are arranged symmetrically in the space: on the south side of the terminal there is a bridge leading to the train situated between two bridges leading to the road and this repeated on the north side of the terminal. Beside each set of bridges, on the side facing the exterior wall, there are escalators leading to the floor below. This floor, however, is not an arrivals level – all passengers arriving at HKIA exit the airport via Terminal 1. This space is reserved for coach transport to mainland China. There are ticket counters, waiting areas, and bays leading to the buses. On the west-facing side of this floor, there are three tunnels that run under the high-speed rail line and connect with the landside area of Terminal 1.  Situated near the waiting areas for coaches traveling to mainland China is an artwork, Auspicious Coloured Ribbon (Figure 73). A plaque, which has been installed beside the work, explains what this work symbolizes but it does not list the name of the artist. It explains that the sculpture is supposed to represent a ribbon floating in the air, and it ardently associates this form with an overly idealized relationship between Hong Kong and China. The plaque states: …the ribbon implies ethnic solidarity, national unity, social harmony and business prosperity. Red on one side and blue on the other, the ribbon gradually turns golden as it rises, symbolising the success of the concept of “one country, two systems”. The gold and silver leaves decorating the ribbon 81  signify the return of the fallen leaves to their roots – the return of Hong Kong to the motherland – as well as the cyclic rhythm of life.  This positive assessment of Hong Kong’s return to China is no doubt due to the conditions of its manufacture. This artwork is one of thirty-one gifts that China gave to the Hong Kong Special Administrative region as part of its handover ceremony in July 1997.198 However, this relationship is far from harmonious at the time of writing. Throughout 2014, many Hong Kong residents protested against China’s control over which candidates are permitted to run for city-state’s leadership.199 Additionally, the sculpture’s location near the transit point linking mainland China to HKIA is notable – its capacity to reinforce the idea of “one country, two systems” is limited to those travelling between these two countries. Few of HKIA’s international passengers encounter the work as it is situated a fair distance from the spaces frequented by these travellers. On the floor above, passengers and visitors can visit SkyPlaza. This shopping mall is situated to the east of the check-in counters. It has an upper floor which offers views to the shops below and westwards to the check-in area and the bridges accessing the rail station and road (Figure 74). A 4D movie theatre has been part of the SkyPlaza complex since it opened in 2007.200 This cinema, which shows films in two dimensions and three dimensions, has the capacity to extend the movie goers’ sensorial experience – to what it considers a fourth dimension – by spraying water droplets or a mist, blowing wind, dropping flakes of artificial snow, dispersing bubbles, and emitting smoke.                                                198 This work’s title and a brief description of the sculpture appears in Rod Mickleburgh’s account of these gifts (see Rod Mickleburgh, “Where water means money, downpour deemed auspicious,” The Globe and Mail, July 3, 1997, sec. A, p. 11). 199 Nathan Vanderklippe, “Protestors scoff at China’s offer: Beijing presents subtle compromises for 2017 vote while dangling further reforms for 2022 election,” The Globe and Mail, October 22, 2014, sec. A, p. 18. 200 Barclay Crawford, “4D cinema preparing for Easter liftoff,” South China Morning Post, March 31, 2007, sec. News, p. 4. 82  Passengers checking in at Terminal 2 need to transit through SkyPlaza’s lower level as the escalators leading down to the pre-boarding security area are behind the mall’s east side. The mall was intended to attract passengers departing from both Terminal 1 and 2, local residents, and people travelling from SkyPier, a ferry pier connected to HKIA.201 Within its first two years of operation, SkyPlaza did not attract the number of consumers that Hong Kong’s airport authority had hoped. In 2009, Ng Yuk-hang from the South China Morning Post reported that eleven out of the one hundred shops at SkyPlaza had closed and a number of the businesses were struggling.202 At Terminal 1, on the other hand, all of the available commercial spaces were occupied by shops and restaurants. Yuk-hang relayed that one of the shop’s employees thought that Terminal 2 attracted only few consumers because most passengers transiting through HKIA did not know that the terminal existed and that most passengers tend to shop once they have passed through pre-boarding security. During my visits to HKIA in August and September 2014, I noticed that there were far fewer people in Terminal 2’s shops than those at Terminal 1.  Conclusion The international air terminals in use today at YVR, Schiphol, HKIA, and Heathrow Terminal 5 share transit and consumer functions but are defined by different architectural and interior designs. Their development was affected by multiple variables such as existing infrastructure at the airport sites, the anticipated number of passengers to be processed, technological requirements, economic and political conditions, and aesthetic choices made by                                                201 Scarlet Ma, “SkyPlaza the gateway to another dimension,” South China Morning Post, July 6, 2006, sec. Supplements, p. 9. 202 Ng Yuk-hang, “More shops close in Terminal Two amid drop in visitors,” South China Morning Post, March 3, 2009, sec. News, p. 3. 83  the architects and interior designers. This review of design strategies at HKIA, YVR, Schiphol, and Heathrow Terminal 5 leads into the analysis in the following chapter that considers how air terminals have been theorized with respect to circulation and how the air terminal’s aesthetics can be assessed in terms of its functional role. This chapter’s description of air terminal design also underpins the analyses in the third and fourth chapter, which attend to the affective potential of air terminal artworks and how air terminal aesthetics pertains to the political aspects of the border screening areas.  84  Chapter Two: Aero-kinaesthetics as a type of functional beauty In this chapter, my aim is to establish that air terminals can be considered aesthetically with respect to how they are designed to facilitate and order passengers’ movements and entice passengers to spend. I argue that Glenn Parsons and Allen Carlson’s notion of functional beauty offers an initial framework to consider the airport’s function as a mobility-system and consumption space in terms of a new understanding of airport aesthetics.203 Moreover, their conception of an aesthetic category that derives from a thing’s function underpins the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. This, I argue, is an aesthetic type consisting of airport architecture, artworks, and design that operates in the service of aeromobilities and their aesthetic is determined by their functional role in this mobility-system.  However, before I examine the main tenets in Parsons and Carlson’s aesthetic theory and its relevance to air terminals, I need to account for how other scholars have assessed air terminal function and design. Here, I focus primarily on how these carefully engineered buildings have been analysed in terms of how they facilitate the practices of aeromobilities by regulating circulation, stimulating consumption, and ensuring its users’ security. I also examine some of the theoretical considerations of circulation, surveillance, consumption, and spectacle within air terminals. This overview offers a nuanced understanding of the airport’s function and some of the design strategies used to support these functions, and it helps frame my conceptualization of aero-kinaesthetics. My analysis, however, is not an estimation of the aesthetic value of air terminal architecture, artwork, and design but is an investigation of an aesthetic type that is determined by the air terminal’s function as a transit hub and a space of consumption. As outlined earlier, Parsons and Carlson consider that an artefact’s functional                                                203 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty. 85  beauty derives from an acknowledgment of its proper function, not necessarily the intended function as envisioned by the artefact’s designer but a function that emerges out of the thing itself. This concept of a functional aesthetic has a lineage within architectural history, particularly Bruno Taut’s analysis of modernist architecture.204 I begin with Parsons and Carlson’s notion of proper functions, and I use examples from Schiphol, YVR, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA to illustrate how certain architectural features, interior design strategies, and artworks have a proper function that is related to ordering passengers’ movements in the terminal. I also discuss how these airports use architecture, artworks, and design to stimulate consumption, and I examine whether these strategies to entice passenger spending can be considered to be proper functions.  Lastly, I consider how notions of proper function parallel a conception of ontology similar to Bruno Latour’s philosophical considerations of matter and materiality. Moreover, the conception that a thing’s proper function emerges from itself resembles Latour’s attribution of agency to things. Likewise, my investigation into airport aesthetics frames air terminal architecture, artworks, and design as active agents that produce airport spaces. I illustrate how their material aspects influence passengers’ practices in the terminal, and I discuss how some architects consider these things in terms of their materiality and potential to affect passengers transiting through the airport. I argue that these types of design solutions counter Marc Augé’s and Christopher Schaberg’s assertion that the operation of air terminals is predominately defined by texts.                                                   204 Bruno Taut, Modern Architecture (London: The Studio, 1929). 86  Air terminals as spaces of circulation, surveillance, consumption, and spectacle …airport terminals are the cathedrals of our age – a huge public space where people gather, wait, eat, sometimes sleep, and usually shop. These are truly twenty-first-century buildings – fluid space for fluid functions using high technology architecture for spatial containment and cultural expression. – Brian Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, 2005205  The 21st-century air terminal, Brian Edwards argues, is similar to a cathedral architecturally in terms of its structure and manipulation of light. This comparison between a transportation building and an ecclesiastical structure is not entirely unusual. G.K. Chesterton made a similar pronouncement with respect to railway stations.206 While air terminals and cathedrals share some material similarities, these buildings differ markedly in terms of symbolic and spiritual value. Air terminals and railway stations, on the other hand, are very similar in structure and in purpose. Edwards notes that in both of these buildings the paths people follow in their interiors “are processional and linear.”207 They are planned as transit hubs that move passengers through the space as efficiently as possible as well as market places where passengers are encouraged to dwell and spend their money at air terminal retailers.208 Not only do airport architects need to design a space that functions as a passenger-processing machine and a consumption centre, they also need to account for technological requirements in terms of aviation and security. While function is a major determinant of the design, architects also need to consider the passenger’s experience within these structures. Architectural historian Koos Bosma argues that the ideal airport is not                                                205 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, x. 206 Jeffrey Richards and John M. MacKenzie, The Railway Station: A Social History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), 11-12. 207 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal,x. 208 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, xi-xv. 87  simply a transfer point that moves people efficiently through the space but is also a place where travellers are kept calm while they wait and move through the terminal.209 A predominant theme in the literature on airports is its primary functional role as a system that regulates the movements of passengers, baggage, and aircraft. Geographers, sociologists, and theorists such as Peter Adey, Tim Cresswell, John Urry, and Gillian Fuller examine how airports produce and process people’s movements and consider air terminal design in their analyses.210 In his investigation of the “mobility turn,” Urry, a sociologist, theorizes this paradigm in the social sciences in terms of mobility-systems – the infrastructures that enable people, objects, and information to move from place to place – and the effects of these systems on social life.211 While these types of effects have been investigated in rail station literature, Urry considers a broad scope of mobility-systems including road ways, pedestrian paths, and railways as well as the virtual spaces of internet.212 He argues that aeromobility is the main determinant of globalization. Without this mobility-system and the numerous international social relations and links it has forged, the current global order would not have developed to the degree that it has. In Cresswell’s analysis of mobility, he examines how movement is facilitated at various levels at Schiphol.213 He considers how the airport regulates broader movements such as a passenger’s ability to cross international borders and how it aims to micro-manage passengers’ movements within the terminal space. Cresswell illustrates how the ease or                                                209 Bosma, “European Airports, 1945-1995,” 51-65; Bosma, “In Search of the Perfect Airport,” 37-64.  210 Adey, “Airports, Mobility and the Calculative Architecture of Affective Control,” 438-451; Adey, “‘May I have your attention’: airport geographies of spectatorship, position, and (im)mobility,” 515-536; Cresswell, On the Move, 219-258; Gillian Fuller, “> store > forward >: Architectures of a future tense,” 63-75; Gillian Fuller, “The Arrow—Directional Semiotics: Wayfinding in Transit,” Social Semiotics 12, no. 3 (2002): 231-244; Urry, Mobilities, 135-156.  211 Urry, Mobilities, 3-60. 212 See, for instance, Richards and MacKenzie, The Railway Station. 213 Cresswell, On the Move, 219-258. 88  difficulty of moving through Schiphol is partly determined by the passenger’s nationality and class. Europe’s Schengen agreement allows travellers from some European countries to pass through customs with relatively little screening while other nationals are subjected to more rigorous inspections. Class hierarchies are also clearly expressed and maintained in the spatial ordering of air terminals. Travellers flying “upper class” have access to business lounges, faster check-in lines, and limousine pick-up services. Cresswell reveals how the air terminal is carefully engineered to manage people’s movements on a smaller scale. At Schiphol Plaza, Jan Benthem added structural and design elements that operate on a visual register to order passenger flows. Instead of relying strictly on signage to direct passengers, the building was deliberately designed to indicate the main passageways in the building. The plaza’s flooring is designed using a grid that is aligned with routes leading to the entrances and exits, to the terminals, and to the railway station (Figure 17, 18). The route between Marius Duintjer’s terminal, dedicated to flights within Schengen countries, and Terminal-West, dedicated to flights exiting and entering from outside the Schengen area, is emphasized by the direction of the black lines on the gray floor. The routes leading to the entrance to Schiphol Plaza and the escalators leading to the railways tracks below are perpendicular to the black lines laid into the flooring. Benthem also designed the columns and the beams supporting the ceiling according to the directional flows. The beams run in three sets of parallel lines along the ceiling, which indicates three different directional flows: the first set is parallel to Duintjer’s terminal, the second set is parallel to Terminal-West, and the third is parallel to the route running between these terminals and perpendicular to the railway track below.  89  The strategies used in airports to circulate people, cargo, and aircraft constantly change due to technological developments, new logistical and security demands, shifts in socio-political conditions, and new commercial trends.214 This constant push for upgrades to improve the speed, efficiency, and security of how passengers and freight are processed, necessitates renovations and reconstruction. For instance, after the Schengen Agreement was signed in 1985, Schiphol started to upgrade its terminals to account for a differentiation in passenger streams; the agreement forced some European airports to change how they processed domestic and international travellers.215 In his essay “In Search of the Perfect Airport,” Bosma concedes that planners and architects have been unable to achieve “typological or architectural purity” in their designs since their plans need to account for a vast number of functions integral to an airport’s smooth operation.216 Benthem notes: “What makes an airport different is that it is not a finished building. It’s always being built.”217 Accretion not only affects the physical architecture but also the virtual architecture of the airport.218 Information technology, which is essential for the airport to operate as a processing machine, is an accumulation of programs and layers of code that have been gradually added to the system over time. Looking beyond my examples, Norman Foster’s design for Stansted airport anticipated future expansions (Figure 60).219 It is a large single terminal using a modular construction that allows new modules to be added without dramatically disrupting the appearance of the whole. Foster’s open-spaced design contrasted with the majority of airports                                                214 Bosma, “In Search of the Perfect Airport,” 37-64. 215 Cresswell, On the Move, 232-237. 216 Bosma, “In Search of the Perfect Airport,” 64. 217 Cited in Cresswell, On the Move, 232.  218 Martin Dodge and Rob Kitchin, “Flying through code/space: the real virtuality of air travel,” Environment and Planning A 36, no. 2 (2004): 195-211. 219 Bosma, “In Search of the Perfect Airport,” 60. 90  in use when it was built in 1991. Many airports, notably Heathrow, had undergone numerous reconstructions and renovations and were experienced as a maze of confusing corridors.220 Airports built during the 1950s and 60s needed to be restructured to handle increased passenger loads due to the mass popularization of air travel, cheaper airfares, and the introduction of the jumbo jet in 1970.221 Air terminal interiors were also restructured in response to the dramatic increase in hijackings and terrorist attacks during the late 1960s and early 70s. New airports constructed during the 1970s, such as Paul Andreu’s Charles de Gaulle in Paris, accounted for these increased risks and were designed as heavy and solid structures that funnelled passengers through tightly regulated and artificially lit corridors.222 Stansted is one of many airports built after 1990 that are designed as large unified structures with lightweight roofs and floor-to-ceiling glass walls that allow the passenger to see the terminal from end to end.223 From the outside, these glassy buildings appear “to float in the air or to be poised to take wing.”224 Most of these spectacular air terminals have been built in Asia such as Foster’s Chek Lap Kok in Hong Kong, Renzo Piano’s Kansai airport in Osaka, and Fentress Bradburn’s Incheon International airport in Seoul (as discussed in the previous chapter, Heathrow Terminal 5 is also an example of one these large, lightweight, transparent terminals).  Whether it is one large open space or a solidly built structure with a maze of corridors, passengers predominantly experience the air terminal by walking and navigating                                                220 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 65-66. 221 Gordon, Naked Airport, 217-240. 222 Martha Rosler’s photographs of air terminals include a number of these types of corridors (Martha Rosler, In the Place of the Public: Observations of a Frequent Flyer [New York: Distributed Art Publishers, 1998]). See also Anthony Vidler’s consideration of Rosler’s photographs as expressions of the passenger’s experience of waiting and anxieties associated with air travel (Anthony Vidler, Warped Space: Art, Architecture, and Anxiety in Modern Culture [Cambridge: MIT Press, 2000], 177-185).  223 Pearman, Airports, 221-233; Gordon, Naked Airport, 254-257; Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 68-74. 224 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 70. 91  themselves through the building’s interior. They are processed through the space using signage and other visual cues. Airport planners tend to not use ground maps as navigational aids.225 For instance, at Schiphol only a few maps are posted, and a carefully designed signage system consisting of nested categories directs people to their destination. The signage designer, Paul Mijksenaar, argues that maps are not helpful for passengers because knowing where they are in terms of the topography matters less than knowing where they are in terms of the process: “Am I before or after immigration? Is baggage claim after or before? What is between me and the gates?”226 Mijksenaar color-coded and sized Schiphol’s signage according to three categories: signs directing flows, which indicate where passengers need to go in the process; signs referring to fixed locations such as toilets, lounges, and chapels; and signs identifying specific shops and restaurants. His design has become an “international aesthetic of air mobility” since numerous other airports have adopted Schiphol’s signage system.227 Although signage is not the focus of my investigation, it too can be considered as part of the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Moreover, the careful deployment of signage and its appearance can be understood in terms of a functional aesthetic pertaining to passenger circulation. For Augé, signage is a distinguishing characteristic of “non-places,” which are transit spaces such as airports, railway stations, and highways and large-scale commercial operations such as supermarkets; he contends that in these spaces people predominately relate to others and their surroundings via text.228 Fuller argues that the directional signage in                                                225 Cresswell, On the Move, 241-246. 226 Mijksenaar cited in Cresswell, On the Move, 245. 227 Cresswell, On the Move, 246. 228 Marc Augé, Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity (New York: Verso, 1995), 94. 92  airports does more than simply order the space for passengers on a cognitive level.229 Signs produce the space and become part of the airport’s materiality through the passengers’ embodiment of the signage’s navigational directions. She illustrates how directional signage “conjoin[s] semiotic and material flows” in her analysis of the airport’s ever-present sign, the arrow.230 It is a deictic sign that does not refer to a specific thing but is in itself its primary concern, movement. The arrow’s meaning is contextual like deictic words such as ‘I’ and ‘here’, and its form is essentially its action. As people walk the airport and navigate the space, “the deictic properties of the arrow stitch text into the materialities of an embodied context that are never ending.”231 My conception of aero-kinaesthetics draws from a semiotic system that similarly addresses how the meaning of a sign is understood in a material context. In the following chapter, I draw upon Charles Saunders Peirce’s semiotics to consider how artworks representing movement can evoke embodied sensations of kinaesthesia. Alistair Gordon notes that planners are trying to design airports where passengers rely less on signage and navigate the terminal primarily on an intuitive level.232 Planners are trying to reduce the stress experienced by passengers and hope to mitigate the increasing number of “air rage” incidents. Edwards illustrates how architects incorporate specific visual cues into their terminal designs that are intended to help push passengers into specific directions.233 For instance, columns used to support a roof are often aligned parallel to major routes as are other structural elements like beams. Daylight and sunlight is manipulated and is sometimes projected onto passageways to help guide passengers. The size of a space is                                                229 Fuller, “The Arrow,” 231-244. 230 Fuller, “The Arrow,” 242. 231 Fuller, “The Arrow,” 242. 232 Gordon, Naked Airport, 257-259. 233 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, 96-102. 93  determined by its relative importance as a route; major transit points and thoroughfares like departures halls are often built as large concourses while minor routes like emergency exits and pathways to private areas are designed as smaller corridors. Edwards explains how objects such as kiosks and artworks such as sculptures and murals are deliberately positioned in the terminal to act as easily identifiable place-markers. Kansai airport, he notes, successfully incorporates these four architectural strategies since the terminal is divided into a hierarchy of spaces, and it uses varying-sized columns and carefully lit passageways to delineate routes. Stansted’s architecture, on the other hand, is not as effective since its repetitive modular grid, which does not allow for variations in lighting and column sizes, obscures rather than accentuates the dominant thoroughfares (Figure 60). My thesis departs from Edwards’s investigation as I theorize these types of design strategies in terms of a functional aesthetic. Adey discusses how some design strategies used to direct passengers are intended to evoke specific sensations, emotions, and feelings.234 Security zones, which are engineered to confine and control people, are often designed as dull spaces with low ceilings and corral passengers into a maze of barriers to try to induce a subdued state of mind. He theorizes how specific spatial orderings and materials might impact passengers on a pre-cognitive affective register.235 Adey also focuses on how notions of affect need to consider mobility since feelings and emotions both impact and are impacted by bodily movements, and he considers how architects account for this intertwined nature of affect and mobility and how they use it as a strategy to encourage specific responses to the space. However, this affective                                                234 Adey, “Airports, Mobility and the Calculative Architecture of Affective Control,” 438-451. 