CHINESE VERNACULAR DWELLINGS IV

As mentioned in last week’s post, timber construction doesn’t easily lend itself to building at extremely large scales or in multiple storeys, and traditional Chinese architecture is no exception here: there are relatively few examples of large timber structures in the historical record. Timber architecture does however encourage a degree of systematisation or ‘modularity,’ if those terms can be applied to pre-industrial structures, and this has been the case with the ‘hall’ (tángwū 堂屋), whose gradual standardisation has meant that it displays little variation over time and region. These factors go some way to explaining the agglomerative character of Chinese architecture: increases in scale and complexity are achieved not by the erection of grander and more complex unified structures, but by the addition or duplication of relatively modest and simple groups or ‘units’ of tángwū and their associated courts (院子 yuànzi).

The tángwū and yuànzi present a beautiful contrast. Against the simple, rectangular and relatively unchanging form of the tángwū, we see in the yuànzi an infinite variety of sizes, forms, functions, and atmospheres. It is tempting to interpret the two in almost yin-yang terms: the tángwū is rigid, stable, material; the yuànzi is spatial, fluid, yielding, freely receptive and responsive, with the capacity to accomodate the creative energy which finds no outlet in the tángwū. Indeed, when we speak of Chinese architecture increasing in scale and complexity in response to emergent societal conditions and requirements, it is in the yuànzi, not the tángwū, which this response is expressed, and to the Chinese people it is the yuànzi, not the tángwū, that is in every way the heart of the architectural ensemble.

CHINESE VERNACULAR DWELLINGS III

Last week’s post examined at the nature and evolution of one of China’s most characteristic vernacular dwelling plan-forms, the sìhéyuàn (四合院), via the book Exploring Space in Chinese Residential Architecture. Here I would like to take an introductory look at one of the two fundamental elements of these dwellings: the basic building unit or ‘hall’ 堂屋 tángwū (the other being the courtyard 院子 yuànzi). It could be said that the essential nature and form of Chinese architecture is distilled in these two elements and their relationships, and they are found everywhere, across eras and regions, from the grandest temples and villas to the most humble dwellings.

At the heart and beginning of Chinese architecture is the concept of protection. From the earliest recorded history, the Chinese have sought to defend their living environments from threats of invasion by foreign enemies, winter winds, and sand storms by erecting walls to enclose them. From the neolithic period, clusters of dwellings have displayed a centripetal character, and from the Xia Dynasty (c. 2070 - c. 1600 BC) we already see the pattern of tángwū being situated at the north, south, east and west of a central inner courtyard. This form, the sìhéyuàn, reached its maturity in the Han Dynasty (202 BC - 220 AD), and has continued down until the present.

The age-old Chinese practice of erecting thick, sturdy earthen walls around dwellings, villages, and cities, not only to fortify them against the ‘outer’ but to clearly demarcate the ‘castle’ and consolidate the sense of the ‘inner,’ has given rise to the development of a unique, hermetic world within these walls and cloisters, with the oppositional relationship between the tángwū and yuànzi at its core.

As historical sources indicate, the structural basis of Chinese architecture has always been the axial timber frame, and the tángwū is no different. Such a structural system is not really capable of producing large, complex buildings, and the simple, pure plan-form of the tángwū is an expression of this orderly, ‘modular’ structural system, rather than being expressive of any particular function. Though the use and scale of tángwū may vary, they all share the same basic essential characteristics: the orderly arrangement of columns, typically a single span in depth but sometimes more, an odd number of bays, an open ‘front’, and a closed ‘back’.

Elevations showing a range of tángwū, from the simplest three-bay pattern all the way up to nine and eleven bay examples.

The building of a tángwū involves first constructing a raised platform or podium, typically of compacted earth or rubble faced with stone, then erecting on it the building itself, with its entry and all openings in the long southern facade facing a courtyard or open area, blind rear and gable-end walls, and a hipped or gabled roof.

Cutaway perspective of a tángwū, showing the central táng ‘living’ area and wòshì ‘bedrooms’ to either side of it.

The fact that tángwū always have an odd number of bays is thought to have arisen both from the influence of yin-yang philosophical concepts, and also from the desire to grant the ‘chief’ or head of the household a physical position within the tángwū that gave full dignity and expression to the functional centrality of his role. The central bay of the tángwū occupied by the head is called the 堂 táng. The odd number of bays, with an equal number of bays (typically bedrooms, 臥室 wòshì) on either side of the central táng, the central entry steps leading to the táng, and the role of the táng as the ‘gatekeeper’ space which must be passed through to access the other areas of the building, all emphasise the centrality of the táng and the importance of the axis that runs through its centre, and give the tángwū as a whole a strong sense of overall symmetry.

Diagram illustrating the highly symmetrical form of the tángwū and the importance of the central axis.

CHINESE VERNACULAR DWELLINGS II

This post continues on from last week’s in taking a look at the contents of the book「中国民居の空間を探る」“Exploring Space in Chinese Residential Architecture”.

As good a place to start in any exploration of this subject is with one of the most representative and archetypal plan-forms of Chinese vernacular dwellings (民居, mínjū): the sìhéyuàn (四合院). In this post I would like to attempt to summarise the book’s introduction to this particular building typology.

The sìhéyuàn is an arrangement in which four (四sì) wings, or independent buildings, are arranged in a square or near-square around a central courtyard (合院 héyuàn). These wings or independent buildings are probably best described under the Japanese catch-all counter for buildings, 棟 (tou, literally ‘roof ridge’), which accurately captures the fact that each wing or building has its own pitched roof (gabled at its free ends) with a central ridge that slopes down to front and back. The history of the sìhéyuàn goes back over 2,000 years, typically seen as the relatively luxurious dwellings of the upper classes; sìhéyuàn can be found all over the country, with many variations according to local climatic, environmental, and other conditions.

