When I ask Chiang Le-ching how she got involved in public infrastructure, she goes back to events that took place shortly after she graduated from university more than 30 years ago.

After graduating from the Department of Architecture at Tunghai University, Chiang joined the team of an older Tunghai alumnus and took part in the revolutionary “Lixiang Guo” (“Ideal Land”) community regeneration project, as well as the design of Corbusier Plaza, the centerpiece of Tunghai Arts Street. Both these projects had a “public” aspect in that they provided some land for public use, thereby planting a seed in Chiang’s mind.

The opportunity to get her work noticed came with the renovation of some idle warehouses behind Taichung Station, now known as Art Stock 20, which was the first public infrastructure project that she worked on. With inadequate resources, the project team enlisted the power of the people, and through collective discussion involving a broad range of stakeholders, Art Stock 20 was turned into the kind of cultural and creative arts space that everyone desired.

The 1999 Jiji Earthquake was another turning point in Chiang’s life. She joined a team of students and faculty from the Department of Architecture at Tunghai University devoted to school reconstruction in mountain areas, designing the new Tannan Primary School in Nantou County’s Xinyi Township, into which she incorporated cultural concepts from the traditional homes of the Bunun indigenous people. This became the focal point of hope in the post-earthquake reconstruction period and launched the “New Schools Movement” in Taiwan.

While describing the process of her gradual immersion in public infrastructure work, Chiang opines that the best architecture has never been the product of one person’s arbitrary decisions. The ideal of “designing with ordinary people in mind” has always resonated with her.

Beitun Social Housing

Walkways connect the second and fifth floors of the Beitun Social Housing project, creating a semi-open public space ten meters high. The floor is lined with rubber in a patchwork of colors. This is a place for residents to relax and interact.

 

Chiang Le-ching pays special attention to creating opportunities for “encounters” within the spaces she designs.

The livability formula

About five minutes’ walk from Taiyuan Station in Tai­chung’s Beitun District, you will see two ten-story buildings that are white with intermittent bands of grass green: This is the Beitun Social Housing project. Back in the days before the Taiwan Provincial Government was downsized, the site was part of a residential area for employees of the information bureau. Today it has been transformed into public housing that puts into practice the right to adequate and affordable homes, with units that are only available for rent, not for purchase, and with priority given to disadvantaged people.

Chiang says: “In fact I have always been nostalgic for the neighborly interpersonal relations and pleasant atmosphere that characterized communities built for government employees and military dependents back in the day.” She incorporated this nostalgia into her blueprints, preserving the community’s original street pattern. The public housing is divided into two buildings, independent from each other but connected by walkways. “There are about ten households on each floor, which is the ideal number.” Chiang explains that studies have shown that this is the most appropriate scale for neighbors to get to know each other. When there are more than ten households, people are much more likely to remain strangers.

The wide walkways connecting the buildings have been placed on the second and fifth floors, forming a semi-open atrium between them nearly ten meters in height. The floor is lined with rubber so that elderly ­people and children can safely walk and play there, while a bold patchwork of colors—yellow, orange, blue, and green—has been employed to create visual focal points and give the space a lively atmosphere. The walkways are bordered by arrays of metal slats rather than by walls, an idea that draws on the bamboo fencing in old government employees’ and military dependents’ communities. But Chiang didn’t want the colors to be too monotonous, so at the suggestion of an artist friend she adopted a mixed color scheme with brown, orange-­gold, and silver, creating a rhythmic pattern.

Chiang describes this public space as a theater, where everyone can find the most suitable niche for themselves. “The space can meet multiple needs, so nobody will get bored.” On the top floor of each building there is a collective residence that breaks down the pattern of separate homes. There are five studio apartments with their own bathrooms but shared living room, dining room, and kitchen, making this a place suitable for people who like to interact and share with others or for intergenerational co-housing. It is an expression of the designer’s social ideas and a scenario for future lifestyles. 

The government employees’ community that previously stood on the site was built in 1963, and the mango, longan, lychee, and starfruit trees planted back then had grown to be three or four stories in height. The architect couldn’t bear to cut them down, so as far as possible she had them moved to the edges of the site and pulled the buildings back to give the old trees room to stretch out their branches. Good ventilation and good natural lighting are essential in residential buildings, and the airflows facilitated by the wide space between the two structures provide cool air 24 hours a day.

The architect made sure to provide each apartment with exterior windows to enable access to natural light all year round. Everyone has the right to daylight.

Apartment buildings are like towns or villages, playing host to people from all walks of life. “I’m best suited to designing for the common people,” says Chiang. For the Bei­tun Social Housing project, she wielded her design magic to imagine multiple diverse possibilities for “livability.”

