Taiwan Today

Architectural development in Taipei, like the rest of Taiwan, has been going at full speed in recent years, thanks to the quickly growing economy and a continuing construction boom. As a result, some interesting buildings are starting to dot the skyline, gradually replacing the dull, concrete structures of yesterday with a newly discovered desire for aesthetic flair. But progress is slow, and originality is rare. And overall, cultural and legal obstacles are preventing the city from developing a unique—or even pleasing—architectural identity.

For first-time visitor to Taipei, it might be best to arrive at night. Many people think the city is most appealing after the sun has gone down, when the streets are lined with brightly lit buildings and flashing neon signs—and the architectural chaos is at least partly hidden by the darkness.

In the light of day, Taipei certainly has its share of imposing glass-and-steel high-rises, impressive neo-traditional Chinese monuments, and ornate old-style temples. But in between these highlights, the city is overflowing with squat, boring buildings, ugly rooftop constructions, and a discordant array of store signs in every color, size, and shape. Even the sidewalks are a study in archi­tectural anarchy, with the design, width, and height often changing from one prop­erty to the next—making walking through the city a special challenge. “It’s a dis­turbing experience because every few steps there’s a tripping hazard,” says ar­chitect Carl Shen (沈愷), who has his own firm in Taipei.

Yet Taipei is also a city full of oppor­tunity for architects. Shen returned here in 1989, after working in the States for nearly two decades, partly because he saw great potential for advancing his career. The recent construction boom has seen one new project after another go up, from govern­ment offices and five-star hotels to subway terminals and apartment complexes. Last year alone, the city issued building permits for more than twelve hundred new build­ings, with total completed construction costs estimated at nearly US$1.9 billion. The number of architects has also been steadily growing. As of 1994, there were nearly eight hundred architects registered in Taipei, and some twenty thousand throughout the island.

Theoretically, Taipei is in a position to begin rejuvenating itself. Developers and architects are in a better situation than ever to begin creating a pleasing and unique architectural identity for the city. In fact, major changes are under way. More people are beginning to appreciate the need for aesthetics rather than mere practicality, and a number of attractive new buildings are starting to alter the sky­line. Yet many architects still feel that no real stylistic synthesis is emerging.

As Chang Shyh-dean (張世典), di­rector general of the Interior Ministry’s Architecture and Building Research Institute, points out, “Architecture is a re­flection of the economy and the culture of a place.” In Taipei, it is indeed a reflection of the fast-growing economy, but culturally it reflects the influence of Western-style modernism more than any local cultural identity. “We’ve been eager to introduce Western architecture, and we’ve been able to learn quickly,” Chang says. “The problem is, we didn’t even have a chance to understand ourselves before Western architecture took over.

The development of modern archi­tecture actually started quite late in Taipei compared to many major cities around the world. Even thirty years ago, much of the current city was still rice paddies and farm plots. The major public buildings were colonial designs that had been built during the Japanese occupation. These buildings, many of which still stand, represent an eclectic combination of traditional European styles and neo-classical elements in varying degrees of harmony.

In the fifties and sixties, numerous new buildings were put up, but many of them were undertaken with only practi­cality in mind. The vast majority were four-story concrete apartment blocks that satisfied the basic need for low-cost shel­ter rather than offering aesthetic appeal. A large portion of these buildings were not even faced. Mold and moss-covered gray cement low-rises still dominant many of the city’s side streets and back alleys.

When the economy started to take off in the seventies and eighties, the first gen­eration of architects with overseas training was starting to return home. They brought with them the rational and func­tional Bauhaus-inspired international style, with its trademark unadorned glass walls and clean, geometric lines. With its strong appeal among businesspeople and industrialists as a symbol of commerce and capitalism, this style was rapidly adopted in Taiwan as well as many other developing countries. “This look became a badge of honor if you wanted to be mod­ern,” Carl Shen says. “The result was that buildings in Taipei are just like those in any other city in the world, and the place no longer has any identity.”

