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Korea Herald
13-05-2025
- General
- Korea Herald
Pursuing living tradition: Architect Daniel Tandler on reimagining hanok tradition
Korean German architect builds on essence of 'hanok' with modern tools, old hands For Korean German architect Daniel Tandler, understanding the essence of "hanok" is conducive not only to good design, but also to grasping the broader values embedded in Korean life. Over the past decade, Tandler has immersed himself in studying, designing and living with hanok — traditional Korean houses known for their harmony with nature, wooden joinery, "ondol" underfloor heating and open spatial flow. Through his Seoul-based practice, the Urbandetail Architecture co-founder and principal approaches hanok not as a static historical artifact, but as a living form of architecture capable of evolving with time, culture and technological progress. "The hanok may never become fully mainstream again, but it remains an essential part of our architectural culture. We're past worrying about whether the hanok will survive; the question now is where it's headed," he said in an interview with The Korea Herald on April 25 in Seoul. Tandler sees possibilities for many paths forward. These ideas are reflected in his firm's work, which draws on what he sees as the core elements of hanok — "maru" (open wooden floors), "daecheong" (main halls) and courtyards, which were shaped by Korea's climate and way of life. One such example is SeoHeeJae, erected in 2021 and widely considered one of the most faithful reinterpretations of traditional hanok design. The house was honored as the Excellent Hanok of the Year by the Seoul Metropolitan Government. More recently, Jeongdaeunjip — another project by Urbandetail — earned top recognition at the 2023 Korean National Hanok Awards, as well as Excellent Hanok of the Year once again. While these hanok are located in Eunpyeong Hanok Village, a dedicated area for hanok in Seoul, not all hanok are built from the ground up. In many cases, hanok are created through renovation — either by preserving an existing hanok's original form or by transforming another structure into one. Both approaches require careful and often extensive remodeling. Binyeonjae, for instance, is a hybrid residence originally constructed in 2002, blending a reinforced concrete structure on the first floor with a traditional wooden hanok frame on the second. Urbandetail undertook a major renovation and extension of the house. The design was guided by the hanok principle of "chagyeong," or 'borrowed scenery,' with the intent to create a continuous visual and spatial flow between the interior and surrounding nature. 'We planned it so that wherever you are in the house, you feel this seamless connection between inside and out,' Tandler explained. Solsame House is Tandler's personal experiment in blending his favorite hanok concepts into a remodeled home, with elements like an internal courtyard, stone flooring, glass ceilings and layers of "hanji" -- paper made from the mulberry tree -- and lacquer flooring, demonstrating how hanok values can inform modern space-making. 'For Solsame House, I applied many elements of hanok and reinterpreted its spatial logic,' he said. In pursuing this threefold approach to hanok architecture, one area Tandler emphasizes is the value of craftsmanship. Preserving craftsmanship, Tandler said, is vital in Korea, where much of the hanok tradition was lost in the modernization process. In Germany, he noted, traditional architecture evolved naturally into modern forms, with carpenters adapting over time and continuing their craft. But Korea's modernization came abruptly under Japanese colonial rule, following initial resistance. Modern elements were introduced from outside, not as part of an organic cultural evolution. 'The number of skilled artisans is dwindling. Roof tilers are in their 60s and 70s. Some crafts like wallpapering are passed on through mother-daughter teams, but it's fragile,' he said. "I believe that the very existence of traditional craftsmanship itself is a crucial cultural asset. But I sometimes worry that if we keep pushing hanok solely in the direction of development and innovation, we might end up losing that element. That's why, at our firm, when we work on reinterpretations of traditional architecture within a modern context. We try — whenever possible — to collaborate directly with master craftsmen. That's something we value deeply," he added. Raised and educated in Germany, Tandler first encountered hanok during a visit to his aunt's house in Gwangju while studying economics at Yonsei University. 'I remember thinking: Why are these homes disappearing?' That question eventually steered him away from economics and toward architecture. Though he studied economics at the University of Goettingen in central Germany and interned at the Samsung Economic Research Institute, he realized the field did not suit him. Instead, his interest in hanok grew. He read books by master carpenter Shin Young-hoon and took hanok tours during trips to Korea. He later enrolled in architecture at RWTH Aachen University in Germany's far west and trained under architect Cho Jung-goo at guga Urban Architecture. In 2014, he co-founded Urbandetail with architect Choi Ji-hee. Tandler believes the strength of traditional Korean architecture lies in its spatial harmony — its balance between openness and enclosure, between nature and structure. 'I hope more architects explore how to adapt this flexibility meaningfully in modern design,' he said. He also sees promise in the growing interest among younger generations in Korea's traditional culture — including hanok. 'When it comes to our identity, I believe traditional elements play a vital role,' he said. 'By engaging with them, we gain deeper insight into who we are and how we differ from others. That's why it's essential to preserve — and evolve — our traditions.' Renewed interest in hanok, or traditional Korean houses, is palpable today, demonstrated by the growing number of hanok cultural facilities, cafes, accommodations and homes. While some new hanok architecture espouses the traditional form dating from the Joseon era, hanok buildings that have been adapted to contemporary conditions and lifestyles are also gaining ground. In this series, entitled 'Evolving Hanok,' The Korea Herald explores how hanok continue to evolve to stay relevant to current milieus. — Ed. gypark@
Korea Herald
09-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Korea Herald
Interview: Cultivation of connection
