ABSTRACT This pilot thesis embeds exploration of non-anthropocentric architecture in landscape recovery theories. Through connecting assemblage theory with the place-making process, this essay argues that in the revitalization process of a third landscape, the existence of individual sensibility and collective cultures should not either dominate or disappear – a humanist ecology exists in constant interaction between man and nature. Case studies of the Tanada landscape in Oyamasenmaida and the Katsura Detached Garden indicate that engagement in nature conservation activities is primarily motivated by aesthetic appreciation and spiritual connection with the cultural landscape and advocate the establishment of a “second nature” through cultivation, maintenance in a role of a “gardener”. As a practical exploration of Jame Corner’s threefold strategy in ecology, the design project will link theoretical developments in this thesis and explore the feasibility of connecting the unique Japanese perception of nature (Shinto) with modern landscape theory, combining cultural enrichment and retrieval of memory, rebalance of social utility and program, ecological diversification and succession in landscape recovery.
INTRODUCTION The decaying city - Urgency of a non-anthropocentric notion of architecture In Japan, depopulation and deurbanization were recognized as the major cause of regional economic and social decline as early as the 1960s (Knight, 1994). However, even though regeneration measures on a national scale have been a continual and regular feature of municipal policies against rural decline, overall, they have had little effectiveness in reversing either demographic shrinkage or economic decline (Matanle and Rusch, 2011) (Figure 1). Compared with house abandonment in the urban area, the increase of land abandonment due to depopulation in peripheral and rural areas in most prefectures is more drastic and poses a great uncertainty in both the social structure and local ecological systems. In rural/peripheral areas in Kyoto Prefecture, the number of farm households decreased by 30% since 2000, while the total area of abandoned agriculture fields reached 3100 hectares in 2015, which is almost twi ce the size in 1995 (MLIT, 2015) (Figure 2). Consequences of such population shrinkage and land abandonment exist not only on a social level – such as increased pressure on healthcare and community services, difficulties in maintenance and upgrade of infrastructures, changes in housing structures and transportation demands which may lead to further isolation of vulnerable ageing populations (Bucher and Mai, 2005; CEC, 2007) - but also has profound environmental and ecological influences. Without sufficient management and human intervention such as periodical clear-cutting, in abandoned forests around Kyoto, vegetation species abundance is proved to have significantly declined (Ito, Hito and Sakuma, 2012); neonatal plant species also showed suppressed growth after human management stopped (Ayumi et al., 2010. Kimiko et al., 2010). Meanwhile, species abundance in Kyoto’s rice fields is reduced to 56-72% after abandonment (Katayama et al., 2014). Without regular maintenance from traditional wildlife-friendly agricultural practices (Uchida & Ushimaru, 2014), even after 10 to 15 years, such declined bio-richness is unlikely to recover (Koshida and Katayama, 2018). Meanwhile, human-wildlife conflicts are aggravating with gradual recovery of natural habitat range. Due to population shrinkage-caused workforce shortage and increased maintenance costs, wildlife management measures such as mammal-proof fences and lethal control programs are becoming decreasingly efficient. Additionally, farmers’ motivation to cultivate is also reduced by wildlife crop-raiding, causing further land abandonment (Enari and Maruyama, 2005), thus forming a vicious circle of depopulation, land abandonment and humanwildlife conflict (Enari, 2021) (Figure 3). In order to neutralize the effects of population shrinkage and economic stagnation, compact city-oriented policies have been applied by Japanese authorities since the 1990s. Concentration on these regeneration projects has established well-connected neighbourhoods in an ageing society. However, such success is only “selective” in the redevelopment of a few metropolises, especially focusing on maintaining Tokyo’s global competitiveness (Buhnik, 2017) (Figure 1). Population shrinkage in the Keihanshin (Osaka-Kyoto-Kobe) area, for example, is aggravating due to out-migration toward the capital. In Kyoto Prefecture alone, a similar scenario is also reflected on a micro-scale: a stronger polarisation is happening between the de-densified
peripheral-rural areas and re-densified inner cities, accompanied by a drastic decline in localcentral commuting. Life qualities of those who choose to stay in these areas are constantly declining due to reduced transportation, education and health services, and such regions remain less concerned in municipal policies because of their diminishing potentiality for contributing to economic growth (Matanle and Rausch, 2011). On the environmental level, major conservation policies in Kyoto are also inclined to the central city area, while the peripherical mountainous areas are required to be preserved “as an important background for the urban centre, and as a part of the natural landscape which is in harmony with historical properties” (Kyoto City Hall, 2015). In essence, these natural landscapes are objectified as “scenic districts” that exist to serve touristic needs, while specific management and revitalization measures for each unique ecosystem are not mentioned in municipal plans; cultural and aesthetic features of such non-central areas are ignored.
