After the Crash: Architecture in Post-Bubble Japan Thomas Daniell Foreword by Hitoshi Abe, Afterword by Ari Seligmann Princeton Architectural Press, New York
Published by Princeton Architectural Press 37 East Seventh Street New York, New York 10003 For a free catalog of books, call 1.800.722.6657. Visit our website at www.papress.com. © 2008 Princeton Architectural Press All rights reserved Printed and bound in China 11 10 09 08 4 3 2 1 First edition No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher, except in the context of reviews. Every reasonable attempt has been made to identify owners of copyright. Errors or omissions will be corrected in subsequent editions. Publication of this book was supported by a grant from the Graham Foundation for Advanced Studies in the Fine Arts. Editor: Linda Lee Designer: Jan Haux Special thanks to: Nettie Aljian, Sara Bader, Dorothy Ball, Nicola Bednarek, Janet Behning, Becca Casbon, Carina Cha, Penny (Yuen Pik) Chu, Russell Fernandez, Pete Fitzpatrick, Wendy Fuller, Clare Jacobson, Aileen Kwun, Nancy Eklund Later, Laurie Manfra, Katharine Myers, Lauren Nelson Packard, Jennifer Thompson, Arnoud Verhaeghe, Paul Wagner, Joseph Weston, and Deb Wood of Princeton Architectural Press —Kevin C. Lippert, publisher Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Daniell, Thomas, 1967– After the crash : architecture in post-bubble Japan / Thomas Daniell ; foreword by Hitoshi Abe ; afterword by Ari Seligmann. — 1st ed. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-56898-776-7 (alk. paper) 1. Architectural practice—Social aspects—Japan. 2. Architecture— Japan—20th century. 3. Architecture—Japan—21st century. I. Title. NA1995.D56 2008 720.952’09049—dc22
2008000244
Contents
Foreword
8
10
Acknowledgments
12
Introduction
Study on the Edge by Hitoshi Abe
1
Genealogies and Tendencies 21
Less Than Zero: Minimalism and Beyond
28
Re: Contextualism
31
Kazunari Sakamoto: Keeping the Faith
37
The Visceral and the Ephemeral
45
Kazuhiro Ishii: Meta-architecture
2
Domestic Spaces
53
The Refraction House
57
Two Degrees of Separation
60
The Hu-tong House
63
Pushing the Envelope
50
18
3
New Prototypes
66
69
Brand Recognition: The FOB Homes System
76
Reflecting Modern Life
82
Living Dangerously
4
Public Places
88
91
The Sendai Mediatheque
97
The Glass Library
102
Immaculate Conception: The 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art
106
Balancing Act: MVRDV in Japan
5
Revitalizing Metabolism
117
Organ: Metabolism without Megastructure
122
Kisho Kurokawa in Malaysia
130
Mirage City: Another Utopia
114
6
Nature and Artifice
140
143
Back to Nature
147
Strange Attractor: Yokohama International Port Terminal
155
Borrowed Scenery: Walking in the Footsteps of Laurie Anderson
7
Urban Views
160
163
Fitting In: Small Sites in Urban Japan
170
Pretty Vacant: The Photographs of Takashi Homma
176
Letter from Kyoto
Afterword
186
More Lines by Ari Seligmann
192
Credits
Kazuo Shinohara, Tokyo Institute of Technology Centennial Hall, Tokyo, 1987, sketch
1
Genealogies and Tendencies The relationships between the approaches that make up the protean landscape of contemporary Japanese architecture are best clarified by tracing their historical lineages. Comprising a variety of intertwining discourses—historical, phenomenological, technological, functional, ritual—each design methodology evolved across many succeeding generations of teachers and employers. While drawing to some extent on aspects of Japanese tradition in their strategies of material assemblage and spatial composition, they all incorporate parallel influences from a wide range of other sources—above all Western modernism and Le Corbusier. An important conduit for the introduction of early modernism was Kunio Maekawa (1905–86), who spent 1928 and 1929 at Le Corbusier’s Paris atelier, then became a mentor to Kenzo Tange (1913– 2005) and by extension to Tange’s students in the metabolist movement of the 1960s and their own progeny. The expressionism of late-period Corbu entered Japan via Takamasa Yoshizaka (1917–80), who worked for Le Corbusier from 1950 to 1952. Several of Yoshizaka’s students went on to form the idiosyncratic Team Zoo collective, whose work is one manifestation of a crucial yet often overlooked stream of Japanese architecture. A key figure who explicitly rejected Western influences yet appears on almost every branch of the family tree of contemporary Japanese architecture, from the most understated “dirty realism” to the most sophisticated diagrammatic minimalism, is Kazuo Shinohara (1925–2006), whose influence is present throughout this book. Across the four self-defined stylistic periods of his career, Shinohara addressed tradition and modernity, banality and mysticism, vernacular archetypes 19
and futuristic sculptures. His effects on the discipline as a theorist,
designer, and teacher have been immense. Indeed, many of the former students of Shinohara, and their own successors, make up what is famously known as the Shinohara School. This term is now ubiquitous in discussions of contemporary Japanese architecture but first appeared in print in 1979 as the title of an article in the journal SD: Space Design1 that linked the work of Kazuo Shinohara to Kazunari Sakamoto, Toyo Ito, and Itsuko Hasegawa,2 all architects who have been highly influential on the following generations. The article was part of a regular series of critiques published under the byline Gruppo Specio, the pseudonym of a small group of postgraduate architecture students at Tokyo University. Gruppo Specio included Kengo Kuma and Kiyoshi Sey Takeyama, then students in the studio of Hiroshi Hara and themselves seen as part of the so-called Hara School (actually, Hara Schule, due to Hara’s love of the German language), which over the years has also included important contemporary figures such as Riken Yamamoto and Kazuhiro Kojima. The essays in this first section are provisional attempts to identify some of these evolving lineages and constellations of reciprocal influence.
