Commissioned by the British Council Singapore and designed by Pernilla Ohrstedt and Asif Khan, the Future Memory Pavilion was hoisted up on Thursday 13 October 2011 at the National Museum of Singapore.

There were many good entries submitted by the students but in the end, Asif and Pernilla selected these two entries as the overall winners and provided their response to the ideas submitted.

1. Artificial Rainbow (Ninez Ayesha Ramla from Lasalle College of The Arts)

We like the poetic nature of this proposal. How it makes the rare occurrence of a rainbow into an everyday moment of pleasure and transform something as elusive and transient as a rainbow into something physical, tactile and lasting through very simple means. We would love to see this made!

2. Something to enjoy the rain (Zhao Meng and Lin I-Chun from Singapore Polytechnic)

We like the spatial and transitional nature of this proposal. It encourages communal space making through playful individual interaction. The selection, customisation or design of the individual umbrellas could add another layer to this transient and colourful structure.

(c) Marius Hansen
Pernilla Ohrstedt & Asif Khan

Pernilla Ohrstedt was born in 1980 in Stockholm, Sweden.

Her design output has been largely international, spanning the disciplines of experimental art, architecture and curatorial practice.
Pernilla was educated at Central St.Martin’s and holds a BSc and a Master of Architecture from the Bartlett School of Architecture, University College London where she won the Leverhulme Trust Grant for innovative and interdisciplinary work of outstanding potential and the UCL faculty prize for distinguished work in architectural theory.
She went on to the Storefront for Art and Architecture gallery in New York. Working with Director Joseph Grima, Pernilla was co-originator of Storefront’s first exhibitions program outside New York, the Pop-up Storefront series whilst producing, designing and curating the gallery’s programme and innovative architectural installations.

In 2010 Pernilla curated and directed the celebrated Canadian Pavilion at the Venice Architecture Biennale 2010. She has edited and co-authored a major publication about this project and numerous others.

Working again with Grima, in 2011 she was Architect of Stazione Futuro, a monumental 4000 sqm exhibition in Turin for the 150th Anniversary of the Reunification of Italy, curated by Riccardo Luna editor of Wired Italy.

Pernilla is a founder of Flock, an international platform for exhibiting cutting-edge female designers. She exhibits regularly at London Design Festival, recent projects include Pandora’s Comb (2010), Iconoclastic Chair (2010) and Light Well Table (2011).

Asif Khan was born in 1979 in London, England.

He was awarded Designer of the Future by Design Miami in 2011 and was Designer in Residence at the Design Museum, London in 2009-10.

He studied Architecture at the Bartlett School, University College London and the Architectural Association, London, graduating with prizes from both.

His work described in Abitare as “wildly inventive” crosses architecture, industrial design and furniture, particularly projects which combine these in new and unexpected ways.

Notable projects include West Beach Café, Littlehampton (2008), Tetra Light (2007), Swivel for Danese Milano (2011), and furniture for primary schools in Malawi with Magis for the Clinton Hunter Development Initiative (2009-12).

Asif has exhibited at MoMA, MAXXI Museum Rome, Idée Tokyo Midtown, Design Museum London, Sawaya & Moroni, Milano Salone ‘Satellite’, 100% Design Tokyo and London Fashion Week and has been featured widely in national and international press and design journals.

Commissioned by the British Council Singapore and designed by Pernilla Ohrstedt and Asif Khan, the Future Memory Pavilion was hoisted up on Thursday 13 October 2011 at the National Museum of Singapore.

“We are trying to design generous buildings, and I think those are the ones that will be remembered…”

Pernilla Ohrstedt is known for, among numerous other works, curating and directing the celebrated Canadian Pavilion at the 2010 Venice Architecture Biennale and founding Flock, an international platform for cutting-edge female designers.

Asif Khan is the recipient of the Designer of the Future award by Design Miami 2011. His other notable projects include West Beach Cafe, and furniture for primary schools in Malawi, with Magis, for the Clinton Hunter Development Initiative (2009—2012).

