Seoul

Seoul is a city of pretty people and pretty things. The things are beautifully crafted, the handwork exquisite. So are the people, as we were to learn, for cosmetic surgery is run of the mill. The obsession with perfection seems to be fuelled by government policies that create the easy availability of services. And government policies play a major role in most of what we saw in Seoul. 

Seoul City Hall was built to an award winning design by Korean architect Yoo Kerl, and was opened to public in 2012. A curvy, faceted glass skin characterises it. It was full of life, with an exhibition of childrens' paintings in the lobby, a music performance and traditional market in full flow in the basement, and competitions and events happening on the upper floors. The new is connected to the old City Hall building, which is a public library with a sizeable collection of books.

Seoul offers an unforgettable street experience in Insadong, a pedestrianised shopping street. With regulations on building height and signage, the street retains a charm that keeps it crowded. Besides the tiny to large scaled shops and eateries that line the street, vendors, artists, musicians, and push carts of street food of every sort are scattered throughout its length. Everything on offer is pocket friendly and business is brisk. Locals and tourists hang out here, adding to the vibe. 

There was much vying for attention. Metal bells, beautifully crafted wooden utensils and toys, handmade jewellery, cotton clothing and handmade paper were some of the attractions. To feast on, there were cups of juicy mulberries with shaved ice, musk melon pieces on sticks, crisp fried potatoes with dustings of cheese or chilli, curly fried dough with ice cream stuffing, fresh juices, hot deep fried snacks and roasted chestnuts. 

Ewha University by French architect Dominique Perrault seems more like a landscape response than an architectural one. One is greeted by two gradually ascending slopes of green, a gradually descending paved area separating them and a sculptural staircase at the far end reconciling the two levels created. That this deceptively light mass, more like an urban garden or park, conceals 70,000 square metres of built area is the genius of the concept. The sloped gardens are the rooftops, ramping up from ground level to a height of four storeys at the far end, with the paved plaza separating them ramping down. Below the plaza is another two levels, spanning across the whole expanse of the cross section.

Another development that is more land art than building is the Seoul Memorial Park by HAEAHN Architects, a crematorium and funeral parlour with supporting facilities. Although the whole cannot be seen and comprehended from the approach itself like at Ewha, a walk around the campus reveals the care taken to integrate the built form with landscape. The built elements gradually ramp up from the ground,  pinwheeling about a central pool. Along with the gardens and ponds, sculpture and natural light are the elements used to create an atmosphere apt for solemn last rites. The use of materials, especially of polished steel and glass around the central pool, was found to be the jarring note in the whole experience. Warmer, natural-finished materials might have enhanced the garden concept more.

The Seonyudo Park in the midst of the bustling city of Seoul is created around the elements of a former water purification plant. It is an award winning project, the sort that offers interesting experiences, but is best understood when with the accompanying literature.  With poplars planted to indicate the boundaries of demolished buildings, former concentrator structures turned into amphitheatres, underground waterway structures converted into elevated pathways, and settling basins holding aquatic plants and gardens, it is easier to appreciate the elements of reconstruction when viewed with a knowledge of the story behind it. 

The Leeum Samsung Museum is a big gesture for art and culture, and for Seoul, on the part of Samsung. Three world renowned architects were roped in to design the three buildings that make up the museum complex - Mario Botta, Jean Nouvel and Rem Koolhaas. Interestingly, besides the form of the buildings, derived from the site and cityscape, and elements such as natural light, the presence or absence of it, all three architects place emphasis on materials. 

Botta's attempt at neo-classicism ["Neo-classicism is full of antiquity"] is driven by the use of natural materials, including Korean ceramics ["Classical and traditional materials…overcome the level of geometry or time and convey meaning to everyone directly…they are wanted instinctively by humans"]. The central light well was the experiential focus of the building, Museum 1. It houses  Korean art from prehistoric times to the 1900s, including paintings and calligraphy, and ceramics and metal work, each exquisite piece standing testimony to Korea's tradition of fine craftsmanship.

Nouvel used steel and glass in Museum 2, "The steel I've used is quite ambiguous…it may look like polished dark rock…it is capable of expressing many different qualities". The neat lines of the building form a foil to the brick-clad "Urn" of Museum 1. It houses a collection of international modern and contemporary art. 

The exhibits are, simply put, stunning. Perfectly displayed, the spaces they occupy playing as much a role in their enjoyment and appreciation. Jeff Koon's playful "Smooth Egg with Bow" greets visitors with its cheery, highly polished blue and red, sitting in a central position. In a corner across, what appears to be a toy castle, made with metal, found objects and flickering television screens draws attention - a mixed media installation "My Faust Autobiography" by Nam June Paik. The eye is then drawn higher, to another stunning display hanging from the ceiling.  Further ahead, a glass wall flecked with colour vies for attention. A steel framework across it holds pills and medicinal capsules of different colours and shapes, precisely arranged and stacked to form a starkly beautiful composition - "Dance of Death" by Damien Hirst. Parts of the exhibition space overlook wells of greenery and the natural light filtering through adds to the experience.

Koolhaas exploited the plasticity of concrete in the Child Education and Culture Center. "You can't get that sort of weight and depth, or the power, from other materials". In a master stroke, he created a building within the building, a "black box", easily seen and comprehensible within the larger scale of space. The angled black box, seen from an approach ramp and accessed by a flight of stairs, creates a feeling of heightened anticipation. It is an exhibition space "to which no light travels, where artificial manipulation and control are possible". Dark concrete is the material of choice, and the darkness is a perfect foil to the exhibits. 

