Diary: Bad Architecture Stories (Hunch 1)

7 January 1999
It’s so refreshing to be back to Holland.
Even though buildings are buildings, people are people, and sky is sky, the differences cannot hide themselves. Take scale, for instance- I mean the size of people. I’m sure it influences my perception of cities. In Holland I feel small and insignificant in the crowds. In South Africa I am medium-sized. In Taiwan, I’m massive; it’s never easy to buy trousers, shoes, or shirts. But I feel more in control, more secure on the street. It’s nice to be able to look over other people’s heads. Sometimes I get the feeling I can do anything I want in Taiwan.

12 January
I thought Taipei was an ugly city when I lived there. Ugly and humid. It wasn’t until later- in architecture school in South Africa- that I realized for the first time how UNUGLY Taiwan is. It’s dusty, dirty, polluted, smelly, and crowded with vendors and pedestrians; but not ugly. It’s collaged with sign boards in all possible relationships with the structures they are attached to: resting on, elevated above, hung under, cantilevered, suspended. Older buildings are “host structures” to newer, added structures that are latched on like parasites, throwing them visually off-balance, but functioning like prostheses that reinforce their functions. Most have no style.

The cityscape looks like a mess, but if you read carefully, you can trace the geology of this lump of structures. Happily, honestly, though not neatly, the buildings complement one another; layers of activities fill 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I loved all that, and kicked myself for thinking Taipei was ugly. Then I took loads of photos and showed my classmates in Johannesburg proudly.

14 January
Calvino’s city has multiple entries and the same number of exits. Haruki Murakami’s city has one entry and the same gate out. My city has controlled, numbered, known entries- led in by lines along which movements are channeled: solid lines, fluid lines, air lines…There are not gates.

5 February 1999
I have a theory about tofu.
Maybe it’s not very “deep” or architectural, but I’d like to use it as a tool to compare Japanese and Chinese cultures.
After our field trip to Tokyo, I traveled down to other parts of Japan (Kyoto, Osaka, Fukuoka, Nagasaki, Yokohama). In Kyoto I discovered this very expensive meal (20,000 yen, or 330 guilders) made completely of tofu:
Tofu in ice water
Tofu in noodles
Tofu standing on its own
Tofu in soup
No matter what the dish was, all the tofu blocks were cut into perfect cubes, and all kept completely white, as if it had not been cooked or processed at all.
For a Chinese/Taiwanese person, this is striking. We never, well rarely, eat tofu in little white cubes. We fry it, break it, stir it, deep-fry it, and mix it with all kinds of other foods. In China, it’s cheap food- easy to make, easy to consume, NO BIG DEAL.
If a food is wonderful, why not use it in as many different ways, combine it with as many different materials, as possible? I guess Japanese think that Chinese cooking destroys the purity and virginity of tofu. Chinese are loose-ended. Japanese are after purity and perfection.

7 February
We, architects, one way or another, impose our values on others. Good or bad, these values- carried by our buildings- can lead to consequences bigger than we expect. We commit crimes sometimes.

8 February
I kept swinging from one side to the other, but I never left either of them.

9 February
I believe architecture is not a good taste activity.
Nor is it an intellectual elite club.
For me, architecture is to innovate, create, and break new grounds. I believe in Utopia, the Ideal, the Perfect, God and Devil. I believe in what people do. I believe architecture is a service and
I believe architecture should acknowledge the power of lifestyle, desire and paradise.

10 February
Concentration:
I am incapable of concentration.

23 February
In Nagasaki, I visited a place called Holland Village.
It’s a Dutch theme park. All the buildings and scenery there fit together VERY NICELY.
When I entered, everyone was taking pictures. The windmills are much smaller and lower than the real ones so that tourists don’t have to walk too far to take a shot. They are arranged so that you can usually get two or three into one photo. And finally I experienced what it feels like to be surrounded by tulips, something that still hasn’t happened in the Holland I know.

I recognized some of the buildings immediately. They were all familiar, but somehow WEIRD. Amsterdam Central Station is scaled two or three times larger than the original. And actually, it’s a hotel. The interior is grand, bright, westernized (though not Western, really), and expensive.
The copy of the Utrecht Dom Church tower takes advantage of its height- it’s used as an observatory and restaurants since Holland Village doesn’t need a real church.
Of course what tourists go to see in the real Holland is often a Holland that no longer exists- a memory of Holland. How much of Amsterdam is a living city and how much is habitable museum?
In Holland Village, people can rent traditional Dutch costumes and have their pictures taken in them by professional photographers.
We only saw two western people in Holland Village: the “cheese people”- also in traditional dress- demonstrating the production of cheese. We spoke to them after their day’s work. Both were Dutch. They said these buildings were “a bit” like those in Holland.

June 29
After Jon Jerde, Jeff Kipnis is probably the best and the worst thing that has happened this year.
He TOTALLY DESTABLISED the Berlage- rearranged the power structure in five minutes.
It was agony. I’ve never learned so much.

5 November
What I worry about is that this generation I belong to is bombarded with MTV, lifestyle magazines, colored contact lenses, plastic surgeries… Speed is more important than depth; variety exceeds details.
I get bored so easily
but too often find myself in innocent confusion.
The gel that grows out of time
the flavor that brews over time
is nowhere in me.
I’m not old enough to have accumulated enough assets.
I’m not young enough to enjoy my cuteness and naivety.
I don’t want to look back one day and see life as a compilation of boring postcards.

Swore once to be like
a glass of orange juice made of 5 oranges
rather than one orange