235 His conception of affect draws from Brian Massumi, Gilles Deleuze, and Nigel Thrift’s interpretation of Baruch de Spinoza’s writing on monist ontology and his conception of affectus as a flow occurring between two bodies. I investigate these notions of affect and the affective engineering of urban spaces in Chapter Three. 94  engineering of the space does not imply that passengers’ behaviour is determined by the architecture. The designs, which are based on predicted pre-cognitive responses, are intended to trigger specific affects. Yet in practice they affect passengers in variable ways and evoke a multitude of contingent responses. Adey illustrates how this careful manipulation of passengers’ movements and affects in airport spaces is largely determined by commercial imperatives. In the following chapter, I return to Adey’s analysis of the affective engineering of terminal spaces and other theories of affect, and I consider the affective potential of airport artworks that connote themes related to movement.  Although numerous material and semiotic elements such as corridors, signage, baggage handling systems, and check-in desks help direct the movements of passengers and baggage within the airport, these flows are largely controlled by virtual information technologies. Martin Dodge and Rob Kitchin discuss how coding is integral to all aspects of commercial aviation. It facilitates the passengers’ purchase of airline tickets, directs their movements through the airport’s spaces, and forms the complex algorithms required to propel their jet plane through the air.236 They argue that air spaces are ‘code/spaces,’ where code “dominates” the production of space.237 They differentiate code/space from ‘coded spaces’ such as city streets. ‘Coded spaces’ use computer programs and codes to monitor and regulate only a few of the practices and are not required for the smooth functioning of the space. A code/space such as the airport relies heavily on programs and codes and will breakdown if a program stops working. They note: “In the case of aviation, the relationship between code and space is dyadic – code and space are mutually constituted, wherein how the space is used and produced is predominantly mediated by code, and the code and its data                                                236 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 195-211. 237 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 198. 95  exist in order to produce the space and its attendant spatiality.”238 Yet as much as code is intertwined in all aspects of aviation, Dodge and Kitchin argue that in code/spaces such as airports code does not produce a universal space nor does it determine the practices enacted within the space.239 Air spaces are “constantly in a state of becoming”;240 they are always shifting and being reconfigured since they are embodied by the performances of passengers and employees who interact with the codes and programs visible on screens or operating subtly in the terminal’s background. For instance, check-in agents can override the code’s prescribed course of action when they decide to either allow or prevent a passenger from boarding their flight.  Dodge and Kitchin note that in the airport this mediation of code and space is used to observe and discipline both passengers and staff, and they consider this code/space in terms of Michel Foucault’s analysis of Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon.241 In his prison designs, Bentham added a central tower from where the inspector could observe each prisoner in his cell. The inmates, however, could not see the inspector in the tower or whether they were being observed. This panoptic architecture disciplined the prisoner by placing him under what appeared to be constant surveillance. Like Bentham’s 19th-century penitentiary designs, the airport places everyone transiting through and working in the space under the watchful eye of databases, computer codes, surveillance cameras, and security checks; the terminal’s panopticism attempts to discipline these subjects into “docile bodies” that move through the space in an orderly fashion. Dodge and Kitchin argue that the airport’s code/space                                                238 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 198 (emphasis in original). 239 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 204-205. 240 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 204. 241 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 199; Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: Pantheon Books, 1977), 195-228. See also Adey, “Surveillance at the airport,” 1365-1380; David Lyon, “Airports as Data Filters: Converging Surveillance Systems after September 11th,” Journal of Information, Communication and Ethics in Society 1, no. 1 (2003): 13-20. 96  encourages subjects to engage in what Foucault’s calls a “technology of the self”; passengers and staff are persuaded to discipline themselves when they encounter the technological structures of a disciplinary apparatus that is justified by airport authorities as a necessary tool to combat against security threats.242 Rather than theorizing the air passenger as an observed and disciplined subject in the airport-as-panopticon, Adey considers the passenger as an active observer who is regulated by the spectacle produced in airports.243 Drawing from Jonathan Crary’s analyses of the management of attention, spectacle, and techniques of observation during the 19th-century, Adey considers the terminal’s spectacle with respect to viewpoints, windows, and information screens and how this spectacle is used to encourage passengers to dwell in specific airport spaces.244 Crary bases his argument on Guy Debord’s consideration of the spectacle in terms of how mass media influences the social conditions that separate and individuate subjects in 20th-century capitalist societies.245 He notes that although Debord’s society of the spectacle appears markedly different from Foucault’s society of discipline and surveillance, the two theories share some similarities.246 They both suppose that a subtle operation of power orders people into docile subjects. The spectacle, Crary notes, is less concerned with what is being shown and more with how visual media such as television manages the spectator’s attention and positions them as an isolated, separated, and controlled individual. Adey extrapolates on Crary’s consideration of how the spectacle is used to order                                                242 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 206. See also Mark Salter’s analysis of how passengers reveal personal information to airport security in terms of Foucault’s “confessionary complex (Mark B. Salter, “Governmentalities of an Airport: Heterotopia and Confession,” International Political Sociology 1, no. 1 [2007]: 57-60). 243 Adey, “‘May I have your attention,’” 515-536. 244 Jonathan Crary, Suspensions of Perception: Attention, Spectacle, and Modern Culture (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1999). 245 Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle, trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith (New York: Zone Books, 1994). 246 Crary, Suspensions of Perception, 73-75. 97  bodies in space. He discusses how airports try to regulate passengers’ practices of spectatorship to generate more profits via consumer spending and to manage passenger flows within the space.247 Airport designers try to capture people’s attention using information screens, windows, and balconies to encourage them to dwell in specific places. Observation points looking out to the landscape and air aprons or over the terminal’s interior space are often surrounded by restaurants and shops. Information screens are placed close to departure gates to try to engage the passengers’ attention and to keep them from wandering off and missing their boarding call. Adey notes that these screens are also strategically placed in spaces next to shops and services. Heathrow’s and Gatwick’s current operation appears to employ this strategy; the flights’ gate numbers are not listed until shortly before the departure time, and this information is displayed on screens in corridors and waiting areas adjacent to the terminal’s shopping spaces. Denis Cosgrove compares the airport’s scopic and kinetic regulation of passengers to strategies used in Georgian parks. He argues that planners’ careful engineering of viewpoints in airport spaces is similar to techniques used by 18th-century English landscape designers to direct people’s trajectories such that their sight lines were oriented to perceive various manufactured perspectival effects.248 Adey notes that these strategies to contain air passengers in particular locations illustrates that airports should not simply be theorized as places of free mobility, a trend in the scholarship on airports, but should be considered as spaces of both mobility and immobility.249 Moreover, airports try to process passenger flows as a start-and-stop motion that is regulated by practices of spectatorship. Like Adey, Fuller argues that the airport is                                                247 Adey, “‘May I have your attention,’” 523-532. 248 Denis Cosgrove, “Airport/Landscape,” in Recovering Landscape: Essays in Contemporary Landscape Architecture, ed. James Corner (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1999), 229-230. 249 Adey, “‘May I have your attention,’” 532. 98  defined by a process of interrupted movements where passengers are both stored and forwarded.250 She considers how information and surveillance technologies control the stop-and-go system and how passengers experience these interruptions in movement. Travellers stored in departure lounges are “liberated from the present” as they wait in anticipation of a future event.251 Fuller uses this experience of waiting to theorize the airport as a form of anticipatory architecture. The architectural quality of anticipation, however, is not solely defined by transit spaces designed for waiting but is also determined by the anticipated renovations and renewals of the airport’s physical structure. As discussed above, airports are spaces of accretion that are continually being reconstructed because of shifting technological, logistical, and security demands. Fuller observes that as much as the social spaces of airports and air travel are marked by interrupted movements, the overall aesthetic of aviation “works to inculcate a sense of smoothness and transparency in movement” – a sense evoked by the airport’s moving walkways and the smooth propulsion of a jet engine.252 My conception of aero-kinaesthetics parallels this observation. However, in my investigation of this aesthetic type, I concentrate on air terminal artworks that represent movement. Many of these representations do not necessarily elicit sensations of smooth movement but a quality of relative unrestricted movement. For instance, the trajectory taken by the Da Vinci Flying Machine installed at YVR or the Farman biplane at HKIA can hardly be considered a smooth ride.  The scholarship on air travel and air spaces predominately identifies airports as machines for transferring people and key infrastructural elements that facilitate aeromobilities. This regulation of movement, however, does not simply aim to move people                                                250 Fuller, “> store > forward >,” 63-75. 251 Fuller, “> store > forward >,” 67. 252 Fuller, “> store > forward >,” 72. 99  and baggage efficiently from the curb to the plane but also tries to direct passengers towards retail shops and services. The passengers’ moments of immobility, or dwell-time, is seen as a potential commercial boon for airport authorities.253 People are encouraged to loiter in or around shops and restaurants and spend their money as they spend their time waiting for their flights or for arriving friends and family members.  Air terminals began to resemble shopping malls after the introduction of wide-bodied jets in the early 1970s.254 When airports were reconfigured as larger spaces to account for increased passenger loads, planners realized that longer walking distances to and from the aircraft could be used to expose travellers to more retail frontage and advertising. The push to maximize consumer spending in the air terminal increased in the late 1970s when the air travel industry was deregulated in the United States and began to be liberalized in Europe.255 At Schiphol airport, planners have not only inserted a multitude of stores and services in the air terminal but have also added a shopping mall that is intended to serve non-flying consumers visiting the “AirportCity.”256 On the airside, Schiphol has concentrated its shopping areas in the lounges at the base of each pier (Figure 11). Heathrow Terminal 5, on the other hand, is an example of how air terminal design is now focused on creating large open spaces with an array of stores and restaurants on the airside (Figure 46, 51, and 57).                                                253 Brian Edwards notes that the British Airport Authority “earns over £700 million per year from retail-type activities at its UK airports, which exceeds by £100 million the amount of money that the company spends each year on building operations of various kinds. Viewed in this way retail revenues pay for terminals without the additional income from landing fees” (Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, 148). 254 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 15-19. 255 Leonard Rau, “Deregulation and Design: The Changing Role of Identity at the Airport,” in Building for Air Travel: Architecture and Design for Commercial Aviation, ed. John Zukowsky and Koos Bosma (Chicago: Art Institute of Chicago, 1996), 229-231. 256 Pearman, Airports, 213-214. See also David Jarach’s discussion of how airports are trying to maximize their revenue via non-aviation business ventures such as commercial, tourist, and conference services (David Jarach, “The evolution of airport management practices: towards a multi-point, multi-service, marketing-driven firm,” Journal of Air Transport Management 7, no. 2 [2001]: 123-124). 100  Mark Pimlott contends that Schiphol is the ideal realization of a “continuous interior,” a building type consisting of an expansive interior space filled with an innumerable amount of consumer goods and advertisements. The continuous interior originated in the 19th century within the Parisian arcades and the 1851 Crystal Palace in London. In his unfinished The Arcades Project, Walter Benjamin considers the experience of the 19th century flâneur meandering through the former’s spectacular glass-covered spaces of consumption.257 During the 20th century, the continuous interior has been expressed within other consumer paradises such as shopping malls, casinos, and theme parks. Even though these interiors give the “impression of freedom,” they are tightly regulated spaces engineered to stimulate consumer spending through advertising and spectacle.258 Denis Cosgrove writes that in the “consumption landscapes” at shopping malls and air terminals like Heathrow, “visual pleasures are stimulated through brand recognition, seductive advertising images, and lifestyle association to create a complex landscape of imagination and illusion.”259 Airport planners often focus on the placement of commercial operations before tending to other social needs as they work through their air terminal designs.260 They try to maximize financial return by ensuring that all the main routes travelled by departing and arriving passengers are lined with shops and restaurants. Justine Lloyd notes that Sydney International’s most successful shops during the 2000 Summer Olympic Games were run by a multinational company, the Nuance Group, which is based in Zurich.261 Its stores were the top performers in 2000 at Sydney International when it generated 31 percent of its revenue                                                257 Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin (Cambridge: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2002). 258 Pimlott, “The Continuous Interior,” 76. 259 Cosgrove, “Airport/Landscape,” 228-229. 260 Edwards, The Modern Airport Terminal, 5, 148. 261 Justine Lloyd, “Dwelltime: Airport Technology, Travel, and Consumption,” Space & Culture 6, no. 2 (2003): 101-103. 101  from retail shops and services, an amount that exceeded the profits garnered from its aviation operations such as landing fees. The Nuance group, which was operating duty-free shops in international airports across the world, stocked its stores with a variety of products including traveller’s items, children’s toys, food, liquor, tobacco, perfume, reading material, and goods that reflect the local identity where the airport is located. In its promotional materials, the company asserted that “the whole Nuance philosophy is geared to providing a range of retail outlets that offer a genuinely unique shopping environment, with quality products that are carefully aligned to each location and its customers’ needs, and an appealing shopping ambience, too.”262 These stores can certainly be considered in terms of a number of aesthetic factors pertaining to both their design and the experience of shopping.263 My investigation into airport aesthetics, however, does not concentrate on the design of the retail spaces but how passengers are directed to walk past, towards, or through these consumer spaces.  In many air terminals, the most prominent references to place-based identities are on display in the retail operations. Items like tourist knickknacks essentially commercialize and brand local signifiers, no matter how stereotypical or false. Mark Gottdiener explains that smaller airports in the United States tend to refer to their regional identities whereas larger international airports try to appear as “gateway[s] to the world.”264 At Las Vegas’s McCarran International airport, the design refers to the city’s dependence on gambling: the terminal is lined with slot machines that passengers can play from the moment they arrive to the moment they leave. He notes that this type of aesthetic is similar to that expressed in 19th-century                                                262 Cited in Lloyd, “Dwelltime,” 103. 263 Morris B. Holbrook and Elizabeth C. Hirschman, “The Experiential Aspects of Consumption: Consumer Fantasies, Feelings, and Fun,” Journal of Consumer Research 9, no. 2 (1982): 132-140. 264 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 13-14. 102  railway stations, which were designed to appear as “embarkation points for the local area.”265 Larger airports such as Denver International and Chicago O’Hare have designs “comprised of more cosmopolitan signs signifying global travel” that suggest that the terminal is a hub where passengers are transiting through.  Gottdiener argues that global hubs that do not refer to their regional identities should not necessarily be considered ‘placeless’.266 Many of the large international air terminals developed outside the United States in the 1990s and 2000s such as Foster’s Chek Lap Kok and Stansted and Piano’s Kansai airport evoke a sense of place by manufacturing themselves to appear as gateways. These large spectacular structures, covered in ample amounts of glass and spanned by impressive lightweight roofs, give a sense of transparency and lightness, which mirrors the smooth high-tech aesthetic of jet airplanes and celebrates the wonders of flight. In these newer open-spaced terminals, passengers can see the entire building from landside to airside and are able to position themselves within the space. Gottdiener argues that they “overcome the chaos and placelessness” of accreted terminals such as Heathrow and Gatwick, which are experienced as a confusing maze of corridors and lounges that are often under construction (Gottdiener’s description of Heathrow is based on observations prior the airport’s opening of Terminal 5).267 Like Gottdiener, Urry contends that international airports should not be considered ‘placeless,’ and he disagrees with Augé’s assessment of the terminal as a “non-place.”268 Augé contends that these spaces of supermodernity are experienced in solitude and that they                                                265 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 11. 266 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 67-70. 267 Gottdiener, Life in the Air, 68. 268 Urry, Mobilities, 146-148. 103  lack the qualities that define the traditional anthropological place.269 Urry argues that this critique is based on “a far too sedentarist notion of place,” which grounds place and identity as fixed and unchanging entities.270 He adds, “Rather what is striking is how places are increasingly like airports.”271 Not only do they have the same retail operations, restaurants, and hotels as city spaces, many airports also allow people to visit galleries, gamble, work, and gather for business meetings. Airports are also models for changes in urban planning and policies. For instance, CCTV cameras and surveillance technologies that were developed for airports are now being used to monitor urban public spaces. Like Urry, Cresswell develops a conception of mobility that departs from a static notion of place.272 These two theorists both illustrate how air terminals are spaces where mobility is practiced.273 These buildings are perhaps the best examples for this paradigm concerning circulation. They are carefully engineered to regulate people’s movements, stimulate consumption, and monitor for any security threats. Signage, spectacle, surveillance technologies, coding, and the affective engineering of space are strategies planners use to both move and contain passengers in the terminal. Additionally, these spectacular buildings underpin the current global order and facilitate the machinations of late capitalism.   Aero-kinaesthetics as a functional aesthetic My construct of aero-kinaesthetics builds on the analyses above. It offers a new understanding of how air terminals can be considered aesthetically in terms of their function and how they allow for an aesthetic experience pertaining to movement. My conception of                                                269 Augé, Non-Places, 77-79. 270 Urry, Mobilities, 147. 271 Urry, Mobilities, 147. 272 Cresswell, On the Move. 273 Cresswell, On the Move; Urry, Mobilities, 135-156.  104  the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, which pertains to the air terminal’s capacity to regulate passengers’ movements and spending, draws from Parsons and Carlson’s notion of functional beauty. My analysis, however, offers a more thorough investigation of how a theory of functional aesthetics can be applied to architecture as Parsons and Carlson offer only a limited consideration of how their theory applies to buildings. Nevertheless, Parsons and Carlson do explain that their conception of functional beauty follows a lineage of investigations into aesthetics and function with respect to architecture such as Louis Sullivan’s “The Tall Office Building Artistically Considered.”274 While Parsons and Carlson’s analysis of architecture is not applicable to my conception of aero-kinaesthetics, their attention to the functional beauty of larger systems like eco-systems is helpful in terms of assessing the functional aesthetic of the air terminal as a mobility-system. Parsons and Carlson’s attention to an aesthetic of function is not an assessment of the functions of beautiful objects; rather, they conceptualize a type of aesthetic that “emerges from function.”275 Parsons and Carlson’s notion contrasts with Stephen Davies’s conception of functional beauty, which considers how a thing’s aesthetic properties contribute to and enhance the thing’s function.276 Their theory allows for an aesthetic appreciation of things and beings that are not typically considered beautiful. The bat’s contorted and wrinkled head, traditionally considered ugly, can be viewed as aesthetically pleasing when we realize that its shape optimizes the bat’s ability to use sonar for perception and navigation.                                                 274 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 42-45. Louis Sullivan, “The Tall Office Building Artistically Considered,” Lippincott’s Magazine 339 (1896): 403-409. For a thorough investigation of function and aesthetics with respect to modernist architecture, see Kenneth Frampton, Modern Architecture: A Critical History, 4th ed. (London: Thames & Hudson, 2007).  275 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 231. 276 Stephen Davies, Philosophical Perspectives on Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 84-102. 105  Airports, like bats, are generally not the first thing that comes to one’s mind when one thinks of beauty. Even though I am using Parsons and Carlson’s theory of functional beauty to reconsider air terminal design in terms of aero-kinaesthetics, I do not intend to claim that airports are beautiful spaces. Rather, my aim is to consider how air terminal architecture, design, and artworks have an aesthetic character based on their function. Parsons and Carlson’s use of the word “beauty” requires some clarification. Although they concede that “beauty” is a contentious term, they note that they decided to refer to their theory as functional beauty since no other expression – aside from the lengthy phrase, “aesthetic appreciation involving knowledge that concerns function” – could succinctly and properly convey their concept.277 Parsons and Carlson explain that they use the term beauty in the broader sense of its meaning, which is “aesthetic appeal in general,” and that they are not referring to “the specific sort of aesthetic appearance it typically suggests.”278 The structural nodes supporting Heathrow Terminal 5’s ceiling are a striking example of how architecture can be considered aesthetically in terms of its utility (Figure 56). For Parsons and Carlson, functional beauty is based on whether an object looks fit in terms of one’s knowledge of its function. In this case, I know that the structural node’s function is to support the terminal’s high ceiling, and I could argue that it certainly looks fit for this purpose. What I would like to emphasize here is that for Parsons and Carlson the aesthetic of                                                277 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, xii. 278 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, xiii. This type of aesthetic, which derives from the knowledge of a thing’s function, contrasts with a major tenet in Immanuel Kant’s tracts on the judgement of taste and beauty, disinterestedness (Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 21-37). In judging pure beauty, Kant argues, the beholder must approach the object without attending to any concepts pertaining to the object and without any consideration of how the object might fulfill any needs or desires. Drawing from theories that consider an object’s aesthetics in terms of its social, cultural, and historical context, Parsons and Carlson reject Kantian disinterestedness and argue that concepts pertaining to things can determine the thing’s aesthetic properties. Although Kant’s notion of dependent beauty allows for an aesthetic judgment that accounts for the thing’s function and use, Parsons and Carlson note that this type of beauty considers how an object’s aesthetic properties might be appropriate for its function and is unlike their notion of functional beauty, which derives a thing’s aesthetics from its function. 