Together, they recently started PERNILLA & ASIF and are the architects for the British Council’s Future Memory pavilion at the National Museum of Singapore. In this interview, they talk about Sand & Ice, their experience working in Singapore and their thoughts on the future of architecture.

By Kelley Cheng

National Theatre is one of the most significant architectural icons of Singapore in the 70s. The park in front is a favourite spot for weekend family outings. National Theatre (picture courtesy of Paulo Alcazaren)

My Future Memory is riding on the trishaw to Tiong Bahru open air market with my grandma and my cousin, both of us squeezed on either side by my plumpy grandma. My Future Memory is my dad taking a photo of me in front of the National Theatre. My Future Memory is doing research in the National Library before the internet age. My Future Memory is when a movie ticket cost $2.50 and a bowl of noodles cost $1.20. My Future Memory is watching Hong Kong serials in Cantonese on TV. My Future Memory is watching Wayang (street Chinese Opera) by the roadside. My Future Memory is when buying an apartment is still affordable. My Future Memory is driving on roads that were never jammed. My Future Memory is being a witness to Singapore growing up from a Kampong (village) kid to a well-heeled urbanite.

Pernilla Ohrstedt and Asif Khan’s Future Memory Pavilion, about ice (water) and sand, reads like a distillation of ideas on the basic foundation of what makes Singapore to an outsider – a country which massively reclaimed land, a country which up until this year, relied heavily on the importation of water from Malaysia. As a Singaporean, it is always interesting to learn how people look at us. I often imagine that most people would perceive us as a strange breed of creatures who speak a weird language (Singlish), are not allowed to chew gum, love caning youthful vandalisers, have little of our own culture and in fact do not enjoy many cultural activities except if it is related to food, are happy with a “benevolent dictatorship” (as Seth Rogen, actor of Green Hornet fame described impolitely the almost one-party political system of Singapore in an interview with Conan O’Brien).

And strange we are, we are a nation with a giddying obsession with condominiums. The Singapore cityscape is becoming a banal collage of brand new condominiums. Old condominiums built in the 70s and 80s are mercilessly torn down by developers to build “luxury” condominiums with maximised GFA (Gross Floor Area) and minimum floor space per unit, giving rise to the term Mickey Mouse apartments inspired not by his cuteness but his smallness. In the commercial sector, nothing seems worth conserving, even the iconic Pearl Bank Apartments, the first condominium in Singapore, is on the verge of an en-bloc.

The few commercial areas deemed worth conserving due to their plentiful traditional shophouses, are Chinatown, Little India, and Arab Street. And Chinatown is just pure Mickey Mouse, in the Disneyland sort of way. Little India and Arab Street are still hanging on with slightly more acceptable face-lifts. Geylang, an under-dog area full of traditional shophouses have been sidelined for district conservation due to its reputation as a bustling red light district. Hence, Gentrification strolls casually in and developers buy up rows and rows of traditional shophouses no less precious than those in Chinatown but because of the “undesirable” activities, they are bought cheaply and demolished without sentimentality and more condominiums build in their place.

Shopping Malls are also filling our cityscape to satisfy our, perhaps strange love of loitering in shopping malls in our free time. This is easy to explain – free air conditioning (yet another nation-wide favourite), lots of food, and lots of things to buy. Sadly it is much easier to entice the average Singapore into a shopping mall than a museum.

The value of memory, in a way, has been devalued by technology. The internet has completely changed our lives. With virtual space people live with the comforting thought that memory is just a click away on Google. And if you were to ask any average person what they would choose between an old beautiful building full of cultural heritage and the internet, the answer is obvious and the answer gives us a glimpse of our future cityscape.

How important is it to conserve a physical space or building? To conserve a building, space or area without its soul – is that better than not conserving at all? The conservation of Chinatown in Singapore is a case in point, as it has been turned into the Chinese Disneyland. The multi-coloured facades with their fresh coats of paint look no better than a cheap film set for low budget period drama. Conserving buildings is a tough enough task, conserving a district is a lot more complex as it takes its character from its community and their activities. It is more layered and multi-dimensional. It is not solved by plastering on another fresh coat of paint.

