Vertical Utopia
by Pierre-Romain Guedj
portfolio shortlisted call 'Urbanautica Institute Awards 2023', 2023
Category: Representations of Space, Architecture, and Conflicts
« Vertical Utopia » is a series focusing on the urban morphology of South Korea. It pictures the country’s fascinating growth better known as the « Miracle on the Han River ». It deals with architecture, housing market, domestic lifestyle, demographic and territorial evolution.
The analysis is made from the perspective of « Tanjis » which are massive and standardized units of dwellings that appeared in the 70's in the South Korean urban landscape. The emergence of Tanjis, following the lightning growth in the country, has been seen as a solution to the urgent need in dwellings, made possible by the concept of standardization in the construction process.
Tanjis in South Korea were supported by the public authorities and shown as a model of the contemporary world and as a symbol of material wealth. Today they account for more than 60% of the housing market in South Korea and can be seen everywhere.
It seems that the inhabitants are fine with this model but the reality points to a lack of alternatives. Indeed, a paradigm shift occurred so Tanjis would be the major type of housing, thus resulting in architectural and landscape uniformity, urban system malfunction, housing market prices increase, vanishing of traditional districts and associated communities. It seems that the vast majority of the buildings is built by national construction companies without any intervention of architects.
In the urban environment, the rare remains of traditional architecture can be seen in the ancient gates, temples, or Hanok houses. Or, sadly they are incorporated in modern commercial buildings such as Starbuck Coffee, Mac Donalds or even gas stations, tearing out the distinctive roofing shapes of traditional architecture in South Korea.
Korea’s traditional architecture collapsed through three historical periods. The Japanese invasion and occupation (1910-1945), the Korean war (1950-1953) and the following economic growth of the country (1953-ongoing).
Until the end of the Korean war, the country was mainly filled with individual houses and the horizontality was the main model. The 60’s came with the first buildings and then the huge Tanjis in the 70’s. Verticality invaded the land.
The strong presence of Tanjis construction sites all over the country in urban and even rural areas demonstrates the ongoing growth and the adoption of this dwelling model by the South Korean inhabitants who see Tanjis as a symbol of social rise and distinction.
Still, South Korea succeeded where France failed, designing their own version of the concept of “Grand Ensemble Immobilier” to create balanced communities, breeding social ties leading to peaceful environments.
The architectural soulless and austere appearance in these random prefabricated landscapes is fascinating. Yet it is disrupting to notice that a kind of strange utopia has emerged from this phenomenon.
The question of sustainability is at stake since the cost of maintenance on the long term with these huge buildings will skyrocket (maintenance on a 50 year exploitation basis is known to be about 70% of the global cost for a building).
Will this utopia last in the population hearts and uses ?
We already see a new generation of young South Korean architects taking empowerment and trying to get out of the Tanjis’s architectural trap.
Review by URBANAUTICA
When we observe a photo of a city or directly experience it, we can react on a mental level, recognizing personal traits as individuals inscribed in the progression of history. We can also abstract broader concepts on a larger cultural scale. Moreover, housing concepts can be exported, assimilated, and modified to adapt to the morphology of countries in geopolitical terms. Building is, above all, a project—a metamorphosis—that pushes the concept forward, beyond obstacles, as the etymology of the term suggests.A projection of the constructive concept of the French Grand Ensemble can be found in South Korea, as narrated in 'Vertical Utopia' by Pierre-Romain Guedj. The photographer takes us on a journey to discover the housing units that made 'the miracle of the Han River' famous, supporting the growth of the middle class starting in the 1970s. Better known as 'Tanjis,' these structures testify to the housing impact of the country's economic ascent, glimpsed by the world through events like the Olympics (1988), the World Cup (2002), or the global recognition of brands like Samsung and Hyundai. So called chaebol.
Here, as elsewhere, they resemble large beehives—square blocks of concrete soaring towards the sky, like enormous spaceships descended from who knows where. The European narrative of these urban planning efforts is generally unforgiving: out-of-scale, disconnected, and under-served agglomerations, expensive to maintain, and easily stigmatized, are gradually pushed to the margins of society, with few exceptions. This concept of living becomes rather uninhabitable in the long run.
One wonders whether things have fared better in South Korea. How do we assess the validity of this concept, and by what criteria? What is the role of the public sector? Does it merely tighten the reins on private developers who often sacrifice architectural quality for the sake of profit? Photography alone cannot explain whether there is a problem. However, comparing Seoul's current skyline with a vintage photo from the 1930s certainly reveals the scale of the phenomenon.
Still, photography has, here as elsewhere, demonstrated the voracious nature of transformation. It has sometimes given a face to discontent or even foreshadowed sensational real estate bubbles, such as the recent one involving the Chinese giant Evergrande."
Just because an image can only be seen does not mean it cannot be expressed. Perhaps in the future we will examine these 'scopic findings' as representations of failed urban planning, unpleasant coexistence, and negligent territorial governance, as well as unsustainable and euphoric speculations harmful to the environment. However, this remains a concept that is not easily resolved. The Korean case study may be an exception, as the photographer notes: 'The architectural soullessness and austerity in these random prefabricated landscapes is fascinating. Yet it is unsettling to observe that a kind of strange utopia has emerged from this phenomenon.' I am reminded of a student from Seoul who visited Paris for a semester and spent her time observing people in the park, intrigued by the multitude of distractions around her.