Figure 1 Predicted extinct regions due to depopulation in 2040 (Created by the author) (Data source: Masuda, 2015)
Figure 2 mapping of abandoned properties in Kyoto prefecture (Created by the author)
Figure 3 Vicious circle of depopulation, land abandonment and human-wildlife conflict (Created by the author)
Research questions Due to long-lasting ignorance of both the natural and the cultural ecosystem outside central urban areas, top-down implementation of urban compaction in Japan has been criticized more frequently than before (Masuda, 2015 locked one). As a response, in 2014, the Local Autonomy Law was reformed to push for an enhanced cooperation system between core urban areas and peripheral rural areas of given agglomerations (Buhnik, 2017). In 2015, a special law that allows municipalities to demolish decaying houses without consent from untraceable owners was put into effect to promote low-density areas’ reformation (MLIT, 2015). However, reallocation or compaction of settlements, demolition or renovation of decayed properties always requires a fluid workforce. With irreversible depopulation, who is going to take care of both the people and the land left in these areas? With the same logic, environmental solutions alone that focus on the revival of land fertility and biodiversity would also not be able to sustain in the long term, as with an insufficient management workforce, recovered wildlife population would only exaggerate human-wildlife conflicts and cause further population outflow (Figure 4). At this point, the question of how to deal with depopulation and deurbanization on both a social and environmental level is to be raised. If an "anthropocentric" notion of architecture is being hierarchical, enclosed, and consonant (Eisenman, 1985) – corresponding to compact city policies that are being implemented, then architecture that is “non-anthropocentric” would advocate equal vitalisation and dynamic relation between all existence in nature. In Manifeste
du tiers Paysage, Clément (2004) proposes the conception of “the third landscape” as “the totality of all those places abandoned by man” – an intermediate space (Tiberghien, 2008) that supports a diversity that is not able to be found elsewhere. In order to achieve a state of selfsustainability, he claims that a constant reinvention process that balances management and relinquishment is required. The exploration of non-anthropocentric architecture in landscape recovery is, as a result, the determination and quantification of “control”. In the third landscape, after abandoning the central position in nature and rejecting dualism between humanity and nature, what is the new role of humans? It is predicted that even with a massive national effort to encourage birth, balance domestic migration and develop tourism and attract immigration, the population in Japan will continue to decrease (Martinez-Fernandez et al., 2016). Thus, the peripheral areas in Kyoto, together with many other regions that are undergoing depopulation process, are gradually becoming the Third Landscape. Through “designing” the third landscape, it is also an opportunity to think about the appropriate gesture of our departure. How to reverse our violation and take care of the land which for too long has supported and nourished us? How to connect a unique Japanese perception of nature (Shinto) with modern landscape theory, and apply a threefold strategy that combines cultural enrichment and retrieval of memory, rebalance of social utility and program, ecological diversification and succession? What motivates recovery projects? Finally, as James Corner (2000) suggests, recovery of landscape does not merely include the re-appearance of a specific cultural or ecological system after years of indifference or neglect, but also provokes the possibility for re-defining landscape itself, reimaging what nature actually is and what the optimal human existence in nature should be – as both an idea and an artefact.