However, Singapore is not alone in conducting soulless preservation of buildings. Deemed equally disturbing by academics is the story of Shanghai’s famous affluent entertainment district Xintiandi which was “saved” by Hong Kong developer Shui On Group during a time when the country was undergoing rapid and massive redevelopment. Many traditional houses, the si-he-yuan (courtyead houses) and shikumen (translated as “stone gate” houses) were bulldozed to make way for modern buildings. Conservation districts are more commonly for sale as the buildings are individually owned as opposed to national monuments in the form of a singular building which are often protected by government authorities. Shouldn’t the preservation of an area be more important than single buildings? Areas are built up by communities, and often have more cultural values and personal histories. They should have equal significance in being preserved, with the potential of documenting a more organic and exclusive history. Monumental buildings have specific histories often linked to a country’s history, which are already documented in systematic ways and offer no surprises or new dimensions in archiving. Archiving of communities, lives and eventually the soul of a district should have a pertinent place in all the secret vaults of conservation in every country.

Architecture is a memento of history, it is the most tangible form of reminding one of the past. But a distinction should be made between architecture and building. A building without events is not architecture. As architect and academic Bernard Tschumi advocates “there is no space without event”, to make architecture he believes that his job is to design “conditions for a reinvention of living, rather than repeating established aesthetic or symbolic conditions of design.”

“Conditions for a reinvention of living” is an important premise one should establish when conserving a building. It is not about keeping the empty shell, nor replicating the pre-existing conditions, which might be irrelevant in the present day. Some of the successful examples of adaptive reuse which cleverly reinvent conditions of use in an old building are Tate Modern and 798 Art Zone in Beijing. In the case of Tate and 798, events and programmes – not people – moved into these empty factories and revived the dead architecture, giving it a new lease of life and conservation as a concept implements itself.

The conservation of architecture through space and events – as opposed to a brick and mortar conservation, requires a deconstruction of memories. One has to put aside nostalgia and re-programme the existing meaning and substance of the space for the architecture to suit its time and place.

In commissioning a series of essays on the theme of Future Memory (which can be viewed at futurememory.sg) , perhaps the most striking comment for me about memory – or anti-memory – comes from the youngest contributor Some Son of Singapore, a neuro-science undergraduate in his early twenties, who may represent the voice of his generation. He says that “we should exploit technology to generate collective meaning in the memories we strive to keep by indexing, virtualising and functionalising urban heritage: three-dimensional scans, archiving personal photographs, particularly building profiles, and so forth. These (virtual) buildings can still generate experiences that bridge language, culture, space and time in a less corporeal form.”

Virtual space has overtaken physical space in the cultural value system of many people. We cannot change the mindset of a new generation, we can only do our part in salvaging what we deemed worthy of the future. It is good that some of us are still sentimental beings who see value in conserving old buildings with the fervour of conserving rainforests and panda bears. While we rummage through the old for keepsakes, unfortunately we have to witness the unfolding of a Future Memory, albeit a scary one, that is of condominiums, shopping malls and cultural packages available for $1.99 download from the web.

Left – My dad took a picture of my mom and me in front of the National Theatre, next to the equally iconic fountain, which i used to call The Whale. Right – My Future Memory

Kelley Cheng is an architectural graduate turned Jill-of-all-trade – the Editor-in-Chief of Singapore Architect magazine, she also runs her own publishing & design consultancy The Press Room, designing everything from books, graphics to spaces. On the side, she owns two trend-setting F&B outlets 15 minutes and Night & Day which serve as alternative spaces for art and design. On top of that, as an educator, she serves as an external examiner at the Nanyang Technological University, sits on the Advisory Panel of the Singapore Polytechnic School of Design and Degree Evaluation Panel for LASALLE College of the Arts, and serves regularly on the judging panels of local and international design competitions such as Red Dot Awards, Nagoya-Do!, Design for Asia, Creative Circle Award, James Dyson Award, etc.

Text and photography by Michael Lee Hong Hwee

WHAT QUALIFIES A DEMOLISHED BUILDING AS A MONUMENT WORTH REMEMBERING? REFLECTING ON THE WORKS OF BAUDELAIRE AND GRAYLING, AS WELL AS HIS PAST PROJECT CITY PLANNED: TRACING MONUMENT, MICHAEL LEE PUTS FORTH A CASE FOR THE ARCHIVAL OF A LOST SINGAPORE.

