Cozy Inn Antique

Kyoto: movie stars and giant rocks

Kyoto, October 17-20.

I took a mini vacation for three days in Kyoto, where there are few major biophlic subject buildings that are more worthy of study than the oodles of Japanese cultural and religious historic landmarks. Josh joined me for this part of the trip; together we hit up a series of Buddhist temples, Shinto shrines, Zen rock gardens, a Noh drama (Japan’s oldest theater art), a tea ceremony, small cobblestone shopping streets, and the massive “matrix” of Kyoto Station – the only architectural landmark on our itinerary built in the last few hundred years. We stayed in a ryokan – a traditional Japanese guesthouse complete with tatami mats topped with 2 squishy futon mattresses. The splendors of Kyoto are vast, and the three days we spent there was not enough time to take them all in. (Josh will do better justice by returning there while I stay on in Naoshima.)

With its Zen history, Kyoto was my first city here that made vegetarianism easy. That was great for avoidance of oddities like octopus balls, but endless amounts of bland and sometimes chalky soy products were not ideal. The strangest was yuba, which is made from thin sheets of soy that comes from what you skim off of the top layer of soymilk… which tastes, well, like soymilk, but chewier. (Though odd, the yuba was infinitely better than the heavily processed “fish cakes” that came in rather disturbing shapes and colors.)


The food may not have always hit the spot, but the gardens sure did. I’ve been a fan of Japanese gardens in general and Zen rock gardens in specific for decades, and Kyoto certainly gave me my fill. At Tofuku-ji, one of my favorites, a shogun movie was being filmed on the day of our visit. (This explained the random people wandering through the outer gardens dressed in traditional costume; before we happened on the film crew, we thought that they were just in it for fun or general tradition.) We learned all about the process because one of the stars approached us and asked, in perfect English, if we would practice English with an actress, one of his (stage) wives. It was she who explained what was going on. I asked if she was famous; she replied in a quiet, secretive voice that yes, she was, and that the man who originally asked us to speak with her is even more famous. So Josh took my picture with her, and I snapped one of some of the actors. Our theory was that they want to learn English to try to make it big in Hollywood. So, when we see them on the silver screen, we can say that we knew them when…

The film was actually a sideline, though – the rock gardens were amazingly beautiful, especially the day it rained. Many of the temple buildings were surrounded by veranda-like porches that led you to a separate garden facing each façade. Each side had a distinct style – they ranged from patterned sand with a few carefully placed rock (a larger version of the “coffee table” Zen rock garden of my college years) to a dense, lush landscape of bonsai and shrubs interspersed with waterfalls and koi ponds. Each was a perfect foil to those that came before and after in sequence; chained together they formed a composition greater than the sum of its parts.

Transportation count: about 6 buses per day. Luckily, Kyoto offers a reasonably priced 1 day bus pass, which saved us many yen.

Everything but a sunroof and four wheel drive

Osaka, 14 October.

A people known for its technological savvy, the Japanese spare no effort or imagination when it comes to toilet design. Whether nestled into a private residence or lining massive train station restrooms, the toilet experience is intense, and no two are alike. The toilets are often programmable, with options that include heated seats, A/C or heating vents (at the back on the tank, blowing air onto you as desired), a button that imitates the flush sound (to cover up other noises), a bidet, a butt wash, a timed flush, and other things I have yet to figure out and am afraid to try. Many toilets are dual flush, and I have now memorized the characters associated with each option. In addition, there is frequently a faucet on top of the tank, allowing you to wash your hands with the fresh water that is about to refill the bowl.

