From Hanoi Train Factory to Venice Grid: In Conversation with Trung Mai about The Architectural Paradox of Ephemerality and Eternity

Looking into the map of Hanoi, it is obvious to recognize that the urban fabric is imprinted in an amalgamation of elaborate zone planning and the obvious sprawl of informal housing and land uses. Roads are congested with the squeak of motorbikes, which makes it hard to imagine how the city of walking has transformed into embracing the hustle and bustle of modernity. Hawkers, peddlers, and casual laborers are witnessed and expanded into the thinnest veins of the city, while slum-like settlements and pollution are seen as the repercussions of economic development, impacts from external regimes, colonial stigma, and warfare. As one of the integral forces, industrialization has shaped and is continuously shaping the city fabric, the socio-economic dynamics, Vietnamese cultures, identities, memories, and the subjectivity of its people.

Vietnam's Industrialization

Tracing the history of Vietnam’s industrialization, it started in the 1890s with the development of extractive and manufacturing industries, including coal mining. As the coalfields in Tonkin (Northern Vietnam) were largely exploited, Indochina became the leading coal exporter of the East by the end of the 19th century. By that period, Hanoi had become a French settlement, and industrial activities were primarily controlled under the discretion of the French colonial government, tailored to their needs for exploitation and wealth accumulation. Thus, the first groups of factories, which were almost exclusively founded by Europeans, were built in Hanoi. These factories can be divided into three types: factories extracting minerals and turning them into electricity or chipboard; factories serving the demands of a growing population—producing electricity, assembling railways, operating repair shops, and creating construction materials; and factories providing consumer goods, including distilleries, soap production, sugar refineries, breweries, cotton, and tobacco factories. Urban planning was designed and constructed by the colonial government with the goal of building the Paris of the East. In fact, such planning intensified the segregation between colonial zones and indigenous residential areas. In the same time, Vietnam’s economy was boosted during this period as a result of modern developments reinforced by the colonizers. The population witnessed a significant leap, and people relocated adjacent to factories.

With the political influence of the Soviet Union beginning in 1955, industrial and urban planning were transformed under socialist ideology. The State became the main investor in production, supported by Soviet allies and foreign aid. Limitations on migration and urban expansion were prioritized during this period as a measure to control population influx and housing issues. Most development plans were directed toward the suburbs. During the Second Vietnam War, many industrial sites were bombed and heavily damaged. Factories were relocated to the countryside and continued to support wartime needs. Soviet-inspired housing estates, such as collective public housing (KKT), remain as traces from this period.

After the war ended, industrial and urban development was shaped by policies aimed at economic growth, known as the Doi Moi reform. In this era, Hanoi has undergone various changes, such as a surging population, the adoption of motor vehicles, and shifts in the housing market, coupled with persistent social and ecological issues like poverty, housing shortages, overcrowding, and pollution.

Gia Lam Factory

Gia Lam Factory, located in the northeast of central Hanoi, is a living relic of the century’s historical transitions. It is considered one of the three great colonial railway works built during the early 20th century, according to historian Tim Doling. Strategically situated at the junction of four prominent railway lines, including Gia Lam–Dong Dang (163 km), Hanoi–Hai Phong (102 km), Hanoi–Lao Cai (296 km), and Hanoi–Ben Thuy (326 km), Gia Lam Factory was initially built as a mechanical depot for the repair and maintenance of steam engines and wagons by the French. It was later repurposed to produce bombs and weapons during the Japanese occupation. Over its lifespan, it has witnessed strikes, revolutions, regime changes, bombing damage, and multiple reconstructions. Although Gia Lam has survived historical turmoil and its production continues to the present day, it is currently facing relocation as a result of urban redevelopment.

The Grid Project: Conception

The Grid Project is conceived and incubated at this intersection of an unknown future and potential loss of the historical legacy, interrogating the central paradox between ephemerality and eternity. According to Aldo Rossi, the power of architecture lies not in its lifespan, but in its ability to connect people to place, to one another, and to the shared rhythms of history—that a structure can be ephemeral in material, but eternal in memory. The physical stance and functions of the factory were shaped by demands, decisions, and powers, while in turn, it constructed the culture of mobility, housing and urban planning, ideologies, lifestyles, and most importantly, collective memories for the people who have worked, lived, and passed by this land and its buildings for generations. This resonates with Michael Schiffer’s concept of “behavioral archaeology,” focusing on understanding the relationship between human behavior and material culture. By intervening and repurposing this industrial site, not for material use, but for the accumulation of its memories, material and cultural impacts, and revivification of its functional and architectural legacy, the project connects people to the space, to the non-linear memories of past, present, and future. It invites an examination of the site’s structure and its possible future through community efforts. The Grid Project is, therefore, able to transform the material stand into a memorial center, coupled with a contemporary sustainable design approach, attempting to preserve and prolong its impact permanently.

The Grid Project: Restructuring

The grid layout takes its form from two distinct sources. It resonates with the existing intricate ceiling structure of the factory warehouse, reviving and paying homage to its architectural imprint. Additionally, it draws influence from the 19th-century urban planning of Ildefons Cerdà for Barcelona’s Eixample district, which employed a grid design of streets and blocks to achieve equitable city access and efficient circulation—principles that still support urban life today. The grid in Gia Lam Factory embraces similar ideals of equality and efficiency: each spatial section aligns with the overarching grid, creating a sense of rigid order and organization while allowing for fluid traffic and movement.

