Some Major Thematic Questions: Human Scale

I think it would useful to unpack what I'm exploring with Fry Bacon! by posing major questions that interest me in the urban context (be it with regards to design, planning, politics, architecture, etc.) These are perhaps quite heavy-handed and incredibly broad questions, but I think it would be best if I clearly state them regardless. A sort of "define your terms" catalytic exercise.

1. On human scale. There seems to be a great tension between the neighborhood-centric views of the New Urbanists and some of the cutting-edge architects in practice about the degree to which place must be on a human scale. I can almost understand the architects view more easily in the sense that skyscrapers and other large buildings are huge commissions; they are opportunities for the architectural firm to make a name. To build something monumental. An overwhelmingly large building can have an inaccessibility that creates magnificence or grandeur. Having to crane your neck to look up to the top of the CN tower or the Empire State building is part of the experience of the building. In a similar way to how the Rocky Mountains' elevation is more striking than the gradual elevation of older rolling mountains: the objective height might not matter as much as the individual's sense of that height.



But how does that function on a quotidian basis? The Coex in Seoul is the main convention centre, with a large basement level shopping mall. When you leave the Samseong subway station
you arrive in a sunken plaza on the mall level, giving a sense that you have reached ground level, yet you must go upstairs to finally reach street level. Once you do go upstairs, you are immediately struck by the amount of space. After pushing through a very busy subway station, followed by a very busy mall, you're suddenly transported into this almost inhuman area. It is a giant superblock consisting of separate yet attached buildings, disallowing street level movement between them. On the street level, busy multi-lane streets surround the building and across there are skyscrapers on three sides (a Buddhist temple makes the fourth side). Even though there are other people on the street (after all, this is Seoul, there will always be at least one other person anywhere you go) they appear like ants. The distance between the buildings could operate as a breathing space, but somehow I'm not sure it does.




The Coex superblock highlights this tension between large contemporary architectural works and New Urbanism's call for humaneness in street design. Lynn Becker discusses this with regard to the architectural showpiece city that is Chicago in her essay "Can planning be a means to a better architecture? Chicago's Building Boom and Design Quality":
"For architecture, the dominant reality of our time is the triumph of a market economy increasingly dependent on converting products, services, ideas, and even the components of the built environment into lower-cost, easily reproducible commodities. Planning is, almost by definition, an insult to such pure market economics." (39)

It is almost too perfect, then, that COEX is owned by the Korean International Trade Association, and was developed during the 1972-1976 5 year-development plan of President Park Chung Hee. Without getting too detailed, it can be said that the economically difficult decades following the War the priority was rapid economic strengthening. Certainly there is something to be said for "The Miracle on the Han," however, this emphasis on economics before other considerations, creates spaces that reflect a market, rather than human, focus.


Whilst I am reticent to make sweeping judgments based on this example, the Coex is a fine discussion point for how architecture is used in rising Asian and developing world urbanism. These sort of monuments to capitalism are rapidly popping up not just in Korea but, perhaps more famously, in places like China. They are likely unavoidable, and to treat them as anathema is counterproductive; however, Coex raises useful questions with regards in how to mediate between grandiose spaces and the humans that occupy them. If it isn't a zero-sum game, how can future developments be informed by this example?

A different suburbia? 24 Hours in the Life of Sanbon

I recently moved into a new neighborhood called Sanbon. While it has its own name, it is essentially a carbon copy of so many developments in Korea. In this sense, it is interesting to observe. How do people utilize this seemingly unoriginal space? It has almost been taken for granted in North America that suburban "cookie-cutter" developments are anathema to human liveability. That the "instantaneous neighborhood" is a soulless, superficial and inferior version of the old urban neighborhoods.

It only takes a short stroll around one of these developments, with their cutesy street names (usually themed on something utterly ridiculous like songbirds, flowers or fairy tales) to understand the criticism. Despite being highly planned, their complete unoriginality makes them hard to navigate. I once got lost with my brother and his girlfriend while we tried to pass from her mother's house to her aunt's house no more than a kilometre away. Both her mother and her aunt had lived in the suburb for several years, yet we could not find our way due to the confusion that comes with ornithological rationality: do we take bluebird to blackbird to bluejay? or was it stellar's jay to hummingbird to bluejay? Bluejay road or bluejay crescent?

My very criticism of these developments has been repeated so many times that it's not really worth continuing here. What is interesting, however, is that such unoriginal space may not always be underutilized in the way we have come to assume. Parks that no one plays in and sidewalks that no one walks on are the trope. But is that truly universal?

I live in a generic apartment building called an officetel. Although it is comfortable, it is architecturally completely forgettable. There is no indication that an architect designed it specifically for the site; if you take the train and look out around, you can see the pattern everywhere. When I look out my window, the other apartment blocks are distinguishable from each other only based on their numbers.

The view from my apartment on the sixth floor. Looking across to Sanbon Station (Seoul Metro) in the foreground with the 1.2.3 residential area behind.

My building is at the end of the main commercial area of Sanbon that runs perpendicular to the train line. This space is designed like a grand mall, out of a reasonable human scale. There are few places to sit, and where there are permanent places to sit, they are often too far apart to facilitate a neighbourly discussion or not considerate of the Korean climate (who is going to sit on an unprotected slab of rock during the rainy season?) and yet...

24 hours in Sanbon

Sunday, September 18th, 2011

12 pm

This is the view of the main area from the opposing end. The large building that creates the wall at the end of the space is Sanbon Station. To the left of this position there is a multi-storey "E-Mart"(a box store general store modeled similar to Wal-mart) and to the right is a mixed-use shopping mall residential building (approx. 20 floors).

In contrast, this is the view from Sanbon Station's ramp. To the right of this point is my officetel apartment block.
12 pm is a generally low use time for this area, so it should be noted that this is a reflection of Sunday traffic. Living up to its suburban reputation, most workers are not present in Sanbon at this time, so the majority of people around are either the elderly, women or mothers with young children. On the weekend, far more families and students are present in the area.

Tuesday September 20, 2011

9-10pm