Recently, while strolling in the Depot Road neighbourhood where I once lived, I was struck by its extreme makeover: Only two of its ten original housing blocks (completed in the late seventies) remain standing; the rest (including my old block) have been replaced by thirteen brand new ones, complete with a retail mall and a fresh moniker: Depot Heights. Like amputees who still sense the presence of their missing arm or leg (a.k.a. “the phantom limb”), I went through in split seconds a gamut of emotions: relief, however short-lived, followed (again) by disbelief, realisation, injustice and grief. Mere minutes later, I burst out laughing and commenting to my stroll companion: “I doubt this old neighbourhood of mine could ever become the subject of any debate about heritage conservation as had buildings of ‘collective memory,’ like the National Library at Stamford Road.” During ambivalent moments like these, only a wry sense
of irony can offer the necessary relief.

In conservation debates,
two viewpoints dominate:
The utilitarian perspective rests on the premise that hanging mindlessly onto the past is wrong. When buildings – which have life spans as do all life forms – age and decay beyond repair, they should make way for the new, especially when construction of the new is a more economically viable option than restoration of the old. The opposing view, sometimes called the romantic or sentimentalist camp, regards the past as a rich resource for understanding the present and a basis for aspiration towards a secure and better future. Holders of this view believe that access to the past is possible through archival documents and, even better, through actual historic objects, including buildings. Thus they favour conservation – over redevelopment – of buildings with cultural heritage, architectural significance and social memory. Thinker A.C. Grayling suggests a mediated position that prevents scenarios of demanding every structure either to be saved, or to be severed. He cautions nonetheless that, as a rule of thumb, “it is better to err on the side of preserving, because if one makes a mistake in so doing, it is remediable, whereas post-facto regret is no remedy.”¹

Though sensible and useful as a guide for conservation policy-making, Grayling’s take on architectural conversation omits the existence and contribution of a third perspective with regard to urban processes: the aesthetic position.

In his Salon of 1846, the French poet Charles Baudelaire regarded art’s vital function as an aesthetic record of imminent loss amidst urban development. The artists who are able to blend historical themes with literary references, and to occupy a mid-point between realism and abstraction, are, for Baudelaire, the finest agents of this “mnemotechny of the beautiful.”2 Referring to the Baudelairian concept, architectural historian Mark Crinson uncovers the aesthetic techniques of urban memorialisation in a number of contemporary artworks, including artist Nathan Coley’s I Don’t Have Another Land (2002). The work is a blackwashed architectural model of the previous Marks & Spencer’s building, which was damaged by the 1996 IRA bomb in Manchester and subsequently demolished. “Emptied of its commercial functions,” says Crinson, Coley’s model “becomes
a monument to the loss of local time.”³ Presence refers to absence.

My City Planned: Tracing Monument (2005-6) project was, in part, an oblique extension of Coley’s memorial model. It comprises twenty-one sets of scaled models referring to “lost” buildings – that is, demolished or collapsed architectural projects – in Singapore. Like Coley, I aspired to give form to select architectures of the past, which no longer have a physical existence and which, though not (all) of apparent historic significance, nonetheless strike a chord with a local community. But unlike his focus on specific factual events (in his case, the IRA bombing), my focus was in teasing out inherent ironies while crafting new ones.

Modern buildings in Singapore are the most susceptible to the modernising forces of change and erasure. Deemed neither sufficiently old (that is, not as “ornately historic” as their premodern precedents) nor excitingly new (not as technologically and materially updated as their contemporary counterparts), these buildings seem the most easily dispensed with in plans for urban renewal. I highlighted this irony by limiting my scope to modern architectures that were razed to the grounds in the post-war period between 1945 and 2006. Exhibited in a classical building, namely the Singapore Art Museum on Bras Basah Road, my installation enacted an architectural pietà: the representation of a figure from one generation (Virgin Mary, in the biblical context) accommodating (mourning over) a figure of the next (Jesus Christ newly brought down from the cross on which he was crucified).