I have spent considerable time researching water efficient toilets for my projects, so I speak as an expert: Japan is far more advanced than the United States in this area. Now if only they would apply their talents to developing systems that prevent toilets from shifting around on unsteady trains…



Follow-up note: during my final hours in Japan -- in the Tokyo airport -- I found fully translated instructions for the buttons that have confused me for the last three weeks. (Click image to enlargen. )

Sayamaike Museum of Water Engineering

Osakasayamaike, October 16

As I rounded the berm that circles the Sayamaike pond – built hundreds of years ago as one of Japan’s first irrigation systems – the windowless concrete and stone buildings of the museum dominated the horizon. At first sight, I admit to being disappointed; the grayness of the day only made the grayness of the buildings that much more drab and foreboding. As I grew closer, though, its layers unfolded, and the murmur of water entered my ears. It may have only been a murmur, but it was the kind of murmur that tells you something big is ahead. First a distant whisper, it grew one step louder as I turned each corner to make my way through the museum’s extensive forecourts.

Finally the full drama came into view: a sunken water court, long and narrow, with the museum abutting one of the long sides and an auxiliary building at the other. Visitors pass by calm pools of water at grade level, where they ultimately arrive at the top of a set of stairs that cascade down into the water court: water plunges down from the buildings into a shallow pond. The water originates in the pools above; it falls over the edges of the buildings and into the court below. Here the waterfalls are at their loudest and most intense, as the noise reverberates off of the tall stone and concrete walls over and over again. To get to the museum entry, visitors must pass behind or immediately in front of the sheets of falling water, then through a second courtyard – this one circular – and up a series of curved ramps.

The message is literally loud and clear: this place is all about the water. The museum itself was interesting, but without translations, there weren’t many reasons for me to linger. Instead, I took up temporary residence at the roof garden “un deux” café, where I sit writing this while sipping sour plumb juice and munching a grilled cheese and sesame-pickle sandwich.

Use of water in design is one facet of biophilia – that’s what drew me to this study site. There are many aspects of the design that I would consider to be biophilic, especially the sense of prospect and refuge and the incredible dynamism of the water court and surrounding spaces. The sound of the water falling, however, is so overwhelming that, to me, it is more disturbing than regenerative. While aspects of this design could be adapted for other uses, I certainly wouldn’t want to experience the acoustic intensity of Sayamaike’s water in very many places.

Transportation count: 1 train (55 minutes) each way

The capsule hotel: an antonym to biophilia

Osaka, Oct. 15. A limited budget (three weeks in Japan for the price of two) is my primary excuse for seeking out the capsule hotel; in reality, I was curious about this bizarre Japanese tradition, and wanted to try it out for myself. These strange little (and I mean little) places started up in order to accommodate workers or partiers who missed the last train home and needed a quick place to crash, a toothbrush, a towel, and not much else. Very few capsule hotels accept women, but I was lucky to find the equal-access, well-located “Capsule Inn Namba” for about $22 per night.

When I first checked in I was handed two keys: one for the shoe locker at the ground level, and a second for the clothes locker in a room adjacent to the capsule space on the third floor. Unfortunately, the clothes locker was not sized for a traveler’s backpack that included things like bulky camera and computer equipment, but I finally created a system of storing my belongings mostly in the locker and partially in the capsule that suited my needs, but not before a lot of heaving and rearranging. With the stuff problem settled, I bunked down for the night in a space that’s about 3’ high, 3’ wide and 6’ deep, with a small TV eating up a piece of that real estate near the ceiling.

It’s definitely not for everyone, but I rather enjoyed having my own little space. In many ways it’s like a dorm style hostel, except that you have complete visual privacy, and they give you these fun little robes that you’re expected to wear around. The only challenge was that I tended to move the wrong way from time to time, slamming an unsuspecting elbow or leg into the plastic shell that encases the capsule. The complete disconnect with the outside world – the only window I saw in the whole building was in the entry door – was also a little disconcerting, but I wasn’t there to take in greenery. I adjusted to the overwhelming beigeness and the size of the quarters after a night or two, and it has become my pleasant little Osaka home.

Transportation count: zzzzzzzzzzzz...

Island hopping

Osaka & Awaji, October 15.

