[The Era of Concrete and the Architect's Destiny: A New Spirit of the Times]

 About ten years ago, when I first started my architectural practice in Korea, I had the opportunity to visit a famous townhouse in Yongin. By chance, I spoke briefly with the homeowner and was shocked to hear the amount of their monthly electricity bill. It felt excessive for the mere cost of maintaining a home. While there were likely many reasons, I suspected it was the result of energy efficiency being pushed to the back burner in favor of the architect’s aesthetic vision. The massing and interior layout were configurations that simply could not have existed if the design had been approached from an energy-efficiency standpoint. In the end, the architect’s aesthetics had dominated everything. In contrast to this purely aesthetic approach, houses that maximize energy efficiency are known as "Passive Houses." This concept, which originated in Germany in 1991, pursues maximum thermal efficiency within an architectural space. Recently, it has been widely adopted in domestic Korean buildings as well. However, because Passive Houses often approach architecture solely through the lens of thermal efficiency, they face significant design constraints. To obtain German Passive House certification, every aspect—from materials and details to finishing methods—must be functional rather than aesthetic. Since this also approaches architecture from a singular perspective, I find it difficult to truly embrace. Architecture is ultimately the product of both aesthetics and function; for me, choosing one over the other is not an option.

 Throughout my career as an architect, I have made it my personal mission to harmonize these two seemingly incompatible propositions: aesthetic beauty and energy efficiency. Especially in residential projects, I have sought to integrate energy efficiency directly into the design. My goal is for the architectural mass to be approached as a formal aesthetic, yet for that form itself to be the result of energy considerations. Some might call this an overly idealistic goal, but there is always a way if one contemplates it deeply enough. For instance, in the Seonyujae project in Gwacheon, I applied the lines of a traditional Hanok. By creating deep eaves, I allowed the amount of sunlight to vary according to the sun’s angle in summer and winter. The form was designed to harmonize with the surrounding landscape while naturally controlling solar gain. We utilized high-airtightness and high-insulation methods to ensure internal heat does not easily escape, and installed a Heat Recovery Ventilation (HRV) system to ensure a constant flow of fresh air.

 The true charm of architecture lies in manifesting such conflicting concepts into a single object. Architecture is a complex collection of diverse fields. Therefore, an architect must be more than someone who simply creates space; they must be someone who integrates the Zeitgeist—the spirit of the times—demanded by society and presents a new vision. They must empathize with social issues and offer a spatial solution.  Le Corbusier is a prime example. At a time when thick load-bearing walls were the norm, he actively introduced reinforced concrete to propose a new kind of space. The concrete modules we live in today are all based on his Dom-Inno System. In the early 20th century, the dominant architectural style was masonry structures using bricks and stone. However, the rapid population growth and urban expansion following the Industrial Revolution led to severe social issues and wealth inequality, which eventually raised questions about how we should live. The concrete structure was a fundamental solution to the limitations of masonry. While brick structures required thick walls and narrow vertical windows to support height, concrete allowed for the walls between columns to be transformed freely. Through this innovative spatial concept, the 20th century became the Era of Concrete. This versatile structure became the creative foundation for architects, allowing cities to be built and expanded with ease. Ultimately, we came to live in more pleasant and evolved urban spaces, much like the utopia Le Corbusier envisioned.

 Paradoxically, however, 100 years later, the cities grown from concrete are suffering. The very civilizations created in the dream of utopia are now on the verge of destruction due to self-inflicted climate change. We cannot say Le Corbusier was wrong. Had he lived in this era, he would have proposed a different kind of architecture based on today's spirit of the times. This is why I find myself thinking of him so often lately as I witness the climate crisis. “If he saw today’s world, what spirit of the times would he embrace, and what architecture would he propose?” Architecture accounts for approximately 38% of global carbon dioxide emissions. This means buildings are the most significant factor in carbon emissions, yet ironically, they remain an area where policy is most lacking. Of that 38%, 10% comes from the construction process, 18% from occupied buildings, and 10% from unoccupied buildings. This indicates that emissions are tied to the entire life cycle of a building—from raw material sourcing and transportation to construction waste and the operation of HVAC systems. Notably, 60–80% of carbon is emitted during the operational stage. This underscores the importance of minimizing energy waste. Abroad, extensive research is being conducted on the relationship between energy efficiency and architectural design. Rather than simply using thick insulation, designs where efficiency and aesthetics are inherently fused are becoming the standard.

 Fundamentally, architects of this era must establish a new logic for constructing architectural space. Aesthetics, engineering, and sociological solutions must be pursued simultaneously on a foundation of energy efficiency. Unfortunately, Korean architecture still seems to show less interest in climate change and the building life cycle compared to international standards. In a climate where real estate value dictates the fate of every project, energy efficiency is often treated as a mere legal requirement rather than a core element of the design process. For many architects, these themes are perceived as "forced homework" rather than a passionate pursuit, easily pushed down the priority list in favor of design trends or budgets. But as I have stated, building good buildings is the best response to climate change. This means creating structures that have a minimal environmental impact and a long life cycle so they do not need to be reconstructed for a long time. It is a simple logic, but it is the answer. Yet, in a world that is metaphorically (and literally) burning, Korean architecture has yet to even ask the right questions. Not everyone can be a Le Corbusier, but we must at least agonize over the world as he did. That is the destiny of the architect in this age.

2022.09

Jeonghoon Lee

[This article was commissioned by Esquire]