1. Gruppo Specio, “Shinohara sukuru no kenchiku” [The Architecture of the Shinohara School], SD: Space Design 7901 (January 1979): 223–28. 2. Sakamoto studied under Shinohara, later becoming his teaching assistant and eventually a professor at the Tokyo Institute of Technology (TIT). Hasegawa spent a period working for metabolist Kiyonori Kikutake before doing postgraduate studies at TIT, later becoming an assistant in Shinohara’s studio. Ito worked for Kikutake at the same time as Hasegawa and, despite never having any official ties to Shinohara, maintained a close relationship with his circle.
20
After the Crash
Less Than Zero Minimalism and Beyond
In Hi-energy Field (30 September to 17 October, 2004), an exhibition of work by young artists held at Tokyo’s Tamada Projects Art Space, one of the objects on display was a table. Although completely mundane in shape and function, it was surreal in its proportions: a single sheet of perfectly flat 3-millimeter-thick (0.1 inch) steel, 9.5 meters (31 feet) long and 2.6 meters (8.5 feet) wide, supported only at its four corners by steel legs 1.1 meters (3.6 feet) high. Seemingly an optical illusion or magic trick, the extraordinary span was achieved by prestressing the tabletop and legs, giving them a slight curvature that then became straight under the table’s own weight. Designed by Junya Ishigami, a young Tokyo-based architect, in a sense this table represents the culmination of a trajectory that many Japanese architects have been following for more than a decade. The post-bubble period has been dominated by architecture that tends toward simplicity, flatness, insubstantiality, and even banality. Like Ishigami’s table, forms are reduced to the absolute minimum, surfaces are translucent or bleached of color, structure appears disturbingly inadequate, materiality is ignored or contradicted. With results that often seem intended as no more than temporary art installations, there tends to be an inverse relationship between formal purity and physical longevity. The overall effect is an apparent effortlessness that, of course, requires a huge amount of effort to achieve. The lucid, ephemeral beauty of this approach owes much to the buildings and concepts of Toyo Ito and Kazuo Shinohara and can arguably be traced back to sukiya carpentry and the delicate refinement of the traditional teahouse. This historical connection is most obvious in 21
the essentially two-dimensional quality of the architecture. Just as the
Genealogies and Tendencies
spatial composition of traditional Japanese buildings can be almost entirely comprehended from their modular floor plans, much of this contemporary work comprises little more than flat diagrams of astonishing simplicity. These abstract schematics—simple geometric shapes, grids, spirals, parallel bands, concentric boxes, occasionally even freeform curves—are translated into built form with a minimum of articulation and elaboration. The cross sections provide almost no surprises; the spaces are effectively vertical extrusions of the plans. Designs that do display complexity in section generally have a complementary simplicity in plan, suggesting that the generating diagram has just been rotated 90 degrees. Indeed, the impact of this work is entirely reliant on the clarity of the organizational systems, although this does not necessarily imply functionalism: in many cases functional efficiency is sacrificed for the sake of maintaining the consistency of the diagram. The value of these diagrams lies in their instant comprehensibility. While defining spatial and programmatic relationships, they also act as logos or icons, graphic symbols that have a strong visual appeal—notably, to competition juries, as clearly evinced in many recent prize-winning projects. For example, two new community centers, Onishi Hall (Gunma, 2005) by Kazuyo Sejima and the unbuilt Environment Art Forum in Annaka (Gunma, 2003) by Sou Fujimoto, appear to be nothing more (and nothing less) than the bubble diagrams an architect might make on the first day of design. The genius of the work lies in the materialization of the buildings without any loss of the childlike clarity present in the early sketches. The strength of this approach is even clearer in two recent competition-winning museum 22
After the Crash
designs: the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art (Kanazawa,
Junya Ishigami, Table, 2004
