Move over, Sydney—there’s a new high note in opera design.
Ensconced in the wetlands of Harbin—the capital of Heilongjiang, China’s northernmost province—Harbin Opera House was created as an extension of the park in which it resides.
A sinuous mound seemingly sculpted by wind and water, the unique architectural expression was made to blend into the unspoilt naturescape and blur the boundaries between the interior and exterior.
“Opera design normally focuses on internal space, but here we had to treat the building as part of its natural environment—one outside of the urban context,” says Ma Yansong, principal architect and founder of MAD Architects. In 2010 the Beijing-based firm won an international competition issued by the city to design a new cultural hub with a master plan involving two developments—the opera house (which debuted in December) and a cultural center (set to open later this year).
Ensconced in the wetlands of Harbin—the capital of Heilongjiang, China’s northernmost province—Harbin Opera House was created as an extension of the park in which it resides.
A sinuous mound seemingly sculpted by wind and water, the unique architectural expression was made to blend into the unspoilt naturescape and blur the boundaries between the interior and exterior.
“Opera design normally focuses on internal space, but here we had to treat the building as part of its natural environment—one outside of the urban context,” says Ma Yansong, principal architect and founder of MAD Architects. In 2010 the Beijing-based firm won an international competition issued by the city to design a new cultural hub with a master plan involving two developments—the opera house (which debuted in December) and a cultural center (set to open later this year).
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Resembling a snow-covered hill, the structure is cloaked in a series of white aluminum panels that vary in shape, which collectively produce its undulating form. “Some panels are 3D because we wanted to create a floating skin—one that can breathe,” Yansong says. “I didn’t want the building to look like a perfect industrial product—I wanted it to look more like a living creature.”
The opera encompasses two auditoriums, the larger of which is a 1,400-seat expanse clad in locally sourced, carefully curated wood, hand-applied and chiseled to optimize acoustics. “The space makes visitors feel as if they’re inside a huge instrument that allows them to almost visualize the sound,” Yansong says.
The smaller theater—capable of seating up to 400—features a stage with a glass backdrop that allows the audience to see outside, flanked by concrete walls carved to mimic waves. “When the walls reflect the sun, its rays are dispersed in multiple directions,” says Yansong, who purposely designed the structure to soak in an abundance of natural light.
While a subtle skylight brightens the grand theater, a strategically draped curtain of pyramidal glass streams sunshine into the sprawling, columnless lobby. “I didn’t want to create a dark space in the middle of the park,” he says. “When people enter, they should still feel like the sun is moving around them.”
Though intrinsically intricate and high-tech, the opera was not meant to be a show of technical prowess. Steeped in grandeur and modernity, it aims to be, above all, effortlessly warm and inviting. “When people visit, they don’t notice the strength or complexity of the manmade structure—they only feel the natural atmosphere, which I like,” Yansong says. “I didn’t want the building to feel cold and lifeless.”
Ultimately, he hoped to create a building people could interact and have an intimate connection with. “Most visitors come to the opera house to watch a performance, but we want them to feel like they themselves are performers,” he says. “The opera house is such a dramatic, beautiful setting—it’s almost as if the people are the ones being showcased, like they’ve become part of the drama. For the moment, they’re away from reality, like they’ve fallen into an imaginary space or dream. That’s what I wan
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