106  utility is determined by function itself. So, if I use their conception of functional beauty to consider this structural node, I would not be able to make the following judgment: this node considered in terms of its form alone is an aesthetically appealing object, and it also happens to support the ceiling. Rather, the aesthetic judgement depends on my knowledge of its function, which is to support the ceiling. In this case, I can make an aesthetic judgement that the structural node, which consists of a hinge that connects three clusters of beams attached to the floor and ceiling, looks fit in terms of its role in supporting the ceiling. The two rings on either side of the pin that connect the hinge also look fit in terms of their structural role.  Each one of these structural nodes is painted entirely in white with the exception of two rings painted grey that are fixed to both sides of the pin running horizontally through the node. This slight colour differentiation draws one’s attention to how this pin is a pivot point for a hinge connecting three pairs of beams and how it is key element supporting the roof. The hinges which connect the columns to the ground floor also call one’s attention to their supporting pins as they are painted entirely in grey (Figure 75). However, whether these rings are painted grey or white is inconsequential in terms of my assessment of their functional aesthetic. This application of paint may draw my attention to the pin and the structural node’s function, but it does not contribute to the node’s function and therefore does not impact my assessment of whether this node looks fit in terms of its function.  Although my analysis of the structural node at Heathrow Terminal 5 illustrates the logic of Parsons and Carlson’s notion of functional beauty, they do not include a similar type of analysis in their explanation how their theory applies to architecture. Rather, their attention to function focuses on how a building is used by its inhabitants.279 They rightfully note that in many cases a building’s appearance is not necessarily an indication of how it is                                                279 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 137-161 107  used. They argue that earlier analyses that focused on “structural honesty” offer only a confused account of how a building’s appearance might be considered aesthetically in terms of its function.280 Parsons and Carlson also argue that buildings that point to their function via their overall expression – such as the TWA terminal – are not examples of functional beauty since this aspect of their form has little to do with their actual function.  My analysis of the structural node at Heathrow Terminal 5 illustrates how their conception of functional beauty can be applied to a broader consideration of architectural function – namely, how individual structural components function to support the building. This attention to the functional aesthetic of the air terminal’s individual components with respect to the building’s function resembles Taut’s explanation of efficient design and aesthetics. Taut contends that every architectural detail included in a design must serve the overall plan and that their aesthetic derives from their ability to fulfill this function.281 This aesthetic and design principle, which mirrors the operation of a collective and cooperative society, is championed by Taut as a means to improve social behaviour.282 Although Taut’s assertion that architectural design directly effects social relations is tenuous, his attention to the overall integration of a building’s components offers a concrete example of functional aesthetics and architecture.  My conception of the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics also considers the function of a building’s individual components – specifically, how they support the building’s primary use, which is to move, process, and regulate passengers and their capital. For instance, the ceiling in Terminal 3 at Beijing Capital International Airport was deliberately planned and                                                280 Ibid., 156-157. 281 Taut, Modern Architecture, 8-9. 282 Taut writes, “The architect who achieves this task becomes a creator of an ethical and social character; the people who use the building for any purpose, will, through the structure of the house, be brought to a better behaviour in their mutual dealings and relationship with each other” (ibid., 9). 108  designed to affect passengers’ movements.283 The ceiling’s thin slats run parallel to the direction that passengers need to follow to get to their gate, and they were purposely designed to entice passengers to flow in this direction. In terms of aero-kinaesthetics, this ceiling’s functional aesthetic derives from the knowledge that it contributes to an overall aim of moving passengers to their gate. As mentioned above, architectural historian Brian Edwards notes that airport architects often use light to draw people to move in particular directions. This design strategy appears to be employed at Heathrow Terminal 5 (Figure 44). Like the ceiling at Beijing’s Terminal 3, the ceiling’s materials at Terminal 5 form distinct lines running parallel to the direction that passengers need to travel to get to their plane, and it also has rows of skylights running in this direction that allow light to be cast on the floor. This flooring, made of resin-stone conglomerate tiles, is highly reflective, and it clearly reproduces the band of light cast from the skylights above.284  The design of Chek Lap Kok’s Terminal 1, as noted, has a near perfect symmetrical arrangement of the interior architecture that facilitates the movements of passengers, such as the escalators, the security checkpoints, and the bridges connecting from the train and the road to the check-in areas. Although this symmetrical design can be considered aesthetically comparable to the Classical design ethos as seen in Greek temples, it is not a strong example of the type of aesthetic that I have described above. Rather, I consider the architecture’s aesthetic in terms of how it helps facilitate and manage passengers’ movements. Although an awareness of this symmetrical arrangement might help with one’s navigation of the terminal space, it is a quality that likely only few of the passengers notice. Moreover, for one to be                                                283 Jen Lin-Liu, “Beijing Capital International Airport: Foster and Arup make the building’s huge size feel uplifting, not monstrous,” Architectural Record 196, no. 7 (2008): 113. 284 For a description of how the resin-stone conglomerate tiles were made and how they were installed at Terminal 5, see Pamela Buxton, “Watch your step,” RIBA Journal 115, no. 3 (2008): 60-62. 109  aware of this symmetrical design, one needs to look at the architectural drawings or walk through the space with a careful attention as to how these things are deployed in the building. One aspect of HKIA Terminal 1’s design that is a strong example of the type of functional aesthetic that I am proposing is the linear ceiling vaults that are aligned with the overall directional flow which passengers need to follow to get from the entrance to their gate (Figure 61). Like the ceiling slats at Beijing Terminal 3 and the skylights at Heathrow Terminal 5, the long linear vaults draw the passengers’ eye in the direction they need to move. As these vaults are all aligned along the same east-west axis, they also help with giving a sense as to which direction one is facing in the space. My assessment of air terminal architecture, artworks, and design in terms of their functional role within a mobility-system somewhat resembles Parsons and Carlson’s consideration of a thing’s aesthetics in terms of its function within a larger system. For instance, they note that the aesthetics of an estuary can derive from our knowledge of its function as a water filter.285 Moreover, they argue that their conception of functional beauty can apply to a complex system of entities, in which each entity contributes to the overall function of the system. These two systems differ, however, in terms of the characteristics of their functions. Airports are produced by humans and are designed with an intended utilitarian role. Ecosystems, on the other hand, are not designed by humans nor are they designed with any pre-existing intentions.  Parsons and Carlson address this marked difference between the functions of artefacts designed by humans and the functions of things in nature, and they argue that this difference does not invalidate their unified theory of functional beauty. They posit that a thing’s functional aesthetic derives from its proper function, which is determined by the thing itself                                                285 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 124-129. 110  and not by a functional role that its designer or maker intended it to have.286 Most things have a multitude of functions; some are proper functions, which “belong” to the things themselves, and others are accidental functions that occur by chance.287 Parsons and Carlson note that the “selected effects” theory of function distinguishes a thing’s proper function from its accidental functions.288 This theory, which follows from investigations by biologists into the reproduction of selected traits in organisms, supposes that a thing’s proper function is a function that has allowed it to survive in nature or within the marketplace. For instance, a heart’s proper function is to circulate blood and not to make thumping sounds. A snow shovel’s proper function – the main reason why it is has survived in the marketplace – is its ability to move loose materials not its other accidental functions such as propping up garage doors.289 What about the inorganic things in nature that function to sustain ecosystems? Unlike living beings, these things do not reproduce and do not have selected traits that have contributed to their survival. Inorganic things that sustain an ecosystem – such as a rock that                                                286 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 62-89. For examples of philosophical considerations of the function and aesthetics of man-made objects that define function in terms of the intentions of the designer or artist, see Howard Risatti, A Theory of Craft: Function and Aesthetic Expression (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2007); and Nick Zangwill, “Aesthetic Functionalism,” in Aesthetic Concepts: Essays after Sibley, ed. Emily Brady and Jerrold Levinson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001), 123-148. 287 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 66. 288 Parsons and Carlson draw from Ruth Millikan’s conception of proper function (see Ruth Garrett Millikan, Language, Thought, and Other Biological Categories: New Foundations for Realism (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1984); Ruth Garrett Millikan, “An Ambiguity in the Notion ‘Function,’” Biology and Philosophy 4, no. 2 (1989): 172-176.  289 In terms of architecture, Parsons and Carlson argue that the selected effects theory of function counteracts Roger Scruton’s argument that a building’s aesthetics cannot be determined by its function since a building’s function “is something indeterminate” (Roger Scruton, The Aesthetics of Architecture [London: Methuen, 1979], 40). Assessing a building’s proper function in terms of why it has been maintained over time allows for a consideration of a building’s shifting uses as proper functions. In terms of the selected effects theory, an industrial warehouse initially designed and used for manufacturing and later converted into a shopping centre adopts a new proper function as a consumption space if the building is continued to be maintained and renovated for that purpose.  111  happens to flood a plain – have causal role functions.290 This type of function happens to support a larger system by accident and only exists as a function because of this chance contribution.291 Even though a thing’s causal role function is a weaker notion of function than a thing’s ‘selected’ proper functions, Parsons and Carlson contend that “[in the case of inorganic things] even here, the notion of Functional Beauty has a place.”292 In their assessment of the functional aesthetics of artefacts, buildings, and artworks, they argue that functional beauty is determined by proper functions rather than causal role functions.  With respect to air terminals, one can easily establish that most architectural features that facilitate and order passengers’ movements have a proper function with respect to the airport’s role as a mobility system. For instance, escalators and people movers have survived in the marketplace of air terminal design because of their capability to transfer a person from one point to another (Figure 49, 12). Corridors, aerobridges, hallways, and stairwells have all been repeatedly selected since they are able order passengers’ movements into directional flows. As discussed in Chapter One, airport artworks are often deployed as meeting points and landmarks in the terminal to aid with passenger wayfinding. At Schiphol, one of the first artworks to be used regularly as a meeting point was Kees Franse’s Apple (Figure 20).293 Although it was not intended to function as a meeting point, it gradually did acquire this role (as noted above, Shinkichi Tajiri’s Knot (Figure 19) was intended to function as Schiphol’s                                                290 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 135. Parsons and Carlson notion of causal role functions draws from Robert Cummins’s analysis of an entity’s function in terms of how it contributes to a larger system (see Robert Cummins, “Functional Analysis,” The Journal of Philosophy 72, no. 20 (1975): 741-765. 291 Parsons and Carlson explain that a rock formation that causes a river to flow towards a plain has an accidental function of irrigating the plain (Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 135). If this rock formation were to erode over time and no longer force water towards the plain, then one could not argue that this rock formation malfunctioned. The rock formation’s function only occurred because of chance, and once it ceases to function, “it seems wrong to say that it has a function that it cannot fulfil; rather, it has no function at all” (ibid.).  292 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 129. 293 van Hooff, Tegenbeelden, n.p. 112  main meeting point, but many passengers chose Apple instead as their designated meeting point). Even though it gained this role by accident, it is not a causal role function like that of a rock that happens to irrigate a flood plain. Rather, passengers chose to use Apple as their designated meeting point, and therefore it has gained this as a new proper function. This type of proper function is similar to that of the pipe cleaner, which is a thing that has acquired a new and more popular proper function that is not the same as the original intended function.294 Pipe cleaners, which are designed to clean pipes and still used to clean pipes, are more often sold as a material to be used in children’s craftworks. Like pipe cleaners, Apple’s original intended function was not neutralized by its newly acquired proper function. When Apple was first installed, it, like other artworks in the terminal, was intended to make people smile, and it undoubtedly retained this capacity to elicit this affect after it started to be used as a meeting point.295  In Functional Beauty Parsons and Carlson illustrate how the knowledge of a thing’s function allows one to judge whether a thing might look fit in terms of its function and whether its visual features are ‘standard’, ‘variable’, or ‘contra-standard’ in terms of its function.296 By attributing the determination of functional beauty to the individual’s aesthetic judgment of an artefact’s visual qualities with respect to the knowledge of the artefact’s function, Parsons and Carlson avoid outlining a type of “austere functionalism” that only values an artefact’s qualities in terms of its engineering.297 Rather, their aesthetic of function is still ultimately determined by the individual’s experience – namely, their visual                                                294 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 64. 295 Berkers and Burgers, “Two Generations of Functionalist Design for a Threshold World,” 272. 296 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 90-110.  297 In his assessment of functionalist architecture as either “aesthetic functionalism” or “austere functionalism,” Edward Winters argues that the latter “is not an aesthetic theory at all, but rather regards aesthetics as a separate matter, an accidental bonus at best, entirely irrelevant or even ‘false consciousness’ at worst” (Edward Winters, “Architecture,” in The Routledge Companion to Aesthetics, ed. Berys Gaut and Dominic McIver Lopes [New York: Routledge, 2001], 525). 113  appreciation of the aesthetic artefact. My aim in this investigation, however, is not to judge the degree to which airport architecture, artworks, and design looks fit in terms of their function. Rather, my objective is to establish how these things function to support the air terminal as a mobility-system and consumption centre and how they can be considered aesthetically with respect to this function.  Although Parsons and Carlson look to an object’s proper function to assess its functional beauty, I argue that an assessment of air terminal artworks, architecture, and design should not discount the airport authorities’, artists’, architects’, and designers’ intentions for these aesthetic things. Although I do not contend that an artefact’s intended function is a determinant of its proper function, a consideration of intended functions may provide some indication of the proper functions of the aesthetic things under consideration. Beth Preston notes that an artefact acquires its proper function through its “lineage.”298 Moreover, an artefact’s proper function, a property that ensured its survival, has been replicated in antecedent artefacts categorically similar to the artefact in question. In an air terminal’s design process, the architects’ and planners’ intended function for a particular building element may draw from existing information about a similar element’s function in other air terminals. At Schiphol, Duintjer mimicked Chicago O’Hare’s overall layout in his design for the new terminal, which opened in 1967.299 Kho Liang Ie Associates, who were commissioned to design the interior of this terminal, also looked to other major international                                                298 Beth Preston, “The Functions of Things: A Philosophical Perspective on Material Culture,” in Matter, Materiality and Modern Culture, ed. P.M. Graves-Brown (New York: Routledge, 2000), 31. Like Parsons and Carlson, Preston draws her notion of proper function from Millikan and discusses it in the context of Cumming’s causal role function, which she refers to as a “system function.” She posits that both Cummings and Millikan provide equally strong philosophical considerations of function, and she argues that these notions complement each other and that theories of function should account for both proper functions and system functions (see Cummins, “Functional Analysis”; Millikan, Language, Thought, and Other Biological Categories; Millikan, “An Ambiguity in the Notion ‘Function’”). 299 Bosma, Megastructure Schiphol, 18. 114  airports in Europe and North America for design solutions.300 In some cases, he replicated some of the interior design at other airports, and in other cases he sought new design solutions based on what he observed at these airports. Kho travelled to the airports to see how their interior architecture functioned. He watched how passengers interacted with the material elements in the terminal, and he used this information to influence his design for Schiphol. For instance, at Orly Airport in Paris, he noticed that many passengers were almost slipping and falling on the marble flooring as they were rushing through the terminal, so he chose a type of tiling that offered more texture and grip.301 Kho also tried to maximize the passengers’ traction by incorporating studded rubber flooring in some of the high traffic areas. This design strategy was rather influential as many other airport planners looked to Schiphol’s interior design and began to use this type of flooring as well. While my analysis of the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics has focused on strategies to direct passenger circulation, these types of measures are another facet to this functional aesthetic as they improve the efficiency and safety of passengers’ movements.  Commerce and function In this section, I will discuss how airport architecture, design, and artworks can be considered in terms of a functional aesthetic that is related to the air terminal’s function as a consumption centre. Some of the strategies used to entice passengers to spend money in the terminal involve interior designs that require passengers to walk past or through retail areas. These designs are an example of the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics as passengers are being directed to move towards consumption spaces. Other strategies include installing artworks                                                300 Bosma, Megastructure Schiphol, 136-137. 301 Berkers and Burgers, “Two Generations of Functionalist Design for a Threshold World,” 271-272. 115  that are intended to stimulate the passengers’ desire to spend. While my assessment of the commercial aspects of air terminal design focuses on a functional aesthetic type, I do not discount that there are other aesthetic factors pertaining to consumption. Indeed, shopping itself can be an aesthetic and pleasurable experience.302  At Heathrow Terminal 5, Schiphol, and HKIA, once passengers pass through security they must walk through an area with restaurants and shops before they can reach their gate. Nonetheless, in each airport these areas are designed with passageways and corridors that are distinct from the shops and restaurants (Figure 51, 13, 68). Moreover, the shops and restaurants facing the passageways are demarcated with storefront signage, and they have a distinctively different design than the passageways which are part of the larger spaces in the concourse. At YVR, passengers exiting security are led along a corridor and funnelled into the worlddutyfree shop (Figure 76). Unlike the corridors and passageways throughout the rest of the terminal, which are generally rectilinear, the passageway running through the store is a curvilinear path lined with chocolates, perfumes, alcohol, and jewellery. Like the rest of the store, the pathway follows through an artificially lit low-ceilinged space. This contrasts with the adjoining spaces, which have high ceilings plus skylights. The passageway, however, has a slightly different design than the rest of the store to demarcate it as the main route to be followed. The floor tiling designating the direction is black while the surrounding tiling is white, and the low ceiling has an undulating wave that follows the passageway from the shop’s entrance to the exit.  This design is emulated at the worlddutyfree shop at London Gatwick’s South Terminal, but the route through the store is longer and less direct than at YVR. Like Vancouver’s airport, passengers must walk through the shop after they have passed through                                                302 Holbrook and Hirschman, “The Experiential Aspects of Consumption,” 132-140. 116  pre-boarding security and are on their way to their gate. While YVR’s worlddutyfree store has a somewhat curvilinear path from one end of the shop to the other, at Gatwick Terminal South passengers are sent in a long arc where the entrance point and the exit point are relatively close with respect to the terminal’s built space. The design of the shop is comparable to the one at YVR with the exception of the ceiling’s design. Unlike the undulating wave at YVR, the ceiling above the black walkway is flat. Some of the panels above the shopping spaces have a wavelike S-shape. Like the worlddutyfree store at YVR, passengers at Gatwick Terminal South walk along a passageway lined with display stands with spirits, perfumes, watches, and sunglasses and sales attendants offering samples of liquor and spritzes of scents.  A similar strategy is employed at EuroAirport Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg. However, unlike YVR and Gatwick Terminal South where passengers are sent through the store in a one-directional flow, passengers at EuroAirport are sent through a duty-free store that has a three-way intersection at its centre; it is the node where three of the terminal’s post-security wings, each containing gates, meet. Although it may not be possible to ascertain whether this strategy increases passenger spending, it is certain that this strategy does directly expose passengers to goods for sale, and it can easily be established that this is the proper function for these routes running through duty-free shops in the terminal. However, this design solution is not popular with all airport architects and planners. At Schiphol, Benthem has maintained a design ethos that an air terminal should facilitate passenger flows with as little disruptions as possible.303 This ideal of creating a “zero-friction society” also informed Kho’s interior design for Duintjer’s terminal, where the main focus                                                303 Jan Willem de Wijn, “City Centre Led to Airport City,” in Megastructure Schiphol: Design in Spectacular Simplicity, ed. Koos Bosma (Rotterdam: nai010 publishers, 2013), 131. 117  was to create clearly defined passageways, and commercial operations, which were a secondary concern, were to be located on the periphery of the routes. In 2006, Schiphol’s management wanted to create routes that forced passengers to walk through shops, but Benthem disagreed with this planning initiative and decided to resign over the issue. He argues that this strategy runs counter to what is acceptable in designing urban spaces: “in Amsterdam, people walk to the Dam past the shops in the Kalverstraat, not through the shops.”304 These plans, however, were abandoned, and Benthem stayed on board as the airport’s architect. This tension between commerce and air terminal architectural design also affects artwork installation; after all these occupy spaces that could be exploited commercially.305 For instance, Dennis Adams’s Coda occupies a central space in Schiphol Plaza, a space that could be used for advertising or for a shop or café (Figure 18). Benthem defends the reasoning behind Coda’s installation and explains that “every town square needs an artwork, a meeting point, a village pump” and that “commerce should yield to functionality.”306 Clearly for Benthem, the airport’s primary function is the smooth circulation of passengers and its capacity to generate revenue is secondary. Moreover, the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, a functional aesthetic of ordering movement, is the central concern for air terminal designers such as Benthem.  