6 Innovative New Japanese Houses
New book, "How to Make a Japanese House,' celebrates rampant innovations in design for tight quarters
Japanese architects create some of the most popular contemporary residences, evidenced by their proliferation in magazines and blogs, and in the number of books devoted to them. This popularity stems from avant-garde designs born of a number of unique factors: the high cost of land in cities like Tokyo (meaning small and awkward plots of land), the fact that most buildings do not last more than two decades (making clients open to experimentation through customization) and the heating of the body as opposed to the space (leading to walls and windows with very little insulation), among other things. These factors lead to rampant exploration by younger architects on tight and often awkward lots in dense urban settings.
A new book called How to Make a Japanese House, by Cathelijne Nuijsink (NAI Publishers, 2012), focuses on 21 recently built Japanese houses. Much more than a presentation of photographs and drawings, the book includes interviews with the architects for each project, giving plenty of background on the specific designs but also on larger considerations of life in Japan.
A new book called How to Make a Japanese House, by Cathelijne Nuijsink (NAI Publishers, 2012), focuses on 21 recently built Japanese houses. Much more than a presentation of photographs and drawings, the book includes interviews with the architects for each project, giving plenty of background on the specific designs but also on larger considerations of life in Japan.
Gracing the cover of the book is the O House in Kyoto, designed by Hideyuki Nakayama. Although capped by a gable roof, the narrow, curving house is anything but ordinary. The glazed end of the two-story house, revealed through the open curtain, hints at the uniqueness of the other houses in the book. Six of the houses are featured here, including special requests as quoted in the book that give some insight into the considerations driving each design.
The means of heating in the cold months — heating the body instead of the space — has repercussions for architecture, namely that walls can be paper thin. This finds synergy with design that must deal with humid summers, traditionally through movable walls that allow cross ventilation.
Akira Yoneda's design for Hojo is like a 21st-century update of a traditional Japanese house, situating an elevated box with sliding walls inside a lattice-like exterior.
Akira Yoneda's design for Hojo is like a 21st-century update of a traditional Japanese house, situating an elevated box with sliding walls inside a lattice-like exterior.
Yoneda calls the house "a void within the void," and that seems about right. No view of the house ever makes it appear solid. It's as if an ethereal presence occupies the space between solid buildings. The outer layer is made with fairly standard pipe, but its articulation in bands of varied spacing gives it an artistic appearance.
People in other countries will certainly sympathize with the client's wish to do something for his dog in the house. Yet I haven't seen such consideration taken this far, since the dog is basically given almost half of the house. This pool is the dog's domain, and his comfort is aided by tapping into a geothermal heating system.
Upstairs, Hojo is like a retreat rather than a house. Yoneda describes the project as a descendent of the sichu no sankyo tradition, which is "a cottage with a small garden in the midst of an urban context." The architect also refers to shakkei, or borrowed scenery as an influence. From inside we can see how the views of the surrounding buildings become this scenery, enabled by floating the structure in the urban void.
Cathelijne Nuijsink's book is structured into four chapters, three of which present the 21 projects (the fourth concludes the book with four thematic essays). The three chapters separate the projects into generations: the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s. Kengo Kuma is part of the 1950s generation, who the author asserts "are all searching for ways to go beyond modernist ideals." Kuma seems to be going about it in the Steel House through the use of rough, industrial corrugated steel.
Here we see the storage and display for some of the client's 10,000 (!) model trains.
Here we see the storage and display for some of the client's 10,000 (!) model trains.
The first two projects illustrate fairly open exteriors, one screened with pipes and one cutting openings into corrugated steel walls. But this house is closer to a concrete bunker than what many people might think of as a house. Yet this photo clearly shows that the opacity is just toward the street, and the inside is very open.
Internal courtyards are a great amenity in places like Tokyo, so that people can have a slice of sunlit outdoor space away from the public realm.
But if Mount Fuji Architects simply placed the courtyard on the south, it would have opened it and the interior spaces to the street.
So they cut diagonally across the site, leaving the area at the front of the house for a parking space, and opening up the house to the middle of the block.
But if Mount Fuji Architects simply placed the courtyard on the south, it would have opened it and the interior spaces to the street.
So they cut diagonally across the site, leaving the area at the front of the house for a parking space, and opening up the house to the middle of the block.
A double-height living space prevails, opening up to the courtyard with tall windows. The top floor is a loft that gives the writer a space to work, contemplating his slice of sky out the window. Yet what is most striking is how much the wood and steel on the inside is a contrast with the scalloped concrete exterior. It is warm to the touch inside, a realm envisioned by the architects to change over time, the exterior staying the same. The herringbone patter covers the floors, inside and out, and the walls, enveloping the client.
Kazuyo Sejima, one half of the Pritzker Prize-winning SANAA, is also a member of the 1950s generation, like Kengo Kuma earlier. Sejima has gone well beyond modern ideals by taking a building typology (apartments), usually composed of repetitive elements, and made it totally unique. The project looks like jigsaw puzzle pieces strewn across the site, the gaps between acting as passageways between buildings. In actuality it is one built volume curling about the site and forming four courtyards that are connected on the ground level to act like a street through the project.
These courtyards are sculptural voids, as if they were formed by the slow movement of water over time. Windows are cut into the walls to give apartments light while maintaining privacy.
The play of light upon the curved concrete walls is something that cannot be achieved with straight walls. These gradients therefore influence the character of the light entering the apartments.
The play of light upon the curved concrete walls is something that cannot be achieved with straight walls. These gradients therefore influence the character of the light entering the apartments.
Ryue Nishizawa, the other half of SANAA (but of the 1960s generation), literally broke the program into 10 independent volumes containing six housing units. Walkways between the volumes are private and communal areas for the client and the renters in the five units. There is a certain flexibility to the configuration of the outdoor spaces, which arises from making the volumes so small. Nishizawa did not want to overpower the small-scale context with one large building, so he went the opposite route, and made the volumes smaller than anything around.
The outdoor spaces of the Moriyama House are rooted in the roji, or public alleyways, of the Kamata area where it is located. While not public, these spaces of Moriyama can be used in various ways by the tenants, evidenced by these residents cooking and eating outside.
Nishizawa is fond of the roji, hence his recreation of them in this project, but the traditional spaces are slowly disappearing, since they do not have any privacy. The Moriyama House offers a contemporary update that takes privacy into account in the design of varied outdoor spaces.
Nishizawa is fond of the roji, hence his recreation of them in this project, but the traditional spaces are slowly disappearing, since they do not have any privacy. The Moriyama House offers a contemporary update that takes privacy into account in the design of varied outdoor spaces.
Similar in vein to the previous examples designed by the different partners of SANAA is this single-family residence from Suppose Design Office. The courtyards and walkways of those multi-family projects find another form in skylit passageways between volume-like rooms. Architect Makoto Tanijiri described this decision as one that gives each room multiple sides facing "outside," so that "each room has more quality and comfort."
There is something appealing to this view from one space to another across the indoor/outdoor passageway. In Japan, as in many places, people do not want to look from one house to another; they'd rather maintain their privacy than have another window.
By internalizing the outdoors, privacy is maintained as light and air are brought inside. These spaces may not rival backyards in other countries, but in space-starved Japan they are some of the most valuable places imaginable.
By internalizing the outdoors, privacy is maintained as light and air are brought inside. These spaces may not rival backyards in other countries, but in space-starved Japan they are some of the most valuable places imaginable.