The architectural model is, by and large, a forward-looking format of communication. Whether for an architect, designer, planner, developer or user, the model serves as a three-dimensional means to visualise a new spatial project to be completed in the future. At times the model commemorates buildings of special historic significance. By contrast, my models point backward but to buildings that were regarded of no use by the authorities and eventually forgotten in official records. With the limitation of details to a single architectural feature (e.g., the front porch and staircases leading to the entrance of National Library Stamford), my massing models engage a blend of abstraction and figuration for an assorted triggering of memory and imagination towards a Baudelairian “mnemotechny of the beautiful.”

Standing before miniatures, viewers feel physically larger, and psychologically more powerful, than they usually do and than the buildings referred. They are invited to reflect on issues of control and accountability with regard to space, whilst recalling their experiences (actual, vicarious and/or imagined) with each architectural project. The use of a 1:100 scale throughout provides a common framework for re-experiencing the referent buildings, which were from different periods and places in Singapore. As the collection of models grew in number over a seven-month period of their construction and setup along the museum corridor, (repeat) visitors witnessed an expanding necropolis, a city of “dead buildings” that progressively resurfaced from beneath the pavement, as the exhibition title went.⁴

The whiteness of the models has no relation to the colours on the original buildings, such as the red-bricked National Library. It also suggests a ghostly presence of the missing.⁵ The use of paper as material and the insistence on precision handcrafting further highlight the preciousness, ephemerality and futility of the enterprises – of building and model-making.

The creative process allowed me to play an encyclopedist, craftsman and poet. With no individual or organisation owning (or owning up to) a comprehensive list of information about demolished buildings in Singapore, I found myself trawling libraries and the internet, digging through school term-project reports, meeting up with old architects who were still alive, and making friends with staff at the archives. Each time I tracked down the plans and drawings of an expired architectural project, I jotted down five sets of data about it: Category, Name, Address, Architect and Dates. I particularly found the inclusion of the Start and End Dates to be a subtle but meaningful reminder of the impermanence of existence. Before embarking on this project, I used to have a morbid fear of curves. So it is not hard to imagine how nerve wrecking the task seemed when I started constructing the scaled down versions of the National Theatre’s curved roof and the winding ramp up the Odeon Cinema (c.1953-84) car park. I am glad to have pulled through and attained a deeper appreciation of the beauty in a number of Singapore’s modern monuments. Each time I encountered a production obstacle, I reminded myself that the problems and painstaking efforts I had to go through were incomparable to the sacrifices made in the construction of the original buildings. I gave each set of architectural models a title, with words or phrases – freely referencing media culture (e.g., Excuse Me, Are You the Next Top Model?) and pop psychology (Look, I am an Other?!) – that came to my mind when I stepped back to savour their forms.

I also did a little experiment: Staring hard into the model of the National Theatre, at a few audience seats in the middle, I could clearly see myself watching an engrossing performance with my loved ones, kachang puteh (roasted beans) in hands and all, and it took no time for my eyes to well up with tears. False Memory Syndrome had a fruitful field day in my body.⁶

That absent buildings could ironically be the most omnipresent is evident in post-911 debates, commemoration and cultural records of the Twin Towers (1970/71-2001). This ironic possibility is most relevant to the Singapore context not just where the rate of urban redevelopment is hardly matched by that of critical reflection and aesthetic transformation, but also where access to records of past buildings is deemed unnecessary. For instance, would anyone in a “right frame of mind” voluntarily recall the Hotel New World, which took thirty-three lives along with its collapse and whose period of physical existence (1971-86), though not of apparent architectural value, was no more than fifteen years? Consider also the case of the previous World Trade Centre on Telok Blangah Road, completed in 1978, expanded in 1992 and (mostly) demolished in 2002: Can it inspire awe as does its replacement, the Toyo Ito-designed VivoCity (2006-), Singapore’s largest retail mall? Or, would Bukit Gombak Community Centre (1980-2005) garner even one vote for heritage conservation? How many people shed a tear for the Art Deco-style Forfar House (Blk 39 Margaret Drive, 1956-96) as many did for National Theatre (1963-86) and National Library (1960-2004)? Why would it matter to most people that, for the first two years of my secondary school education, I attended Gan Eng Seng School (1951-1989) on Anson Road?