The desire to create more advertising space may have spurred the decision to remove Michel Santry’s aerial installation from HKIA’s Terminal 1 in 2003.307 Santry suspected this                                                304 Jan Benthem cited in de Wijn, “City Centre Led to Airport City,” 131. 305 Jan Willem de Wijn, “There’s a Certain Happy Atmosphere in the Terminal,” in Megastructure Schiphol: Design in Spectacular Simplicity, ed. Koos Bosma (Rotterdam: nai010 publishers, 2013), 36. 306 Jan Benthem cited in Erdogan, “Een luchthaven met stadse trekken,” 14. (My translation of: “Elk plein heeft een kunstwerk nodig, een ontmoetingsplek, een dorpspomp”; and “Dan moet commercie wijken voor functionaliteit.” 307 Korporaal, “Sculpture sails into problems,” 14. 118  was the reason, but airport officials claimed that it was removed because it was too difficult to clean. Santry’s suspicions may have been correct, since there are a number of advertisements that hang from ceiling in the landside area of the terminal (Figure 63). Santry’s artwork is an example of what I consider the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics – it is a representation of movement, and as I explain in the following chapter, one that is relatively free and unrestricted. Its removal at HKIA illustrates how this aspect of aero-kinaesthetics is not necessarily integral to air terminal design.  Although the installation of artworks takes over valuable space that could be used for commercial operations, planners do not necessarily consider artworks to be an impediment to commercial gain. During Hans Smits’s tenure as Schiphol’s Chief Executive Officer, the airport, along with the Mondriaan Stichting, commissioned a study into the links between marketing strategies and air terminal artworks. As indicated, Smits was part of the art committee formed in 1993 that sought to install works – such Adams’s Coda – reflecting on the passenger’s experience of time and space rather than artworks that simply signified a place-based identity (Figure 18). The study was published in 1998 as Tegenbeelden: Marketingstrategie en kunstopdrachten.308 Its author, Dorothée van Hooff, contends that Schiphol’s selection of artworks reflects its corporate identity and has bolstered the company’s image. She also argues that installing artworks in the terminal may lead to more passengers transferring through the airport; like good shopping options and clean toilets, artworks might help attract transferring passengers. However, she admits that it is not possible to quantify the returns on installing artworks in terminals, but, she adds, neither is the friendly face of a counter attendant.                                                308 Hooff, Tegenbeelden: Marketingstrategie en kunstopdrachten. 119  Similarly, planners at YVR have considered air terminal artworks as a potential boon for commercial gain. When YVR’s architects were renovating the International Terminal during the 1990s, they believed that the installation of Northwest Coast First Nations artworks such as Bill Reid’s The Jade Canoe would stimulate passenger spending (Figure 7). A few days before the International Terminal opened in May 1996, the chairman of the VIAA’s thematics committee, Frank O’Neill, told the Vancouver Sun that the 5 million dollars spent on installing artworks would pay off as international air travellers would choose to fly to YVR because of its “authentic sense of place” instead of its main competitor, SeaTac (located between Seattle and Tacoma).309 And, these artworks would put passengers “in a good mood,” and they would therefore spend more money in the airport’s shops and restaurants. In a 2012 issue of Airport World, Robbie Gill, the director of a firm specializing in the design of air terminal commercial spaces, discusses the trend to create a “sense of place” in air terminals.310 Gill notes that even though there is little evidence that points to the commercial gains of these types of designs, most airports, particularly those in North America, aspire to design a terminal or at least a duty-free store that elicits “a sense of place” to entice passenger spending. YVR, which is pictured on the title page of Gill’s article, is perhaps the quintessential example of an airport that tries to establish a sense of place.311 Schiphol also attempts to evoke a place-based identity in its Holland Boulevard; although, unlike YVR, this space is limited to one corridor on the post-security side of the non-Schengen area of the terminal (Figure 26-28).                                                 309 Cited in Bell, “A Celebration in Art,” 3. 310 Robbie Gill, “Meeting the Locals,” Airport World 17, no. 2 (2012): 40-42. 311 The first page in Gill’s article features a full-size colour image of Don Yeomans’s 10-metre totem pole, Celebrating Flight (Figure 41), in YVR’s Link Building (ibid., 40).  120  Can air terminal artworks be considered to have a proper function in Parsons and Carlson’s terms with respect to their role in generating passenger spending? Although they may entice passengers to spend, it is impossible to ascertain whether this is the air terminal artworks’ proper function since, as van Hooff admits, it is not possible to quantify the correlation between spending and particular artworks. Nonetheless, the planner’s belief that place-based artworks and design strategies have the potential to stimulate passenger spending illustrates the commercial aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Moreover, the representational aspects of airport design are in some cases related to commercial imperatives. And, these strategies operate in tandem with the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics – while passengers are circulated through the terminal past many retail spaces, they are presented with numerous advertisements and other visual media such as artworks that might prompt them to spend.  Aero-kinaesthetics, proper function, and agency My attention to how air terminal architecture and artworks have a proper function in ordering circulation resembles Latour’s attribution of agency to things.312 For Latour, a human, a non-human thing, or a group of things and humans all have the potential to be an “actant,” which is an entity that is “the source of an action.”313 His critical writing is a part of a larger project, actor-network theory, which contrasts with traditional sociology as it accepts entities that operate without intention or consciousness as actors within networks of social                                                312 Bruno Latour, Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 63-86. 313 Latour cited in Karen A. Cerulo, “Nonhumans in Social Interaction,” Annual Review of Sociology 35 (2009): 534. See also Erin J. Campbell’s discussion of Latour’s and other theorists’ ideas concerning the agency of things and how this applies to studies of the decorative arts (Erin J. Campbell, “Listening to objects: an ecological approach to the decorative arts,” Journal of Art Historiography, no. 11 [2014]: 1-23).  121  relations.314 Similarly, the concept of proper function does not limit the consideration of an artefact’s function to its designer’s intentions. Latour critiques the general tenet in sociology, introduced by Durkheim, that human actions and relations are driven by social forces and “that objects do nothing, at least nothing comparable or even connectable to human social action, and that if they can sometimes ‘express’ power relations, ‘symbolize’ social hierarchies, ‘reinforce’ social inequalities, ‘transport’ social power, ‘objectify’ inequality, and ‘reify’ gender relations, they cannot be at the origin of social activity.”315 Non-human things, he argues, play an active role in social environments, which consist of numerous unpredictable interactions between humans and things.  My conception of aero-kinaesthetics accepts a similar ontological status for air terminal architecture, artworks, and design. These aesthetic things are not merely expressions of or symbolic of the social relations within airports and the air transportation industry, but they actively produce airport spaces. Moreover, the physical materiality of airport architecture and design affects passenger practices within the terminal. This goes beyond a consideration of how things like corridor walls physically require a passenger to move in one particular direction. Rather, it is a consideration of how the physical qualities of architecture and design might also operate on a sensory register, visual and even auditory, to draw passengers to move through the terminal spaces. At Schiphol Plaza, Benthem introduced rows of columns and beams to visually emphasize predominant pathways and has designed a grid for the flooring that aligns with the major routes that passengers are intended to follow                                                314 Cerulo, 533-536. See also Andrew Pickering’s analysis of scientific knowledge and practice in terms of a “performative idiom” as opposed to a “representational idiom”; he argues that both humans and nonhumans are active agents in the production of knowledge but only humans have the capacity to act with intention (Andrew Pickering, The Mangle of Practice: Time, Agency, and Science [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995], 1-34).  315 Latour, Reassembling the Social, 72. 122  in the space (Figure 17, 18).316 He also designed Schiphol Plaza with dark tinted windows as strategy to entice people to walk to the more brightly lit terminals since passengers were expected to be drawn towards light.317 At Beijing’s Terminal 3, the ceiling slats were installed to correspond with the main directional flow to the gates, and they were intended to entice passengers to move in this direction.318 These design strategies, bolstered by signage, are used to help with passengers’ navigation through the terminal. However, unlike airport signage, which requires the full attention of the passenger to what is written and signified through pictograms, these architectural features are more or less Heideggerian ready-to-hand entities that are generally taken for granted and are active agents operating in the background of one’s attention.319 The planners at YVR and Schiphol have considered how air terminal artworks have the potential to operate as active agents in terms of wayfinding. At both airports, the planners have chosen artworks that are intended to operate as landmarks because of their materiality. While these planners carefully selected artworks based on their representational content, they also considered how an artwork’s material aspects would be grasped in the background of a passenger’s attention. Smits, the former director of Schiphol’s art committee, noted that their aim was to install artworks that were visible in the corner of the passenger’s eye.320 Moreover, they chose installations that passengers would differentiate from the miles of                                                316 Cresswell, On the Move, 219-258. 317 Kloos and de Maar, 79. 318 Lin-Liu, “Beijing Capital International Airport,” 113. 319 In Being and Time, Heidegger grapples with how, as human beings, we exist and considers this in terms of how we encounter other entities as either ‘present-at-hand’ or ‘ready-to-hand’ entities. A present-at-hand entity is approached via one’s consciousness and is considered in terms of its apparent properties. Many of the things we encounter in our own worlds, he argues, are ready-to-hand entities – such as his famous example, the hammer when used for hammering – which exist as unnoticed entities in everyday life until they malfunction. When the carpenter uses the hammer for hammering, he does not think of the tool according to its apparent properties; only when the hammer breaks, the carpenter contemplates the not ready-to-hand broken tool as present-at-hand (Martin Heidegger, Being and time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson [New York: Harper & Row, 1962], 98-103). 320 Bernard Marck, “L’aéroport, galerie d’art, vecteur de culture,” Aéroports Magazine 260 (1995): 17. 123  transparent glass walls and the predominantly white-and-grey-coloured floors and ceilings. Schiphol and YVR have included some of their terminals’ artworks on their maps. What is notable is that the artworks on these maps, which are supposed to be landmarks, are not identified by their titles or the artists that created them but are icons referring to their physical forms and colors – quick identifiers easily grasped by passengers who are trying to navigate the space (Figure 77, 78). Schiphol includes these simplified renditions of the terminal’s artworks on the maps posted throughout the airport and on paper copies available at information desks. YVR uses these icons on the maps posted on the airport’s website.321 Schiphol also uses some distinctive architectural features on its maps. For instance, in the post-security lounge in the Schengen area of Schiphol’s terminal, the Mediterranean Sandwich Bar is encased in a series of round metal arches (Figure 22). The map for this lounge includes an icon based on the café’s round arch.  In my case studies, the only airports to use artworks on their maps are YVR and Schiphol, two airports that have grown and changed remarkably since their first terminals opened in 1967. HKIA and Heathrow Terminal 5, on the other hand, are two structures with large open concourses that have not seen any dramatic renovations and the maps of these spaces do not include artworks. However, it is not only terminals that have grown by accretion that necessarily use artworks as landmarks for navigation and represent them as icons on their maps. The terminal at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport, which opened in 2006 and contains large open spaces like HKIA’s Terminal 1 and Heathrow Terminal 5, has a series of sculptures installed in the landside and airside areas and that appear on maps                                                321 “Terminal maps,” YVR, accessed July 24, 2014, 124  posted throughout the building (Figure 79).322 For instance, Scene of The Churning of The Milk Ocean is situated on the airside of the terminal, which consists of a concourse over one kilometre in length that has two clusters of gates situated on each end. This sculpture is in the centre point of this long passageway, which is lined with shops, restaurants, and boutiques (Figure 80). Artworks such as Scene of The Churning of The Milk Ocean and Reid’s The Jade Canoe exemplify both aspects of aero-kinaesthetics. In terms of their material aspects, they have a functional aesthetic deriving from their role in ordering circulation within the terminal. Their representational content, which is defined by themes specific to the airport’s region, characterizes the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. In the following chapter, I argue how these types of place-themed signifiers evoke sensations of movement. My attention to how artworks and architecture are active agents in ordering passenger movements illustrates how air terminal aesthetics operates on a non-textual level. This runs counter to Augé’s and Schaberg’s analyses of air terminals as spaces that are predominately defined by texts. For Augé, the airport is a quintessential “non-place,” and he argues that: “The link between individuals and their surroundings in the space of non-place is established through the mediation of words, or even texts.”323 In The Textual Life of Airports, Schaberg follows Augé’s line of inquiry and offers a more detailed analysis of how the airport’s operations are primarily defined by texts. His analysis also examines the airport in terms of a broader scope of textuality; particularly, how the airport is experienced by many passengers as a space for reading and how the airport is described in literary representations. Like my dissertation on air terminal design, Schaberg’s analysis is one of the few scholarly                                                322 Suvarnabhumi’s terminal contains ca. 560,000 square metres of floor area, slightly less than the combined floor area of HKIA’s Terminal 1 and 2 (see John Morris Dixon, “Murphy/Jahn joins engineers Werner Sobek and Matthias Schuler to bring Suvarnabhumi Airport, Bangkok's sleek new air terminal, in for a landing,” Architectural Record 195, no. 8 [2007]: 108-132). 323 Augé, Non-places, 94. 125  investigations into air terminal artworks. For instance, in his assessment of artworks that represent forms of avian imagery, he examines how Seyed Alavi’s Flying Carpet at Sacramento airport recreates the aerial view seen by a passenger or a pilot in an aircraft or by a bird in flight.324 This work, which is situated in a corridor that connects the parking garage to Terminal A, consists of a wool carpet that represents a 50-mile section of the Sacramento River valley as seen from above. Schaberg notes that this aerial view allows the passenger walking along this corridor to adopt the “subject positions” of either a bird or an aircraft in flight.325 Although Schaberg suggests that the “human becomes animal,” he does not follow this line of thought into considering the kinaesthetic sensations associated with flying free over this valley.326 Rather, he compares this capacity for a bird’s eye view to a textual analogy of Internet browsing: “Googling is a kind of species behavior, another form of flitting about.”327 And, he notes that passengers are able to engage in this type of reading at terminals that offer complimentary Wi-Fi.  I would challenge Augé’s and Schaberg’s arguments that airports are predominately defined by texts. As discussed above, planners and architects try to minimize the use of signage in the terminal and focus on how the material design of the terminal can be shaped in such a way that it is an easy-to-navigate space, and I have illustrated how a number of design strategies deployed at YVR, Schiphol, Heathrow Terminal 5, and HKIA try to achieve this aim. Although I am arguing that the terminal’s materiality plays a larger role in the airport’s operations than Augé and Schaberg suggest in their respective analyses, I am not suggesting that texts do not have an integral function at the air terminal. Even though texts are not the                                                324 Schaberg, The Textual Life of Airports, 136-137. 325 Ibid., 137 326 Ibid., 137 327 Ibid., 138. 126  only medium used for wayfinding, the careful deployment of signage is crucial for passengers to be able to find their way.   Conclusion Going beyond the usual analyses of air terminals as spaces designed to circulate people and their capital, I have presented a new and different theoretical framework for assessing the operation of air terminal architecture, interior design, and artworks. Specifically, I have conceptualized the existence of an aesthetic type, the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, which derives from the air terminal’s function as a mobility-system and a consumption centre. This aesthetic emerges out of these things themselves and derives from the air terminal’s materiality – its physical qualities that draw passengers to move into particular directional flows or corral them into other spaces of containment. In the following chapter, I will extend my analysis of aero-kinaesthetics to its second aspect – the ways in which air terminal artworks and design might elicit virtual sensations of kinaesthesia.   127  Chapter Three: Concepts of affect and kinaesthesia This chapter concentrates on air terminal artworks that convey themes of movement and considers the experiential aspect of these representations with respect to their location in an international airport. It departs from my assessment of the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics in the last chapter, which focused on how air terminal architecture, artworks, and design operate on a material level to regulate passengers’ movements and spending in the terminal. Here, I consider the second aspect of this conception of airport aesthetics and movement – the capacity for air terminal design to affect passengers and evoke virtual sensations of movement. I examine how affect is defined by human geographers such as Nigel Thrift, Ben Anderson, and Peter Adey, and why these theories pertain to building design. I also examine Charles Sanders Peirce’s theory of semiotics to consider how a viewer’s reading of a representation of movement is informed by their previous embodied experiences of movement. My analysis focuses primarily on air terminal artworks that represent themes related to movement, and I theorize how they might operate on an affective register to elicit sensations of kinaesthesia.  I argue that these artworks’ capacity to elicit bodily sensations of movement is a type of aesthetic. In company with Susan Buck-Morss, I am looking to the original definition of aisthētikos, which means “perceptive by feeling.”328 This conception, which situates aesthetic experiences on the same register as physiological sensations, has informed other theories such as Edmund Burke’s writing on the sublime.329 This type of aesthetic differs from the type of aesthetic that I explored in the last chapter which involves an aesthetic judgement based on a cognitive understanding of the air terminal’s function. These two types of                                                328 Buck-Morss cited in Grant H. Kester, “Aesthetics after the End of Art,” 43.  329 Vanessa L. Ryan, “The Physiological Sublime: Burke’s Critique of Reason,” Journal of the History of Ideas 62, no. 2 (2001): 265-279. 128  aesthetics also differ in terms of the kinds of sensations considered. As Glenn Parsons and Allen Carlson note, their conception of functional beauty retains a distinction between aesthetics and bodily pleasures.330 This distinction is in line with Immanuel Kant’s aesthetic theory, which trusts distal senses such as sight and hearing to make aesthetic judgements rather than proximal senses such as taste, touch, and smell. In this chapter, I focus on a proximal sense – kinaesthesia, the bodily pleasure of movement – to establish another aspect of airport aesthetics.  Michel Santry’s aerial installation, commissioned for Terminal 1 at Hong Kong International, clearly stimulates ideas of movement and flight. Santry’s artwork, which is constructed out of steel tubing and colourful lightweight cloth, is meant to refer to winged aircraft and themes of flight. When the terminal opened in 1998, Santry’s artwork was accompanied by another aviation-themed installation. A replica of the first powered aircraft to have taken to the air in Hong Kong, Charles Van den Born’s Farman biplane, hangs at the other end of the large concourse. Each elicits virtual sensations of kinaesthesia – nonetheless contrasting with the constrained types of movement that passengers typically experience.  However, not all artworks installed in air terminals depict types of movement that are freer than those experienced by the masses flying commercially. Some of these works, such as Dennis Adams’s Coda and Niek Kemps’s Closed Sight at Schiphol point to the technologies and processes that facilitate aeromobilities. Additionally, there are other artworks such as Langlands and Bell’s Moving World at Heathrow Terminal 5 that reflect on the linkages between cities afforded by commercial air travel and how moving across the globe is now achieved with relative ease (Figure 53, 54). My attention to artworks expressing themes related to movement also includes artworks that refer to place-based identities such as                                                330 Parsons and Carlson, Functional Beauty, 175-195. 129  Susan A. Point’s Flight (Spindle Whorl) at YVR and Marc Brusse’s I Meet You at Schiphol. I argue that these types of representations, which evoke “a sense of place,” also evoke an ideational notion of movement across cartographic space. Before attending to these artworks, I discuss some of the theoretical considerations of affect. This, however, is not a literature review of the concept as my thesis centers on air terminal design. Below, I focus on how affect can be articulated into architectural spaces. But, I also account for some of the critiques of ‘affective geographies.’ I pay particular attention to Adey’s analysis of how airport terminals are deliberately designed to stimulate passengers on a non-representational and non-cognitive affective register.331 He illustrates how airport planners try to organize passenger affect with the intent to influence their moods and movements and how this affective engineering is largely associated with commercial imperatives. My conception of aero-kinaesthetics draws upon Adey’s arguments to assume that airport architecture, artworks, and design are able to interact with passengers on an affective register. However, my investigation departs from Adey’s analyses and considers how these aesthetic things might operate affectively to evoke bodily feelings associated with kinaesthesia, the sensation of movement. I also draw from Peirce’s semiotics, which considers how the receiver’s knowledge of signs emerges from embodied experiences of the material world, to theorize how representations of movement are indexical, iconic, and symbolic signs that elicit sensations of past experiences of kinaesthesia.                                                     331 Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” 438-451. 130  What is affect? Affect is an elusive concept and difficult to define.332 In a general sense, the term connotes emotions such as shame, fear, joy, happiness, anger, sadness, and jealousy. With respect to psychotherapy, Freud describes affect as an electric-charge that covers the surface of a memory. He writes, “the concept that in mental functions something is to be distinguished—a quota of affect or sum of excitation—which possesses all the characteristics of a quantity (though we have no means of measuring it), which is capable of increase, diminution, displacement and discharge, and which is spread over the memory-traces of ideas somewhat as an electric charge is spread over the surface of a body.”333 This definition in some respects encapsulates how I consider the affective nature of a recalled experience of movement. For instance, a recollection of the experience of free-falling when jumping from a diving board is loaded with a type of energy that is similar to what is felt during the actual experience of this kinaesthesia. This type of electric charge also accompanies imagined experiences of movement such as flight simulation video games played from the pilot’s point                                                332 Melissa Gregg and Gregory J. Seigworth, “An Inventory of Shimmers,” in The Affect Theory Reader, ed. Melissa Gregg and Gregory J. Seigworth (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010), 1-25.  333 This definition is from Freud’s January 1894 article, ‘The neuro-psychoses of defence.’ Cited in André Green, The Fabric of Affect in the Psychoanalytic Discourse (London: Routledge, 1999), 17. This definition of affect derives from Freud’s early investigations of how psychotherapy can treat hysteria. According to Freud, ‘the hysteric suffers from memories,’ and it is through language that the patient is able to release the blocks associated with these memories (ibid., 15-17). When a patient recounts a traumatic memory with the help of the therapist, the intention is not to erase the traumatic event from patient’s conscious and unconscious mind but to release the affective energy that is bound to the memory. Moreover, hysteria will not be treated if the patient merely speaks about the event without bringing forward the affect tied to the memory; the load remains within the hysteric’s psyche and will still manifest itself symptomatically. In “The System and the Speaking Subject,” Julia Kristeva incorporates affect into her theory on signification and meaning (Julia Kristeva, “The System and the Speaking Subject,” in The Kristeva Reader, ed. Toril Moi, 24-33 [New York: Columbia University Press, 1986]; Kelly Oliver, “Introduction: Kristeva’s Revolutions,” in The Portable Kristeva, ed. Kelly Oliver, xi-xxix [New York: Columbia University Press, 1997], xi-xix; Anne-Marie Smith, Julia Kristeva: Speaking the Unspeakable [London: Pluto Press, 1998], 21-23). According to Kristeva affects and drives are not expressed through specific words or grammatical structures but are discharged in text as alliterations, rhythms, intonations, and rhymes. In her theory of “semanalysis,” she argues that meaning is not made by a unified subject or strictly within the subject’s mind. She proposes a theory based on Freud’s conception of a divided subject consisting of a conscious and unconscious self. This split subject allows Kristeva to consider a text’s meaning as a product of both bio-physiological processes, such as drives and affects, and also social processes, such as modes of production. 131  of view. This affective quality of virtual kinaesthesia is perhaps most amplified during dreams of flight – an experience that Jonathan Borofsky recreates in his installation at Toronto Pearson International (Figure 1). My attention to how air terminal artworks have the capacity to affect passengers draws from Thrift’s, Anderson’s, and Adey’s writing on the topic. Thrift defines affect as a “sense of a push in the world,” and he theorizes how urban spaces are designed to operate on an affective register.334 His notion of affect, which partly derives from Freudian theories on drives, is informed by Baruch de Spinoza’s affectus and Brian Massumi’s theoretical investigation into this concept.335 Spinoza’s monist philosophy was a reaction to René Descartes’s dualistic philosophy that separated the body, part of physical and geometrically defined space, from the mind, which was defined by conscious thought. Spinoza postulated that human beings and all objects in the universe were composed of the same substance. Unlike the Cartesian mind divorced from corporeality, the thinking being for Spinoza is embedded within the materiality of the body. Spinoza’s monist definition of affect, “By EMOTION (affectus) I understand the modifications of the body by which the power of action of the body is increased or diminished, aided or restrained, and at the same time the idea of these modifications,” argues that affect or emotion is an interaction which causes the body and the mind to act.336 Gilles Deleuze adopts Spinoza’s assertion that the affectus is a relation between two bodies and not necessarily limited to two human beings: “If we are Spinozists we will not define a thing by its form, nor by its organs and its functions, nor as a                                                334 Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 64. 335 Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 59-64; Brian Massumi, Parables for the Virtual: Movement, Affect, Sensation (Durham: Duke University Press, 2002). Thrift also relies on theories of embodied knowledge and physiological studies such as Charles Darwin’s writing on emotion and animals. Massumi’s writing on Spinoza’s affectus defines not only Thrift’s investigation into affect and geography but other ‘affective geographies’ as well (see Steve Pile, “Emotions and Affect in Recent Human Geography,” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 35, no. 1 [2010]: 5-20). 336 Cited in Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 62. 132  substance or a subject… A body can be anything; it can be an animal, a body of sounds, a mind or an idea; it can be a linguistic corpus, a social body, a collectivity.”337 For Deleuze the force and push of affect is also embedded in things: “There are affects of things, the ‘edge’, this ‘blade’ or rather the ‘point’ of Jack the Ripper’s knife is no less an affect than the fear which overcomes his features and the resignation which finally seizes hold of the whole of his face.”338  Deleuze’s interpretation of Spinoza’s affectus as a connection that flows within and between human and non-human bodies, informs not only Thrift’s theory but also other “affectual geographies.”339 Drawing largely from Massumi’s interpretation of Deleuze’s thoughts on Spinoza, Anderson notes that affect is a “transpersonal capacity” characteristic to all bodies that allows a body to be affected and to affect other bodies.340 This capacity for “being affected – affecting” is defined by a movement or flow situated between bodies. Feelings are a corporeal experience of this movement. An individual’s feelings are a response to flows of affect and are expressed as “proprioceptive and visceral shifts” in the body. Emotions are a personal and subjective response to feelings and defined by an individual’s social context. Moreover, linguistic expressions, conscious thoughts, and other representations of anger are part of the emotional register, while feelings are the corporeal expressions such as an increase in bodily heat and the skin’s flushing. My conception of aero-kinaesthetics considers an idea of affect that accounts for multiple experiences in ordered spaces. Moreover, it considers how material designs can operate affectively to draw                                                337 Cited in Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 63. 338 Cited in Nigel Thrift, “Afterwords,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 18, no. 2 (2000): 220. 339 Pile, 8; Ben Anderson, “Becoming and being hopeful: towards a theory of affect,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 24, no. 5 (2006): 733-752; Derek P. McCormack, “Geographies for Moving Bodies: Thinking, Dancing, Spaces,” Geography Compass 2, no. 6 (2008): 1822-1836. 340 Anderson, “Becoming and being hopeful,” 735-737. 133  passengers in certain directions as well as the affective capacity of representations to elicit bodily sensations of kinaesthesia.   Affect and architecture Thrift notes that with the exception of Walter Benjamin’s accounts of Nazi rallies and Richard Sennett’s Flesh and Stone, affect has received little attention in urban studies.341 Aside from Benjamin and Sennett, poetry and fiction offers some insights on the city’s affective register. Although Thrift suggests that affect in cities is being “actively engineered” and “that it is becoming something more akin” to the physical infrastructure of urban spaces, he does not describe how physical concrete structures are being designed to operate on an affective level. His writing has focused on how affect is manipulated for political gains and in corporate advertising.342 Below I discuss how Adey has drawn from Thrift’s, Anderson’s, and other theorists’ contributions to affectual geographies to analyse how air terminals are consciously designed to create and limit specific affects.343  ‘Affectual geographies,’ like Thrift’s spatial politics of affect, have been criticized as universalizing and deterministic theories that do not account for difference and diversity. These criticisms partly result from a notion of affect that is synonymous with feeling and emotion. Tolia-Kelly charges that “affectual geographies” define emotion as “intrinsically embedded in universalist thought rather than the geopolitical landscape that constitutes our universal political life.”344 Her criticism is significant because emotion defined as a “trans-                                               341 Cited in Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 57. 342 Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 64-72; Thrift, Non-representational Theory, 243-254.  343 Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” 438-451. See also Peter Kraftl and Peter Adey, “Architecture/Affect/Inhabitation: Geographies of Being-In Buildings,” Annals of the Association of American Geographers 98, no. 1 (2008): 213-231.  344 Divya P. Tolia-Kelly, “Affect – an ethnocentric encounter? Exploring the ‘universalist’ imperative of emotional/affectual geographies,” Area 38, no.2 (2006): 213. She argues that scholars need to be wary of 134  personal” push, which is experienced equivocally by all individuals, universalizes how every person will respond to a particular stimulus.345 Thrift’s 2004 article, which she critiques, uses affect, emotion, and feeling interchangeably and it is difficult to determine how and on which register they are operating.346 This, however, is not the case in other geographers’ considerations of the topic. Anderson, for instance, does clarify the difference between these three terms.347 He draws from Massumi who explains the difference between emotion and affect:  An emotion is a subjective content, the sociolinguistic fixing of the quality of an experience which is from that point onward defined as personal. Emotion is qualified intensity, the conventional, consensual point of insertion of intensity into semantically and semiotically formed progressions, into narrativizable action-reaction circuits, into function and meaning. It is intensity owned and recognized. It is crucial to theorize the difference between affect and emotion. If some have the impression that affect has waned, it is because affect is unqualified. As such, it is not ownable or recognizable and is thus resistant to critique.348   In a 2009 definition of affect, Anderson reiterates that emotion is subjective, and he adds that affect does not directly determine bodily expressions: “The relationship between the circulation and distribution of affects and signification is not, therefore, one of conformity or correspondence, but one of resonation or interference.”349  My conception of aero-kinaesthetics does not conflate affect with feeling and emotion. Moreover, my investigation draws upon Anderson’s more strict interpretation of                                                                                                                                                  Thrift’s 2004 article on affect and urban space since “there is a singularity of registers of affect and emotion declared in this extremely important call” (ibid., 214). 345 Tolia-Kelly argues that different racialized, gendered, and sexualilized bodies will have markedly different emotional responses to environmental conditions (ibid., 213-217). Hayden Lorimer notes that criticisms such Tolia-Kelly’s have helped geographers refine their notions of affect (Hayden Lorimer, “Cultural geography: non-representational conditions and concerns,” Progress in Human Geography 32, no. 4 (2008): 551-559).  346 See Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 57-78.  347 Anderson, “Becoming and being hopeful,” 733-752. 348 Massumi, 28. 349 Ben Anderson, “Affect,” in Dictionary of Human Geography, 5th ed., ed. Derek Gregory, Ron Johnston, and Geraldine Pratt (Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 9. 135  affect: affect is the capacity to affect or be affected; feeling is on a separate register defined by bodily fluctuations that are reacting to the flows of affect; and emotion is the conscious expression of feelings. I argue that an air terminal artwork’s capacity to affect can be recognized as a universal meaning, but I am not arguing that an artwork has the capacity to evoke the same feelings and emotions for every passenger. For instance, the Farman biplane at HKIA has the capacity to affect all passengers, but the feelings and emotions felt while viewing this installation is different for each passenger. For some passengers, the Farman biplane might evoke feelings and emotions associated with adventure and excitement, while for others this primitive aircraft might evoke terror, fear, and instability.  Boundaries of affect and articulation If every single thing has the “capacity to affect or be affected” and emotions are subjective experiences informed by a sociolinguistic frame, then why should anyone care about ‘affect’ if the result of ‘being affected or affecting’ is only represented as feelings and emotions? If affect cannot be represented by words, then should not geographers and architectural theorists move on from studying ‘affect’ and only examine the socio-politico-economic conditions that inform emotions? It is precisely the inexpressible nature of affect that interests Thrift and Anderson, whose analyses are informed by and are part of non-representational theory (NRT). NRT considers the wide array of human behaviours and influences on life processes that are irreducible to cognitive thought, such as actions that operate too fast to register cognitively as either memory or intention. Aside from affect, NRT 136  considers embodied knowledge, bodily practices, and how non-human things act on and influence human life.350 Derek P. McCormack and Thrift argue that speaking or writing about dancing illustrates how bodily practices are not easily represented by words.351 The sensations, gestures, and feelings of motion fail to be conveyed when they are described in an analysis. McCormack’s writing on practices is concerned with more than just how people move physically in space, but how bodies “move affectively, kinaesthetically, imaginatively, collectively, aesthetically, socially, culturally and politically.”352 Thrift’s discussions of practices also concern the non-representational nature of movements such as dance; but, he also examines how non-cognitive bodily practices are influenced by things, such as software, urban infrastructures, and ergonomics, which operate as a “technological unconscious.”353 As noted, software heavily mediates the experience of the air terminal. Passengers’ and employees’ practices are influenced by their interactions with a myriad of computer programs either visible on a screen or operating silently in the background.354  If we consider Thrift’s writing on the “technological unconscious” and his declaration, “affect is more and more likely to be actively engineered with the result that it is                                                350 Thrift, “Afterwords,” 213-255; Thrift, Non-Representational Theory, 1-26. 351 McCormack, 1822-1836; Thrift, “Afterwords,” 231-247. 352 McCormack, 1823. 353 Nigel Thrift, “Remembering the technological unconscious by foregrounding knowledges of position,” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 22, no. 1 (2004): 175-190; Ash Amin and Nigel Thrift, Cities: Reimagining the Urban (Cambridge: Polity, 2002), 83-93. In “Driving in the City,” Thrift extrapolates from Michel de Certeau’s “Walking in the City” and reflects on how people drive through the urban automobile network (Nigel Thrift, “Driving in the City,” Theory, Culture & Society 21, no. 4-5 [2004]: 41-59; Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Steven Rendall [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984], 91-110). Although things such as roads, bridges, highways, stop signs, and stop lights are visible and people are generally conscious of this built environment, there are a host of other aspects of infrastructure and automobiles that influence people’s movements on a non-cognitive register. For instance, software is changing how people drive with improvements such as anti-lock brakes, traction control, and navigation systems. As automobiles become more technologically advanced, the car instead of the driver does more and more of the driving. 354 Dodge and Kitchin, “Flying through code/space,” 195-211. 137  becoming something more akin to the networks of pipes and cables that are of such importance in providing the basic mechanics and root textures of urban life,” then it becomes more apparent why geographers and architectural historians should be concerned with affect.355 Although affect as ‘a capacity to be affected or affecting’ evades representation, it is being triggered for political and commercial gains.356 Even though the engineering of affect may not determine specific feelings or emotions, Thrift’s point is that people are being impacted on a non-cognitive level by political groups, governments, and corporations.357 Adey illustrates how airports are designed with the intent of triggering feelings and emotions of joy and excitement in commercial spaces and subdued feelings in security zones.358 In his study of airport architecture and passenger behaviour conducted during 2003 and 2004, he found that airports were trying to increase passenger retail spending to offset profit losses due to changes in ownership and a surge in low-cost airlines. Drawing from numerous studies of consumer behaviour, airport planners were designing terminal spaces with the intent to reduce anxiety and induce feelings associated with higher passenger spending. These strategies also included trying to entice passengers to move towards shopping spaces. For instance, in one airport, which Adey does not name, designers laid down an expensive limestone-tile floor that was expected to draw passengers to move through the terminal. The planners thought that the flooring “would create a ‘yellow brick road syndrome’,” as per The Wizard of Oz film, since the reflected ambient light would have a positive effect on passengers’ feelings and encourage them to wander through the space and                                                355 Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 58. 356 Thrift, “Intensities of Feeling,” 64-72; Thrift, Non-representational Theory, 243-254. 357 For instance, TV advertisements and political endorsements attempt to generate specific feelings through carefully crafted music, lighting, and gestures that actors and politicians convey (ibid.). Corporations and political parties tailor these adverts based on consumer and voter demographics garnered from opinion polling and surveys.  358 Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” 438-451. Adey does not reveal which airports he investigated and is discussing. 138  past the shops and restaurants.359 The shopping spaces contrast with the security spaces. The “uninteresting, and quite oppressive security environment” tends to have lower ceilings, fewer windows, and the paint and carpets are usually less colourful.360 This drab interior and closed space is intended to trigger melancholic emotions and to evoke a sense of being controlled – a feeling reinforced by the security barriers that limit passengers’ movements.  Adey examines how bodily movement and affect are interrelated, and he relies on Massumi’s argument that movement and feeling are inseparable and that moving bodies are always feeling, and feeling bodies are always moving.361 Thrift also notes that theorists writing about affect need to consider how bodily movements affect emotions and feelings.362 In Adey’s study of airport architecture and affect, he intends “to develop an understanding of architecture as a situational affective context that lays down root textures and motivations for movement and feelings.”363 He illustrates how airport passengers’ movements are predicted based on complex modeling programs, how passengers are expected to react emotionally as well as bodily to these planned movements (such as stasis in security spaces), and how this data influences architects’ plans for airports and their infrastructure. However, these meticulously planned movements and their potential to evoke specific affects do not determine an individual’s behaviour. But, they do create an environment where passengers have the capacity to act like the ‘ideal’ air traveller – one who is calm, content, willing to spend money, and moves through security in a docile manner.  In my investigation of air terminal architecture, artworks, and design, I regard these aesthetic things as active agents that affect passengers within the terminal space. Informed by                                                359 Adey, “Airports, Mobility and the Calculative Architecture of Affective Control,” 446. 360 Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” 445. 361 Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” 440. 362 Thrift, Non-representational Theory, 236-237. 363 Adey, “Airports, mobility and the calculative architecture of affective control,” 438. 139  Adey’s analyses, my investigation assumes that the passengers’ feelings and behaviours are affected by the way they move through these carefully designed spaces. This assumption pertains to the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics that I explored in the last chapter, which considered how architecture, artworks, and design are used to order passenger flows through the terminal in a stop-and-go process. However, my conception of aero-kinaesthetics departs from Adey’s analyses since I also consider an inverse relationship of affect and movement. Moreover, the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics which I am investigating in this chapter considers how air terminal artworks elicit sensations of movement. Rather than considering how passengers are affected by regulations of their movement in the terminal, this aesthetic type pertains to how representations affect passengers and elicit sensations of movement. My argument, which recognizes the capability of ‘being affected and affecting’ as general but the sensations, feelings, and emotions evoked by affects as contingent for each individual, supposes how the representational content of air terminal artworks and design operates affectively on the ‘ideal’ passenger, one who is excited to fly and experiences flight as kinaesthesia, the experience of movement as a bodily pleasure.  Air terminal artworks and kinaesthesia My reading of air terminal artworks and design as representations that operate affectively to elicit sensations of kinaesthesia draws upon Peirce’s semiotics because unlike Ferdinand de Saussure’s semiology, Peirce’s pragmatic theory addresses how the actual object a sign refers to affects the sign’s overall meaning.364 Saussure’s notion of the sign, consisting of a signifier and a signified, pertains to the vehicle that transmits the sign (the signifier) and the concept it elicits in the mind of the receiver (the signified). Peirce on the                                                364 Gottdiener, Postmodern Semiotics, 3-33. 140  other hand analyses a sign in terms of: the ‘representamen,’ the means by which the sign is conveyed; the ‘interpretant,’ the idea that the receiver uses cognitively to understand the sign; and the actual material object the sign is referring to. While Saussure was primarily concerned with how the relations and differences between signs informed the structures of systems of signification, Peirce sought to examine the logic of sign systems – namely, how language transmits information, and its possibilities for conveying truth claims. Peirce’s semiotics classifies signs into a number of categories depending on the characteristics of the object, representamen, and intepretant.365 In my analysis, I consider only one of Peirce’s triadic classifications of signs: the symbol, the icon, and the index. The first is “a sign which would lose the character which renders it a sign if there was no interpretant.”366 Moreover, a symbol’s meaning, such as the written word “cat,” is determined by culture and social relations, and this meaning can only be ascertained by individuals with access to this cultural and social knowledge. An icon resembles the object it represents. For instance, the spoken word “meow” is an iconic representation of the sound of a cat, and an image of a lit cigarette with a red circle inscribed around it and a red straight line drawn through the diameter of the circle and overtop of the lit cigarette is an icon that transmits “no smoking permitted here.” An index is a sign that is not determined by a convention shared by a particular social group but by the interpreter’s own experience of the world, and it points to a causal connection between the representamen and the object.367 For instance, as an index a lightning flash is an indication of thunder and an impending storm, and smoke is an indication of fire and                                                365 For a cursory overview, see Albert Atkin, “Peirce’s Theory of Signs,” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2010 Edition), accessed May 14, 2014, 366 Peirce cited in Gottdiener, Postmodern Semiotics, 12. 367 See also Carl Knappett’s discussion of how some indices are only known because of prior knowledge and other indices are signs dependent their performative nature, i.e. the information conveyed by a pointing finger depends on how a person points their finger (Carl Knappett, Thinking through material culture: an interdisciplinary perspective [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005], 91-95).  141  something burning. For Peirce, these three classifications are abstractions and some signs cannot be strictly differentiated along these terms but are iconic, indexical, or symbolic to varying degrees. Also, the same sign can be interpreted as an index, an icon, or a symbol depending on the context and the intentions of the receiver interpreting the sign. Webb Keane and Mark Gottdiener both note that unlike Saussure’s semiology Peirce’s semiotics transcends the rigid conception of spirit and matter, ideas and things, and subject and object as separate entities occupying two unbridgeable spheres.368 Even though post-structuralists such as Jacques Derrida, Jean Baudrillard, and Roland Barthes have deconstructed many of the underlying assumptions of Saussure’s structuralism, these theorists have all maintained this dualistic split and retained the sign within the realm of ideas and outside of matter. In his analysis of how materiality is intrinsic to systems of signification, Keane addresses how an iconic sign such as the quality ‘red’ cannot be experienced simply on its own but through its embodiment in an actual material thing. An interpreter experiences redness along with a number of other contingent qualities which are ‘bundled’ with the interpreter’s experience of the color: “redness in an apple comes along with spherical shape, light weight, sweet flavor, a tendency to rot, and so forth.”369  As a sign Santry’s aerial installation at HKIA’s Terminal 1 is an icon signifying aircraft, which as an actual flying machine is an index signifying movement (Figure 5). Following Keane’s argument, the interpreter’s acknowledgement of its resemblance to the wings of flying machines is bundled with a number of other contingent qualities. As an icon                                                368 Keane, “Signs Are Not the Garb of Meaning,” 182-205. Gottdiener contends that “Peircian semiotics allows for the understanding of behaviorly oriented stimuli that are encoded in material forms as manipulative environments which operate through the power of the index and its experiential basis” (Gottdiener, Postmodern Semiotics, 13). He uses Peirce’s semiotics to analyse “manipulative environments” such as shopping malls and theme parks, two types of urban spaces which, like airport terminals, are carefully engineered environments that intend to regulate people’s movements and stimulate consumption (ibid., 81-118). 