The buildings Michael Wolf photographs are not long for this world. They're an endangered architectural species that may soon only live on in the fossil record of Wolf's pictures.
They once thrived in Hong Kong's post-war explosion of commercial activity but have since slid into 21st century decline, thanks in both cases to the city's voracious appetite for change. They're 'corner houses', an indigenous kind of structure defined by little more than the obvious - they sit on the end of a block. Other cities have them but, according to Wolf, none wrap around an edge quite like they do in Hong Kong.
In the time between taking the photographs and recently publishing Hong Kong Corner Houses (Hong Kong University Press, HK$295), at least four of the buildings have been demolished. The taped crosses in the windows of several others mean they can't be far behind. It's ephemeral concrete and a stark contrast from the heyday of the 1950s and 60s when most of them were built.
Up to then, tong lau, or tenement-style shophouses, had dominated the city. But with an influx of refugees from the mainland and the post-war boom in export manufacturing, space became more of a premium. New technology such as reinforced concrete and lifts stretched the possibilities of construction.
Up sprang a new style of 'composite' building that, in their introduction to the book, University of Hong Kong academics Lee Ho-yin and Lynne DiStefano say could house a mix of residential and commercial activity, from 'traditional Chinese medicine practices, private schools and fortune tellers, to cottage industries that produced garment parts, toys and plastic flowers'.
The corner houses are one of the most visible signs of this time - they project up and out in two directions at once, drawing the eye along two sight lines. Most have generous windows and strong horizontal lines but, as magnetic as they can be, they were designed by a cast of relative unknowns.