Ang Mo Kio, Singapore. Before branding became an issue in design practices in the noughties, and every project had to be charged with themes, there were still some places to be found, which were untouched by design intentions. Places of pragmatism. Underdetermined, open, neutral.
Without doubt, Singapore can be called the capital of pragmatism. It is the only country I know, in which the prospect of political independence was seen with fear. In the 1960s Singaporeans thought they could not survive, because they had nothing but people and location. Half a century later the Singaporean “survivalism” created a place that is a model for many around the world, at least for those who do not care whether chewing gum is forbidden or not.
“Survivalism”, this pragmatic, unsentimental, sometimes violently simple approach to problem solving is most visible in the vast housing estates that were built in the first three decades after independence. The standard housing area consists of units, which are about hundred meters long, fiveteen meter wide and ten storey high. With these units a new urban fabric was created that was completely different to the Kampungs, the traditional village-like settlements that existed on the island before.
From far away these estates look like the horror scenario of Western modern architecture. But from close up they are the opposite. On the ground, they are full of life. You can watch groups of people exercising tai chi in the morning hours. Under the housing slabs, you can watch the older people playing mah-jong or watching you. Others are bringing out their birds in cages, hanging them into a tree, or even taking the birds – in the cages – for a walk. Hawker-centers keep the tradition of street kitchens alive. Tents for weddings or for wakes are sometimes pitched up. It seems that the South East Asian street life was kept up; even there are no traditional streets there anymore.
The key spatial elements in these housing areas are the void decks; the spaces, for which the engineers of these blocks had no ideas. While the apartments on the upper floors are all systematically, and pragmatically designed for certain residential functions, the ground floors of the slabs are neither having a function nor a meaning. They only consist of rows of columns, a blank concrete floor, stairs and elevators that are leading up. Nothing else. And it is this absence of intentions that frees these spaces to accommodate many unexpected activities. In today’s image-driven design world, such raw spaces could not exist. However, they prove how liberating it is to strip off the straightjacket of branding.Ang Mo Kio, Singapore. Before branding became an issue in design practices in the noughties, and every project had to be charged with themes, there were still some places to be found, which were untouched by design intentions. Places of pragmatism. Underdetermined, open, neutral.
Without doubt, Singapore can be called the capital of pragmatism. It is the only country I know, in which the prospect of political independence was seen with fear. In the 1960s Singaporeans thought they could not survive, because they had nothing but people and location. Half a century later the Singaporean “survivalism” created a place that is a model for many around the world, at least for those who do not care whether chewing gum is forbidden or not.
“Survivalism”, this pragmatic, unsentimental, sometimes violently simple approach to problem solving is most visible in the vast housing estates that were built in the first three decades after independence. The standard housing area consists of units, which are about hundred meters long, fiveteen meter wide and ten storey high. With these units a new urban fabric was created that was completely different to the Kampungs, the traditional village-like settlements that existed on the island before.
From far away these estates look like the horror scenario of Western modern architecture. But from close up they are the opposite. On the ground, they are full of life. You can watch groups of people exercising tai chi in the morning hours. Under the housing slabs, you can watch the older people playing mah-jong or watching you. Others are bringing out their birds in cages, hanging them into a tree, or even taking the birds – in the cages – for a walk. Hawker-centers keep the tradition of street kitchens alive. Tents for weddings or for wakes are sometimes pitched up. It seems that the South East Asian street life was kept up; even there are no traditional streets there anymore.
The key spatial elements in these housing areas are the void decks; the spaces, for which the engineers of these blocks had no ideas. While the apartments on the upper floors are all systematically, and pragmatically designed for certain residential functions, the ground floors of the slabs are neither having a function nor a meaning. They only consist of rows of columns, a blank concrete floor, stairs and elevators that are leading up. Nothing else. And it is this absence of intentions that frees these spaces to accommodate many unexpected activities. In today’s image-driven design world, such raw spaces could not exist. However, they prove how liberating it is to strip off the straightjacket of branding.