SPACE July 2024 (No. 680)
On the 5th of June, Cho Minsuk’s (principal, MASS STUDIES) Serpentine Pavilion titled ‘Archipelagic Void’ was revealed. In January, it was announced that Cho Minsuk had been invited as the first Korean architect of Serpentine Pavilion, and the genesis and development of Archipelagic Void was covered in SPACE No. 676 (Mar. 2024) under the title ‘Architecture and Pavilions by MASS STUDIES’. In this issue, we offer a review of Archipelagic Void—which has received attention for taking a different approach to that of past Serpentine Pavilions.
Serpentine Pavilion 2024, Archipelagic Void
The pavilion is composed of an empty space at the centre, around which five distinct structures are arranged like islands, extending radially. This is the outcome of a delicated analysis of the existing pedestrian network. ©Kim Jeoungeun
Kensington Gardens, which are situated at the west-end of Hyde Park in London, is an apt place to discuss the present relationship between community and space. Originally a private hunting site for Henry VIII and now a public open space, Kensington Gardens is one of the earlier historical cases – along with other parks that were formerly owned by the landed gentry but became public with the development of civic society – that led to the creation of common space in western cities and settlements. In short, they are symbolic sites that demonstrate via their use of space the change from centralised power to democratic society. The Serpentine Pavilion began as a singular event after Zaha Hadid built a temporary tent structure in Kensington Gardens as a pavilion for a fundraising party for the Surpentine Galleries in 2000, and has now become an annual event. As an event that coincided with the turn of the century, the Serpentine Pavilion has been an important source of inspiration for those in the arts bringing together architects and museums to present a range of social and architectural experiments.
Recounting how pavilion architecture has functioned as a means ‘to embody and test architectural manifestoes, emerging technologies, and new socio-cultural conditions’, John Hong (professor, Seoul National University) interpreted Cho Minsuk’s Archipelagic Void as an ‘anti-pavilion’; instead of becoming a reified ‘objet’ like other past pavilions, it builds rapport with new concepts. Using analysis of the site (park) and the previous 22 pavilions as their foundation, the 23rd pavilion, Archipelagic Void, which was opened in June, contemplates contemporary notions of community, public space, and architecture.
Located to the north of the Pavilion is The Library of Unread Books by artist Heman Chong and archivist Renée Staal.
‘Minsuk Cho in Conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist’ held on the 7th of June ©Kim Jeoungeun
Varied Programmes and a Rich Narrative
When I first saw Cho’s Serpentine Pavilion, it was hard to visually capture the entire pavilion in one glimpse as it was hidden between the lush trees. My first impression of Archipelagic Void was not that of an eye-capturing structure taking the spotlight in this landscape garden but a scene of ambiguous boundaries. (In fact, many expressed their doubts concerning the design intention behind the pavilion when the two rendering images were first revealed.) The star-shaped structure that has a gross internal area of 295m2 including the void space is composed of five ‘islands.’ The five structures that spread out from the central void or inner madang like spokes of a wheel are given specific functions such as Gallery, Auditorium, Library, Tea House, and Play Tower as ‘content machines’. When I first saw the rendered images, I did not think much about having names or programmes designated to each ‘island’. Considering the fact that this pavilion is only a temporary structure that will soon be relocated in five months, and the fact that Cho designed these five structures as flexible structures that can be reconfigured into a total of 120 different variations depending on its next location, I did not think it particularly noteworthy that there were specific programmes added to each structure.
But a review that came up after the pavilion’s reveal caught my attention. It said: ‘If the Serpentine Pavilion speaks of the spirit of the times […] Cho’s pavilion is a fascinating resurgence of programme rather than façade or typology as determining architectural principle.’▼1 Being a 5-in-1 pavilion that might even be considered as an 11-in-1 space if one were to include all its in-between spaces, the programmes of the Archipelagic Void provoke mutual dialogue and curiosity. This contrasts with designs of past Serpentine Pavilions that were mostly wide and monotonous spaces with a loosely determined purpose. In response, Cho likened it to the ‘Korean dinner table’ where many things are presented all at once but are selectively picked at according to individual preferences and tastes. In other words, this is an experiment to test if providing a wide selection of choices attracts a wider and more diverse range of visitors and secure a higher number of revisits. Cho seemed to have succeeded in devising a work of multileveled storytelling as he detailed the sources of his inspiration, from regional culture and architecture across Korea and various other countries around the world, all expressed through his pavilions.
The 6-channel sound work ‘The Willow is’ composed by music artist Jang Young-Gyu
can be heard in the Gallery which acts as the pavilion’s main entrance and exit. During the autumn, this music will be replaced by ‘Moonlight’ to create a spatial atmosphere that can only be felt during that season.
The Library of Unread Books was co-planed with artist Heman Chong and archivist Renée Staal. A park that welcomes everyone indiscriminately and a library that invites people of diverse age groups and social positions creates synergetic relationships. Cho explained that this library programme was inspired by the mini libraries that were recently installed in parks in Seoul. While Frederick Law Olmsted, the landscape architect behind New York City’s Central Park, once claimed that his park would act as the antidote to urban pollution, Cho explained that ‘the library will act as a remedy to a city worn out from digital exposure’ and that the archives of these mini libraries that depend on local sponsorship for their growth will serve as an channel to realise the true meaning of ‘participation’.