On the production level, the intervention and reconstruction process aims to minimize the carbon emissions embedded in traditional construction. Materials used in the project include metal grating repurposed from leftover steel originally used to fabricate trains in the factory. Furniture featured in the exhibition was constructed from ammunition boxes once used for anti-tank weapons during the Vietnam War, discovered on-site. Additionally, art objects were assembled from reclaimed fragments found in the warehouse, such as industrial ventilation ducts and other salvaged components, giving new form and meaning to the factory’s remnants.

The Grid Project: Impact

The impact of the Gia Lam Grid Project exhibition has been profound in Hanoi. Former factory workers were able to reconnect both on-site and remotely, sharing untold stories of the past. Planned student tours helped build dialogues materially and conceptually, transcending limitations of time and space. However, due to the factory’s relocation, the exhibition itself is ephemeral and dismantled after months of public opening.

By recontextualizing The Reincarnated Grid project within the framework of the Venice Biennale, new meanings and interpretations are invited from global spectators.

Adhocism as Collective Intelligence

By repurposing the Gia Lam factory and reincarnating the grid system within the context of 20th-century Vietnam, it transformed a hub of production and efficiency into an incubator for the continuation and sustainability of local history, culture, ideologies, identities, memories, and lifestyles. The methodology and philosophy behind the project essentially serve as a manifestation and testimony of the greater collective intelligence embedded in Vietnamese culture. Here, the narrative turns against the consumerism of endless production and resource waste, and instead advocates for an alternative, adaptive, sustainable, and feasible way of living—what we call Adhocism.

Adhocism is a concept introduced by Charles Jencks and Nathan Silver in their 1972 book Adhocism: The Case for Improvisation. According to Jencks, “As a design principle, adhocism begins with everyday improvisations: a bottle as a candle holder, a dictionary as a doorstop, a tractor seat on wheels as a dining chair. But it is also an untapped force in our way of approaching almost all activities, from play to architecture, including urbanism and political revolution.”

While consumerism, fueled by mass media and technology, has prevailed for centuries, embedding the desire for happiness and identity in endless consumption, it has led to reinforced class divisions, long-term debt-driven instability, planned obsolescence, overproduction, and ecological crisis. In contrast, the concept of adhocism offers an alternative path to sustainable living, emphasizing reuse, repurposing, and the ethic of “doing with what you have” instead of waiting for a perfect top-down solution.

Adhocism as Alternative Solutions

Despite being one of the top 20 fastest-growing economies in the world, Vietnam’s lifestyles are surprisingly rooted in the spirit of adhocism rather than traditional hierarchical structures. This cultural trait dates back centuries and is manifest in every aspect of Vietnamese life—from furniture and everyday objects to religion, architecture, and urban planning.

Furniture such as tables and chairs are among the most versatile items. In Hang Trong painting, a traditional Vietnamese folk art that captures scenes from everyday life, we see the cai phan (a wooden platform bed) appear in diverse settings: used by emperors as a tea table, by students as seating in school libraries, or as an altar in temples. In modern Vietnam, the plastic stool has become the most obvious modular system of seating and tables. People combine and disassemble them freely to fit different needs, which is an embodiment of flexible, user-driven design.   

The same improvisational spirit applies to public infrastructure. During the Tet Offensive in 1968, a massive assault by North Vietnamese forces and the Viet Cong, Hue was one of the most heavily affected battlegrounds. The Truong Tien Bridge was severely damaged during the fighting. In response, locals rebuilt it by linking together boats, creating a floating bridge that functioned effectively for years afterward. 

Thich Minh Tue is a Vietnamese Buddhist practitioner who popularized walking meditation in both Vietnam and on the global stage. One of his core spirits from the Engaged Buddhism, meaning Buddhism in practice, encourages not only personal mindfulness but also helping others become aware of their own capacity for compassion and generosity.

In line with this spirit, Thich Minh Tue intentionally uses discarded textiles to make his robes, imbuing them with multiple meanings: resisting consumerism, deterring theft or commodification, and emphasizing pure human virtues. He asks for food offerings not out of personal hunger, but as a call for compassion. His minimalist and mindful practice has inspired many in modern Vietnam to follow in his footsteps.

Vietnamese cities serve as both containers and reflections of the collective mindset and spirit of their people. Much of the urban landscape has been shaped not by centralized planning, but through the bottom-up ethos of adhocism. While the chaotic appearance of some city areas might make it difficult to apply a blanket label like “intelligent design,” what emerges clearly is a powerful logic of adaptation and resourcefulness that keeps cities functioning despite challenges like climate change, resource scarcity, and historical upheavals.

Zooming in, a single sidewalk in Hanoi offers a time-lapse of functions over the course of a day: it becomes an extension of domestic life in the morning, a commercial space for street food at night, and an overflow lane for traffic during rush hour. Boundaries between public and private space are blurred, flexible, and needs-driven—a pragmatic stopgap in a context of limited resources. 

From a bird’s-eye view, the vernacular urban morphology of Hanoi is a tangible expression of ad hoc behavior, composed of a mix of improvised solutions and systematic decisions that fill even the smallest vessels of the city. 

In the face of climate and ecological crises, the ability to improvise, adapt, and use what’s on hand, in tandem with top-down planning and policy, make it possible to bridging the gap between vision and execution. Adhocism presents an alternative model of problem-solving, one where the imperative lies in the actions of individual units, which collectively form a greater network of intelligence.