This wooden footbridge over the Lyu-Chuan Canal links together multiple possibilities of urban life.

Lyu-Chuan Book Bridge 

Not just a bridge

When you turn into the back streets of busy Jianguo Road in Taichung’s South District, your senses are bathed in the sounds of flowing water and birdsong, the caress of breezes, and the sight of greenery. In the distance, spanning the Lyu-­Chuan Canal, there is a wooden pedestrian bridge with a hexagonal structure. This is a new element added to the local scenery by Taichung-­born-­and-­bred ­Chiang Le-ching: the Lyu-­Chuan Book Bridge. 

To architects, a bridge is not just a structure, it is a liminal or transitional space, a communications channel, a link, a place to create opportunities for all kinds of encounters. ­Chiang, who describes herself as a street architect, says that she was a child who grew up on the streets and that she likes roads and the semi-open spaces of covered sidewalks where you can meet all kinds of people, explaining that for her it is places like these that are the most fun and exciting.

“Design provides scope for imagination, and structures are like theaters. You have to be able to imagine what kinds of encounters and gatherings will take place in the spaces you design,” she says. How many functions does a bridge have? Crossing over, resting and relaxing, taking photographs, and checking in on social media are only the most basic functions. Her hexagonal bridge design creates a three-dimensional space where one can follow the inter­play of sunlight and shadow in the wooden structure. The archi­tect provided for bookcases to be installed on the bridge as well as seating where people can read. There used to be a bookshop next to the bridge, and the owner would occasionally hold storytelling sessions on it. Chiang Le-ching has also held a concert on the bridge. It can be a market­place, or a space to rest and relax. Chiang says: “‘Life’ is what is real, not a structure, not a sculpture, not an object.”

The Taichung Animal Shelter branch at Houli has been transformed so as to better fulfill its mission as a waystation for homeless creatures.

Taichung Animal Shelter, Houli

The rebuilt Taichung Animal Shelter Houli Park evinces a strong sense of design. It has been called the most beautiful animal shelter in all Taiwan.

Having a separate room for each cat allows felines, who are by nature solitary animals, to freely express themselves.

Encounters with animals and destiny

Taichung Animal Shelter Houli Park (the Houli branch of the Taichung City animal shelter) was completed in 2021 and has received very positive reviews. This now well-known facility is another of Chiang Le-ching’s works. “That a space like this to care for stray dogs and cats can exist in Taiwan is a sign that Taiwanese society has reached a certain level of maturity,” Chiang explains.

The site on which the shelter stands is long and narrow, so Chiang stretched the building out and turned it through 45 degrees to let all of the animals inside enjoy sunshine. Animals have different needs to humans, so Chiang consulted with veterinarians to better understand the habits of shelter animals. Cats are skittish by nature, so dogs and cats must be kept in separate areas. Moreover, the animals’ sense of smell is even keener than their sharp hearing, so ventilation is very important. She put the kennels for adult dogs on the north side of the building and raised the height of the ceiling to facilitate air circulation. Cats are more sensitive to cold, so the cat kennels are on the south side of the shelter, and have highly placed windows for ventilation, which also automatically allow for smoke to escape in the event of fire.

Although dogs are very social, they need their own space too. Therefore the dog kennels are designed for two dogs per unit, with “two bedrooms and one living room.” When a dog wants to be alone, it can enter its own exclusive space. The shared space is for socializing, where canines can interact with their “roommates.” It is also the showcase where people can observe the dogs and interact with them.

Cats prefer to be alone, so there is one cat per “room.” Virtually every cat kennel has a glass exterior window, and the best time to see the cats at their most beautiful is when they are by the windows, seemingly deep in thought. Chiang also carefully inquired about work procedures at the shelter, and provided separate paths for volunteers to do the cleaning and for members of the public to visit the animals, in order to maintain a good image in the eyes of these visitors. ­Chiang says with passion that she arranged things as they are because of the sense of empathy she feels for the animals.

There is also a spacious cat room where visitors can inter­act with cats. With the agreement of shelter staff, a cat that someone is interested in adopting can be brought to the cat room to get to know the prospective owner, while also enabling the staff to assess the suitability of the people involved. The main function of the animal shelter is not to house animals permanently, but to encourage people to adopt stray animals rather than buying from dealers. “It is the introductions to people that animals get after they are sheltered that are most important.” The shelter “provides an opportunity for people to meet the animals which are destined to become their companions,” and this goal is precisely realized in Chiang’s design. 

Animal shelters are spaces where people can meet the animals with whom they have a shared destiny. Many families who have adopted pets from the shelter have left behind images showing their happiness.