(page 148), there is a concentration of people with university ties. Often it will be the planning of the gated community which helps generate a sense of community where no natural affinities exist, as at the Kubik House in Ipoh, Malaysia (page 50), or at Tanah Teduh in Jakarta (page 160).
A final caveat is the fact that many gated communities are actually quite porous, as are guarded communities, with a constant flow of people and transactions during the day and with full security applied only at night. Space does not allow a fuller discussion of the issue. Suffice it to say that guarded and gated communities come in many different forms and respond to many different imperatives. Depending on how we look at them, and on how they are planned, they can be either sustainable or unsustainable.
CULTURAL SUSTAINABILITY
Without identity, life is simply not sustainable at either the individual or the community level. But identity is a social construct which can only be sustained by continuing connection with a cultural tradition and by constant interrogation in response to external change. The family home is an expression of the identity of those who live in it. It does not exist in isolation, any more than architecture operates in a social vacuum. Notwithstanding globalization, the traditional societies of Southeast Asia are not about to abandon their cultural heritage. But engagement with the global community requires an ongoing negotiation if those communities are not to have their cultural identity compromised.
‘An architecture of place is as much about cultural space as it is physical space.’
Exploring how to live with the climate in a responsible way is an opportunity for the tropical societies of Southeast Asia to refine the contemporary dialectic of identity. An architecture of place is as much about cultural space as it is physical space. The two are, of course, inseparable, a fact highlighted by the many homes, from Bali to Manila, which by virtue of an adopted international style, inescapably reek of inauthenticity. These homes do not belong anywhere unless it is in some fashionable, designosphere.
Abidin Kusno speaks of how young architects, through the Arsitek Muda Indonesia in the 1990s, ‘were more interested in “exploring design” (penjelajahan desain) which they understood as a way of liberating their individual creativity from the hegemony of functionalism and nationalism’ (2011: 87). This liberation is mirrored throughout the region and has meant that architects could reexamine and reinvent traditional practice unclouded by sentimental nationalism or a debased functionalism. It has resulted in an architecture of place which typically uses, where possible, local materials, local craftsmen and local crafts adapted to contemporary use.
The 27 houses in this book reveal a variety of approaches to cultural sustainability. This may be illustrated in the way in which a house interacts with its immediate urban context, or in the way the plan of a house reflects traditional practice. It may be in the way traditional crafts are adapted to new uses, or in the way local materials are used. It may also be in the way interior details provide a sense of continuity in cultural and religious values across generations.
If there is one defining characteristic of culturally sustainable architecture in the region, it is its emphasis on materiality which implies an architecture rooted in the everyday reality of its clients and where they live.
THAILAND
PRACHACHUEN HOUSE
BANGKOK, THAILAND KANOON STUDIO
‘We tried to make this house reflect the life of the client. The way we worked was that I let him tell me all his requirements. It was very much a process of give and take, compromises.’—Chartchalerm Klieopatinon
The architects at Kanoon Studio had worked with this client before so they knew he would continue to add to his long list of requirements. But they also knew that he was well informed about architecture and that he liked to work in a collaborative way.
There was no preconceived idea of what the house would look when it was finished. The plan was that it would grow with the design process—and after the house was finished—because the design allows for changes. It has a lot of inbuilt flexibility, which the architects refer to as ‘latency’. By this, they mean they have provided everything the client wants but that extras are hidden. ‘If he wants to separate a room’, says Chartchalerm, ‘he can do so. If he wants to expand his house, he can do that too. We tried to make the space quite open.’
The house is occupied by an extended family. The client’s parents live with him, his brother lives next door (as part of the same plot) and the sons’ rooms on the third floor are designed to be self-contained so that one of them can continue to live at home after marriage. The family comes from northern Thailand, which has a strong timber craft tradition, shared by the family. As a result, the house makes good use of recycled timber. The original idea was to renovate the existing house which the client had lived in for thirty years, but it was quickly apparent that it would not accommodate the client’s need for extra space, especially for entertaining. The original timber house was therefore demolished and the timber used for the front fence. In fact, the house makes extensive use of recycled timber—for the flooring, the ceilings, the interior panelling, the dining table top, some door frames and the entertainment deck.
The client’s long experience of living on the site proved valuable when it came to how the site would be oriented. He knew the direction the wind came from, and since he was keen to maximize the use of natural ventilation this led to the idea of a wind chimney. In turn, this led to the idea of a rooftop entertainment area (with the potential for increased accommodation later) with a ‘safari roof’ to capture the wind and draw it down, using the linking stairwell as a wind chimney to ventilate the house.
The second level plan shows how the stairway and lift act as a pivot for the mainly public spaces.
Initially, the client wanted the house to remain close to the garden, but the architects argued that they could push the natural ventilation agenda further if they lifted the house off the ground. The client agreed and now the deck is a viewing platform down to the pool and into the lush garden with its established Indian banyan tree and two frangipanis. These provide shade for the pool and both shade and privacy for the master bedroom.
The front fence is made of timber recycled from the original house that stood on the site.
The double-height void of the living room provides a ‘stage’ for the music room.
This cross-section shows how the house is a vertical assemblage of spaces.
In the living room, joinery above the television provides storage space.
The ground floor is reserved for parking, a laundry and wet kitchen, and ample storage, for example, a generous shoe storage room and wine cellar, and for partying around the pool. It is also the starting point for the quaint industrial-style lift with its antique carved wooden stool.
Level