The exhibition on in the Black box was fascinating. "Mise-en-Scene", a term referring to elements of visual composition in a film scene. It explored the use of cinematic tools in contemporary art. Moving image is used in Adad Hannah's installation "Half a second", with 12 monitors. The spatial arrangement of the monitors is an important part of the work, taking the viewer from one scene to the next. The images draw the viewer with their intensity, focusing on the face of a woman , and zooming out step by step, to include the whole scene. Engrossed by the story of the woman, the one follows the sequence to find that the final image reveals a movie set, leaving one to judge what is fictional and what is real. Also exploring the relationship between truth and fiction, is the work of Jung Yeondoo, recreating famous movie scenes, and parallely showing the process of making.

The Leeum Samsung museum does what good art should. It causes one to think unexpectedly, to question set notions, to explore a realm of possibility, to widen horizons. Setting and exhibits meld, each supporting and sustaining the other, blurring boundaries. If a leading corporation could give this experience back to its city, you know that the city is on the right track, creating as the lettering across the museum facade spelt, "memories of the future". 

Meiji Mura and the Imperial Hotel

250 acres of beautiful, rolling hillside by Lake Iruka in Nagoya, dotted with late 19th and early 20th century buildings. That is Meiji Mura. 

The concept of a park, an open air museum, to house reconstructed buildings that had to make way for modern development, was brought up by architect Taniguchi Yoshiyo. He started Meiji Mura with his college classmate, Tsuchikawa Moto, with funding from Nagoya Railroad. The story has it that the sight of the demolition of a Meiji era building, Rokumein, prompted Yoshiyo to start Meiji Mura. 

Over 60 historical buildings have been reconstructed here - most from the Meiji period, when Japan had opened its doors, and western influence was seeping into its architecture. 

The reconstruction we were there to see was the main entrance and lobby of the Imperial Hotel, the famous Frank Lloyd Wright creation that was one of the few buildings to withstand a devastating earthquake, but had to finally make way for its bigger, modern counterpart. It had come to rest in Meiji Mura, a mute testament to the skills of a master designer. The natural stone and brick reconstruction displayed the high degree of detailing and craft that went into Wright's work. 

A replanted building is often nothing more than a souless shell. Torn out of its context and setting. Propped up elsewhere, forced to stand, a mere display. Questions of development, conservation and reuse ping-ponged about the mind. It was better, was the final thought, all considered, to have seen a small portion of a master work in this form than not at all. Painfully reconstructed, stone by stone, brought to [a shell of] its former glory. It helped to think of the park as a Museum. A visual link to the past. Museums too after all, are in many ways, mausoleums. But they serve a purpose.  

Both happily and sadly, Meiji Mura was my first experience of Frank Lloyd Wright's [an all time favourite architect's] work. As far as the 'Wright' expectations were concerned, they were met fully. Every wall, every corner, every ledge, every window was a perfect composition in itself, and all elements came together to create spaces of 'Wright' proportions and compositional complexity. A master work stands tall on its own, even if as a shell. 

Awaji Island

Away from the bustling streets of Osaka, an interlude of contemplation was on hand at Tadao Ando's Water Temple in Awaji. 

You walk through a narrow, walled-in pathway, following it's tight curve, the white-gravel path ramping up slightly as you go, expecting to enter the temple. 

Instead, it opens out to a vast, circular expanse and a lotus pond, split in the middle by a staircase leading down into the ground. The temple is a buried drum, it's roof top being the lotus pond. What a simple, yet effective concept, beautifully executed.  

Down below, you walk around the central circular shrine, a slit of natural light from above and floor lights showing the way in the dimness. A few elements in red break the exposed concrete scheme. 

The passage leads to rooms with shoji, sliding paper screens, and by some sleight of hand, the subterranean dimness opens out to unexpected gardens. Andoism, at every turn.

Awaji Yumbetai is a complex consisting of an international conference centre, supported by a hotel, restaurants, chapel, gardens and vast, landscaped grounds. 

Tadao Ando designed this complex on a hillside in Awaji, the epicentre of the devastating '95 earthquake. [As a double whammy, the hillside had also been eaten into for a huge landfill project in Osaka bay, across the sea]. 

The complex reconstructs the ravaged hillside, stepping down in terraces and ending at the sea. The approach road leads to a dramatic corner view of the hotel, standing tall in the empty precincts. In the distance, behind, a curious stepped form of concrete could be seen, almost like a two dimensional painting flattened on the hillside. 

Walking through the vast grounds, we would later find these were stepped flower terraces, small modules making up a form with a scale so massive, that is seemed occupy a large portion of the hillside. A curious play with visual elements, the three dimensional web of steps appeared flattened, like a cubist painting. Water gardens, with still and flowing water and plazas connect the terraces to the other activities in the complex. 

Popular for wedding celebrations, the chapel seems almost always in use. Adopting a different take on the slit back wall of the Church of Light in Tokyo, Ando uses the cruciform slit on the ceiling in this chapel. As a backdrop to the altar, a translucent white vertical screen has a cross of light beamed on it, mirroring the slit of light on the ceiling. The small chapel is free of any other elements, the crosses of light, natural and artificial, being the visual focus. 

The entry to the conference centre building is screened by a stone wall. The open space between the two has a garden - an unusual one. Instead of planting on the existing flat surface, the land is formed into a steep, dramatic slope, enclosing and defining the space. 

How much the vast grounds, with the network of terraces, gardens and plazas are actually used might be in question here. Other than our group of 30-odd architects lead on by the Ando-ed assurance of unfolding views and experiences at the next turn, there seemed to be no one exploring the grounds, although the restaurants and hotel had their fair share of people. 

A beautiful stark, and empty master work, exhibiting a wealth of visual ideas for those who wished to explore. Perhaps, coming generations will flock here like ours flocks to the zen gardens of the previous centuries. On the other hand, it might become a bleaker version of itself, visited now and again by the odd student of architecture on a good day.