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TEXT Written
by Athanasios Tsakonas revised by Tay Kheng Soon LINKS AKI-CAMP 3, 31 Aug - 6 Sep at Kem Eco Mawai, Johore, Malaysia
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2003 The Kem Eco Mawai, designed by local architect Tay Kheng Soon, can be viewed as a pro-active participant in the above discourse and contributes to the wider architectural consensus on regionalism. Kheng Soon has both a grounding and extensive practice in the Malayan landscape, and is an important contributor to Singapore's search for a built and cultural identity. An interview with Kheng Soon on the origins and intent of the camp reveals a deeper dialogue on architectural education and enables us to imagine and anticipate the socio-cultural environment its protagonists will inevitably construct. How did the idea of an eco-camp, or "Kem Eco", first come to you or was it an idea that was generated through a process of time? Was your background in practicing Architecture, esp. in Singapore part of the catalyst? Practicing architecture in an urban environment could not really satisfy the basic affinities developed whilst growing up with the outdoors. Ideas formed in childhood, lie deep within until the time is ripe for them to emerge. I count myself fortunate in being able to recognise many of these ideas and develop them in later projects, such as The Tropical City Concept expressed in the proposed Kampong Bugis DGP. As is often the case though, one's professional life passes through stages and sometimes we never reach the point of departure unique to us all. Drawing inspiration from admirable works and ideas, this process goes on for a good part of our working lives, thereafter, if our idealism is still intact, we begin to question this very same process. More abiding issues take precedent in our thinking, and that is when our designs become "real". Our society, the environment, human needs, heritage etc. ennobles us to find real answers in our work. The Eco Camp idea was a natural offshoot of the idea of combining buildings with tropical nature. In this case it was building with and being in nature. The camp started out as a personal retreat/fish farm and then developed into its present ecological retreat. Can you elaborate on this transformation? The fish farm was an earlier attempt at finding an economically viable way of returning to nature, but due to the site being part swamp, it was decided to build a longhouse there instead. This was the genesis of the project. To what extent was the camp "designed" and built by the Orang Asli? How did they approach the construction process and were you yourself actively engaged in this process? Did you need to adapt your design methodology to suit their labour or did they adapt to suit your design intent - or was it mutual synergy between both parties? I had met Kamal, chief of an Orang Asli group on several expeditions into the deep forest of the Endau-Rompin area. On one such trip, the speed and efficiency in which they constructed a longhouse from virgin timber left a deep impression. Not only did they build the longhouse and all the ancillary buildings at Mawai, they now reside in-camp, providing maintenance and support services and running some of the eco programs. Firm friends and working colleagues. My free-hand design extended to the overall geometry and dimensions of the structure, roof pitch and extent of overhangs. The Asli then built intuitively, adjusting to the site conditions. For instance, when underground impediments were encountered, the structural grid was adjusted by adapting the bed spacings between the new column positions. Diagonal struts indicated in sections were replaced with further props instead. Interestingly, the Asli differentiated between "tiang" or column and "tongkat" prop. The tiang, serving both vertical support and cross-bracing, were driven to a depth of up to 7 meters, whereas tongkat, supported on cross-pieces resting on the ground, could be adjusted for uneven settlement in time. At a signal, 6 or more Asli would climb onto the tiang held vertically by two temporary struts whilst the combined weight of the human pile drivers jumping in unison gained greater force. The present structure was a total re-building of the original erected 5 years earlier. The original thatch roofing, made from the long leaves of the "attap" palm (nipah ruticans) bent over 1200mm lengths of "pinang" palm (areca catechu) ribs, and stitched together with slit rattan skin, are normally spaced 100mm apart, for longevity and water tightness. In economising, the attap panels were installed at 150mm spacing and the laying of fish net over the thatch to prevent up-lift was omitted. This proved disastrous as the thatch leaves began tearing due to wind action and leaks developed. Over time, water penetrated the end-grain of the tiang and rot set in. The tiang had also not been oiled with used gear-oil to suppress carpenter bee borings and dry rot fungal attack. Within 24 months, with rapid deterioration, the original structure was uninhabitable and total rebuilding necessary. Looking back, the Asli's notion of permanence differs significantly from ours. Basically nomadic, they built only for immediate use. Rebuilding commenced early 2002, with an entirely new structure built over the existing, progressively utilising what remained as staging. The original recycled "kempas" (koompassia malaccensis) floorboards withstood the punishment of the past and were recycled with replacement of only a few rotted planks. Similarly, the kitchen and toilet blocks were rebuilt.
