stone foundations. Bium denotes a kind of emptiness, offering a description of the courtyard void at the heart of the hanok to Cho. The celebration of the raw materials, untreated and showing imperfections, gives traditional Korean architecture part of its aesthetic. This becomes codified in the new hanok (Figure 4.7), counter to Cho’s discussion of the improvisatory nature of Korean arts more broadly: collection, even operating in the mode of reconstruction and new building, serves to ossify and freeze things into a series.
its counterpart, a relic of Japanese colonial occupation. These three examples represent alternative forms of cultural display, but a deliberately constructed notion of culture designed to make a statement of unity with reference to past occupation. Processes of reclaiming culture need to be demonstrative and visible, as in the case of the new City Hall and the Cheonggye Stream Restoration project.
The Cheonggye Stream Restoration in central Seoul (Figure 4.8) sits on the edge of the Dongdaemun area and is a key element of the regeneration of the city centre. The stream, flowing from the north of the city to the Han River, was central to the garment industry, becoming polluted through the dyeing of cloths and other activities.
The stream was known for flash floods and uneven ground conditions, and was seen as a problematic area for some time despite embankment works from 1900 to harden the edge between the water and the city. In the 1950s, as part of the city’s modernization project, the stream was culverted and replaced with a road at ground level, followed by an elevated expressway in 1965. The expressway was accompanied by the development of modernist mixed-use buildings for Sewoon Sangga, combining marketplace and residential functions by architect Kim Swoo Geun. In 2002, the former CEO of
FIGURE 4.8 Author’s photograph of view of the Cheonggyecheon restoration.
Hyundai, Lee Myung Bak, was elected mayor of Seoul, including the proposal for the restoration of the stream as a campaign pledge. The project is always referred to as a restoration, a term loaded with intent: the idea that the city had lost this river was an essential part of the narrative. The demolition was preceded by a citizen’s walk along the closed expressway in 2003, a symbolic reclamation of the territory by people from vehicles.
The project, designed and constructed by a team of engineering firms, was led by Seo-Anh Total Landscape, with a 5.8-km stretch completed between July 2003 and September 2005. Notably, the excavation works revealed several Choson-era artefacts, including the Kwangtong Bridge from 1410. This is a crucial element of the restoration narrative and embeds the restoration project firmly in the public imagination as a form of national recovery. The remains of the bridge were treated almost as relics, afforded the importance of artefacts and sparking a national debate whether it should be rebuilt using the stones recovered, or if they should be placed into a museum. The decision was to use the stones in the reconstruction directly, with missing stones replaced with replica masonry.
The uncritical use of terms such as ‘natural’ abounds in architectural and urban design discourse, particularly when an overwhelmingly positive image is projected about the benefits of a project. The Cheonggyecheon is repeatedly referred to as natural, and the strategies surrounding the planting in the park are a deliberate move away from the picturesque and manicured traditions of landscape design and more akin to projects such as the High Line in New York.
There is considerable artifice in the stream restoration, however. Not only is the planting carefully selected in order to be representative of native varieties, a simulation of nature, but it has to be managed and cared for by a team of gardeners (Figure 4.9) as well. This attracts a wide range of insects and bird life to the stream, but the water is largely reserved for ornamental carp. More concerning for the narrative of the natural state of the park is the water itself.
The uncovering of the stream revealed that the flow was barely present. The solution here was in engineering: water is processed and cleaned from the Han River before being pumped up to the top of the stream. The topography of the stream still contributes to flash floods, however – a warning system is installed on the walls of the stream with sirens, announcements and flashing lights meaning that the park is evacuated during heavy rainstorms: a relatively frequent occurrence in Seoul.
The design itself is modest and conservative, carefully considered and managed throughout. Particular attention is given to the ground plane, where materials indicate the different phases of the scheme, which moves from its most formal language in the West to a less-defined character with deliberately overgrown planting in the East. Stepping stones are laid in the water for crossing at various points on the level of the park, and the stages of the linear
development are further distinguished by variations in the water itself: fast flowing waterfalls and deeper, still water with a glassy surface.
A bold design decision is taken in the East section of the stream to remember the expressway itself, as three of the reinforced concrete piers are left in a state of deliberate ruin. This is closest to the remaining expressway structure, complete with abandoned ramp connections where Cheongge- ro (Figure 4.10), the 1960s expressway, would have connected to the network. The memory of the site is not, then, restricted to the ancient and mythologized recent past, but includes the radical urban planning decision of removing 5 kilometres of infrastructure.
