Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Can I get a hanok high-rise?

Seoul’s skyline is crowned by a jagged sweep of cranes. Many are employed in the construction or reconstruction of ugly, anonymous buildings designed for pure utility. These behemoth boxes of concrete have been thrown up overnight, every night, for more than fifty years. Within them thrive an incredible diversity and density of commercial, industrial, and residential life. Such practicality of form seems appropriate for chasing Miracles on the Han, but it doesn’t make for beautiful architecture.




Korean structures didn’t always sacrifice form for function. Traditional hanok houses were built to be both beautiful and practical. Constructed of stone, wood, paper, tile, and soil, these houses were designed not only to provide shelter but to subtly accommodate seasonal shift. Ondol heated floors in winter, cool shade and paper-shuttered windows thrown wide open in the summer; hanok architecture used natural materials and smart design to ensure comfort all year round.

Hanok are lovely. Outside they sweep and arch to nestle the horizon’s mountains, and inside they curl to hug sweet courtyards pond-wet and dark under kiwa roofs. Last week I toured one kept as a sort of hotel room for wealthy visitors.




I was charmed by the effortless union of old and new. Bronze cookware stood stacked on richly lacquered tables beside a miniature refrigerator and dishwasher. Storage space hid behind sliding rice paper panels concealed a vacuum cleaner and department store bags of swag.

Everything modern was tucked away or tastefully integrated into the ancient and traditional. I imagined the reverse, some quaint traditional handicrafts worked into a thoroughly contemporary complex of brushed nickel and glass, and the effect seemed no where near so pleasant.

I've seen similar juxtapositions feel forced or confused. I had the sensation that this place was self-assured, never boastful, and perfectly comfortable.







Does the Miracle still demand pure practicality? Korea is so advanced that beauty should be something architects can at last afford to remember.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Érotique Voilée - Man Ray (1933)


Slim-breasted
pinch-hip curve
ink-bled handprint--
woe is her segmented
by a spindled press
unless she boasts, sighing
of totemic conquest’s victory.

To read, we inscribe whim
upon her filth-marred primer.
Here the paramour prints
of disjunctive union... there,
the maid of a metal insult.

By delicate turns
over public mound,
she’s rendered erect
and woeful, both.

Indeed,
what woman isn’t
if we are honest?