The Eternal Traffic Jam

In 2010, China National Highway 110 hosted a ten-day traffic jam. The severity of the jam spawned a temporary economy in order to serve stranded drivers. In 2102, various-gobal-warming-extinction-level-comet-and-what-not disasters cause sea levels to rise and flood the majority of Beijing. Citizens are forced to take refuge on the multi-level freeways that hover above ground level. As landmarks poke through the water like out of a B-rated disaster movie, the once temporary economy of Highway 110 evolves into the only economy of the entire city. As an ironic silver-lining, the once dying profession of “architect” is rejuvenated. The architect returns to his alleged roots as a master builder, albeit in a homeless, nomadic, 22nd century kind of way. Armed with a mobile, digital fabrication shop and an exo-suit, he sketches in spools of ABS and visualizes in real-time and real-space via his heads-up display. He improvises on site, detailing and constructing for specific conditions on the fly. The once-fragmented disciplines and tasks of building construction are collapsed into one; design, 3D modeling, visualization, engineering, and construction occur at a convoluted and frenetic pace. A caffeine and alcohol-fueled mad scientist now free from international and national and municipal building codes, six-hour long consultant meetings, and endless RFIs, the new architect builds on ungoverned micro-sites along the roadways. Architecture itself becomes currency as he barters for goods by constructing temporary housing, storefronts, and pavilions for the freeway inhabitants. When the entire life of a building spans the time it used to take to design one, architects are free to experiment. Freeway shoulders transform into physical timelines of an architect’s work, a lineage of prototypes stretching through both space and history.