2004) by SANAA (Kazuyo Sejima and Ryue Nishizawa) and the Tomihiro Museum (Gunma, 2005) by aat+ (Makoto Yokomizo). Despite being very different in their execution and experiential quality, they have an analogous planning strategy: simple geometric shapes floating within an equally simple frame. This basic arrangement has been directly translated into a physical object that simultaneously defines form, space, structure, and program. It is an approach that owes a clear debt to Ito’s Sendai Mediatheque (2001). Significantly, Sejima and Yokomizo both worked for Ito early in their careers. Among other projects, Sejima was in charge of the influential Pao: A Dwelling for Tokyo Nomad Women installation (1985), and Yokomizo oversaw Ito’s equally influential contribution to the Visions of Japan exhibition (1991) at London’s Victoria and Albert Museum. Just as these two architects have been refining and extending aspects of the work of their former employer, it is not surprising to learn that Ishigami spent five years working for Sejima, notably on the Kanazawa museum. In recent years, however, Ito has become disturbed by his own influence on this widespread fascination with luminous, weightless objects. In 1998, architecture critic Takashi Hasegawa defined what he called the “transparency syndrome” in houses designed by the younger generation: Structures framed with steel or wood, extremely large openings, an unusual concern with transparency, a few vertical walls that are white and flat, neutrality everywhere, and absolutely no pretence of structural strength. . . . Overall, this series of houses gives an ephemeral, light impression, yet on the 23
other hand each one looks like an undistinguished version of work by the
Genealogies and Tendencies
this page
opposite
top left:
Toyo Ito, Sendai Mediatheque, Sendai, 2001,
Kazuyo Sejima, Onishi Hall, Gunma, 2005, plan
concept sketch
top right: Sou Fujimoto, Environment Art Forum in Annaka, Gunma, 2003 (unbuilt), plan bottom left: SANAA, 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa, 2004, plan bottom right: aat+, Tomihiro Museum, Gunma, 2005, plan
24
After the Crash
1920s avant-garde, the influence of which subtly infuses their shapes. . . . These houses are being designed by young architects who were mostly born after 1960. Faced with this type of design, my sense of taste goes numb and I lose the ability to speak.1
A few months later, Ito wrote an essay in which he quoted Hasegawa’s statements and acknowledged his own complicity: Although editorial selection may play a part, houses of this flavor are certainly conspicuous. Of course, many of these characteristics apply to my own architecture, and I am aware that due to my advocacy of lightness, ephemerality, and transparency, I must bear some of the responsibility for this syndrome among my colleagues born only twenty years after me. Nevertheless, I have to sympathize with Hasegawa’s loss of taste and speech. I suppose this is because it seems to me that many of these houses by young architects share a feeble introversion. Of course there are some to which this does not apply, but so many have a light and transparent aesthetic sophistication throughout. However beautiful and delicate, they do not engage the exterior and are somehow negatively closed to reality. Put another way, while persisting with the critique of modernism, I think an overwhelming number of these houses fail to clearly demonstrate any criticality of their own. I think that very few attempt a positive engagement with reality.2
In the decade since he wrote this, the younger members of the Japanese avant-garde have been increasingly preoccupied with crisp, monochrome boxes. Yet Ito has indirectly responded to these trends within his own 25
work. The turning point was the completion of the Sendai Mediatheque,
Genealogies and Tendencies
the epochal project that sealed Ito’s reputation as the definitive architect of the cyberspace era. Developed in collaboration with Japan’s leading structural engineer Mutsuro Sasaki, the design was, among other things, an attempt to architecturally express the amorphousness and volatility of information flows. Ito had initially seen the resulting structural arrangement (undulating, hollow tubes supporting open, flat plates) as a future prototype for other public buildings, yet during construction he was made keenly aware of the huge physical effort required to achieve his desired “floating” imagery: As the architecture progressed I began to see that it wasn’t something that could be built just anywhere at any time; it was a “one time proposition” that could only be constructed here. That idea became stronger when I witnessed the enormous amount of welding work on the large steel tubes. . . . Mediatheque is a space made by hand, so much so that there is almost no repetition in the use of materials.3
This experience triggered a swerve toward opacity, weight, and structural expression. Ito’s work since then is by no means a return to conventional building types but instead has reinvigorated a design approach that, in our cyber-saturated culture, had begun to run the risk of cliché. He has continued collaborating with Sasaki to develop innovative and expressive structures based on natural archetypes such as trees, mollusks, ripples, and caves. There is an overt weight and structural logic to these new designs. The pavilions of the Relaxation Park in Torrevieja (projected completion 2009), for example, celebrate their own 26
After the Crash
spiraling timber and steel envelopes. Designing the astonishing freeform