It is a human tendency to overly remember certain things at the expense of others. My models are silent protests not against the physical erasure of architectures from public space per se but against their untracked disappearance from history; they are physical testaments to a phantom city of architectures once planned, made, used and later erased from public memory. They address the question: What is a monument? Beyond intellectual reasoning and sentimental longing, a solace for feeling sad over disappeared or disappearing buildings may come from the creation of aesthetic records of them: art can ironically preserve architecture beyond its life span. It is from tracing the buildings’ form and history that one can begin understanding their beauty and foster a close relationship with them, and from there, derive a deep sense of consolation.

City Planned: Tracing Monuments (2005-6) was first exhibited in Beneath the Pavement: Discovering the City in 2006, and then in Building Conversations: Michael Lee and Nadia Bamadhaj in 2006-7. Both exhibitions were curated by Joselina Cruz at the Singapore Art Museum. The work will be exhibited along with ninety-nine others in Curating Lab::100 Remix curated by Ahmad Mashadi and Heman Chong and organised by NUS Museum at HT Contemporary Space, Gallery 3, as part of the “Singapore Art Show” in August 2009.

More information about the artwork
is available on:
studiobibliotheque.blogspot.com.

"The Four Musketeers," based on Stamford Court (c.1954-2004) on Prinsep Street

"Lessons on Modern Tectonics," based on Lido Cinema & Shaw Centre (1958-90) on Scotts Road

"Caterpillars," based on Forfar House (1956-96) at Queenstown

"Apple Strudels," based on Gan Eng Seng School (1951-89) on Anson Road

"Logs, Chocs and Smoked Chickens," based on Expo Gateway, Harbour Pavilion and Exhibition Halls 1-6 World Trade Centre (1977/92-2002) on Telok Blangah Road

"Great Barrel Reefs," based on Khong Guan Flour Milling Ltd on Tanjong Rhu Road

"Sleepwalking Like an Egyptian," based on Bukit Gombak Community Centre (1980-2005) on Hillview Road

Notes

1. A.C. Grayling, “Conservation,” Life, Sex and Ideas, London: Oxford, 2003, p. 80
2. Charles Baudelaire, “Salon of 1846,” in Lois Boe Hyslop, Baudelaire, Man Of His Time, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980, p. 14
3. Mark Crinson, “Mnemotechny of the Industrial City: Contemporary Art and Urban Memory,” (Ed.), Urban Memory: History and Amnesia in the Modern City, London: Routledge, 2005, p. 202
4. Joselina Cruz (Curator), Beneath the Pavement: Discovering the City, Singapore Art Museum, 2006
5. Also see Lim Kok Boon, “Provocative Ghost-less Shells” (boonscafe.wordpress.com, 2006)
6. I remember having taken family portraits at the crescent-shaped fountain in front of the National Theatre, but I have not watched a live performance in it.

Michael Lee Hong Hwee is a Singapore-born artist based in Singapore. He explores his concern with desire and space through different art forms, ranging from model, book, photography and video, to installation, text and exhibition. He has participated in the 3rd Guangzhou Triennial 2008, the 2005 World Exposition, and the 1997 International Film and Video Association Film Award & Restival (Winner, Experimental Category; Texas). He was the curator of Daniel Libeskind’s first solo exhibiion in Asia (Between, Beside, Beyond: Reflections & Key Works, 1989 – 2014) at the Singapore Art Museum in 2007, and the recipient of the Young Artist Award (Visual Arts, 2005), conferred by the National Arts Council, Singapore.

First Published in Singapore Architect #250. Republished with permission of Michael Lee Hong Hwee

Text and Photography by Stephane Lasserre

When a building is condemned to death by its owners, what does it say in its last days? In this photo essay, Stephane Lasserre captures the final moments of some of Singapore’s most famous condominiums.