Figure 4 Kyoto’s compaction policy and human-wildlife conflict (Created by the author)
Figure 5 Kyoto’s landscape preservation policies throughout history (Created by the author) (Data source: Morimoto, 2011)
LITERATURE REVIEW Anthropocentrism and the dark side of the landscape Anthropocentrism, the view that humans are independent of and have superior values over other entities (Kopnina et al., 2018), is embedded profoundly in conscious human acts and has dominated major modern cultures since the industrial revolution (Zeng, 2019). Ruekert (1996) argues that humans’ tragic defect in ecology is their anthropocentric vision, the compulsion to exploit, violate, conquer, domesticate every element in nature. According to Fromm (1973), environmental problems should not be viewed as incidentals around ‘important’ matters in human life, but rather must be fundamentally seen as an essential ontological question regarding the self-definition of modern humanity. To explore a non-anthropocentric vision of architecture thus inevitably comes back to the fundamental question of human’s self-identification in nature, how do we perceive the land and how do we connect with the land. From an anthropological perspective, “landscape” has always been deployed either as a “view” or a “meaning” that is based on an individual’s particular perspective or a collective body’s culture and history – both of which can only exist with the presence of man. Cosgrove (1985, p.45) argues that understanding the landscape as “a way of seeing” is a degradation of land to a property based on human power, social class, spatial hierarchy, and urban control. Scott (1999) also claims that modern measurement and calculation of land is in fact a synoptic, aggregate selection of reality, thus is also simplification and manipulation of the landscape. As a “distancing device”, the landscape is used to represent, consolidate, or conceal certain interests that set up hierarchical orders among not only social groups but also man and nature (Corner, 2000). Through the form of “resource”, “scenery” or “ecosystem” that objectifies and exploits nature, “landscape” is in essence procuring estrangement (Lyotard, 1991). Barrell (1980) describes the “dark side” of landscape as “a moral darkness that derives from landscape being used by power interests to veil and perpetuate their effects” – coercing landscape into a “rhetorical” subject. Whether as a “wilderness area”, scenic drive or a theme park, the landscape has become merely a massive, exotic attraction unto itself, a place of fantasy, escape, refuge, and entertainment (Wilson, 1992). Treib (2009) argues that landscape should no longer be perceived merely as “decoration” around buildings, but rather as a more profound role in contextualizing experiences and embedding nature and time in the built environment. As a viewer, measurer, or exploiter, one is always standing “outside” the perceived and manufactured landscape. To be an “insider” entails merging landscape into the everyday milieu and recognizing its substantial and constructive ability to help communities establish collective meaning and identity through providing a basis for connection, rootedness and belonging (Corner, 2000). In the case of Kyoto, around 66 major initiatives are active under the city’s 2019-2040 Resilience (Figure 5). However, only one of them -“Connecting Tradition, Culture and Biodiversity”- is related to the transformation of landscapes in a decaying background. As pointed out by Corner
(2000), while we ought to be grateful for the increased visibility of environmental and preservation groups, it should also be recognized that a combination of consumerism and nostalgia is driving the motive of preservation and re-creation while suppressing ambitions to invent or experiment. Landscape recovery projects, in contrast, should become an innovative medium in which the most conventional aspects of society are liberated in a life-enriching way when both cultural and biotic agents are recognized and connected. It should be a place-making process.
