20 years ago,
I worked at an architecture firm of about 100 people.
At the time, the projects we were working on
were undertaken solely for the purpose of making money.
If you look at history,
the undeniable truth is that “architecture” as an institution
has always existed at the behest of those with money or power.
With that in mind,
the kind of architecture we are currently building
of course prioritizes the business needs of our clients,
but we also strive to build something that will bring happiness
to the people around them as well as the clients themselves.
It might sound naive,
but it’s true,
and it all started in 2012 with a project in Okinawa.
Today I’d like to talk about how this all came about.
In 2012, in a town called Itoman in Okinawa,
we were approached to design a restaurant.
Itoman was once a thriving fishing port,
but the economic tides shifted,
and nowadays many shops in the market have lowered their shutters for good.
The client, Mr. Tamashiro, whose grandmother was a fisherman,
had been envisioning to build a restaurant that would convey their culinary heritage.
So we did some research.
We discovered that the ground surface and geologic stratum in Itoman
is rich in Ryukyu coral limestone.
Wondering if I could use this to convey the essence of Itoman in architecture,
I drew these pictures.
If we start at the surface and dig,
we find Ryukyu coral limestone.
By slowly stacking it
into a large pile,
and placing a flat roof on top,
we create a space.
I was trying to express the carefree and relaxed spirit
of Okinawa architecturally when I drew these.
But I had my doubts.
I wasn’t really sure if this kind of architecture
was what Mr. Tamashiro had in mind when he first approached us.
But when Mr. Tamashiro saw these drawings,
he told me that his grandparents built their fisheries just like this.
When it came time to build,
60 people from the local community came and joined us
in stacking the coral limestones over the course of three days.
This building was erected by the locals using their own hands
to build their own future.
The interior wall is also made from coral limestone.
This was the first time for me to be involved in a project
that was realized as a community effort.
In 2014, after we finished this fisherman’s canteen in Itoman,
we were approached to design a nursery school in Chiba Prefecture.
The site rests on a gentle southward-facing slope
and is surrounded by trees – a very idyllic location.
It’s important to remember
that a nursery school is a building for children,
so I thought it would be unnatural if we adults decided
whether this or that was best for the children.
I wanted to try to avoid that if possible.
I wanted to design something
that would not only preserve the surrounding environment
but also put it to practical use.
This is a model of the nursery school.
I’d like to use this to explain in more detail.
As I mentioned before,
the site rests on a gentle, southward-facing slope.
And on this slope,
the daycare facilities are constructed like a large staircase,
with no walls separating them.
We wanted the air to circulate by entering from the south,
passing through and out from the north,
so we placed a single, large panel roof on top.
A large roof gets hot in the summer,
so we placed sprinklers on the roof.
The eaves at the bottom are surrounded by trees,
which makes gutters impractical since they would clog up too easily.
Since there are no gutters,
water from the sprinklers as well as the rainwater
flow off of the roof like a waterfall.
We placed a small pond at the bottom making a space for the children to play.
At the same time,
the water from the pond and the waterfall cool the breeze
and act as a cooling system for the whole building.
This plan was intended to make the most of the natural circumstances in the area
by using the natural breeze to cool the interior.
That’s not to say there weren’t problems.
With this large stair-like layout, the ledges could be dangerous.
Also, with five year-olds sharing the space with three-year-olds,
everyone’s nap time is different.
I thought that could also be a problem.
These were some of the challenges we faced.
We spoke with the board of directors,
and used the idea of a “large house” as our guiding concept.
In fact, the director himself was born and raised nearby.
And as it turned out, he grew up in a large traditional farmhouse.
A typical, old Japanese farmhouse with a large roof
has no partitions or room dividers,
so five year-olds, three year-olds, siblings of all ages shared the space.
Old houses have a veranda called an “engawa.”
These ledges are a little higher than an engawa.
We agreed that no one has ever died falling from an engawa
and decided to move forward with the plan.
This is how it looks from the exterior.
The space is laid out in steps,
so three year-olds and five year-olds and two year-olds and four year-olds
all share the same space.
From the side, you can see the height of the ledges.