Final Breath

At a first glance, the condominium was nicely wrapped with a green plastic mesh, the typical setting for a facade renovation or the hope for a nice upgrade. But then, I noticed a group of cranes on the last floor. The buildings were being consumed from the top. Until they reach the ground, slab by slab, wall by wall, the cranes would methodically unblock the whole site and later start raising a new edifice.  The green mesh suddenly appeared to be more a curtain to hide a deadly operation than a protection. It was like a cloth preserving the building’s last dignity as it was being put to sleep.  Minton Rise looked young and was still in a very healthy condition; how did it reach that final stage?

Fever

Every modern city has to face the situation of maintaining an adequate real estate, and therefore the question of conserving or renewing. This issue constantly challenges the building life cycle. Do we build to last? In Singapore, a unique law that allows owners to sell their condominium collectively seems to answer that question.

The “en bloc” law has been in existence for several decades under the Land Acquisition Act of 1966 but has only been exploited extensively since 1995 through the Housing & Development Board’s SERS programme (Selective En bloc Redevelopment Scheme for public housing). For private estates, the developers see a great opportunity to acquire a land with potential and for the owners, a unique once in a lifetime chance to sell their unit at a high price. This win-win exercise reached a peak in 2007 when the real estate market was at its best (nearly 110 condominium were sold collectively). En bloc sales became some kind of national fever that spread swiftly on an urban scale—no less than 250 hotspots were recorded in two years. In 2008, fewer than 10 projects were sold and only one deal was closed in 2009 (Dragon Mansion). But the downtrend appeared to be more of a temporary soothe on the virus spread than a definitive eradication. A few new estates are already being tendered in 2010 and around 40 have already been flagged as potential en bloc candidates.

Preconditions

A few years ago, people were talking about the Famous 5: Beverly Mai, Futura, Golden Mile Complex, The Habitat and Pearl Bank Apartments. The Habitat has rest in peace since last year. Beverly Mai is scheduled to be demolished around April/May 2010, and Futura is waiting for the final decision. Golden Mile’s owners are trying to go for an en bloc sale again, starting from the retail units this time. At the end of this year, the Famous 5 could potentially be the Famous 1. Minton Rise HUDC with maisonettes is now demolished.

Beverly Mai, built in 1974 and the first condominium in Singapore, was designed by Timothy Seow. This 28-storey building was based on the “bungalow-in-the-air” concept with large balconies to encourage residents to build their own sky gardens. There were 48 duplex-maisonettes and penthouse apartments.

A central core with an impressive staircase linked to three wings laid in triangle. The main lobby, where the staircase was the key feature, was very generous.

The first floor of a unit had a huge double-height living room, a dining area, and a kitchen with a back door. The second level was dedicated to bedrooms and a multifunction zone overlooking the living room. It was also the first condominium to provide a swimming pool.

Futura is the second condominium to be built in Singapore, completed in 1976 and also by Timothy Seow.  It has three radial wings with a central staircase. There are 25 floors for 69 units and three duplex penthouses with roof terrace and private pool. Futura is the first development that has private lifts opening directly into the apartment. A typical unit has a huge elliptic living room that gives the character to the building as it is expressed as cantilevered elements on the façade. The spaces inside the unit are differentiated and reinforced by a few steps. A generous entrance lobby acts as a soft transition from the outside to the living spaces. Special attention was paid to the transitions and the views from one room to another. The wet areas are curved and also expressed in the massing as cylinders. The roof view leaves one breathless, as do the pool design and the integration of the spaces. Futura leaves this disturbing feeling that the building is still alive and that the residents left the day before. I have to say that I feel a little possessed by the premises. I always feel like I need to go back.

I met Sophia Court by chance at night on Mount Sophia. My attention was caught by large dark ghostly openings. There was nothing much left on the site except a building half wrapped, half amputated. The large recessed framed windows that also provided protection from the sun gave the building a special character. The 188 units were built in 1985. Tenants accessed their premises through a large landscaped open void that acted as a transition from the car to the entrance door. The main door landing was raised by a few steps from the open air corridor. Again, it defined the entrance better and created a semi-private transitional space.

