An experimental life
Originally used as housing for National Taiwan University faculty, the building that would become the Living Lab had long since fallen into disrepair by the time Chiu was commissioned to renovate it into a space in which the new tenant's children could grow up.
A one-story Japanese-style structure surrounded by green spaces front and back, the Living Lab has instant appeal. Inside, a six-meter-long terrazzo wall creates a cool, refreshing feeling while also reflecting natural light and so alleviating the inadequate lighting common in older Japanese-style homes.
The design team stuck to a straightforward design vocabulary in the home, retaining many of the features of the original house and creating dialogues between old and new elements. For example, they kept the old hinoki-wood window frames, repairing and reassembling them piece by piece using techniques they learned from old carpenters to give the old wood new life. The team also painted some of the wooden beams in the house with red lacquer to give the house a more interesting vertical expression. The interaction between old and new elements at every turn makes it seem almost as if these features are whispering among themselves, wishing one another a good day and becoming acquainted.
“Probably 70% of the materials are recycled,” says Chiu. For example, the skylight in a newly created bathroom is a repurposed sunroof from an old car, and the marble flooring in the dining room is recycled waste marble from Hualien. When the team removed the corrugated metal roof from the original bathroom space, they discovered that sunlight dappled the old-fashioned mosaic-tiled bathtub. “We didn’t need to do anything. Just letting the natural light in created the prettiest effect.” The team was very conscientious about its treatment and presentation of “time” in the renovated space. “Beautiful design doesn’t require spending large amounts of money. By creatively mixing new and old, we polished what was already here until it shone. That’s the point of the design.”
Chiu chose to call his home the Living Lab. When asked what kind of lab it is, he pauses, then says: “I’m exploring how to make our homes meet the needs of our children. The key thing I’m trying to understand is how to live with an old house.”
Chiu hung a tent from a roof beam so his children could “camp” indoors. He also mounted a ladder to the outside wall so the kids could climb onto the roof to look at the stars. The front and back yards allow them to explore the natural world by raising bees and catching crickets, or whatever. The connected design of the interior circulation paths allows them to play hide and seek. “The house is an organism,” says Chiu, one that is capable of continually evolving and adapting to its users’ needs.
Explaining the Living Lab’s design concept, Chiu has written that we yearn for the sky and the earth even when we’re living in cities. Chiu has managed to realize this desire in pricey Taipei, where it is usually nearly unobtainable. The sun was dazzling on the day we visited, shining through the leaves to dapple the old-fashioned tiled bathtub and making us want to stop time to enjoy the moment. Chiu later invited us to climb onto the roof. Surrounded by tall apartment buildings, the single-story Living Lab felt almost like a stage, the visual focus of the whole block.
Of course, living in an old house isn’t all romance—the grass and trees need tending, and the kids have to learn to coexist with the mosquitoes. There are also leaks. “The house turned into a waterfall during the downpour we had a couple of days ago.” The kids set out bottles and pots to catch the water. “But it’s good,” says Chiu. “It makes life an adventure and teaches the kids to respond to circumstances. For example, one might write a story about a leaky house. It makes life more interesting.”
The design team behind the Living Lab strove to retain the old home’s character, mixing new and old elements throughout the house.