How Buddhist nun, Swiss photographer and Korean German writer bridged cultures through passion for temple cuisine In a quiet residential corner of Jongno, Seoul, the Swiss Embassy building rises like an architectural bridge between cultures — a modern wooden structure placed in conversation with traditional Korean hanok design. It is a deliberate confluence of East and West, traditional and modern, one that mirrors the gathering inside of individuals from disparate worlds who sat down for a chat: a star chef Buddhist nun, a Korean German writer, a photographer from Zurich, a publisher from Basel and the Swiss ambassador. The occasion marked the Korean publication of "Jeongkwan Snim — Her Korean Temple Cuisine," a book five years in the making, originally published in German by Swiss publisher Echtzeit in 2023. Timed with the book's release, the exhibition "Soil" opened this week as part of the embassy's program on environmental conservation, exploring the relationship between humans and earth through Ven. Jeong Kwan's temple cuisine. Inside the embassy's meeting room, Jeong Kwan sits composed in her gray robes. There is a quiet certainty in her presence — an internationally recognized master of temple cuisine who remains firmly rooted in monastic practice. "Temple food is the connection that brings physical and mental energy together," she says, her voice measured and deliberate. "It is about maximizing the taste and nutrition of plant-based ingredients with limited seasoning. That is how we grow." Crossing distances The book's journey embodies its subject matter — cultivation across unlikely terrain. What began as a chance encounter between Seelmann and Jeong Kwan at the Swiss National Museum in 2016 gradually transformed into a collaboration crossing continents. "Between Korea and Switzerland lay immense distance," Jeong Kwan says. "Not just physical distance, but cultural. We overcame this through communication — calls, visits, sharing ideas across time zones." Hoo Nam Seelmann left Korea 50 years ago as a nurse before becoming a journalist and philosopher in Europe. "It was truly a cross-cultural undertaking," she says. "I lived between worlds — interviewing Jeong Kwan, then working with the Swiss publishing house, trying to translate not just language but sensibility." She found herself preserving Korean terms like "suhaengja," a practitioner in Buddhism, in the German text, explaining their meaning rather than reaching for imperfect equivalents. "There were days when I couldn't reach her because she was deep in temple life," Seelmann recalls. "Then there were moments of connection — when we held events in Amsterdam and discussed how we should present the recipes as more than instructions, but as windows into temple life." The pandemic disrupted their timeline, stretching what was already a complex project into a five-year journey. Yet this extended gestation feels appropriate for a book concerned with fermentation, patience and gradual transformation. Ambassador Dagmar Schmidt Tartagli, who observed the project from its inception, sees poetry in this timing: "I met Seelmann in Basel before beginning my posting here. Now, as my term ends, we're celebrating this completion. The connections have come full circle." Philosophical tensions Every collaborative process involves negotiation, and this book was no exception. A tension emerged along the way between Jeong Kwan's spiritual vision and commercial necessity. "I never intended to publish a temple cuisine book in Korea," Jeong Kwan admits. "There are already so many of them. I didn't want to add one more." What persuaded her was Seelmann's approach. "Food is a very old tradition with Buddhism behind it," Seelmann explains. "In Europe, few know Korean Buddhism exists. I wanted to create that framework." Publisher Wendelin Hess smiles in acknowledgment. "We needed recipes for the commercial side — books need to sell. But we built around them: interviews, stories, process. It's not just food, but culture, philosophy, personality." This tension resulted in a richer creation: The book balances cooking instructions with deeper contemplation of Buddhist principles and vivid photographs of daily temple life. Photographer's pilgrimage Perhaps the most revealing relationship formed during the project was between Jeong Kwan and Swiss photographer Veronique Hoegger, who moved to Baekyangsa, a temple in Najangsan National Park, south Jeolla Province, for several months to document the Buddhist nun's daily life. "This whole project was only possible because Jeong Kwan seunim (Korean for monk) was open to it — even though she didn't know me," Hoegger says, her eyes occasionally seeking Jeong Kwan's approval. "I had never been to Korea before. I arrived thinking, 'I've traveled a lot, this will be fine.' But the culture was completely unfamiliar to me." Jeong Kwan interjects with gentle firmness: "When photographers come, they often want to immediately capture images. But I wanted her to first learn our ways — rising early, eating together, moving as one." Hoegger nods enthusiastically. "At first, I felt that maybe seunim wasn't really interested in me as a photographer. But I soon realized — she wanted me to become part of the community. That was the most important thing." When asked if she has advice for Hoegger, Jeong Kwan doesn't hesitate: "As we get older, we start learning that real professionalism includes knowing when to let go. Over these years, you've taken in some of this monastic practice. Continue. Care for your health. Let your inner self rest." Hoegger receives this counsel with visible gratitude. "Every time I see you, I learn something new," she responds. "It's like I forget, and need to learn again and again. But truly, I'm grateful." Return and recognition For Jeong Kwan, the path to becoming an unlikely culinary ambassador began when she noticed Korean Buddhism's absence from a Swiss museum exhibition. "I told them: 'Korean Buddhism is not a relic — it's a living heritage. Our 1,700-year-old practices continue in our cooking, our tea, our daily rhythms.'" She hosted an event for 40 guests to experience temple food. The positive reception led to Seelmann's suggestion of creating a book. Initially reluctant, Jeong Kwan was moved by Seelmann's confession that she wished to leave a meaningful cultural legacy after decades abroad. When Jeong Kwan finally held the finished book, she was struck by its aesthetic: "It's so different from Korean books. Not decorative or polished, like a textbook. Just as things are. It feels authentic." Now, with the release of the Korean edition alongside the exhibition, emotion surfaces in the nun's face. "This book wasn't born from material ambition but from a shared spirit," she says. "Like a child born through spiritual connection. It shows that Buddha's teachings continue to create new paths and expand the heart." She gestures toward the photographs being installed in the embassy courtyard — images of her gardens, her hands preparing food, the vessels of fermenting sauces that have matured over decades. "After all these years of monastic life, to witness new connections still forming — it makes my heart dance," she says. moonkihoon@