The best way to understand the sìhéyuàn is to trace its evolution from simpler forms. We begin with the 横長方形住居 (Japanese: yoko chōhōkei jūkyo) pattern, a single-storey, single tou, rectangular building, arranged with its long axis oriented east-west, a south-facing facade with large openings to admit as much of the available southern sun as possible, and a completely blind northern wall to protect against winter cold. Most examples of the yoko chōhōkei jūkyo are divided into three or more bays, with one primary central ‘living’ bay, and the remaining bays, typically for sleeping, symmetrically arranged to its left and right. This arrangement as a whole is called a 堂屋 tángwū or ‘hall’; the prototypical three-bay tángwū is called the 一明二暗 yī míng èr àn, literally ‘one light two dark’. In many cases, the whole site of the dwelling is walled, with the building situated at the northern part of the resulting enclosure; the southern part is left as open space, but this ‘negative’ space is not considered to be a courtyard (院子 yuànzi) proper, because it is weakly formed by the perimeter walls, not by buildings (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1

The prototypical yoko chōhōkei jūkyo form eventually evolved into a more complex arrangement of three tou, arranged in a U shape open to the south, known as the 三合院 sānhéyuàn, which first appeared in the north-east of China before spreading to the other regions.

There are three subtypes of sānhéyuàn. In the first, the three tou are completely independent structures; though these structures clearly define (and mark the first appearance of) the true ‘positive space’ courtyard (院子 yuànzi), and establish a relatively close relationship between the courtyard and the main living area (堂táng), the courtyard in this arrangement still lacks a strong sense of intimacy (Fig. 2).

Fig. 2

This sense of intimacy is only gained when the three tou are unified into a single building, as in the second type of sānhéyuàn, in which the basic east-west oriented yoko chōhōkei jūkyo is extended southward at each end (Fig. 3), eventually forming a fully continuous U around the yuànzi (Fig. 4). This form is often seen in farmhouse dwellings, and the southern side of the yuànzi is left open.

Fig. 3

Fig. 4

The third subtype is similar to the second, the only difference being that the southern side of the yuànzi is fully closed off by extending a wall between the southern ends of the east and west wings (Fig. 5). There are also two-storey examples of this type, more commonly seen in urban settings.

Fig. 5

The step from sānhéyuàn to sìhéyuàn is relatively straightforward: the southern side of the yuànzi is infilled, not with a wall as in the third subtype of sānhéyuàn, but with a fourth tou, thus forming a courtyard enclosed on all four sides by buildings (Fig. 6). The entry gate (大門 dàmén) to the complex was typically placed on the central axis in the southern wall, though from the Song Dynasty (960-1279) onwards there are also many examples with the dàmén at the south-east corner, as a result of fēngshuǐ considerations.

Fig. 6

Each of the four volumes in the sìhéyuàn is a 堂屋 tángwū in itself, typically the 一明二暗 yī míng èr àn three bay type, with a central 堂 táng flanked on either side by an auxiliary sleeping bay. In effect then, the sìhéyuàn is a rotational quadrupling of the yī míng èr àn around a central courtyard, with the internal facade of each tángwū open to the courtyard, and the ‘back’ walls facing away from the courtyard left blind. In examples where the four tángwū are unified into a single building, the resulting corner rooms are typically ‘servant’ spaces, for activities such as cooking and washing. The tángwū lack internal corridors; the auxiliary bays are accessed from its central táng. Movement between each táng is via a corridor or cloister (廊廊 zǒuláng) ringing the yuànzi; the zǒuláng is protected with a shallow, low roof but is open on the side facing the yuànzi, and serves to unify the whole composition, not only functionally but also by modulating the transition between interior táng and exterior yuànzi (Fig. 7).

Fig. 7

CHINESE VERNACULAR DWELLINGS I

I’ve been looking through the book「中国民居の空間を探る」“Exploring Space in Chinese Residential Architecture” with the unwieldy subtitle「群居類住　ー　光・水・土 中国東南部の住空間」“Communal Living - Light/Water/Earth - Residential Space in Southeast China”, by 茂木計一郎 (Mogi Keiichiro) et al., published by 建築資料研究社 “Architectural Resource and Research Corporation”, 1991, 247 pages.

The book presents the results of research trips taken by a group from Tokyo University of the Arts in the 1980s, and is a fantastically detailed study of a variety of Chinese vernacular residential building types, including the famous tulou (土樓, literally ‘earthen structure’) fortified communal dwellings of Fujian province.

Bird’s eye view of a group of tulou.

Interior courtyard and cantilevered balconies of a tulou.

Facade of a tulou. The massive earthen walls taper as they rise and slope inwards for stability. Note also the fortified elements: blind lower storeys and a stone-reinforced entrance.

The book is a great resource for anyone interested in the subject, even for those who don’t read Japanese; it is informative and pleasurable enough just to look at the huge number of photographs and floor plans, street plans, diagrams, sections, cutaways, and detail drawings, all beautifully and finely drawn. It is also a valuable resource in that it is safe to assume that many, if not most, of the buildings and streetscapes documented have since been demolished, given the immense economic development experienced by the region in the decades since the book’s publication.

Something that will immediately jump out at any reader who is far more familiar with Japanese architecture is the Chinese predilection for symmetry in plan and elevation, even in relatively modest residential buildings. The Japanese, in contrast, seem to have an innate dislike of too much symmetry, and will rarely miss a chance to ‘sabotage’ it in one way or another, even in formal religious buildings.