In recent years, some architects have begun to sense this identity crisis and have tried to create buildings that are modern and functional yet still reflect Chinese culture. In Taipei, one of the most prominent of these is C. Y. Lee (李祖原), who has incorporated tradi­tional Chinese motifs such as curved roofs, moon-shaped windows, and cloud­ like decorative forms in his office build­ings and housing developments. Although many of Lee’s works have been controversial—an early apartment block drew criticism for having roof designs that resembled a Chinese graveyard—he is widely respected in the profession for having established a distinct, recogniz­able style.

But buildings like Lee’s have had relatively little impact on the overall look of the city. One reason is that too many developers still think mainly in practical, profit-oriented terms. They want to make the maximum use of their land in order to get the highest possible return. And many people who rent office space or buy apart­ments are also concerned essentially with the practical working or living space. “Some of the mentality [toward architec­ture] in the fifties and sixties still lingers on,” Shen says.

This attitude is also influenced by tra­ditional cultural attitudes. In Chinese so­ciety, for example, the family and family relations take precedence over society or community needs. For this reason, many people are much more concerned with the interior design than with the exterior look of a building. It is common to enter a Chi­nese home or office that is unattractive on the outside, but has undergone extensive refurbishing and tasteful decorating inside. Although some people are beginning to broaden their perspective to include the outside environment, that impulse is not yet pervasive.

Architectural development in Taipei faces a number of other hindrances as well, be­ginning at the most funda­mental stages of planning. A recurring complaint among architects is that they are simply not given the time to research or think through a project before they get started. Developers want quick results. Thus, many architects are forced to start with a form that was created for another project and simply adapt it to fit a new site and use. The final product is likely to be both derivative and out of sync with the surrounding buildings. In addition, a lack of in-depth planning can easily aggravate problems such as parking and traffic con­gestion.

Some signs of change are beginning to emerge as developers become more so­phisticated. “There are clients who are more thoughtful in trying to discover deep down what a particular project ought to express,” Shen says. Such clients are willing to give architects more time and more autonomy in developing their de­signs. For example, several years ago, Shen was given six months to research a site in southern Taiwan for the National Museum of Marine Biology. As a result, the comprehensive plan of the project was able to take into account such factors as the area’s local history, climate, and unique natural environment.

But this kind of situation is not typi­cal, especially in urban Taipei, where most development decisions are still based on commercial rather than aes­thetic or cultural considerations. Shen thinks the aversion to lengthy planning reflects the Chinese mentality. “We like concrete things. We want concrete re­sults,” he says. “Planners play with their ideas on paper. Chinese, I think, have a problem accepting the fact that they have to spend millions of dollars for a report and some colored drawings.”

In many cases, architects are not consulted at all in the early planning stage of a building. “All the important decisions have been decided before an architect is even called upon,” Shen says. “It has to do with society’s attitude toward architects. Local clients think of architects as draftsmen or technicians. Sometimes they even give you a picture of a building and say, ‘I like that. Give me something that’s close to that.’”

This mentality not only gives archi­tects less input, but also leads to designs that are not suitable to the environment. The glass curtain walls that are used in many high-rise office buildings, for exam­ple, are more suited to colder climates be­cause they absorb heat from the sun. Taiwan’s high temperatures and long summers mean huge air-conditioning bills for such buildings.

While many architects recognize when poor decisions are being made, they are rarely in a position to disagree. Again, it often comes down to develop­ers’ attitudes toward the architectural profession. “In Taiwan, only the top ar­chitects like C.Y. Lee are respected for their designs,” says Kung Ling-lei (孔令雷), who has worked for several firms including Lee’s. “Until I become that famous, I’d better do what my clients tell me to.” Architect Ma Yu-chiang (馬豫強), a partner in a small Taipei firm, feels this attitude stems from a traditional deference to whoever is paying the bills. “In Chinese society, people who spend millions of dollars have the right to make all the decisions,” Ma says. “We can do what they want, or let them walk away and never have another chance to do business with them.”

