Miriam Ho
Generally viewed as bland, outdated structures, as well as a painful reminder of a period of political oppression, these tenements have nevertheless acquired their own character through decades of inhabitation. Renewals and repairs have transformed the standard building envelope, and even as they are abandoned, the structures take on the beautiful texture of decay. Without maintenance, they deteriorate rapidly: built to embrace the environment, wild grasses and vines easily take root in cement crevices, rapidly turning a house into a site of ecological succession. From the courtyard, a concrete staircase reaches the roof. The slab roof gives each tenant access to his or her own roof terrace, useful for household chores. On Geum-soon’s terrace, hot peppers are spread out on a mat between utility pipes; laundry and fish dry on the same line. Moreover, neighbours can see one another as they go about their daily chores on the roof, holding conversations over the barrier of their cement walls.The roof makes a lively second tier of community space. The Saemaul colony – bright painted walls, crowded terraces, all the texture of life and decay – sparkle in the afternoon light. Between the houses, maze-like corridors switch back and forth, informally reinforcing the mountainous Korean landscape. Though a product of industrialisation, in their use, disuse and gradual disintegration, these settlements have a strange kinship with nature.
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1 “The relative poverty ratio among the elderly people over the age of 65 in Korea was 45 percent in 2006, indicating almost one in every two elderly households live in poverty.”The Korea Times, November 8, 2008. Relative poverty means that one’s income is less than half the average household income of the nation, which was 3.5 million won (est. $300o CAD) per month in 2008. (Korea National Statistics Office, http:// www.korea.net/News/News/NewsView. asp?serial_no=20091120008)
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