The younger children in the higher areas can look down on those in the lower areas,
and the space brings them all together.
The breeze enters through here.
I really like this picture:
children taking a break from playing
sit down and unwind while looking at the waterfall.
When I saw this, I realized it never occurred to us
that the children would think to use the space in this way.
But it occurred to them.
This is a drawing of a nursing facility we are currently working on.
Mr. Ishii is the name of the client.
What Mr. Ishii envisions for this nursing care facility
is not a “facility” but rather a place that could be called a “house.”
Those were the words he used.
“Why not have a space where grandparents and grandchildren,
and neighbors can gather and spend time together?”
He envisions a building where anybody can freely gather.
The eave in this drawing has a large overhang.
So when it rains, people can gather and enjoy the rain.
When it rains, the space is designed to instill a sense of everyone together
under one single roof, in a building the resembles a long engawa.
Having this building operate in a way
that encourages the local community to help out one another
is another aspect of the project.
For example,
there are many children in the neighborhood
who can’t eat breakfast in the morning.
So they are invited to stop for free food at the cafeteria
or take a bath too if they want.
In return, they do some chores.
They help clean up before they leave.
In addition, if the people in the local community
lend a hand at the facility, it’s easier for them to come forward
with concerns about their own aging parents.
The idea is that in the future,
as the community becomes closer and more like a large family,
there will be a greater sense of security as well.
When Mr. Ishii shared these ideas of his,
we had trouble imagining what the finished project would be like.
So I did some research and found this picture.
This is a woodblock print from the Edo Period.
In the foreground, we see an open area called a “mise.”
In this “mise,” we can see
people of all ages and walks of life depicted gathering in one place.
The more I look at this picture, the more enjoyable it all looks.
And I thought, “What if this kind of space is more natural for Japanese people?”
If you think about it,
this traditional style of building
evolved over the course of 400 years during the Edo period
at a time when Japan faced little to no foreign cultural pressure,
to suit the bodies and lifestyles of Japanese people.
But we abandoned this type of residence after the war.
The residential architecture in Japan now has only been here for 70 years.
This is a picture of the “Plan Voisin”
that the famous architect Le Corbusier proposed in Paris in 1926.
This is a prototype of the housing blocks we all recognize today.
Here, individual units are designed to house individual families.
These units are copied and pasted and a large building emerges as a result.
Perhaps without even realizing it,
we have come to limit the concept of “family”
to these individual units.
Perhaps this picture demonstrates
that the architecture that surrounds us in our everyday lives
has come to dictate the way we think about “family.”
This kind of architecture doesn’t encourage
having a casual chat with your neighbors
in the same way the mise we saw in the last picture does.
Someone else was telling me about an elderly woman in Akita.
Apparently, this woman can look out at the clouds beyond the mountains
and predict the weather.
The houses we live in now are described
as being “highly airtight and highly insulated.”
Almost like living inside a thermos.
What if Japanese people
once had a consciousness that extended far into the mountains
that we are slowly losing because of the architecture we live in?
In closing, I’d like to leave you all with this picture.
Here we see local villagers cooperating to thatch together the roof of a house.
This was called “yane-bushin” (roof building).
The original meaning of the second part of the word was:
those with money contributed money;
those with materials contributed materials;
those with physical strength lent a hand;
with everyone contributing what they had to give,
they built a house together.
Back in the day, building a new house in the village was a big event.
So everyone was involved in the project.
When everyone built a house together,
everyone feels more welcome to casually come visit later on.
The house in this picture has eaves that protrude outward
and create a wide space underneath.
One could almost say it conveys a certain sense of community
that the inhabitants and nearby villagers once held.
Another thing to remember
is the time spent in the house built in this way
was shared not only among the family living in this house
but also with the nearby villagers,
for all of them to appreciate the views from there
or to savor the rain that fell around it and the wind that blew through it.
Perhaps there are memories in this sort of process
that we as humans have already forgotten.
I firmly believe
that everyone should have access to the kind of architecture
that gently speaks to our way of life.
And we hope to continue building this kind of architecture in the future.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)
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