The Tea House situated at the east of the pavilion reminds one of the Serpentine South building designed by James Grey West which functioned as a teahouse from 1934 to the early 1960s. While people also had tea and coffee in past Serpentine Pavilions, however, it is the first time that the name ‘teahouse’ was designated as a specific space.
The Auditorium at the west is – as its name suggests – the largest facility that accommodates various performances and talks. The Auditorium went through the most alterations from its initial design as it had to be expanded to cater 200 audience members at the request of the organiser.
As the tallest structure of the five ‘islands’, the Play Tower is the Serpentine Pavilion’s first playground installation and has been fitted with an orange net. This 6.9m-tall tower, along with the Auditorium’s pink polycarbonate windows that are reminiscent of Instagram filters, help to lift the serious tenor of the Serpentine Galleries and tints it with a playful sheen.
The pavilion responds to the gentle slope of the site by using a plinth (precast concrete), and the wooden beams on top transform into benches of different heights, and a wooden structure is connected above them.
To the west, is the Auditorium, the largest structure of the five islands. With benches built into its inner walls, the space allows for public gatherings and will feature a programme of performances and talks.
Countless Choices, an Experience that Appeals to the Senses
Hans Ulrich Obrist interpreted Cho’s pavilion as a combination of Korean traditional architecture and international design grammar. Cho’s Serpentine Pavilion uses a plinth (precast concrete) to respond to the site’s gently inclined slope before placing wooden beams that vary as benches of different heights connecting the wooden structure above. While the building method and materials are partially inspired by Korean traditional jeongja and hanok, Cho claims that they are also meant to be reminiscent of Gottfried Semper’s the four elements of architecture and British grain depots.
Another feature of this year’s Serpentine Pavilion is that it provides a multisensory experience. Aside from the Play Tower that invites one to engage in physical activities, natural wood instead of engineering wood was used for the pavilion to heighten the tactile experience. Regarding his reasons for appealing to the senses, Cho explained that while many things since the onset of the digitised world of the 21st century have succumbed to a vision-centred culture, architecture has remained intact as something undownloadable and still requiring all five senses when experiencing it. The origin of this idea can be traced back to a past memory when Cho visited the Serpentine Pavilion co-designed by Álvaro Siza, Eduardo Souto de Moura, and Cecil Balmond in 2005. As it was pouring, the pavilion was filled with the smell of wet earth, and that sensation remained with Cho as an unforgettable memory. When Cho received his request from the Serpentine Pavilion, he turned to what he considered to be the most tactile form of expression—Korean traditional houses. Cho explained that Korean traditional house culture where one walks barefoot when indoors and sleeps while directly touching the ondol floor is thoroughly tactile. Cho also pointed out how a place for sleeping can easily be reprogrammed into a place for eating in said culture.
As the five ‘islands’ with respectively different programmes, sizes, heights, and colours, along with the empty voids in between, form a connection with the central circular madang, the skyscape is framed by the eaves and roof, the individual pavilions’ parallelogram create a skewed perspective, and the void spaces in between interact with the plants in Kensington Gardens harmoniously and produce a continually changing scenery. An especially interesting observation that I made while participating in the various events including the opening ceremony was the way the organisers had combined the podium stage and the audience seats in various ways and allowed the visitors to freely move about the pavilion’s interior and exterior, invited to take up seats and occupy spaces. While seemingly mundane, it felt like I was watching an anthology film presenting various slices of life from a panoramic view.
Cho explains that the 50m2 madang which offers unbounded options houses his long-held dream for an architecture that generates communities: that is, an architectural method that secures an appropriate amount of social distance for simultaneous events to occur spontaneously while also providing a sufficient level of intimacy for new relationships to come about. In line with Obrist’s observation that it a ‘madang replete with invisible stories’, instead of prioritising an eye-catching form, Archipelagic Void focuses on creating a void that holds the potential for an everchanging and creative relationship. As Cho once demonstrated in his Won Buddhism Wonnam Temple (2023), this architectural method of orchestrating relationships resonates with an architecture that opens up innumerable scenarios and thus continues the architectural lineage of MASS STUDIES.
While the architectural achievements of Cho and his firm MASS STUDIES’ will have played a part in their selection, the rising global interest in Korea, in terms of its films, music, technology, and food, could also have propelled Cho to this nomination to take on the world-renowned Serpentine Pavilion. The repercussions for this pavilion remain to be seen, but what is clear is that the attempts made by the Archipelagic Void to pursue invisible architectural possibilities through a thoroughgoing engagement with Korean and international architectural culture will leave a mark in history.
Cho explains that the 50m2 madang offers unbounded options for interaction that generates communities: that is, an architectural method that secures an appropriate amount of social distance for simultaneous events to occur spontaneously while also providing sufficient level of intimacy for new relationships to come about.
1. Tim Abrahams, ‘Minsuk Cho’s 2024 Serpentine Pavilion Stands as a Playful People Connector’, Arhictectural Record, 11 June 2024.