Every place is an assemblage The dark side of landscape is intrinsically the desire for power over nature. Although the opposition entities in this power structure are not social hierarchies anymore, it never escapes from an expanded notion of the Foucaultian dispersed disciplinary power that is still fundamentally based on micro-practices and productive capacities and exploits nature as an object. Anthropocentrism thus embeds within this notion of power, in terms of both this apparent domination structure, but also in its very definition of power – constraint, discipline and oppression. Deleuze expands the Foucaultian concept of power and states that power is defined by flows of desire and processes of being (Dovey, 2010). As the primary force of life, desire is present in everyday life and is not limited to the human realm (Deleuze and Guattari, 2004). To regard desire as the source of power is to regard it as productive, positive and as a cosmologically more-than-human motivation of life. A primary product of these flows of desires is the assemblage. An assemblage is “a multiplicity which is made up of many heterogeneous terms and which establishes liaisons, relations between them” (Deleuze and Guattari, 1987). It is a symbiosis in which “properties emerge from the interactions between the parts” (DeLanda, 2016). In this definition, intrinsic features of an organism are understood not only through its parts that are not uniform either in origin or nature, but through their established interactive relations. Meanwhile, assemblage is also a concept that deals with structure and contingency, organization and change – it is a dynamic process of organizing, arranging and fitting together (Wise, 2005). It is thus a twofold that constantly transforms in between materiality and expression, between the physical organism-space intersections and languages, expressions, representations of meanings through propositions (Dovey, 2010). A place is then an assemblage. It also exists in the oscillation between materiality and expression; it is also at once structured, experienced, and discursively constructed. To see the place as an assemblage is to avoid reduction of place to merely materiality, text, or subjective experience and promotes a continuous state of change that “stabilizes dwelling but also encompasses lines of movement and processes of becoming” (Dovey, 2010, p.212). Specifically, as a collection of discrete elements that are both decaying (in a built dimension) and regenerating (in a natural dimension), a third landscape is a unique assemblage/place that fosters mutation. The abandoned houses, newly sprouting blades of grass, broken pieces of
furniture, an old couple that sit in front of a decayed door, animals that attempt to squeeze into a broken fence – they all come together to become a third landscape that is territorializing and deterritorializing at the same time. It is the scattered morphologies of socio-spatial networks, departed flows and traces of everyday life, the narratives that are expressed through them, and the fears and hopes embedded in them that make it a place distinguished from other assemblages (Figure 6). Above all, it is the dynamic – people and trees grow and die, buildings being demolished or renovated – that endows its very intensity and its sense of place.
Figure 6 An assemblage of decaying memories (Created by the author)
Humanist ecology in the recovery of the landscape Conceptions of the assemblage have been able to break through the human-nature dualism and set up a new relationship that is built neither upon inferiority nor exteriority. However, who is the entity that empowers change in an assemblage? What is the rule/place of human in this dynamic? In the third landscape, a place in which it has been recognized that we are part of nature – not individual creatures that are separated or dominating, how can we live with the prevailing diversity, and how can that diversity live with us? According to Abram (2018), the land is perceiving itself through us. As much as it is to us, our languages also belong to the animated landscape. If every existence in nature is not only alive but also expressive, and if we are the most conscious representatives, then it becomes a natural responsibility for us to anticipate, express and construct future scenarios, in a state of friendliness and immersion.
Clément (2006) proposes the notion of “humanist ecology”: an approach to conceptualising the relationships between living beings based on principles of ecology – equal vitalization and relations, but without ever excluding humans. Opposed to radical ecology which claims that life on earth can indisputably exist without humans, Clément (2006) argues that “who would there be to appreciate radical ecology if humans actually disappeared from the planet?” Corner (2000) also questions the “cultural-free” character of “ecology” and “nature” proposed by environmentalists and indicates that only foreseeable damages are repaired or perhaps prevented while the fundamental causes of environmental problems – the cultural ways of existing and acting in the world remain unchanged. In terms of the recovery of landscape, a humanist ecological notion would then indicate a path to confront and reverse the homogenization of the environment while preserving local characteristics and values – a collective sense of place. Lowenthal (1985) describes the presence of the past in a landscape as a sense of stability, completion and permeance, in resistance to the accelerating pace of contemporary life. The recovery process itself is then a gesture of reviving cultural identities and values to a particular place. Consequently, landscape recovery should include both the restoration and diversification of impoverished or lost ecologies and the revival of temporal and mnemonic cultural assets. According to Corner (2000), the reformation of sites may be measured in three ways: “first, in terms of the retrieval of memory and the cultural enrichment of place and time; second, in terms of social program and utility, as new uses and activities are developed; and, third, in terms of ecological diversification and succession.” In this threefold way, the significance of both the cultural and natural processes that support the diversity of all beings on earth is constantly evolving. And it all comes back to Augustin Berque (1990)’s definition of landscape - that it is the sensible aspect of the milieu - a dynamic relationship that links a society with space and nature (Figure 7).