369 Keane, “Signs Are Not the Garb of Meaning,” 188. 142  of winged aircraft, Santry’s artwork may elicit the bundled qualities of watching an aircraft in flight. This visual experience of a flying thing’s movement conveys the quality ‘movement,’ which, like the quality ‘redness,’ is bundled with a number of other qualities that are contingent and dependent on each individual’s own kinaesthetic experiences. This may include embodied experiences of flight itself, other motion machines such as automobiles, boats, and bicycles, or bodily movements such as running, dancing, and swimming. I contend that the sign’s capacity to transmit the quality ‘movement’ to the receiver occurs on an affective register; it is essentially a flow of affects between two bodies. This icon of an aircraft, which is also an index of movement, has the capacity to affect passengers, and it elicits bodily sensations of movement that are unique and particular to the passengers affected by these icons. As installations situated in an international air terminal, Santry’s sculpture resembling aircraft and the Farman biplane replica may recall the bodily sensations that air passengers experience while flying (Figure 5, 70). They experience their flight in the cabin of a jet aircraft and spend much of the time securely fastened by a seatbelt to their allotted seat by the window, the aisle, or between two other passengers. This relative immobility is accompanied by the feeling of movement as the seat presses against one’s back or when the seatbelt pulls against one’s waist when the jet encounters turbulence.370 The view from the aircraft window accompanies this feeling of movement with a visual reference of the jet’s movement relative to the ground and the clouds in the sky.371 For some passengers,                                                370 For an insightful analysis of kinaesthetic feelings with respect to a different mobility system, see Mimi Sheller’s discussion of how the embodied experiences of driving are tied to emotions and how this relates to the social and cultural aspects of automobililties (Mimi Sheller, “Automotive Emotions: Feeling the Car,” Theory, Culture & Society 21, no. 4-5 [2004]: 221-242). 371 See David Bissell’s discussion of train passengers’ kinaesthetic sensations and the accompanying views of passing landscapes and how the materiality of the interior of railway cars affects the passengers’ visual practices 143  particularly the ‘ideal’ passengers in the eyes of the air transportation industry, this kinaesthesia – the push felt as the jet takes off and the pull of the jet as it drops in an area of turbulence – literally is the pleasure of movement. Though for many others, those who experience motion sickness or are anxious about flying, the experience of these movements is undoubtedly bundled with negative qualities.  However, Santry’s aerial installation or the Farman biplane replica hardly resemble today’s commercial aircraft or recall the types of flight paths taken by these passenger jets. For instance, van den Born’s first flight in Hong Kong contrasts markedly with the numerous flights arriving and departing in the highly regulated airspace and massive airport complex at HKIA. The Belgian aviator departed and landed at a long beach at Sha Tin at low tide.372 His inaugural flight had been advertised in the press and drew a number of spectators. Many, however, left before van den Born took to the air as he had to delay his flight by three hours because of strong winds. Santry’s artwork, made from lightweight tubing and colourful cloths, resembles less so the jet aircraft flying in and out of HKIA and more so the materials used to construct a hang glider.373 Like the Farman biplane, a hang glider usually carries one person, its pilot, and it enables this aviator to fly a relatively unrestrained flight path limited only by weather conditions, air currents, and the topography below. Perhaps for some passengers these installations do not elicit the embodied experiences of flying commercially but evoke sensations of kinaesthesia associated with the modes of flying represented in these                                                                                                                                                  (David Bissell, “Visualising Everyday Geographies: Practices of Vision Through Travel-time,” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 34, no 1 [2009]:42-60).  372 Barry Grindrod, “Air Lines,” South China Morning Post, December 8, 1993, sec. Business, p. 6. 373 Santry’s aerial installation is not an exception in terms of air terminal artworks constructed using materials similar to those used by hang gliders. Susumu Shingu’s Boundless Sky, which was installed at Kansai International Airport when it opened in 1994, consists of multiple sculptures hanging from the concourse’s ceiling that are constructed out of colourful cloths and lightweight armatures, and, like Santry’s installation, it recalls the shape of flying machines (Buchanan, “Kansai,” 72; “Works,” Susumu Shingu, accessed December 29, 2014, 144  works. Modes of flying that involve far less restricted movements than the controlled mobilities experienced by passengers transiting through the terminal and flying aboard today’s commercial aircraft. At Heathrow Terminal 2 – reopened in June 2014 after being demolished and rebuilt – designers also installed a flight-themed artwork that points to types of movements freer than those typically experienced while flying commercially.374 Richard Wilson’s Slipstream is situated in a large covered space between the terminal and the parking garage (Figure 81, 82). This 80-metre long sculpture of twisted forms clad in aluminum is attached to four columns that support the entranceway’s ceiling. In this covered space between the terminal and the parking garage is a set of escalators next to the artwork that lead from the ground level to the terminal’s arrivals level and departures level. Passengers are able to view Slipstream from a number of different angles as they move from level to level on the escalators and on the raised walkways that access the parking garage, the escalators, and the terminal. The artwork is modeled after a supposed trajectory of a jet aircraft. Wilson notes: “Everything leaves an invisible trail and I wanted to make that tangible, expressing the velocity and acceleration of flight.”375 However, Slipstream is not a rendition of the smooth flight path of contemporary passenger aircraft such as the Airbus A380 or the Boeing 747. Rather, it is a recreation of a wild trajectory taken by a Zivko Edge 540 stunt plane – a small agile aircraft capable of aerobatic manoeuvres such as tight twisting turns, spins, steep dives, rolls, and loop the loops. In Oliver Wainwright’s review of the work in The Guardian, he notes that Slipstream is markedly different from Wilson’s Butterfly, an earlier artwork that also pertains to aircraft. Butterfly is a Cessna that was crumpled into a small ball and then                                                374 Oliver Wainwright, “Terminal velocity,” The Guardian, April 26, 2014, sec. Guardian Review Pages, p. 16. 375 Wilson cited in Wainwright, “Terminal velocity,” 16. 145  gradually bent back into its initial shape, leaving an aircraft that is battered, bent, and beyond repair.376 Wainwright observes that in comparison to Butterfly, “the sculpted twists of Slipstream seem almost too well-behaved,”377 and he adds that Wilson admitted that he wanted to create a work that would not “upset the passengers.”378 Even if Wilson had wanted to create a work similar to Butterfly, it seems unlikely that Heathrow’s planners would have installed it in Terminal 2 since Butterfly looks like a crashed aircraft pieced back together by airplane accident investigators. While Slipstream exemplifies the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics, Butterfly is the inverse of this aesthetic type. It represents a type of movement that is violently interrupted, and it undoubtedly operates affectively to evoke emotions of fear and terror in passengers – even those with the utmost confidence in aviation technology. In Heathrow Airport’s press release for Slipstream, the airport’s Development Director, John Holland-Kaye, explains that the management anticipates that passengers transiting through the terminal will “enjoy” the artwork.379 The press release includes Wilson’s words on Slipstream’s capacity to elicit kinaesthesia: “Sensations of velocity, acceleration and deceleration follow us at every undulation of the form.”380 Heathrow Airport’s decision to install an artwork that evokes a wild airplane ride runs counter to the design strategies used by advertisers in the early days of commercial flight. Airlines tried to convey an image of a smooth trajectory – flying aboard a passenger aircraft was depicted as a                                                376 Tina Sotiriadi, “Richard Wilson at the Wapping Project,” Art in America 91, no. 9 (2003): 132-133. 377 Wainwright, “Terminal velocity,” 16. 378 Wilson cited in Wainwright, “Terminal velocity,” 16. 379 John Holland-Kaye cited in “Richard Wilson’s new sculpture Slipstream to be unveiled at Heathrow airport’s new Terminal 2,” Heathrow Airport Media Centre, January 21, 2014, accessed July 31, 2014, 380 Richard Wilson cited in “Richard Wilson’s new sculpture Slipstream to be unveiled at Heathrow airport’s new Terminal 2,” Heathrow Airport Media Centre. 146  comfortable experience, similar to that of travelling in a luxury railcar cabin.381 However, the actual experience of these flights included little passenger comfort. Those who flew aboard the early commercial aircraft, which were typically refurbished warplanes, experienced loud engine noises, noxious fumes, and often airsickness.  Santry’s aerial installation and Slipstream are illustrative examples of air terminal artworks that evoke a virtual kinaesthesia of relatively unrestricted movement. They are iconic of motion-machines which are indices of a form of mobility that is far less restrained than the striated stop-and-go movements experienced by the masses of passengers who fly with commercial airlines and transit through major airport hubs such as HKIA, YVR, Schiphol, and Heathrow. These artworks’ aesthetic parallels a similar type of aesthetic pertaining to driving, namely that of automobile advertisements that refer to less restricted modes of mobility than those usually experienced by the majority of motorists. These include luxury sedans racing alone along twisting highways, pickup trucks crawling up rocky ascents in open mountain ranges, sport utility vehicles splashing through puddles along remote jungle roads, or sport coupes drifting through racetrack corners. An example of these ads was released in 1923 by the Jordan Motor Car Company (Figure 83).382 Rather than informing the consumer about a vehicle’s technical specifications, usually featured in contemporary automobile advertisements, this poster juxtaposes an image of the speeding car alongside a woman on a galloping horse and tells why the advertised car, the Playboy, is perfect for a “broncho-busting, steer-roping girl” without making any reference to this six-cylinder roadster’s features or design.383 The 1923 ad for the Playboy, which is undoubtedly a salient                                                381 Dierikx and Bouwens, 28 382 Jil McIntosh, “The Day Car Ads Changed Forever,”, accessed December 27, 2012, 383 Cited in McIntosh. 147  example for an analysis of advertising and gender, is an early instance of an automobile being marketed alongside representations of other things indicating supposedly freer mobilities than those of driving. In this case, the roadster is associated with a woman on horseback who can freely travel away from the highways and streets, free of any traffic laws and regulations, and without any registration for her vehicle or a licence for her mode of transportation: “Step into the Playboy when the hour grows dull with things gone dead and stale. Then start for the land of real living with the spirit of the lass who rides, lean and rangy, into the red horizon of a Wyoming twilight.”384  These types of advertisements depend on the assumption that an elicitation of kinaesthesia stimulates the consumers’ desire for their advertised vehicles. Do air terminal artworks that evoke a virtual sense of free and unrestricted kinaesthesia that contrasts with the actual experience of the regulated movements of commercial air travel have a similar functional role with respect to commerce at the terminal? Moreover, are they, like the artworks that convey a sense of place, believed to entice passenger spending? Thus far, I have not found any planners that have explicitly stated that this is the case. They do, however, believe that these types of artworks, which elicit a dynamic sense of movement or recall romantic notions of air travel, will add to the passengers’ enjoyment of transiting through the terminal, and their attention to the passengers’ enjoyment is possibly driven by commercial imperatives.385 As noted above, airport planners try to put passengers in a good mood in the terminal, as positive emotions are associated with an increased desire to spend. Another example of a flight-themed installation is Robert Byers’s Da Vinci Flying Machine, which hung above the baggage claim in the arrivals area of YVR’s International                                                384 Cited in McIntosh. 385 “Richard Wilson’s new sculpture Slipstream to be unveiled at Heathrow airport’s new Terminal 2,” Heathrow Airport Media Centre. 148  Terminal until it was removed a few years ago. Like the Farman biplane, this full-scale replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s design is a flying machine that is an index signifying kinaesthesia.386 Byers’s installation replicates da Vinci’s plans for a set of wings that act as an extension of the human body, where each individual pilots their own craft. If this rudimentary flying machine were to function as da Vinci had imagined, then this machine would allow the aviator to soar and glide in any direction in airspace, a type of unrestrained mobility that contrasts with the tightly regulated mobilities experienced by today’s air passengers. Another artwork that points to a sense of free movement is Carel Visser’s Flying Fish; although unlike the works above, it combines both air and nautical themes (Figure 6). The massive sculpture made of uncoloured, red, and black metal panels hangs above the departures area in Terminal-West. The evocation of movement was part of Visser’s intent for the installation as he sought to create an air terminal artwork that was “directly associated with an element that ‘glides, hovers or swims.’”387 In its description of the work, Schiphol Group notes that Flying Fish, “in a poetical way, makes a fascinating connection with aviation.”388  The works that I have described above, which I argue elicit sensations of unrestricted movement, all have another quality in common – they do not include passengers. For instance, Slipstream’s Zivko Edge 540 stunt plane and Da Vinci Flying Machine only allow for one crew member, the pilot. Flying Fish points to a moving thing, an animal, who is the master of its own movements. Although the Farman biplane that hangs at HKIA has the capacity to carry an extra passenger, it is only occupied by one dummy, which is at the                                                386 O’Neill, “Where It’s Art: Da Vinci’s Flying Machine lands at YVR,” 8; “Da Vinci model to greet passengers at YVR,” 8. 387 Schiphol Group, Kunst op Schiphol, n.p. 388 Ibid. 149  controls of the aircraft. Whether Santry’s aerial installation points to a flying machine with only the pilot or one with passengers on board is not clear. I argue that the sculpture’s materials resemble those of hang glider, which often only has the pilot on board; though, the pilot may choose to strap a passenger to the apparatus. Not only do these artworks point to a type of movement that is freer than those typically experienced by passengers, but they also counter the aspect that truly defines what a passenger is. Unlike the pilot, the driver, and the steamship captain who are actively controlling their movement-machines, the passenger is passive in terms of the vessel’s navigation and is being transported at the hands of another person or organization. These representations of individuals with full agency over their movement characterize the type of movement that pertains to the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. And, it is a quality of movement and agency that contrasts with the first aspect of aero-kinaesthetics – an aesthetic of movement where passengers are directed and led to their destination by the way of terminal design. The passengers’ lack of control over the movement of the aircraft is counteracted in an air terminal artwork at Calgary International Airport. Jeff de Boer’s When Aviation Was Young, which was installed in 2002, is an interactive piece that consists of two towers, each supporting a carousel that has three airplanes attached to it (Figure 84). When a passenger winds a large toy-like key at the base of one of these towers, its carousel starts to spin, and the three aircraft come to life. Although these towers elicit sensations of kinaesthesia when they are standing still (since the aircraft are indexical signs of movement), the sensation of movement is notably amplified when the aircraft start to spin through the air in the concourse.   150  Aero-kinaesthetics and place-themed representations Langlands and Bell’s Moving World is, as its title suggests, another artwork with a theme related to movement (Figure 53, 54). However, Moving World is neither a signifier of the quality of movement made by aircraft or other moving things, nor is it a reflection on the types of things that are used to facilitate aeromobilities or on the passenger’s experience in the terminal or in flight. Instead, the artwork points to our capacity – that is to say for those of us who have the capital to do so – to move across the planet with relative ease. The work’s series of three-letter airport codes point to an array of faraway destinations that are all accessible from Heathrow. Langlands and Bell explain that Moving World reflects on how “International destinations become a poetry of places, where landing points offer departures into the imaginary.”389 In the latter half of this chapter, I explore an aspect of aero-kinaesthetics that, like Langlands and Bell, considers how travelling to different destinations might affect the passenger’s imagination. Specifically, I address how air terminal artworks that refer to their location reinforce an imagined kinaesthesia – a sense of movement based on the passenger’s ideational conception of moving across cartographic space.  I argue that place-based artworks such as Brusse’s I meet you, Connie Watts’s Hetux, and Van Lau’s Ying Yang reinforce not only the passenger’s sense that they are at the place as it is identified on globes and maps but that this place is a distinctive point that marks the traveller’s trajectory across a cartographic representation of space (Figure 8, 40, 69). When this trajectory is considered in terms of two points on a globe, such as a flight taken from Schiphol to YVR, it is indeed a vast movement across space; however, the passenger’s lived experience of this trajectory is a rather limited experience of movement. As noted, the passenger is moved through the terminal in a sequence of controlled stop-and-go movements.                                                389 Cited in Lynch, “Commissions,” 23. 151  Once embarked on the airplane, the passenger is confined to an even more restricted experience of movement – assigned to a specific seat and expected to be belted in place for most of the flight.390   Imagine that – the real world confused with a white expanse of paper!391  Bruno Latour, 1999.  According to Bruno Latour, res extensa, the Cartesian geometric conception of space that orders and contains all material objects in the universe, is not only incongruent with how humans perceive and experience lived space but also how material things exist in the world.392 In a lecture on globalization, he argues that his notion of actor-networks and Peter Sloterdijk’s spheres offer more plausible conceptions of space. He also argues that these frameworks allow for more nuanced considerations of apparent global processes and their effects on seemingly local sites than space conceived as res extensa, such as the space of the earth’s surface as it is represented cartographically on maps and globes.393 Latour summarizes Sloterdijk’s critique of these assumptions that things and people reside in one global space imagined as a geometric expanse: “There is no access to the global for the simple reason that you always move from one place to the next through narrow corridors without ever being outside.”394 Latour’s metaphor resembles many of the actual material spaces of aeromobilities that move passengers from place to place across the globe. Departure gates, loading bridges, and aircraft cabins are literally “narrow corridors” that                                                390 Windsor Liscombe, “Cabined, cribbed, confined.” 391 Bruno Latour, “Spheres and Networks: Two Ways to Reinterpret Globalization,” Harvard Design Magazine 30 (2009): 142.  392 Bruno Latour, “Where is res extensa? An anthropology of object” (Paper presented at Internationales Kolleg Für Kulturtechnikforschung und Medienphilosophie, Weimar, Germany, April 29, 2010), accessed February 13, 2013, video_id__16461/index.html 393 Latour, “Spheres and Networks,” 138-144. 394 Latour, “Spheres and Networks,” 141. 152  move passengers and keep them from “ever being outside.”395 However, passengers in these spaces are not restricted from having a view to the outside. From the airplane window, passengers see the earth below as a surface, similar to how it is represented cartographically, albeit as a view of the earth’s surface scrolled at varying speeds and miniaturized to varying scales depending on the airplane’s altitude. In Aircraft, Le Corbusier comments on the “bird’s eye view” afforded by the invention of flying machines:  The eye now sees in substance what the mind formerly could only subjectively conceive.   It is a new function added to our senses. It is a new standard of measurement. It is a new basis of sensation.396  This relationship between cartographic representations and the view of the earth’s surface from the airplane window is all the more apparent to air passengers travelling with major carriers during the late 20th and early 21st century; many commercial aircraft have digital screens fixed to seat backings and below overhead baggage compartments that display maps with the airplane’s location in real time and the trajectory of the route already travelled (though, a trajectory resembling one travelled by steamship or railway).  Air travel arguably reinforces the passenger’s notion of space as the Cartesian res extensa, which, Latour argues, “is a visual extension of an ontological projection of a visual                                                395 There are, of course, many other spaces within airports that are wide expanses such as the concourses at HKIA Terminal 1 and Heathrow Terminal 5. 396 Le Corbusier, Aircraft (New York: The Studio Publications Inc., 1935), 96. See Rhodri Windsor Liscombe’s discussion of how the aerial view and aeronautical technology influenced Modernist architecture, urban planning schemes, and design (Rhodri Windsor Liscombe, “Grounding the New Perspectives of Modernism: Canadian Airports and the Reconfiguration of the Cultural and Political Territory,” Journal for the Society for the Study of Architecture in Canada 28, no. 1-2 [2003]: 3-14).  During the late 1850s, Gaspard-Félix Tournachon, known as Nadar, started experimenting with aerial photography and successfully shot the first aerial photograph from a hot air balloon. See Martin Jay’s discussion of this new type of visuality and its social and cultural effects (Martin Jay, Downcast Eyes: the Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought [Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993], 145-146). Jay defines visuality as “the distinct historical manifestations of visual experience in all its possible modes” (ibid., 9).  153  representation.”397 He notes that Descartes’s conception of res extensa was influenced by European perspectival paintings and that he mistakes matter for these visual representations of things and spaces. Furthermore, he contends that res extensa is an idealist conception of matter and that it should be referred to as “res extensa-cogitans,” as “matter as it is thought by the mind.”398 Following Latour’s argument, I consider the cartographic representation and the actual view of the earth’s surface below the airplane as a type of res extensa-cogitans that pertains to movement ‘as it is thought by the mind.’ Although I am not denying that the passenger is moving a great distance from one point on the earth to another, the actual experienced movement is one of relative immobility within the “narrow corridor” of the aircraft fuselage. The space of the trajectory from Schiphol to HKG in terms of res extensa-cogitans, as it is seen out of the aircraft window or on the map on the screen, is a high-speed crossing across a vast geographic distance; however, if this space is considered as Latour suggests, as a space of connections either in terms of his actor-networks or Sloterdijk’s spatial theory, then the space linking the departure gate at Schiphol and the arrivals hall at HKIA is far less expansive than that of the geographic distance between them. Sloterdijk arrives at his theory of space by using spheres as a metaphor, partly influenced by German biologist Jakob von Uexküll’s umwelten.399 Rather than positing that all living beings reside in one universal global space, von Uexküll contends that each organism resides in its own perceived world or umwelt and that there is no singular ‘uber-umwelt’ that unifies all of these entities. Von Uexküll explains that this consideration of each organism as having “its own special stage” is an “insight [that] offers us a completely new                                                397 Latour, “Where is res extensa? An anthropology of object.” 398 Latour, “Where is res extensa? An anthropology of object.” 399 Peter Sloterdijk, “Spheres Theory: Talking to Myself about the Poetics of Space,” Harvard Design Magazine 30 (2009): 126-137. 