Another obstacle to Taipei’s ar­chitectural development is the city’s confusing and outdated construction and build­ing regulations. These include everything from zoning laws to height restrictions, structural specifications, and parking requirements. And because architects must sign every document on a project, whether it relates to the basic design, the structure of a particular wall, the elevator system, or any other detail, they are ex­pected to know the laws thoroughly. Without the architect’s signature­—and assumption of responsibility—no construction permit can be issued. “There are so many laws,” Kung Ling-lei says. “There is no way that individual architects can know all the regulations. We need the assistance of legal professionals.”

Many of these regulations were adopted from the Japanese building codes without considering the different condi­tions between the two places, such as weather and soil structure. In recent years, the government has started to localize some regulations, beginning with those concerning the island’s hot climate. For example, stricter standards are now in place to regulate the efficiency of air­ conditioning systems and the use of exte­rior construction materials that absorb less heat.

Many other laws still need to be re­vised, Chang Shyh-dean says, if the gov­ernment wants to create a sound legal environment for architecture—one that will make the work of architects and builders easier and that will also create a safe and livable environment. “From an artistic point of view, people may have different opinions about buildings,” he says, “but from my point of view, any building that takes good care of public needs is a good building.” Chang’s institute is also setting up a computer network that will at least provide architects quick access to the numer­ous regulations. To date, the databank includes four hun­dred relevant laws and regulations, and it has more than two thousand public and private users.

Taipei’s urban planning regulations are another weak point in the system. By focusing only on how the city’s streets are laid out and not on coordinating the look of individual properties, they lack the detail that is nec­essary to control the city’s overall aes­thetic. Because architects and developers can do whatever they want as long as they meet construction regulations, one street will have a jumble of buildings, sidewalks, and signs in different colors, shapes, and designs. “As a result, there are good individual architectural works in Taipei,” Chang says, “but when you look at the architecture along a street or in the city as a whole, it becomes chaotic.”

Creating appropriate building regula­tions is one thing, enforcing them is an­other. Even if architects go to great lengths to meet all the legal requirements in constructing a building, their efforts are often frustrated once the building has been finished. For example, it is common for developers to take over a completed project and alter the interior without con­sulting the architect. They might seal off doors or tear down original interior walls—even firewalls—and rebuild them according to the preferences of individual buyers and tenants. “Structural problems are not taken into consideration because the average buyer doesn’t have the profes­sional knowledge,” Ma Yu-chiang says. “They think tearing down or adding walls won’t cause any problems, but sometimes it can be very dangerous.”

Once buyers or tenants take over, even worse changes can take place. It is common for people to extend their balco­nies or iron window encasements to gain extra space, build additional rooms on the roof of a building or in empty areas be­tween buildings, or add walls to a base­ment parking lot to create extra rental units. These kinds of illegal constructions can be seen all over the city, adding a sense of urban blight to the skyline and destroying the original look of a building.

Moreover, these structures present dangers to a building’s occupants by af­fecting the original engineering design or blocking access to fire lanes. While the government periodically tears down some of the larger, more prominent illegal structures, it has so far been unable to control the spread of smaller ones. The staff of the city’s Building Standards Of­fice is too small, and the number of illegal structures is simply too great.

But even if all of these legal prob­lems were solved, and even if architects were given more time and more au­tonomy to design buildings, would Tai­wan be able to develop a unique architectural identity? Chang Shyh-dean thinks the answer lies in establishing a government-sponsored evaluation system. This way, buildings could be care­fully analyzed after they are in use and architects could get feedback on their work. “Based on these evaluations, some principles will gradually be formed that are only right for Taiwan,” he explains. “When all architects and developers fol­low these principles, that will become the local architectural style.”

Carl Shen believes it will take a dif­ferent type of evaluation. He sees the lack of architectural style as a reflection of much larger cultural and social issues. “From the time Asian culture came in contact with the West, we’ve been in flux,” he says. “It’s not an easy thing for us to settle down again into a consistent idea about who we are. We are flooded with images and ideas, but we don’t have a set of core values to evaluate them with. That I think is what’s missing in Taiwan architecture.” Finding that miss­ing link, Shen believes, will take a lot of thinking. “Just what our identity is re­quires a patient search—and the answer does not lie within only a particular physical form. We have to dig down in­side ourselves and find out who and what we are first.”