Figure 7 An assemblage of cultural enrichment and ecological diversification (Created by the author)
The Japanese way of understanding landscape Hockney (1988) states that a world view that is dominant in the west is marked by separating “god” from the world, while an oriental world view integrates the infinite spirit of nature in the world. As Fung (2000) reveals, in contrast to the binary dualism that characterizes the western conception of landscape, inclusion and mutuality are essential features that form the foundation of oriental ideas of landscape. Meanwhile, as opposed to being stylized or scenic, the landscape in an oriental context is often related to reverence and the spiritual value of being one with nature (Corner, 2000). Similar features of assemblage theory such as a transformative twofold structure and key features in a humanist landscape such as the attempt to establish a dynamic relationship between a collective culture and the milieu can also be found in an oriental conception of the landscape, which then may be considered as an extension of the Deleuzian philosophy, broadening landscape and place-making theories beyond a Eurocentric framework and offering a wider reflection on contemporary entanglements of landscape, ecology and politics. In the Japanese tradition, aesthetic appreciation of the landscape is always combined with a Shintoistic deification of nature (Kieninger, Penker and Yamaji, 2012). In Shintoism, the land is perceived at once tragic and smiling, terrifying and gentle, refusing man much while giving them more (Underwood, 1934). Not only human beings but plants and trees, beasts and birds, mountains and seas - all other beings or natural processes that deserve to be revered or dreaded for the pre-eminent extraordinary power which they process - are called Kami and are venerated in Shintoism. On one hand, the notion of Kami animates nature and establishes a unique relationship in which man and nature exist in harmony, while a humanist perception where spirituality and humane emotions such as fear and joy is never lost – a similar proposition in Clément (2006)’s “humanist ecology”. On the other hand, animation and personification of the gods in Shintoism are always carried to the length of anthropomorphism (Underwood, 1934), which is surprisingly similar to the sympathetic promoters in Assemblage theory. What is differentiating the Japanese from other oriental cultures, though, is that there is no strong distinction between the “artificial” and the “natural”, and the “formative human hand” in nature is always considered necessary (Kalland, 1995). Consequently, while in many western cultures only an untouched primary state of nature is appreciated, there is always a cultural preference for semi-natural rural sceneries in Japan. In fact, in the Japanese notion of “unity between man and nature”, human impacts are hardly perceived as an intrusion into nature, but also as a “natural” process (Nagasawa, 2008). It is worthwhile to point out that in the Japanese culture “religion” does not necessarily refer to religious values or feelings (Tanaka, 2010), and there is no strong distinction between faith, superstition, or spirituality. As a result, even with the majority of Japanese people defining themselves as “unreligious” (Stark, 2005), religious rituals, festivals and events are still a crucial part of most citizens’ daily life, and the belief in spirituality in nature is prevalent (Kieninger, Penker and Yamaji, 2012). It is thus possible to study in a Japanese context the connection between the spiritual and aesthetic dimensions and people’s motivation in collective conservation activities related to cultural landscapes.
CASE STUDIES Aesthetics and spirituality motivate engagement – a case study of the Tanada landscape preservation in Oyamasenmaida Hills and mountains cover more than 70% of the total land area in Japan (MAFF, 2010). The Satoyama landscape is a small-scale agricultural landscape adapted to this topography that has existed for more than 1000 years (Takeuchi, 2001), consisting of arable crop fields, coppiced forests, ponds, villages at the foot of the mountains, shrines, temples and graveyards. In the Japanese culture, Satoyama is often referred to as the symbol of “the last remnants of a cultural environment”. In Kyoto, Satoyama mainly exists in the form of paddy fields. In addition to its food production nature and ecosystem services such as flood prevention and water purification (Aizaki, Sato and Osari) paddies in Kyoto are also a crucial biotope for a rich and specialized flora and fauna. Meanwhile, from a religious and cultural perspective, rice fields represent a spiritual homeland for many Japanese citizens where they are able to find not only aesthetic values but also a strong bond with their ancestors and national identity (ACA, 2003). As discussed in the introduction, depopulation is causing a smaller average farm size and higher costs of labour and maintenance. Combined with falling rice consumption (MAFF, 2009) and increasing production costs (Fukuda, 2003), the out-migration of the younger population is prevailing, leading to 70% of all Japanese agricultural land being cultivated by retired people (Nakamichi, 2010). In order to reverse land abandonment and revive rural areas, initiatives in the form of government programs and local citizens’ movements were started as early as the 1980s, such as the yearly Tanada (rice field) summit, the nationwide most beautiful rice terraces award