Instead of attap thatch, the roofing was changed to green "onjulin",
a flexible, corrugated, bituminous, fibre reinforced sheeting, which
though proving economical and waterproof, was hot. To deal with the
roof's emanating heat, high-level ventilator openings were incorporated
along with the spraying of a fine mist of water over the rooftop when
temperatures climbed. Aside from the small electrical pump to facilitate
the spraying, and the refrigeration to the kitchen, no other electrical
system was involved. All illumination was by way of kerosene, gas
or carbide lamps, adding to the nature ambience. Everyone learns to
appreciate the darkness, and the more subtle aspects of light and
shadow. The mystery of the night is preserved, not dispelled by too
much light made unconscious by the urbanity of our lives. What I learnt through the development process was our rigid preoccupation with straight-line geometry and right angles. In Kem Eco, without the rigidity of preconception, the aesthetic developed in its own right – similarity of materials engage in a dialogue of forms. With the all-encompassing natural surroundings, the camp seems to fit snuggly, of its place. Does this mean that because of the urban environment the discourse on architecture takes on the kind of stridency and stylisation it does? I believe that to an extent, there is an underlying competitive aspect in urban life that we have come to accept and that it colours everything we think and do. Architectural discourse is not exempt. Commodification, as a condition of contemporary life, is challenged by the ecological discourse that is posed by places like Kem Eco, which offer an alternative perspective on what is really at stake and what is possible. As an example of indigenous "architecture" would you consider the development of the Kem Eco as an understanding of indigenous readings of the landscape and their interpretation into built form and if so, how would you relate this to the debate on architectural education in Singapore? Indigenous architecture like everything else has been appropriated into contemporary consumer culture – a representation of yet another 'thing' to be deployed, used or incorporated. Truly indigenous architecture is unselfconscious. The Orang Asli are not unaware of formal order. They often use the word "chantik", beautiful, in describing the clarity and appropriateness of a structure they are building. The relationship to the natural landscape is commented upon not in a stylistic manner but as a factual reading of it in the physical and use context. It is achieved in terms of respectful appropriateness encapsulated in their concept of "chantik". With respect to architectural education, it is very difficult for anyone steeped in commodified values to appreciate things with innocence and thus clarity. For those of us in the urban world, there seems to be an expectation-driven anxiety that conceals itself behind the question of design. Consequently, for most professionals and students alike, learning to see with clarity is difficult. Teaching is therefore no less difficult unless the anxieties of students are deliberately addressed. Paradoxically, they resist direct emulation but they are also not receptive to what is really 'real', leading to a compounding of misperceptions. Design education would therefore have to inveigle students into learning by situationalising their natural narcissistic tendencies caused by the powerlessness of their lives. I have written on this subject in relation to architectural education. The paper will soon be available for those interested in the pedagogy and epistemology of design learning on my website. The camp could be viewed through the lenses of environmentalism, sustainability, and community involvement. How would you describe the camp's development in these terms? The camp utilises sustainable and recycled material wherever possible. The structural system is harvested small-diameter green wood found in the swamp forest nearby, and extracted through considered selective-cutting. This in turn induces rapid renewal as sunlight is now able to penetrate to the forest floor where the trees once stood. Quantity is kept to a minimum. Floor boards are salvaged planks obtained from a nearby timber yard. All organic waste is recycled as animal feed and earthworm culture have been introduced. Plastics containers are recycled to germinate seeds for reforestation. Wastewater is bio-digested in aerobic and anaerobic tanks and the effluent cycled into ponds where water plants take up the nutrient-rich water before release into the Sedili river. Socially, there is an ongoing move to involve the local community into the camp's activities, such as the cook, several helpers, and the boat man. A local farmer sells fruits to the camp and uses the farm for prawn and fish rearing which we ourselves have ceased. The relationship between the camp and its visitors is constantly developing, with numerous ecological programs available. Kem Eco is now a feature on the education calendar of many Singapore schools as well as hosting Malaysian youth groups. ECO is from the Greek Oki's. " A house", and camp implies alternative lifestyle or temporary and informal. How would you see the camp's role as a retreat from the structured "wilderness" of Singapore? Would its intended reading vary according to the background and/or experience of the visitor? The available feedback from our visitors, of whom all are urban dwellers, is that their experience is in stark contrast to their daily rituals. Unfiltered by walls or windows, the sights and sounds of birds, primates, insects, reptiles and other animals of the forest punctuate the serenity of the surrounds and leave an indelible mark. Even the mosquitoes are surprisingly few due to the natural acidity of the swamp water. Do you believe that such a camp could be built in Singapore? Would it have been possible to establish such a camp on say Pulau Ubin or combined with an "outward bound" or national service experience? It is possible, but both land costs and Authority regulations must be sympathetic to achieve the back-to-basics approach. What will be missing, however, will be the surrounding wild life, with no elephant tracks, tiger pug marks or tapir spoor. How would you describe Kem Eco's positioning within the natural habitat. Kem Eco is situated over a riverside flood plain, profuse with various flowering and fragrant shrubs and fringed by pandanus and wild mangosteen, which provide food for monkeys and hornbills. Not a single mature tree was felled in its development, ensuring an intact natural habitat. Previously, according to old maps, there was a sprinkling of a rubber plantation, replaced later with oil palm. These, we removed and trunks allowed to naturally decompose when we built the farm. The natural watercourses were all left intact, with the main river fronting the site, ebbing and flowing in a leisurely manner as it did over the eons. We are inspired by the descriptions of the area by botanist E.J.H Corner in his book "Swamp Forests of Singapore and South Johore" which records his research and visits to Mawai between 1929 and 1956. "Corner's" fig tree still stands on the opposite bank of the river where he took off on his river expeditions. The other day I saw a family of river-otters squealing and chirping, happily together, foraging for prawn and fish trapped in pools and undergrowth. They came to the very edge of the kitchen and longhouse totally confident and unafraid of our presence. I felt privileged to be their witness. APPENDIX North of Kota Tinggi, within the extensive mangrove
forests along the Sedeli River, the Mawai Eco Camp was built in 1998
by the Orang Asli (indigenous inhabitants from Endau, Johor). Built
over a fresh water swamp, the camp's lightweight timber pavilions
are situated delicately over the existing natural environment, and
are of entirely locally sourced materials from the same eco-system
that it now cohabits. The camp offers visitors a retreat into the
outdoors and an atmosphere in which to appreciate nature. |
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