Despite cases of this sort, there is widespread testing of the Taiwan market in the areas of "Western·style" buildings. A drive around the middle of the city—or in such developing urban areas as the northeast Neihu area—provides a fascinating study in architectural and construction improvisation. New styles are sweeping the Taiwan market. Even in remote rural areas like Pingtung in southern Taiwan, non-traditional buildings can be seen in ever-growing numbers, like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.
C. Y. Lee is one of the best-known, and most prolific architects working in Taiwan. He gained early recognition for his work as one of the two designers of the ROC pavilion for Expo '70 in Japan. At the time he was associated with the world-famous firm of I.M. Pei. In spite of the acclaim he won for that effort and subsequent designs in Taiwan, critics still take him to task for some of his projects. Another architect in the city says: "About two-thirds of the controversial buildings in Taipei, famous or notorious, were designed by Lee's firm." The young man, who has just returned to Taiwan with a master's degree in architecture from Princeton and extensive travel experience across the U.S. and other foreign countries, views the city with a critical eye. "Look at Taipei—almost nothing but confused arrays of cage-covered buildings in a beautiful basin. What a pity and a shame for this generation." Despite his disappointment with the city's current architectural state, he adds that the challenge and the possibilities for genuine service to the country have made his professional training all that more valuable.
"Roof-tops like tombstones"—the Ta An project sparked unexpected public criticism.
After more than three decades of what has been called an economic development "miracle," Taipei is in danger of becoming architecturally indistinguishable from any other crowded, rapidly-growing international city. As a result, the millions of visitors to the island leave with fond memories of the beautiful countryside, but with rather negative assessments of Taipei as an architectural "ugly duckling."
While Lee is quick to acknowledge this fact is true for the present, his goal—and that of many fellow architects—is to work toward a style that can be recognized as Chinese while still meeting the requirements or modern life. Moreover, he thinks this can bring more civic pride to the city. "I would like residents to be able to identify their houses by their particular characteristics, such as a unique roofline or a specially shaped facade, rather than just by street addresses and floor numbers." Lee takes this project very seriously. After years of working in island architectural circles, he is firmly convinced that not only Taipei, but other cities also need to create their own particular style—"a style that belongs to the people themselves and can represent their culture." He adds, "It must be unique and reach world-class standards." Establishing such a style is proving to be a difficult task, and one that will occupy many years or study and experimentation. Moreover, it is not simply an architect's professional exercise. Public acceptance is essential.
In preparation for his own attempts at creating a new "Chinese style," Lee spent considerable time conducting research in traditional Chinese cultural topics in order to build upon his overseas experience. "By studying Chinese traditions, including tai chi exercises and classes in philosophy, I gradually realized the real spirit behind Chinese culture." He adds that this approach further supports his basic belief that if people are to create something new, which at the same time belongs to the people, they must first consolidate their grounding in traditional culture.
Lee's "buildings in Western style" have swept Taiwan by storm.
For those personally acquainted with Lee, this is a familiar comment. It is exactly what he practices in his own artwork. Lee is noted for his painting and, although a hobby or avocation at best, he sees a great deal in common with his profession. Both are art forms that have experienced a long struggle between tradition and modernization. His ambition is to utilize his training in the two to transform the struggle into a successful combination. "But first you must acquire as much cultural background as possible and make it part of your being—then attempt to reach this goal," he says.
Lee's paintings arc instructive, especially those that are unusually large-sized. In these traditional style paintings, mountains, water, and human figures occupy the space on the paintings in a manner that suggests close attachment with nature and its inner spirit. This is precisely what Lee is trying to accomplish on the "canvass" of a construction site: a building that links man, living environment, and nature itself into a harmonious whole.
"Architecture is life, is culture," Lee tells his audiences in his many public speeches. "Regretfully, most people now are concerned only with construction material, building size, and equipment. This completely violates the ideals of our ancestors who valued their environment of living so much that they preferred smaller houses—among mountains and water, if possible—to bigger ones in crowded and noisy cities."
Several years ago, Lee had an opportunity to attempt matching architectural forms with tradition. He was asked to be the principal designer of the Ta An Housing Project, a Taipei city-sponsored public housing project, with 1,450 units in a cluster of buildings from seven to 18-story high. Lee leaped at the opportunity to introduce his architectural ideas to the public, and spent long hours of work and thought in the effort to make the building complex unique, but also present a smooth mixture of tradition and modernization. Yet to everyone's surprise, the unprecedentedly large public housing project turned out to be equally controversial. Many people thought that the rooftops of the buildings were the same shape as Chinese tombstones. The response caught Lee totally by surprise: "This is purely a matter of imagination and is completely beyond what an architect can forecast," he laments. The whole situation serves to emphasize the frequent helplessness an architect feels in the face of public aesthetic judgment.
C.Y. Lee—"Cities need to create their own particular style."
Lee as architect has fewer freedoms than Lee as painter or traditional landscapes. Instead of worrying about what style of ink, paper, and brush to use for his paintings, his overarching concern in architectural design has come to be various aspects of superstition still abundantly found in Chinese culture. The problems become even greater because customers have relatively little knowledge of the modern architectural profession, and are uninformed about the materials now available for construction. As a result, customers often demand construction materials that are both economically and structurally inappropriate.
Despite all these frustrating elements, Lee remains essentially undaunted. At one point he was so busy that he worked three shifts. In addition to his regular work hours, he stayed overtime at night, and "after a brief sleep went to learn tai chi every morning from 2:30 to dawn." His wife, a philosophy enthusiast, also read books to him while he relaxed at home in order to strengthen his background and help in his career.
The concentrated efforts finally paid off. His firm constructed a series of private housing units with a European style rooftop and customers flocked to them eager to buy. Although a foreign style, the newly established shape of the building in suburban Taipei became very popular and was promptly copied all over the island. "Like my idea behind the Ta An Public Housing Units, these private housing structures are characterized by a unique appearance. In this case, I have at least introduced a unique shape that the public finds appealing," Lee says. "Moreover, the people can confidently say that they are living in a distinctly designed house."
But is Lee satisfied? Certainly not! Despite the popularity of the "Western-style" buildings, they do not merge tradition and modernity with the level of aesthetic accomplishment that he seeks. He says, "It seems as though something lost for thousands of years is yet to be found." Popularity does not mean the ideal has been reached, and in this case Lee is particularly disappointed because his initial plans called for a traditional Chinese pavilion on the rooftops. But he lost that fight with his customers, a group or market-oriented businessmen, because they thought his idea might prove to be a failure. In this case, Lee acquiesced. He knows he has to be patient in his attempt to introduce a new Chinese style into a marketing environment not yet ready to accept his overall architectural ideals. Lee's patience in this regard was cultivated by his association with I.M. Pei, who "always insisted on his products being of the highest quality," But his dream may be elusive, as Lee has already found out. Architects alone cannot force changes in aesthetics, especially if they themselves have not yet found suitable modern transformations of traditional architectural characteristics.
Despite disagreement among local architects about which direction to go in developing a "Chinese style." both professionals and the public can participate in an architectural testing ground as cities in Taiwan redesign and rebuild their living environments. Lee quotes Mencius, the most famous successor of Confucius: "Although millions of people hesitate, I go ahead to make my own way." This is not only his credo, but also that of many other local architects intent on having a hand in reshaping the changing face of Taipei and other rapidly growing cities in Taiwan.