154  view of the universe as something that does not consist of a single soap bubble which we have blown up so large as to go well beyond our horizons and assume infinite proportions, and is instead made up of millions of closely demarcated soap bubbles that overlap and intersect everywhere.”400 Von Uexküll’s soap bubbles and Sloterdijk’s spheres are a type of spatial thinking that perhaps best coincides with the numerous intersecting and overlapping political spheres in the international airport. YVR, for instance, is a space where numerous governmentalities are at work. This airport is situated on unceded Musqueam territory. As a political space it is governed by local, provincial, and national laws. It is also a space where the United States is able to enact its laws; YVR is one of seven Canadian airports that have installed preclearance areas where US border agents screen passengers before they embark on flights landing in the US.401  This interconnection of various political networks is not only at work in international airports but in almost every location on earth to varying degrees. And just as it is impossible to maintain a universal conception of global space, it is equally impossible to maintain fixed notions of particular local places. Places themselves are constantly changing and can hardly be defined in terms of an unchanging set of cultures and identities.402 Notions of an enduring identity tied to a particular place are often used to justify racist reactions to those perceived as outsiders. For instance, extreme right-wing groups in Europe such as the National Front in England express a desire to “purify” towns of immigrants and to restore what they believe is the town’s “true” character. However, these projections of enduring identities belonging to particular places are also reinforced by the tourist industry; destinations are often marketed as                                                400 Cited in Sloterdijk, 127. 401 Salter, “Governmentalities of an Airport,” 49-66. 402 Noel Castree, “Place: Connections and Boundaries in an Interdependent World,” in Key Concepts in Geography, ed. Sarah L. Holloway, Stephen P. Rice, and Gill Valentine (Thousand Oaks: SAGE Publications, 2003), 165-185. 155  places where tourists will encounter the region’s “traditional” peoples and their cultural artifacts. YVR emphasizes its local particularity via its numerous Northwest Coast First Nations artworks. In this case, airport planners have deployed a type of artwork created by groups of people who are the traditional owners of the land in British Columbia but are no longer in control of much of this territory – including the island where YVR is situated. While the many of the province’s First Nations have been stripped of the power over their land, their artworks are retained as symbols of the region’s identity. At YVR, these artworks operate as place-themed representations and lend to its “sense of place.” But does this sense of place accord with a fixed notion of place or is it more in line with Tim Cresswell’s notion of mobility as a dynamic sense of place?403 In one respect YVR’s artworks assert a type of fixity. Artworks such as Lyle Wilson and John Nutter’s Orca Chief and the Kelp Forest, Susan A. Point’s Flight (Spindle Whorl), and Joe David’s Welcome Figures support the notion that Northwest Coast Indigenous peoples and their cultural artifacts are enduring entities that originated from and are forever bound to the land surrounding YVR (Figure 42, 37, 39). This aesthetic not only reinforces an enduring set of identities as tied to a place, but it also fixes these identities as stable signifiers of a cartographic representation of space. Moreover, this place-based aesthetic operates as a sign that is symbolic of a region, Vancouver and the Northwest Coast, which can be located on a map and circumscribed by a set of borders. Although these artworks lend to a fixed notion of place, I argue that in the context of an international airport these artworks also assert a dynamic sense of place. Many of YVR’s artworks signify a regional identity that might register a passenger’s sense of movement since they demark YVR as a point of arrival and departure and therefore inform                                                403 Cresswell, On the Move. 156  the passenger’s idea of movement across a cartographic trajectory, or moving in space as it is thought in the sense of res extensa-cogitans. It is precisely this fixed identity that lends YVR to having a dynamic sense of place. These two poles of fixity and dynamism in terms of place are signified by the male and female welcome figures installed in the landside arrivals area at YVR’s International Terminal (Figure 39). David, a Nuu-chah-nulth artist, carved these cedar statues after the types of traditional Clayoquot figures that were installed by communities on their beaches to indicate whether visitors were welcome or not.404 When the figure’s arms are raised, like the welcome figures at YVR, visitors were invited to come to the site. With its arms lowered, the figure signals visitors to stay away. Just as much as this artwork asserts a place-based identity, it also asserts how places, both traditional Clayoquot lands and YVR, were and are spaces of interconnecting spheres.  This particular reading of David’s carved figures relies on my knowledge of how these sculptures were used by First Nations on British Columbia’s Pacific Coast. David’s Welcome Figures and other Northwest Coast First Nations artworks at YVR such as Watts’s Hetux and Don Yeomans’s Celebrating Flight are symbols in Peirce’s terms; they are signs that require specific cultural and social knowledge to understand, and not all air travellers might understand what these symbols mean. Some passengers may have no idea what significance these artworks might have, while others may recognize that they are particular to the region but may not realize whether they point to Vancouver’s citywide region or its greater surrounding region, the Northwest Coast. This, however, is explained on informational panels installed next to the artworks in YVR’s terminal. For instance, the panels installed next to The Jade Canoe include Bill Reid’s explanation that this is a                                                404 “Welcome Figures,” YVR, accessed February 8, 2013, 157  traditional Haida dugout canoe containing thirteen figures related to Haida culture (Figure 7). This textual information undoubtedly increases the affective potential of the artwork and, as I argue, its potential to elicit a sense of kinaesthesia. With the knowledge that The Jade Canoe signifies an archipelago 700 kilometres away from Vancouver, the “sense of place” elicited at YVR has an even greater cartographic reach than that of merely the city region surrounding Vancouver’s airport. It is an expanded sense of place that bolsters the passenger’s notion that they have travelled a vast distance, and it amplifies their sensation of movement across cartographic space.  Reid’s The Jade Canoe is an example of an artwork that elicits two types of kinaesthesia, and it depends on whether the artwork is read as an index or symbol in Peirce’s terms. The sculpture is a symbol that points to the Northwest Coast, and as an artwork in an international air terminal, it has the capacity to strengthen the passenger’s sense that they have travelled across the globe. The sculpture can also be perceived as an index that points to movement – it is a watercraft being propelled and steered by the figures in the boat, and with The Great Wave in the background, it appears as though this canoe is in for a rough ride. David’s Welcome Figures and Reid’s The Jade Canoe are in the landside of YVR’s terminal, and define YVR as a point of arrival and departure for passengers flying in and out of Vancouver. Transferring passengers at YVR also have some sense of their new location through pointers to the Pacific Northwest such as Wilson and Nutter’s Orca Chief and the Kelp Forest, the saltwater aquarium, and the manufactured rugged creek that runs through the airside of the terminal (Figure 42). YVR designed its terminal with these Northwest Coast themes as it was trying to attract transferring passengers who could chose to spend 158  their layover time in either Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, or YVR.405 Schiphol has also included some artworks and interior design elements that point to its regional location. Unlike YVR’s Northwest Coast First Nations artworks, these place-based representations are symbolic of a group of people that has held control of the region’s territory, albeit with some interruptions, since the formation of the Dutch Republic in 1581. At Schiphol, these place-based signifiers are not installed throughout the entire terminal. The largest concentration of these signifiers is in Holland Boulevard, which was designed primarily to give transferring passengers a sense that they were passing through the Netherlands (Figure 26-28).406 It was deliberately located between the E- and F-piers in the non-Schengen side of the terminal, which are the two piers where most passengers transferring through Schiphol arrive and depart. For a passenger flying from Harare to Vancouver with a stop in Schiphol, this thoroughfare with artworks by Dutch Masters and Delft Blue tea cups and tiles reminds this passenger that they are not simply transiting between Harare and Vancouver but that they are passing over a large expanse of cartographic space that includes numerous nations like the Netherlands.  Unlike YVR and Schiphol, HKIA has only a few artworks and interior design elements that refer to its location. Like Yeoman’s Celebrating Flight and Brusse’s I meet you, Van Lau’s Ying Yang refers to a stereotypical signifier of the region in which the airport is located (Figure 41, 8, 69). However, it is not the only artwork installed at HKIA that refers to its location. Auspicious Coloured Ribbon refers to Hong Kong and its relation to China, and Tao Ho’s A Synergy of Dynamic Energy, which has been removed, was an abstract artwork whose form was inspired by the number of districts in Hong Kong. While the shapes                                                405 Binney, 213; Bell, “A Celebration in Art,” 3. 406 See Chapter One. 159  of these two artworks are inspired by their locations, they do not directly recall any sort of identifiers typically associated with Hong Kong and do not appear to be installed with the intent of evoking a “sense of place.” As noted above, Heathrow Terminal 5 has not installed any artworks that refer explicitly to its location; however, a place-based identity is conveyed through the signage of Harrods, London’s iconic upscale retail store. The type of kinaesthesia that I have described in this section, which is elicited by a passenger’s notion of moving over a number of distinctive places in cartographic space, is exemplified in an advertisement for Trans-Canada Air Lines (now Air Canada) from 1960 (Figure 85). This poster was produced in the same year that the airline had acquired its first fleet of jet aircraft, the DC-8, which nearly halved the time required for flying across the country.407 “Only hours away by TCA” is printed at the top of the advert. In the middle is a handbag emblazoned with the company’s logo. It is unzipped, and an array of symbols pointing to Canada’s regions from the west coast to the east coast are poking out of the bag and are positioned in the bag from left to right: a Pacific salmon on a cedar board; a Northwest Coast First Nation’s totem pole; a mountain peak with a steep-pitched roof in its foreground, likely that of the Banff Springs Hotel; a grain elevator in either Saskatchewan or Manitoba; a grey building, which is perhaps a headframe used for shaft mining in Ontario; Place Ville Marie in Montreal, which was under construction at the time the advert was printed; and a schooner resembling Nova Scotia’s iconic Bluenose. Between the upper text and the handbag is the silhouette of an aircraft flying to the right of the page, or to the east according to the contents of the bag. Behind it is a perfectly straight slipstream that connects to the left, or western, edge of the page, which recalls the “narrow corridor” that connects the departure and arrival points and the limited movement that passengers actually experience                                                407 Isa Tousignant, ed., Air Canada: 75 years of innovation (Montreal: Spafax, 2012), 80. 160  while flying across the country. A statuette of a Royal Canadian Mounted Police officer stands next to the lower right corner of the hand bag, and “CANADA” is printed in large coloured capital letters at the bottom of the poster. The RCMP statuette, which is overseeing this collection of Canadian places, appears to be a thing that the passenger has bought as a souvenir or a gift. The handbag also contains symbols such as the totem pole that, like the statuette, can be read as souvenirs or gifts. This illustrates how the experience of travel includes consumption, and it appears to reinforce the ideology that passengers should purchase souvenirs and gifts throughout their trip. However, some of the other symbols in the handbag such as the mountain peak and the commercial skyscraper are not typically reproduced as souvenirs. I argue that these types of symbols refer to the passenger’s imagination of the places where these symbols are located and that the handbag represents the passenger’s imagination of travelling across cartographic space. Moreover, it illustrates how on this high-speed flight across Canada from west to east, the passengers’ imagination is filled with distinctive symbols pointing to regions on the ground below and how these symbols are ordered like locations on a map.  This hybrid handbag containing imagined places and souvenirs also exemplifies how air terminal planners at YVR and Schiphol use place-themed designs to increase passenger spending. For instance, Reid’s The Jade Canoe, which bolsters the passenger’s sense that they have travelled through British Columbia, is situated next to the Gifts of the Raven shop, which sells Northwest-Coast-First-Nations-themed things such as blankets and mugs with First Nations designs and smoked salmon. Schiphol’s Holland Boulevard and Rijksmuseum, which offers transferring passengers a chance to visit a “must-see” sight in the Netherlands, 161  also gives a sense that passengers are passing through particular place and offers plenty of Dutch-themed things to buy as souvenirs or gifts.   Artworks that are exceptions to the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics While my notion of the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics pertains to imagery that evokes sensations of movement that are less restricted than those experienced by passengers flying commercially, I do not argue that every artwork installed in the terminal has the capacity to elicit this type of kinaesthesia. Even though there is a tendency to install artworks that represent themes of movement or place in air terminals, not all air terminal artworks express these themes. For instance, Shinkichi Tajiri’s Knot, Kees Franse’s Apple, Carel Visser’s Salami, André Volten’s Rustcloud, George Rickey’s Four Lines, John Körmeling’s Hihi haha at Schiphol do not represent any imagery related to movement or to place (Figure 19-24).  In my discussion of movement-themed air terminal artworks above, I focused on artworks that elicit sensations of relatively free movement to illustrate my conception of the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. However, not all movement-themed artworks are characterized by this quality. Some of the artworks at Heathrow Terminal 5, YVR, Schiphol, and HKIA refer to the devices used to organize the various types of movement associated with aeromobilities. Troika’s Cloud at Heathrow’s Terminal 5, for instance, is a sculpture enveloped in flip dots, which make a distinctive noise each time they turn (Figure 52). Air terminal signage, such as the large boards displaying arrival and departure information, used these types of flip dots during the 1970s and 80s before being replaced by signs with digital readouts. The intent behind this work, which recreates the sounds and the visual imagery of a 162  now all but phased out technology, was to evoke romantic notions of travel. Adams’s Coda and Kemps’s Closed Sight also point to the infrastructure that supports commercial air travel. However, unlike Cloud, these works are not nostalgic reminders of an earlier age of flight; these works reflect on the actual technologies used today in aviation. The red and white checkers painted on Adams’s Coda is a colored pattern used to demarcate obstacles and hazards around the terminal and along the runways (Figure 18). Kemps’s Closed Sight, which is now removed, projected images similar to those seen on radar screens by air traffic controllers. As noted in Chapter One, the decision to install Coda and Closed Sight emerged from a proposal developed by the airport’s art committee in 1993, which sought pieces that reflected on perceptions of time and space and that differed from some of the existing artworks that were typical representations of Holland and Dutch culture such as Brusse’s I Meet You and Hugo Kaagman’s Nice Trip (Figure 8). These two artworks along with Marc Ruygrok’s So go on and Jenny Holzer’s Untitled, which were also selected by Schiphol’s art committee, signify a type of movement that contrasts with works like Slipstream. Instead of evoking a sense of kinaesthesia that is unlike what one typically experiences while in the airport or flying aboard a commercial jumbo jet, these works point to the actual experience of one’s movement in the terminal or in flight. Closed Sight, for instance, reminds air travellers that the air space their jet is about to enter is a highly controlled envelope of air, where jets are required to fly at specific altitudes, follow specific flight paths, and are under the constant watch of air traffic control. The other three artworks point specifically to the passengers’ movements in the terminal. So go on is intended to remind passengers of their experience of Schiphol’s D-pier – they are to move through the pier to go to their gate or to the baggage check. However, the work’s message, its 163  title, can only be read if passengers move around the ceiling-high blocks of lit letters. Coda, whose outward appearance signifies “obstacle” for aviators, is itself an obstacle that interrupts the flows of passengers moving in and out of Schiphol. It is a thing intended to be noticed and to be read as an obstacle to these flows as it is the designated meeting point where passengers are to stop and wait. Like Coda, Holzer’s Untitled interrupts the passenger’s flow through the terminal but not as a physical thing that obstructs one’s path (Figure 25). Rather, one needs to stop moving to read the work’s illuminated, rolling text. The work entices one to contemplate the statements projected, and in this momentary pause in movement, the viewer may also become aware of what they typically do in the terminal, which is to move through this space from the curb to the plane and vice versa. At the time of its installation, the work also pointed to another aspect of the passenger’s experience of the terminal. In 1995 Judith Koelemeijer noted in de Volkskrant that Holzer’s work uses the same technology that commercial operations use to project advertisements.408 However, instead of reading a commercial advertisement as one would expect from such a sign, the passenger is presented with a philosophical statement. Even if the passenger only briefly pays attention to this work, it has the capacity to interrupt an otherwise “typical” transit through this consumer space and mobility-system. In Mary Tinti’s PhD dissertation on air terminal artworks, she focusses on a few examples that, like the artworks installed at Schiphol during the mid-90s, critically reflect on the experience of air travel.409 For instance, Alice Aycock’s Star Sifter, which was installed in Terminal One at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York in 1998, recalls imagery associated with space travel but also alludes to how air passengers are required to be                                                408 Koelemeijer, “Reageren op de ruimte,” 13 409 Tinti, “The Contemporary Art of Travel,” 96-115. 164  screened by airport security. The work was commissioned specifically to cover a large circular opening that looked down to a floor below; this opening had been realized as part of the architect’s plans but was later considered a potential threat to security, as it was an open space between the landside area above and the secured airside below. Aycock’s installation is partially comprised of a metal screen that allows for a view to the floor below and prevents passengers from dropping contraband items into the secured space below. Tinti’s analysis of air terminal artworks, which addresses the commissioning process for these works, how they relate to earlier works in these artists’ oeuvres, and some of the social and cultural aspects of airports and air travel, also considers the following installations: Acconci Studio’s Flying Floors for Ticketing Pavilion at Philadelphia International Airport, an installation that was inspired by Marc Augé’s writing on airports as ‘non-places’; Diller + Scofidio’s Travelogues at JFK’s Terminal 4, a series of images that offer a critical reflection on the experience of tourism and travel; and Keith Sonnier’s Double Monopole at Kansas City International Airport, an artwork installed outside the terminal that consists of neon lighting and a water fountain.  Melissa Laing also discusses how air terminal artworks such as Ruygrok’s So go on and Julian Opie’s Imagine you are moving consider the passenger’s experience of transiting through the terminal and flying aboard commercial airplanes.410 Opie’s artwork was installed at Heathrow Terminal 1 in 1997 but was removed the following year. The installation consisted of two parts and included representations of the British landscape, which Opie deliberately depicted in a style similar to those seen in early flight simulator computer programs and car racing video games. The work was installed as light boxes in a space next to an escalator such that passengers would see this background as though one were in the                                                410 Laing, “Through the Transit Zone,” 164-167. 165  process of ascending or descending in an aircraft and computer monitors in a waiting area that depicted these landscapes scrolling past. As Laing notes, the work calls to the passenger’s attention that commercial air travel, like video games, is experienced as both movement and stasis – not only in the terminal, which involves a process of moving and waiting, but also in the aircraft, where the passenger is hurtling through space in a thin metal fuselage while being strapped to a seat that in some cases offers a view to the world outside. However, there are some differences in the quality of movement experienced by passengers and gamers that Laing does not address. Flight simulator programs allow the gamer to have control over the depicted aeronautical movement; whereas passengers are being whisked across space at the hands of the pilot and flight crew.  Although artworks such as Ruygrok’s So go on and Adams’s Coda refer to the actual experience of movement in the terminal, they are not blatant expressions of this experience but subtle pointers to this kinaesthetic feeling. At YVR, Patrick Amiot and Brigette Laurent’s Flying Traveller clearly expresses the bodily movements that some passengers occasionally experience in the terminal (Figure 43). The sculpture, which depicts a man running with two suitcases, is a humorous rendition of one’s actual movements while rushing to catch a departing airplane. As noted in Chapter One, this was not the figure YVR’s Frank O’Neill had in mind when he approached Amiot and Laurent with a commission to create an acrylic-painted fibreglass sculpture for the terminal; he had asked for a sculpture depicting either one of coastal British Columbia’s two major resource industries, forestry and fishing. However, in his column on YVR’s artworks in the airport’s newsletter, O’Neill reports that Amiot and 166  Laurent’s finished sculpture is “perfect for the airport” and that Flying Traveller has been popular with passengers transiting through the International Terminal.411   Conclusion In this chapter, I have focused on how air terminal design might operate on an affective register. As Adey notes, airports are designed to elicit specific affects in passengers transiting through the terminal. Air terminal designers deliberately deploy particular materials and carefully design these spaces such that they might trigger a particular set of feelings or emotions in the air passenger or entice them to move in a particular direction. The purpose behind this affective articulation of the air terminal is sometimes tied to commercial aims or security measures. My analysis has examined artworks installed in international air terminals and considered what types of sensations they might elicit, particularly those associated with kinaesthesia. Moreover, I have illustrated how air terminal artworks often represent themes pertaining to movement, and in many cases they evoke types of movement that are less restricted than the types of movement typically experienced by the air passenger. I have also considered how artworks representing place-based identities might give the air passenger a sense of kinaesthesia – specifically, the feeling of having moved across an expanse of cartographic space.  In some cases, air terminal artworks, such as Adams’s Coda and Kemps’s Closed Sight, do represent the actual experience of moving through the terminal or aboard a commercial jet. Unlike Tinti’s and Laing’s analyses, I do not focus exclusively on these types of air terminal artworks.412 Rather, I consider a broader scope of air terminal artworks that                                                411 O’Neill, “Where It’s Art,” SkyTalk 4, no. 3 (1997): 5. 412 Tinti, “The Contemporary Art of Travel”; Laing, “Through the Transit Zone.” 167  includes those typically installed in these buildings – those that celebrate flight and those that represent place-based identities. These types of installations often connote a type of movement that is relatively free and unrestricted, and they are indicative of an aspect of air terminal aesthetics that differs with the functional aesthetic that I examined in the last chapter. Installations such as Wilson’s Slipstream and the Farman biplane at HKIA call to mind a freedom of movement that contrasts with the design intention of air terminals, which seeks to push passengers into particular flows and to hold them in various spaces of containment. Although the planners’ and architects’ design strategies might order and regulate passengers’ movements to a certain degree, there is often still some freedom to move in the passageways, corridors, and departure lounges within the terminal. In the following chapter, I discuss a few examples of air passengers whose movements were severely limited in the terminal. Moreover, I consider how Maher Arar, Robert Dziekański, and Edward Snowden experienced forms of containment and confinement that contrast markedly with the freedom and dynamism expressed by many of the artworks installed in today’s international air terminals.   