the same time, Filipinos continue to enjoy reinterpreting regional styles. One favorite is the Mediterranean, with its roofs of curved tiles, cheerful stucco walls, iron grilles, and decorated tiles. Another is the Japanese: Sliding shoji screens, that may have inspired the ancient sliding shell lattice windows Filipinos grew up with, have returned. Then there are those tiny gardens that bring the outdoors into a Japanese-style interior. And the thick mats for sitting or sleeping on that recall the Filipino's own habits. Lately, a style that borrows elements of Balinese architecture has become popular. Pavilions, with square stone columns and hipped thatch roofs emerging from limpid pools, now appear in private gardens; and holiday homes in lumbung or rice granary form and shape are not uncommon.
Postmodernist Style has not been totally ignored either. Postmodernism began as a critique of the International Style's supposed indifference to ornament and context. But since the fascination with historic styles never died out locally—even during the International Style's high noon in the '50s-'80s—local architects have easily adopted, without apology, some postmodernist traits, such as the casual reinterpretation of previous styles.
Other Filipino houses are extremely personal statements. Their owners are not trained architects but simply people who have decided to design their own abodes. They literally dirty their hands with cement and paint, creating designs as they go along. They may rescue worn-out banisters, paint them in vivid colors, and install them on a brick wall decorated with broken pieces of glass and porcelain. Thanks to their keen sense of style, potential kitsch becomes delightful bricolage. Their one-of-a-kind houses reflect the Filipino culture's tolerance for the unconventional.
In this book, we showcase contemporary tropical style in the Philippines in all its manifestations. Variety is key: in reflecting the country's multifarious traditions and the diversity of its individuals, the houses featured are all fascinating examples of Filipino ingenuity and imagination: Enjoy.
asian fusions & cross currents
There is a growing body of Philippine architecture that is defined by the opening up of buildings to more light and air, an appreciation of natural indigenous materials, and the use of tropical craft techniques and Asian embellishment—all designed to reflect the "modern" Filipino lifestyle. This "fusion-style" probably began to manifest itself in the late 1960s when a nationalist movement in culture and the arts influenced architecture: Spanish-era colonial buildings were re-discovered and restored. Also at this time, orientalism of a local kind cropped up in the revival of interest in Philippine motifs (specifically from the Islamic regions of the country). The result was a type of Creole architecture that combined an inside/outside lifestyle with living areas connected to gardens by a lanai (a term of Hawalian origin), terrace, or verandah (depending on the overall motif: Spanish Mediterranean or California-sprawl).
In the 1980s, affluent Filipinos discovered the pleasures of traveling within Southeast Asia. Thailand became a much-visited destination and Baan Thai motifs started to appear in Philinppine homes as a form of interior embellishment. Bali then became popular, and a "Bali-esque" or "Baan-esque" style emerged in Filipino houses, initially replicating Balinese courtyards and gardens, then eventually the pavilion design of resorts in both Thailand and Bali Wood was layered over concrete, tile over metal roof, and natural textures over smooth machined finishes. The outside was invited in and the ubiquitous Balinese or Thai garden lamp replaced the Japanese stone garden lamp of the '60s. Parallel to these developments, architects such as the Manosa brothers and Gabby Formoso continued to develop an indigenous style That style sought to go beyond the superficial use of native materials (even though their experiments with coconut and local woods were commendable in themselves) to create a particularly Filipino style that made extensive use of light and space.
This emerging genre is still defining itself. Most of the newer generation of Filipino architects have either come from extensive work or study stints overseas. They are absorbing and integrating many of the pervading international trends into their still-evolving worK in the Philippines. Houses appear lighter and airier; there is a greater use of natural local materials, such as native slates, limestone, and sand stone: and there is more variety in the textures of wood, bamboo in-finishes, and embellishment. Finally, there is a rediscovery of craft techniques in wood joinery and stonework that traces its development to the first millennium buildings in these islands.
All of these tropical-style elements are brought together in a design program that reflects the "modern" Filipino lifestyle: one that is a product of a globalized, even westernized outlook, yet is increasingly appreciative of its deep cultural roots and the richness of its design heritage. It is an evolving style with a thousand years of tradition.
——by Paulo Alcazaren
Jaime Zobel Hilltop Guesthouse
hilltop eyrie in mindoro
Puerto Galera, Mindoro, is a laid-back beach resort off the southern coast of Luzon. The town has an ever increasing number of resorts, diving operators, expat residents, and folk-art collectors of Mangyan weavings and crafts. To the far east of the resort areas are Jaime and Bea Zobel's two guest houses, designed by architect Noel Saratan. Don Jaime Zobel de Ayala, industrialist-developer, civic leader, and diplomat, arts-patron and art-photographer, specified "something very rustic, using local materials only" for these two hybrid houses. Both draw on Japanese inspiration and proportions, and make extensive use of capiz shell, green slate stone, and cogon grass for thick roof thatching.
In 1996 Saratan conjured a unique hilltop aerie with a spiral staircase leading to a Zen garden. Set within the confines of the Ponderosa Golf Course above Puerto Galera, this 160-sq-m masterwork was inspired by Japanese Zen gardens. Buffeted by the wind at 400 meters above sea level, it has spectacular views in three directions (see right). Set on a 2,000-sq-m plot, but on a 45-degree slope, it is essentially a two-story babay kubo standing nimbly on four-story concrete piling posts sunk two meters into the slope. Cubic in shape, it is topped by a thick cogon roof. Its most celebrated feature is the magnificent stone staircase that spirals down (two circles) to a white-pebbled Zen garden at the base. One crosses to the house itself over a bridge posted with six thick yakal trunks. Inside, bamboo pole ceilings hover above walls clad in woven bamboo, and black and brown Mangyan nito vine weavings. Japanese slatted wooden screens and Philippine latticed windows of capiz shell add to the overall textural symmetry. The linear aesthetic is Japanese, while the earth-brown tones are very Filipino.
The stunning stone staircase (left) spirals down to a white-pebbled Zen garden at the base; set with candles in the early evening, it takes on a magical air. The house walls (above and right) are clad in a skin of interwoven bamboo and the entrance resembles that of a Japanese temple; the structural posts are made from shale rock found in Mindoro. At the bottom of the spiral staircase is a granite water fountain (previous page) by Mexico-based Filipino artist Eduardo Olbes.
Inside (left and below), Saratan's eyrie house impresses with its thoroughly native Philippine symphony of rustic materials.