It is entirely possible that those who consider themselves well-mannered and considerate towards their fellow humans may well have the rudest remarks reserved for this curious amalgam of plastic, plasterboard, concrete, brick and steel that has been thrust into and upon the old fabric that has served for decades as a legendary place to meet over delicious, inexpensive fare.
Old and young, famous or otherwise, few Malaysians would claim they did not know of this coffee shop, especially when its conjoined twin Theen Chun (AKA as the House of Mirrors) sits just across the narrow lane that divides yet connects the two. And I can think of no other outlet where you may order food from one shop and have it brought over to the other!
But the Greek philosopher Heraclitus once suggested that change is the only constant, and Ipoh is no more immune to change than any other city.
So then, are you expected to reserve judgement in the face of this exercise in modern "brutalist architecture", a genre that is unlikely to be seen again, at least not in bucolic Ipoh?
“Yes,” I say. “Give the more sanguine sophisticates – either Malaysian or foreign - a chance, and this invigorating structure may yet spawn an urban legend that may rival that of Second Concubine Lane just across the street.“
Fresh green saplings and creepers modulate and enliven the otherwise long, almost dreary lanes on either side of Kong Heng: pink brick paving in two sizes offer a sense of peace and tranquility. Nevertheless, traditional and new materials are juxtaposed in the most disconcerting manner. Black painted steel stanchions spring uncompromisingly upward in support of a fire escape and an electrically operated goods hoist.
And when you get to the back of the site, more shocks greet you: transparent plastic sheets roof a grimy apology of a single story structure. The musty roof trusses silhouette darkly and gothically against the sky, as does an ancient tree that stands defiantly against time. Pristine white local limestone blocks line the floor of the open terrace, and you get the impression that the architect had intentions of milking the maximum drama out of this pocket of a renovation.
But wait a minute: you cannot reasonably say that, for this apparent effrontery has its counterpoint in the most carefully proportioned structures and unbounded spatial flows that make up the grounds. In the same vein, the partially enclosed lounge with its attendant restrooms continue these surprising, rhythmic dances under the canopy of a majestic tree.
When you retrace your steps and gingerly negotiate the steel staircase enclosed in lace-like skins to the first floor, you come face to face with recycled louvre doors that open onto a cage-like dormitory that sleeps six. By now, you have begun to expect the unexpected, for there appears to be no privacy afforded to these sleeping quarters. Nor adequate shelter from tropical sun and wind-driven rain.
“This can't be real,” you mutter sotto voce to yourself, as if you feared being overheard and jailed for being blunt-speaking. “But at least the eight air-conditioned rooms with attached bathrooms, shoehorned into the first floor of the old structure seem safe enough,” you console yourself.
Daring to explore further, you go up another floor and find yourself oddly relieved to find an old-fashioned tiled roof over a wall-less meeting hall with waist high steel netting to stop you falling over the edge. It is only when you step onto the original second floor of old Kong Heng that you get thrown off kilter all over again, for tucked neatly into the majestic roof trusses are two glass and metal bedrooms!
Trying your best to recover from this totally unexpected use of existing supports, you peer out one of the rickety timber shutters to spy - across the street - good old Second Concubine Lane. And the strangely calming hustle and bustle on Leech Street (now Jalan Bandar Timah) two floors below.
Much later, when you have recovered from the surreal experiences, you learn that the disused furniture warehouse next door sports a steel structure. And realize that the architect of the new work was only extending the use of that language of forms. To that end, she (?) has been expressing herself intelligently and even wittily. (That warehouse also figures prominently in future plans for Sekeping Kong Heng)
James Stirling's brick, concrete, steel and glass complex for the engineering building, Leicester University (completed 1963) was once thought an example of “architecture as high art”. Perhaps a little of that spirit may be discerned here, even if the layperson - who knows what pleases him or her - vows never to step foot onto the grounds.
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