The design of the new Seoul City Hall (Figure 4.11) is a useful case study in discussing the relationship between power and building as well as the retention of potentially toxic relics. As a manifestation of authority, a city hall or parliament building often represents the manner in which governments wish to be understood. It is in this regard that the intersection of the old city hall, built under Japanese occupation (notably in a style resembling European Colonial architecture); and the deliberately science-fiction aesthetic of the new structure by Yoo Kerl and iArc Architects is particularly striking. The duality of these structures, old and new, and the discussion of a contentious historical FIGURE 4.9 Author’s photograph of teams of gardeners at work on the Cheonggye stream.
structure underline the importance of meaning and association in architecture:
the colonial administration is a potent site politically, but demolition is a denial of history. By transforming the original building into a public library, dominated by a highly engineered and future facing landmark, a clear political statement is made by the building.
The process of the rehabilitation of a colonial structure and eventual decolonization attempts through new images can be discussed through this building, an expression of dynamism from a city which is increasingly defining itself as a global technological hub. Such buildings are an expression of power and loaded with symbolism. The new Seoul City Hall has a clear and unambiguous relationship with its predecessor. The old city hall, partly demolished, sits on the adjacent site to the new building and was constructed by the Japanese colonial administration during its occupation of the country from 1910 to 1945.
The Imperial style of the Japanese architecture represents the adoption of Western-style architecture throughout the period of the Meiji Restoration;
opening to Europe encouraged Japanese architects to construct buildings using similar technologies and forms, resulting in a variation on the kind of classicism so often exported by European colonial architecture. The building remains open as a public library, housing archives and rooms dedicated to the FIGURE 4.10 Author’s photograph of the East section of the stream, with
expressway piers retained.
history of the city. A number of these rooms have been left as a deliberate statement of subverting authority and power: boardrooms are opened to public view with the conference table replaced by tabletop-style exhibits with animations and infographics informing visitors about the demographic change the city has gone through. The mayor’s office is also open, with the desk and telephone providing photo opportunities for visitors.
The new building dominates, however. The slab organization is sculpted to resemble a large glazed wave looming over the old structure. The effect is as heroic as it is science-fiction in its aesthetic. The building is approachable at the same time: open to the public with a large public exhibition space on the ground floor framed by a lush green wall climbing the full height of the interior. The symbolism of the structure is clear: the statements from iArc Architects upon securing the commission in 2008 and its opening in 2012 continually define it as future facing, alongside openness and transparency as political ambitions, but the overbearing position of the new building sends a clear message: that this is a self-confident city aware of its colonial past, but defiantly looking ahead to future successes.
Both old and new buildings address a large public square, a rarity in Seoul.
The presence of the governmental institutions here and along Sejong-ro FIGURE 4.11 Author’s photograph of Seoul City Hall, with the old Japanese colonial administration building (now the central library) in the foreground.
has made this an assembly point for political protests over the years, to the extent that there is a near-permanent deployment of riot police equipped with batons, shields stacked nearby, and vehicles ranging from the semi-military equipped with water cannon through to coaches painted in police livery. The demonstrations are generally peaceful, but persistent, so tensions build up to flashpoint over longer periods of time, with protests often related to trade unions and labour relations, trade deals and military relationships with the United States, and most recently in 2017, enormous demonstrations and counter-demonstrations of between 500,000 and 1.5 million people spilling beyond the square demanding the impeachment of President Park Geun- Hye. The location is symbolic as well as practical: the focal point of public democracy is the city square and the city hall: protests here attract more attention and are taken more seriously.
There is a monumentality to Seoul City Hall, both old and new, and that function of architecture is often overlooked in contemporary debates. The notion had a revival of course in the work of Aldo Rossi, whose Architecture of the City develops a theory of monumentality as either propelling or pathological (1982:59). This is summarized by Peter Eisenman in his introduction:
When a monument retards the process of urbanization, it is conspired by Rossi to be ‘pathological’. The Alhambra in Granada is an example of one such part of a city functioning as a museum piece. In the city whose analogue is the skeleton, such a museum piece is like an embalmed body:
it gives only the appearance of being alive. (Eisenman in Rossi, 1982:6) According to this formulation, old Seoul City Hall was transformed from a pathological monument preventing the city from moving on to a propelling one, whilst the aims of the architectural competition were to produce a forward-looking structure; it quickly calcifies and runs the risk of being another pathological monument. This is prevented by the square and the relationship the building has with this public space. Attempts are made to privatize this, of course: often under the guise of special events and entertainment such as a large ice rink in the winter months. This seemingly innocuous insertion into previously public space runs the risk of privatizing the space more permanently as events fill the calendar, providing revenue and diverting the awkward spectacle of protest to other venues.
These examples, alongside newly commissioned (and problematic) structures such as Dongdaemun Design Plaza by Zaha Hadid Architects, are part of a long-term project to construct an image of Seoul as a viable ‘world city’. Part of this process is the demonstration of Korean culture through the restoration of an old landmark and a forward-looking defiance of a potentially pathological monument.