168  Chapter Four: Border crossings and filtering circulation In this chapter I return to the aspect of regulated mobility with respect to aero-kinaesthetics. In the first and second chapter, I illustrated some of the architectural strategies used to direct passenger flows. Here, I examine how international air terminals order passengers’ movements in terms of border crossings. I address how aero-kinaesthetics pertains to the political aspects of border control zones and their capacity to permit or limit passenger movement. While most air passengers pass through the air terminal’s screening zone with minor delays, some passengers are either denied entry into the country of arrival or are detained for further screening. I concentrate on two incidents where passengers encountered unintended delays in this filtration area: Maher Arar’s detention and deportation to Syria from John F. Kennedy Airport in New York and Robert Dziekański’s misunderstanding of this screening process at YVR. I also examine Edward Snowden’s sojourn at Moscow’s Sheremetyevo International Airport which allowed him to avoid extradition to the U.S. His case illustrates how the airside of the international terminal prior to the border security zone is a type of quasi-stateless space. Using these three cases, I discuss how the air terminal’s border screening area filters circulation between states and the political aspects of these checkpoints. I address how these three incidents pertain to aero-kinaesthetics. With respect to the Dziekański case, I examine why Dziekański became lost within this passenger-processing system and what changes the airport’s authority made to its terminal design to prevent a similar incident from happening again. Some of these improvements to YVR’s screening zone illustrate the functional aesthetic aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Although I do not discuss how terminal design is directly related to the Arar affair and the Snowden case, I consider how these two incidents relate to a series of place-169  themed artworks that exemplify the second aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. Moreover, their experience of the border screening area and the international arrivals area that precedes it as a quasi-stateless zone pertains to the symbolic value of the artworks in the Musqueam Welcome Area. These artworks, which point to the rightful owners of the unceded territory that the airport is situated upon, are curiously located in this ‘no man’s land’ that precedes the passenger’s official entry into Canada.  Border screening zones Border screening zones are designed not only to order passenger flows through the terminal’s physical space but also across vast geographic spaces. These checkpoints have the capacity to limit passengers’ movements between nations, and things like valid passports and travel visas determine whether one can pass through this barrier. In some cases, a passenger’s ethnicity and nationality, as illustrated in the Arar case below, can impede one’s movements across these borders. Alison Mountz notes that theorists of mobilities have considered how these zones act on the behalf of nation states to order and control global flows of migration, and she argues that while these zones have been theorized in the literature on mobilities as relatively static spaces, or moorings, these ports of entry are actually very mobile actors.413 Although ports of entry like the border screening areas in airports appear to be fixed entities such as an enclosed space with queues delineated by retractable cordon gates leading to guards controlling the checkpoints, these ports of entry often have a wide geographical reach and are themselves on the move. For instance, the border screening areas in airports rely on an enormous amount of data that is collected in a vast cyberspace and used to detain and                                                413 Alison Mountz, “Specters at the Port of Entry: Understanding State Mobilities through an Ontology of Exclusion,” Mobilities 6, no. 3 (2011): 317-334. 170  deport passengers.414 As discussed below, documents leaked by Snowden in 2013 reveal how wide the scope of these surveillance programs actually is. My attention to the Dziekański, Arar, and Snowden incidents focus on the type of information that border agents use to manage passengers’ movements across national borders and how passengers might experience movement in the airport’s border screening zone or in the airside that precedes it. In all three cases, the individuals experienced a period of interruption that is considerably longer than what most passengers experience as they move from their arrival gate to the landside arrivals area. Their experience of relative stasis, however, differs in terms of each case, as do the conditions that led to the interruptions of these three individuals’ movement through the terminal. Dziekański’s extended timeframe for passing through this space was due to a misunderstanding of the process and the inability of his mother to contact him in this highly secured space. Arar’s unexpected detainment and deportation was due to incorrect information about his identity. Whereas, Snowden’s extended stay in the airside of the terminal was due to a conscious decision and a tactic to avoid extradition to the U.S.  These three cases not only illustrate how passengers’ movements are affected by the airport’s border screening zone but also how identity documents and data collected by national agencies impact how one might experience moving through these zones. David Lyon notes that this information ascribed to each individual creates their “data-double,” a virtual identity whose movements have a far broader scope than those of the actual passenger travelling from point to point.415 Moreover, this virtual identity is an entity of data that moves                                                414 Mountz also illustrates how ports of entry are strategically moved to spaces away from the nation state to deny entry to migrants such as those landing by boat (ibid.). 415 David Lyon, “Filtering Flows, Friends, and Foes: Global Surveillance,” in Politics at the Airport, ed. David Salter (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008), 29-49. 171  through a global network of agencies and institutions that keep a close eye on the passenger’s movements and actions, not only when they cross national borders but also within each nation’s spaces as well. Although the ordering and management of the virtual passenger is not explicitly stated in Niek Kemps’s Closed Sight, this type of surveillance of virtual entities is represented by the artwork’s radar screens, which are used by aircraft controllers to identify and keep track of all aircraft’s movements in the airspace surrounding the airport. As noted in Chapter Three, this artwork, which was embedded in the flooring of the departures area at Schiphol, called the passenger’s attention to the highly controlled nature of airspaces in an area of the terminal where they are to queue into a line leading to the check-in counter attendant that checks and processes their identity documents and air tickets.  Even though these security zones are part of a global surveillance system and spaces where passengers’ identities are rigorously inspected, the Dziekański incident illustrates an instance where a passenger’s movements within this screening space were not heavily scrutinized. Dziekański, who misunderstood the process involved to pass through the border zone at YVR’s International Terminal, spent over six hours in this space. Sadly, his confused mental state ultimately led to his death shortly after he was cleared to leave this secured zone. My attention to the Dziekański incident pertains only to the policies in place at YVR at the time of the incident and the steps taken by the airport authority in response to this tragic event. This case illustrates the politics of secured zones in the terminal and how being able to read and speak the primary language at an airport, which is often English, is an integral part of the wayfinding process. Before I address the implications of the Dziekański incident, I will give an account of Dziekański, his mother, and airport and security staff’s actions on October 13 and 14, 2007. This account helps illustrate the rationale behind the changes at YVR in 172  response to this tragedy, how the airport’s secured Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) zone functions, and what implications this has on passengers.  On October 13, 2007, Dziekański flew from Poland to Vancouver.416 This was his first trip out of Poland as well as his first time flying. Dziekański, who only spoke Polish, had to pass through the airport in Frankfurt and YVR and was anxious about the process. His mother, Sofia Cisowski, instructed him to meet her at the baggage carousels. However, meeters and greeters are not permitted to access this space in the International Terminal’s airside arrivals area. After Dziekański landed, he waited in the secured baggage claim area for over six hours before having his visa processed and exiting this secure zone.417 Although there were 14 surveillance cameras in the CBSA zone, the agency was unable to provide any specific details on Dziekański’s actions.418 He may have been sleeping in the area, and he may have gone unnoticed because passengers occasionally wait for family members or companions held up in the screening process. Meanwhile, his mother, who was waiting in the landside area, made numerous attempts to find out whether he had arrived and if they could page him. Even though she explained that he was likely by the carousels, she was reassured by airport staff that he would be attended to. His mother also spoke with CBSA officials at                                                416 “Taser video shows RCMP shocked immigrant within 25 seconds of their arrival,” CBC News, November 14, 2007, accessed November 10, 2014,; “Vancouver Airport CEO discusses Taser victim’s final hours,” CBC News, November 2, 2007, accessed November 10, 2014,; “Polish neighbour testifies Dziekanski nervous about flying,” CBC News, March 30, 2009, accessed November 10, 2014, 417 “Vancouver Airport CEO discusses Taser victim’s final hours,” CBC News; “Few answers from Airport Customs union in Taser death,” CBC News, November 16, 2007, accessed November 10, 2014,; “More airport security needed, says CBSA,” CBC News, November 26, 2007, accessed November 10, 2014,; “Border agents tried to help Dziekanski at airport: documents,” CBC News, March 30, 2008, accessed November 10, 2014, 418 The CBSA noted that a number of their cameras were obstructed by construction. 173  their office near the exit from the airside to the landside arrivals area. She was told that he had not been processed, even though by this time he had already passed through the passport inspection zone. After numerous attempts to find her son, Cisowski was advised to return to her home in Kamloops, situated 350 kilometers east of Vancouver. At approximately the same time, Dziekański was processed at the exit of the CBSA baggage claim area. From there, he was directed to a separate office where CBSA agents approved his visa application and allowed him to leave this secure zone. However, about 30 minutes later, an officer noticed that Dziekański was sitting in a chair within this space, and he was escorted to the final CBSA checkpoint. When Dziekański exited to the landside area of the arrivals hall, he became agitated and tried to return back to this secured space. Police were called to deal with Dziekański who at one point started throwing furniture. Shortly after four RCMP officers arrived on the scene, they fired a Taser at Dziekański several times to subdue him. Dziekański died moments later.  Paul Pritchard, a passenger in the landside area of the arrivals hall, started filming Dziekański with a digital camera when he started behaving erratically and kept recording until a few minutes after Dziekański became motionless. This video, which was released to the press, was seen by millions and caused a public outcry. It would later be scrutinized at an inquiry led by Justice Thomas Braidwood.419 During the inquiry, which ran between 2008 and 2010, Dziekański and the RCMP officers’ practices depicted in the video were carefully examined frame-by-frame to ascertain whether the use of a Taser was warranted.                                                419 Ian Bailey, “Risk of taser death low, engineer tells B.C. panel,” The Globe and Mail, May 6, 2008, sec. A, p. 9; Ian Bailey, “‘WHY?’” The Globe and Mail, June 19, 2010, sec. A, p. 1. 174  Within two months of the Dziekański incident, the VIAA’s President, Larry Berg, announced a series of changes to the airport’s design and its policies.420 A new information kiosk was to open the following year in the space next to where Dziekański died. This 24-hour information desk is situated beside the exit leading from the airside of the arrivals area to the landside of arrivals hall (Figure 31). It can be accessed by passengers in the passenger services area before they exit into the landside and by meeters and greeters on the landside. This desk is equipped with a landline connecting to translators for 170 different languages. A similar 24-hour information desk was installed near the carousels in the baggage claim area. This area, where Dziekański had spent approximately six hours, was to be patrolled hourly by personnel, who were going to be equipped with mobile phones that access the language line and emergency services. The changes included the installation of additional security cameras and new signage that uses pictograms to direct passengers to the landside area of the arrivals hall. Furthermore, the airport deployed information cards throughout the airport that explained in twenty different languages that translation services were available and that passengers would only need to point to the language that needed translation. In his final report on the Dziekański affair, Justice Braidwood praised Vancouver’s Airport Authority for adding services such as the language line which were aimed at helping international travellers who do not speak English.421 This no doubt will help with passengers who are not able to read YVR’s signage which is in Canada’s two official languages, English and French. YVR, however, is not exceptional in terms of its use of English on its signage.                                                420 “YVR Implements Immediate Changes To Improve Service,” SkyTalk 15, no. 2 (2007): 1, 5; “Vancouver airport announces changes after Taser investigation,” CBC News, December 7, 2007, accessed November 11, 2014, 421 Braidwood Commission on the Death of Robert Dziekanski (B.C.) and T. R. Braidwood, Why? The Robert Dziekanski Tragedy (Vancouver: Government of British Columbia, 2010), 367, 386-394. 175  Moreover, English is the lingua franca of air travel. Airports in cities such as Bangkok, Shanghai, Lima, and Athens have signage that is in both the country’s official language and English. In most cases, the official language appears on top with English below. Schiphol, however, is an exception. The airport, which used to follow this formulation, redesigned its signage in 2000 such that English would be the sole language used unless it was deemed necessary to include Dutch text.422 The rationale behind the change was that words such as “gate,” “toilet,” “departures,” and “arrivals” were almost universally identifiable by international air travellers since English is used in virtually every airport across the world. Only in select cases, would Dutch text be permitted. For instance, on signs pointing to First Aid, the Dutch text, “Eerste hulp,” would be printed under the English text in a smaller and lighter font.  The VIAA’s installation of extra information desks and distribution of phones with direct access to the language line among personnel is undoubtedly a successful strategy for overcoming language barriers faced by some passengers. Within a few months of implementing this change, Berg reported that the language line was being used four to six times per day and that the languages that most often needed to be translated were Spanish and Mandarin.423 What is notable about this strategy is that it is not simply a translation of existing text in the terminal but is also a deployment of human agents throughout the space. Moreover, in their aim to improve the navigability of the terminal, YVR increased the number of people in the space to help with passenger wayfinding. In March 2008, Berg noted                                                422 Paul Mijksenaar, Wayfinding at Schiphol: On the How and Why of Signage at Amsterdam Airport Schiphol (Amsterdam: Mijksenaar, 2012), 39. 423 Larry Berg, “President’s Corner,” SkyTalk 15, no. 4 (2008): 3. 176  that the newly installed 24-hour information desk in the CBSA baggage claim area received approximately 250 inquiries per day, which were primarily questions regarding directions.424  The VIAA also tried to improve the terminal’s interior design following Dziekański’s death. The carpet design and the lighting were changed in an attempt to clarify the route from the CBSA zone to the landside arrivals area.425 These renovations follow the logic of the functional aesthetic aspect of aero-kinaesthetics. However, the majority of the changes in response to the Dziekański incident included increased personnel and access to translation services. While there was some attention to an improvement in architectural design, planners recognized that design cues to order circulation do not have the desired effect on all passengers. In short, the functional aesthetic of aero-kinaesthetics, in this case, was recognized as only a partial solution and human agents were hired to provide wayfinding support. The policies that prevented Dziekański’s mother from contacting him in the CBSA zone, however, were not changed in response to this incident.426 Nevertheless, YVR tried to improve the communication link between arriving passengers and meeters and greeters by installing the Greeter Information Board in the landside area of the arrivals hall.427 Passengers can request to have their name listed on this electronic display board after they have been cleared by the CBSA’s passport check (they must make this inquiry at the                                                424 Ibid., 3. 425 Braidwood Commission on the Death of Robert Dziekanski (B.C.) and Braidwood, Why?, 394. 426 “Vancouver airport made changes after Dziekanski’s death, official says,” CBC News, May 7, 2009, accessed November 11, 2014, The one policy that appears to have directly led to the outcome of the Dziekański incident was that airport staff was not permitted to communicate with passengers in the CBSA zone unless it was deemed an emergency (“Vancouver Airport CEO discusses Taser victim’s final hours,” CBC News). At the Braidwood inquiry, CBSA officer Tina Zadravec noted that Canada’s federal Privacy Act prevented border agents from contacting a passenger’s family or companions with any details about the passenger in question (“Dziekanski’s death at airport ‘unbelievably shocking,’ border officer testifies,” CBC News, January 22, 2009, accessed November 11, 2014, 427 “New service lets international passengers tell greeters they’ve arrived,” SkyTalk 15, no. 3 (2008): 7-8. 177  information kiosk next to the baggage carousels). The display board, which lists the passenger’s name and flight information, notes that each name is removed automatically after two hours and not after the passenger has been cleared to leave the CBSA zone.  These policies and this measure taken to allow some communication from the CBSA zone illustrates how it is a space that is partitioned off from other areas of the airport, and how this space of surveillance operates under a veil of secrecy. It is quite probable that if Dziekański had started behaving erratically in this zone, then other passengers would not have been able to record his actions as photography and filming are strictly prohibited in these customs and border zones. Although, it is equally noteworthy that the CBSA had such little information on Dziekański’s movements in the baggage claim area as these zones along with the pre-boarding screening areas are the most controlled spaces in the terminal. In his final report on the inquiry into Dziekański’s death, Justice Braidwood addressed one of the main reasons why the CBSA lost track of Dziekański.428 At the initial passport check at the entrance point into this space, CBSA agents would input the passenger’s name into a database; however, this database did not account for when the passenger left the CBSA zone nor did it have the capacity to raise an alarm if a passenger had not left this zone after an extended period of time.  This lack of oversight into a passenger’s actions in the CBSA’s controlled space contrasts with the massive amount of information that border agencies keep on passengers’ movements across borders and in some cases their actions within their own country.429 The data collected on a passenger is often forwarded by police agencies such as the RCMP, as in the Arar case discussed below, or other national agencies pertaining to security, espionage,                                                428 Braidwood Commission on the Death of Robert Dziekanski (B.C.) and Braidwood, Why?, 373-374. 429 See for instance, Adey, “Surveillance at the airport,” 1365-1380; Lyon, “Filtering Flows, Friends, and Foes,” 29-49. 178  and immigration. In the wake of September 11, 2001, the U.S. government reassessed the methods it used to screen passengers travelling to the U.S., and it looked to information technology as a way to monitor and detect any patterns of behaviour that may lead to a terrorist attack.430 Authorities started using public and private data-mining agencies and companies to search for individuals who have engaged in patterns of actions associated with threats to national security. This program of dataveillance—which raises numerous questions regarding privacy and civil liberties—appears on the surface to judge people equally since individuals are flagged and detained solely on the basis of their actions. However, the parameters and algorithms set to detect suspicious behaviour tend to assess the actions of marginalized groups as higher-risk activities. For instance, certain financial transactions that are practiced regularly by immigrant groups and not related to terrorist activities have been flagged as suspicious behaviours associated with the planning of attacks or the funding of extremist groups.431 Predictive data mining, Keith Guzik argues, is hardly neutral in terms of risk assessments and is designed to target specific ethnic and religious groups: “Persons with Middle Eastern and North African backgrounds will disproportionately bear the burden of this surveillance technique and the innumerable mistakes—false positives—that it will produce.”432  One of the most significant incidents where border agents erroneously flagged a passenger as a threat largely because of their ethnicity occurred at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York on September 26, 2002. Syria-born Canadian Arar was detained by                                                430 Louise Amoore, “Biometric borders: Governing mobilities in the war on terror,” Political Geography 25, no. 3 (2006): 336-351; Louise Amoore and Marieke de Goede, “Governance, risk and dataveillance in the war on terror,” Crime, Law & Social Change 43, no. 2-3 (2005): 149-173; Keith Guzik, “Discrimination by Design: Data Mining in the United States’ ‘War on Terrorism’,” Surveillance & Society 7, no. 1 (2009): 3-20. 431 Amoore and de Goede, 157-159.  432 Guzik, 12. 179  Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) at JFK because of information forwarded to them by Canada’s national police force, the RCMP, which was later proved to be inaccurate.433 Arar, who was returning home to Ottawa after a family vacation in Tunisia, was alleged to have been linked to the terrorist network al-Qaeda. Rather than allowing Arar to return to Canada, the INS arranged that he would be deported to Syria, where he was incarcerated for more than a year.  Arar’s practices within the border screening area at JFK differ markedly from most people who transit through these types of spaces. When Arar was detained at the airport on September 26, 2002, he was interrogated for eight hours and then placed in a room alone with no bed and without food.434 The following morning, FBI agents interrogated him for five hours, and he was moved to a separate detention centre in Brooklyn, New York, in the evening. During his detention in JFK’s border security zone, Arar was not able to make any telephone calls nor was he allowed to contact a lawyer. Arar did manage to see an immigration lawyer on October 5, 2002. However, there was little his lawyer could do as the INS deliberately misled her about information regarding Arar and the steps they took to deport him to Syria. During his incarceration in Syria, intelligence officers interrogated Arar for up eighteen hours a day and subjected him to physical and psychological torture. In October 2003, Syria released Arar after it found no convincing evidence that Arar was involved with any terrorist activity or groups.  A Canadian public inquiry led by Justice Dennis O’Connor exonerated Arar of any extremist activity or any connection to terrorist groups in 2006. If there was no conclusive                                                433 Jules Lobel, “Extraordinary Rendition and the Constitution: The Case of Maher Arar,” The Review of Litigation 28 (2008-2009): 481-486; “False RCMP info ‘very likely’ led to Arar deportation: report,” CBC News, September 18, 2006, accessed November 13, 2014, 434 Lobel, 481-486. 180  evidence that Arar engaged in extremist activities then why was Arar detained and deported by American officials? Justice O’Connor concluded that the INS had “very likely” acted on false intelligence reports forwarded to them by the RCMP.435 Justice O’Connor claimed, “The RCMP provided American authorities with information about Mr. Arar that was inaccurate, portrayed him in an unfairly negative fashion and overstated his importance in the RCMP investigation,” and he criticized the police force for forwarding intelligence information without properly assessing it for its accuracy and its infringements on privacy rights. RCMP intelligence officers may have “portrayed” Arar “in an unfairly negative fashion” because of Arar’s connection to Syria.436 Although Arar was a Canadian citizen, he was born in Syria in 1970 and did not immigrate to Canada until seventeen years later. Even though American officials detained Arar because of false information forwarded to them by the RCMP, the Canadian police force was not entirely responsible for Arar’s deportation to Syria. Jules Lobel notes that American authorities could have sent Arar to Canada to be interrogated, but they refused to because Canadian officials had only offered to place the “suspected terrorist” under surveillance.437 Instead, American authorities chose to send Arar to Syria since they knew that the Syrian government would incarcerate Arar and use torture to force him to reveal information on his alleged terrorist connections. The Arar case is one of at least one hundred instances of “extraordinary rendition” ordered by the George W. Bush Administration, a practice that allowed U.S. authorities to obtain                                                435 “False RCMP info ‘very likely’ led to Ar