Diagnostic

Are these famous condominiums not old enough or are they just not worth preserving? Is their destiny only tied to a strategic and valuable location? In France, the Machines for Living or “Unité d’Habitation” in Marseille and Reze, designed by Le Corbusier in the mid-fifties are being conserved for their design innovations and as witnesses of the modern era. It is always a long process and a responsibility, but the initiative came from the conservation board at the pleasure of the owners who are now proud to live in a heritage building. Many en bloc sales create good opportunities for estate renewal. However, some old buildings have a unique status and architecture that contribute to Singapore’s eclectic patrimony. These would simply need a renovation or upgrade.

Obsessions

The en bloc regulation in Singapore coupled with the release on the plot ratio has triggered hazardous behaviours from both owners and developers. Real estate agents advertise condominiums with en bloc potential, but there are also those who are more strategic and “visionary”: HDUC owners of Eunosville, Serangoon North and Shunfu Ville are now trying to have their estate privatised so as to enable collective sales in the future. What does buying a condominium mean to people? Is it just an investment with an en bloc profit option? Is it a pragmatic place to stay free of memories?

If we consider all the malls that have recently been launched, people spend a lot of time shopping in Singapore. It is not because there is nothing else to do and it is not because there is a unique tenant mix from one estate to another. They all offer similar brands. People like consuming. The life of a hand phone is far longer than the interest given to it. There is probably a parallel with all the new condominiums that have popped up recently. Shopping and consuming GFA of liveable space is an obsession.

Diet

Obviously the condominium architecture expresses local regulations: balconies accounting towards GFA, bedroom ledges (slowly disappearing since the regulation has changed), height relaxations, sky gardens, opened void decks et cetera. They also follow the trends: uniform bright white colour, textured blade walls, full-height curtain walls with high performance glass, small balconies, minimum landscaping resulting from a maximised building footprint. At the end, it is not surprising that they all look similar.

Buying a Famous 5 unit is buying a special space. It is not only buying a façade, but also an interior, where the plans were carefully designed and each space articulated with each other. It is also becoming the owner of a narrative rather than commercial keywords. Whether it is a void, a corridor or a grand staircase, Sophia Court, Futura and Beverly Mai successfully tell a story from the main road to the sofa. The transitions from public to private space are particularly well designed. In many new developments the quest to the best efficiency has compromised the design, resulting in small lobbies and worst, small living spaces.

Ironically, the quest for elegance and simplicity with white façade and full-height glazed windows gets rapidly altered by the tenant’s personalisation. The way tenants transformed their space in Futura or Beverly Mai was stunning. However, it did not affect the exterior facades. Many a condominium’s image was changed by the colourful and personalised curtains behind each unit’s windows. It is an initial design issue —people are expected to personalise their space.

Obituaries

The following proudly provided many with a home for more than 25 years:

Futura, Leonie Road: Sold en bloc on 21 February 2006.

Beverly Mai, Tomlinson Road: Sold en bloc on 4 October 2007; scheduled to be demolished in March/April 2010.

Sophia Court, Sophia Road: Demolished in February 2010.

Minton Rise, Hougang, Lorong Ah Soo Road: Demolished in March 2010.

Stephane Lassere grew up in France and eventually became an architect before doing a doctorate in computers and science. He has been living overseas for six years, mainly in Shanghai and Toronto. He landed three years ago in Singapore and is now directing the B+H Architects Canadian new firm. Stephane thinks that the best way to discover Singapore is to stay away from air-conditioning and walk outside.

First Published in Singapore Architect #256. Republished with permission of Stephanse Lassere

“…there is an emergence, not of language, but languages…”

Heman Chong, a Singaporean artist, curator and writer currently based in New York, is internationally recognised for having participated in Manifesta 8 in 2010, the 2nd Singapore Biennale in 2008, SCAPE Christchurch Biennale in 2006 and Venice Biennale in 2003. He has also held solo exhibitions in Kunstverein Milan, Motive Gallery in Amsterdam, Vitamin Creative Space in Guangzhou, Art in General in New York and Sparwasser HQ in Berlin, among others. Here he talks about his recent work, Calendars (2020—2096), and shares his thoughts on the language of the city.