In Cheongyang, there’s a bridge shaped like the world’s largest chili pepper. In Uiseong, a plaza is designed in the form of garlic, and in Yeonggwang, a bridge is topped with a roof shaped like a dried yellow corvina. Most of these are strikingly literal, commercially driven, and at the same time, deeply mundane.
The provinces are rapidly disappearing. More than half of the population is concentrated in the capital region, while many local areas are on the verge of extinction. In response, various urban regeneration projects are being implemented, but behind them lies a strong focus on tourism. Efforts to highlight the unique charm of each region often end up manifesting as a form of “artificial locality.” Slogans like “the town of ___” or “the home of ___,” along with municipality-created mascots and kitschy symbolic sculptures, now fill public spaces across the country.
This project does not mock such artificial locality and kitsch, which have become strategies for regional survival. Instead, it seeks to recognize them as expressions of practical vitality that keep the region running—and to translate that vitality into architecture.
The site for the project is Yeongdeok Station on the Donghae Line in Gyeongsangbuk-do. The design begins with the question: how can the local symbolism of the snow crab (daege) be incorporated into a railway station? The building is composed simply of two offset rectangular volumes—one for the station hall and one for the platform—arranged in stepped tiers to follow the sloped terrain. These are wrapped under a single, large sloped roof. Rather than overtly referencing the crab, this layout is a practical response to the site’s topography and circulation.
Next, the project focuses on closely observing and architecturally translating the specific qualities of the snow crab—its color, texture, and surface patterns. At the same time, attention is given to how the crab appears and is consumed in everyday life within the region. Public design elements scattered throughout the town and the imagery found along Ganggu Port’s snow crab street are all studied. The orange-red hue of crab legs, the bumpy texture of its shell, the stainless-steel steamers, the rising steam and bubbling foam, the barnacles clinging to the crabs, and the crabs hanging like signs—all of these become diverse and layered references. In this process, the crab’s more easily exploitable formal traits—like its segmented body or jointed legs—are deliberately avoided. The goal is not to literalize the crab, but to explore how any local symbol can be interpreted in a variety of architectural ways.
Architectural expression fluctuates between abstraction and figuration. The extracted traits appear sometimes as patterns on columns, sometimes as literal forms, and at other times as the logic of spatial organization. Tourists, locals, and passing highway traffic become the yardsticks that determine how literal or abstract the expressions should be.
In this way, the completed Yeongdeok Station subtly resembles parts of a crab. Its full form is never explicitly depicted, but throughout the building—in the column patterns, the roof shape, and the wall textures—fragments of the crab are embedded. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly where, but unmistakably, it feels like a crab.