(ACA, 2003) and the legal application of the new Tanada Ownership System that
encourages non-farmer volunteers (tenants) to rent a piece of agricultural land and cultivate it under landowners’ guidance (Kieninger, Yamaji and Penker, 2011). A survey was conducted by Kieninger, Penker and Yamaji (2012) to understand the motivation of tenants’ and visitors’ engagement in the Tanada Ownership System out of spiritual and aesthetic values in Oyamasenmaida (Chiba Prefecture, Japan). In this survey, primary motivations for tenants’ participation are found to be “simply love for rice terraces”, “protection of typical Satoyama fauna” and “taking part in preservation associations”; while for visitors, it is “being close to nature” and “to see rice terraces landscape”. For both tenants and visitors, the most important attributes of a Tanada landscape that require preservation are “scenic landscape beauty” and “harmony of man and nature”. The link between participation in nature conservation activities and spirituality features is also substantiated, with more than 70% of the tenants expressing an impression of spirits in nature and an amplified feeling of spirituality after their long-term involvement. Environmentalists may argue that the appreciation of nature should be serious and based on objectivism – rather than subjectivity, focused on environmental values rather than sceneries (Carlson, 2010). However, the shift from anthropocentrism to acentrism (or ecological ontology) does not necessarily mean the elimination of humanistic connections with the land. In any case,
in order to engage people who are unconcerned with environmental issues in preservation programs, a less scientific (professional) but more cultural (emotional) approach would be more viable (Kieninger, Holzner and Kriechbaum). Aesthetical and spiritual values then can not only be understood merely on a metaphysical level, but also as an opportunity to attract activists in the preservation of cultural landscapes, which then in turn leads forward the revival of ecological systems. This has been demonstrated successfully in Oyamasenmaida (Figure 8). Under the Tanada Ownership System, rural-urban exchange started with collective cultivation of rice and soybeans, which later involved traditional crafts. With the guidance and facilities provided by the Preservation Association - such as theatre and traditional musical festivals, landscape photo award ceremonies, sports events in the rice fields, harvest festivals, local handicraft workshops, renovation of traditional houses for collective experiences and common utility purposes – volunteers and tourists were able to develop both a profound interest in traditional agricultural practices and a broader ecological awareness (such as the lifecycle of fireflies). To recognize and enhance volunteers’ motivation on an aesthetical and emotional level may also be a complement to the western conception of conservation which works mainly relying on mobilization of volunteers based on scientific evidence (Kieninger, Penker and Yamaji, 2012).
Figure 8 Volunteers in a rice field in
Figure 9 The Katsura Detached Palace
Oyamasenmaida (Tamaki, 2016)
(Bergman, 2017)
Back to (the second) nature – a case study of The Katsura Detached Palace in Kyoto On the scale of landscape and architecture design, traditional Japanese gardens may be able to provide insights into contemporary revitalization projects, given their inherent link with Shintoism and successful adaptation processes over history. The Katsura Detached Palace (Figure 9), one of the magnificent examples of Japanese landscape architecture introduced to the west by Taut (1936), offers a possible harmonious coexistence between nature and culture through time. The Katsura Detached Palace is located in Shu-ga-ku-in, an area inside Kyoto’s “Ecotone” – a transitional zone between mountains and flatlands where both bio abundance and cultural
connection points reach the maximum (Morimoto, 2007). Most of its construction materials – stones and timber – can be found commonly in and around Kyoto, but the way they are composited was the result of careful consideration to facilite change over time. For example, the main material used for building the Katsura teahouse is welded tuff, which merges with the mountainous background perfectly. Due to the easily weathering property of this material, consolidation efforts were made each 20 years, while the original stones were kept in place, as they have already become crucial habitats for a great variety of ferns and mosses. With continuous maintenance – such as tree branch pruning to keep the garden half-shaded, areas around the teahouse are now a crucial refuge for Monosolenium tenerum, a moss species that is extinct outside the imperial gardens (Kyoto Prefecture, 2015). Meanwhile, the ecological stability created