This past summer I happened to find one enormous change among several university campuses I visited in Taipei—there is construction work going on where there used to be flat land. The gigantic scaffolds blocked the view, and the sight of cluttered machinery caused me to feel stressed and fidgety.
Von and I would often read Virginia Lee Burton’s The Little House written in 1942. The little house lived in the countryside full of daisies and dancing apple trees. The expanse of land enabled it to experience the beauty of day and night and change of four seasons. However, with urbanization, all kinds of buildings and public transportation were erected around the little house, and it could no longer see anything or feel the change of nature. In the end, the little house was moved back to the country. This looks like a solution. Yet, if we think about the ending from a 21st-century perspective, how many rural areas do we still have left?
When can we realize that architecture should meet humans’ mental and physical needs instead of our being the slaves of buildings and the profit they bring? And an expansive view actually matters more than anything else in mankind’s long-term well being?