Changdeokgung palace: A Tactile Scale

After spending the vast majority of my time walking around the repetitious APT complexes, I felt it would be a good exercise to compare the everyday, utilitarian Seoul to  parts of the city that Koreans are actually proud of by visiting complexes of a very different type - its Royal Joseon Palaces.

To the east of Seoul’s palace of ‘shining happiness’ Gyeongbukgong is Changdeokgung, affectionately called the palace of the east. Although both were originally designed according the the principles of pungsu (feng shui) to have mountains behind and a stream infront, they feel very different. Changdeokgung seems to work organically within its natural setting, in contrast to the imposed axial harmony of the grand Palace.

A sense of relief is felt upon entering the East palace. The first threshold clearly marks the transition from the cluttered metropolis into a much calmer place. However, the city often remains in view, above the swooping eaves. Interestingly, this actually helps to locate oneself within the context, in contrast to the disorientating feeling inspired by the APT areas. Direct view lines give the grandest buildings preeminence, and oblique glances between courtyards tie together unrelated spaces. The movement of the ground place is used to subtly distinguish between outdoor spaces, and transitions are further marked with changes of paving material.

More than a collection of royal buildings, the palace feels like an ensemble of different outdoor rooms. Each ‘room’ will have a combination of buildings (some which are free standing, others built along the perimeter of the space) stone walls, natural features and hard landscaping. A sense of space - intimate, modest or grand is created through the careful (but not pedantic) arrangement of these elements.

Plan of servants quarters (right)

I spent a long time in the ‘Biwon’. Deep within this lush secret garden are the servants’ grounds. Stripped of the ornate decorations and vivid colour of the palace, these simple but dignified quarters capture the essence of traditional Korean domestic design.  The rooms are scaled according to the space that an average sized man can stretch out in (1 ‘pyeong’ is approximately 3m2). Architectural features like the placement of timber joists, or the use of steps, blocks and seats reinforce the transition between human and the building, inside and outside.

The architecture is defined by the roof and columns -  internal walls are somewhat immaterial and moveable. This allows a degree of flexibility as well as control over the external environment. The careful framing of the landscape beyond with windows actually indicates a subtle but firm control over the natural world. Instead of defining rooms by function, internal spaces have different atmospheres, created by their temperature, tactility and light conditions. My favourite space, the ‘Seonjanghe’ juxtaposes spaces with two contrasting characters - the living and sleeping spaces are lined in paper, and slightly smaller in scale with lower ceilings and windows. The gentle light creates a peaceful space, conducive to resting. Separated only by sliding wooden doors is the library space, that has a lofty exposed timber ceiling, polished wooden floors, intended to encourage scholarly behaviour.

Seonjanghe