in Katsura Detached Palace is through forces from both the natural environment and skilled maintenance. Ponds inside this garden were designed with complex forms, scales, levels and depths – this not only creates spatial and aesthetical values but also optimizes physical parameters such as water turnover rate for fish fauna (Morimoto, 2007). For instance, a unique fish composition of diverse species including nesting fish and brood parasites is found in these ponds, which creates an entirely new ecosystem. The Japanese black pines that form the colonnades on both sides of Obashiya-michi (carriage drive) is also a witness of continuous interaction between gardeners and trees. Over one hundred years, through continuous selective pick for new buds (Midoritsumi), the spiritual forms of these pines are a result of both natural growth and artificial selection. Furthermore, terraced paddy fields in between the colonnades kept not only unique species from the Satoyama ecosystem, but also traditional cultivation techniques such as mowing and plowing that allow sunlight to enter different levels of the garden. Such techniques, together with species that rely on constant management of paddy land, are vanishing outside due to agricultural mechanization and rural depopulation, but may still thrive inside this garden in years to come. The design effort to create “the sense of nature” may have led to the realization of the garden as a wellorganized and ecologically sustainable environment. As Morimoto (2011, p.12) points out, “biodiversity is not only a resource of culture but also the result of culture”. Ecological issues including forest-floor vegetation dieback and drastic landscape changes are destructive also to traditional cultural events such as the Gion Festival and the Daimonji Bonfire, two of the most important tourist attraction festivals in Kyoto (Morimoto, 2011). The creation of a resilient ecosystem in Katsura Detached Palace is, on the contrary, proof of a successful mutual promotion of culture and nature. Through continuous cultivation and maintenance, Nature is not simply imitated or revived, but re-created.
CONCLUSION AND DESIGN SPECULATION According to Corner (2000), the conception of the landscape plays a “double role”: on one hand, it provides the most visible measure and expression of environmental atrophy – as both the indicator and the victim; on the other hand, it also maintains an ideal image of a harmonious, profoundly green world – a world that is both lost and desired. An “ecology of human creativity” - as exemplified in cosmographic, artistic and transformative practices – has yet to be established in resistance to a scientific ecology that answers to a progressively uncritical and abstract “environment” (Richard, 2014). The dark side of landscape lies in the anthropocentric compulsion to exploit and objectify. However, a non-anthropocentric notion does not imply the elimination of humane attachment to nature. Through connecting assemblage theory with place-making process, this essay argues that in the process of landscape recovery, the existence of individual sensibility and collective cultures should not either dominate or be erased – a humanist ecology exists in the constant interaction between man and nature. With case studies of the Tanada landscape in Oyamasenmaida and the Katsura Detached Garden, connections between aesthetics and spirituality and motivational factors in cultural landscape preservation are established, and a notion of “second nature” through cultivation, maintenance and human-nature mutual evolution is advocated. The design project will experiment with Jame Corner’s threefold strategy in landscape recovery through transforming Fukakusa and Kanshuji – two districts in between Mount Inari and Mount Ooiwa in Kyoto City that are undergoing land and property abandonment process – into a sanctuary for local saki deer population and vanishing indigenous culture (Figure 10). In the short term (-2040), with the shrinking communities still inhabited by a majority of the elderly, a well-functioning community is to be sustained through transformation of decayed houses into communities centres and improved networks with the urban centre, while humanwildlife conflicts should be mitigated through animal behaviour intervention facilities in the district boundary. In the medium term (2040-2060), abandoned fields are to be reforested and managed; environmental hazards from abandoned properties will be reduced to the minimum with the construction of purification systems and transformation into ecological labs and workshops. In the long term (2060-), when the entire district is emptied from human inhabitantion, the original mountain landscape will be revitalized, and with the preservation of historical structures and transformation into tourist centres and pavilions, traces left by humans are deconstructed, transformed and merged into nature (Figure 11).
Figure 10 Site of the design project (Created by the author)
Figure 11 Floor plans of the design project from 2040 to 2080
– creation of the second nature through time (Created by the author)
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