Most architects know the famous photographs of the Katsura Palace at Kyoto in Japan and have marvelled at the subtle treatment of the ground plane: the apparently casual but carefully placed stepping-stones in the grass, the studied juxtaposition of semi-random slabs which makes up the nonetheless strictly rectangular path to the entrance, the yet more rectangular steps up to the front door, and the final, perfectly cut, smooth stone block of the doorstep leading on to the wooden platform of the interior. The sequence of thresholds -starting earlier with the garden gate and ending later at the hearth — is accompanied by a series of transitions from edited or remade nature to the full artifice of culture; from the raw to the cooked. I had assumed that this was unique to Japan until a recent visit to Korea, where I was shown traditional buildings ranging from palaces to humble farmhouses. Nothing quite caught the refinement of Katsura but much that a Westerner admires in that Japanese example was evidently part of a common tradition, doubtless connected with climate, with customs, and with materials and craftsmanship. Down the centuries Korea was the bridge between Japan and imperial China, so it shares cultural values with both, but only Korean architecture has had underfloor heating since the later stone age.
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