Japan is a nation of islands, and today was my first venture off of the main island of Honshu. Awaji is a smallish island west of Osaka and southwest of Kobe, and it happens to be home to two interesting – and extremely different – Tadao Ando projects. The first is the Water Temple, a small, Buddhist temple set up on a hillside away from Awaji’s more populated areas. To enter, you walk up a hill, then through an outdoor hallway formed by two curved walls of concrete. The arced passage way opens to the far end of an ovular lily pond. The path turns back on itself and leads you to the center of the long side of the pond, at which point a slender stair slices through the center of the pond and leads you down beneath it. The pond forms the roof of the temple below, though this relationship is not immediately recognizable when you first enter the pond space. A contrast to the bright and shiny blue-green waters of above, the interior is dark, and red wood slats over the areaway windows create a glowing red light that follows you around to the central shrine. The whole experience – beginning with the walk up the rural hillside covered with flower farms, and ending with a glowing red Buddha – was a peaceful respite from my hectic time navigating the Osaka region.

My next stop was Awaji Yumebutai, a hotel complex that includes a vast set of gardens, indoors and out, and a series of restaurants and cafes. For all that the design of the Water Temple was small, subtle and serene, the Yumebutai design was over the top and high energy. I entered through a tall, angular and completely forgettable Westin Hotel and into an expansive, angular and far less forgettable “shell beach”: an intricate, multistory maze of outdoor pools, waterfalls, ramps and walkways. It garners its name from the white cockle shells that line the base of most of the pools; images of this area were one of the things that led me to add Yumebutai to my list of projects of interest. After exhausting myself wandering through all the ins and outs of the shell beach, I excavated into some restaurant and café buildings set partially into the ground and then began my climb up to the top of of colorful tiered gardens that crawl up the hill that forms the backdrop to the complex. The Yumebutai site was quite a spectacle, sparkling under the afternoon sun and sprinkled here and there with wealthy hotel guests.

It had a somewhat eerie feeling, however, because there were relatively few visitors; most meandered through the tiered garden or made a beeline straight for the bonsai exhibit in one of the winter garden spaces. The shell beach was almost completely unoccupied, especially in the lowest levels that are not easily accessed; I only saw other visitors in areas that were direct circulation paths to other destinations. This wasn’t very surprising, given the its expansiveness, but it’s too bad; the interplay of light colored stone, concrete, and white shells is really nice – like a tropical beach, but extremely architectural. I wish that it had been designed to be more interactive with the rest of the complex.

Despite some very biophilic traits (e.g. use of water, prospect/refuge, natural materials), there is nothing natural about this development. Exhibits and photos dot the walls of the hotel demonstrating how invasive the excavation and construction process was. Sustainable this is not – it must require a huge amount of resources (water, energy, maintenance, money, etc.) to keep this joint running. None the less, I had a great time making my way in, out, up, down, around and through the project.

Transportation count: 1 subway, 1 train, 1 ferry and 2 buses (3 hours) each way

Church of the Light, and hey, grab that plate before it gets away

Osaka, Oct. 14. Today I made a pilgrimage to Tadao Ando’s Church of the Light in Ibaraki, a suburb between Osaka and Kyoto. It’s an unlikely place for such a significant architectural landmark, and the congregation is very small; I got the impression that the Sunday afternoon I visited had more architourists than the morning services had worshipers.

When I arrived, services were still wrapping up, and I could hear a soprano “Hallelujah” from a half a block away. After the service finished, the pastor led me into the chapel, which is known because its cool, dark interior with heavy angled concrete walls slopes downward toward a giant slab of concrete behind the altar that is sliced in two directions such that the slit opening forms the shape of a giant cross. Even with a overcast sky like today’s, the cross glowed – a sculpture of light suspended at the front of the chapel.

This building didn’t hit many of the criteria on my biophilia list (see earlier posting), but it topped my choice of projects simply for the sheer power and symbolism of the light; I’ve enjoyed this building from afar for years. The views of the building from the street are modest and just a touch foreboding (this is concrete after all), and barely hint at the wonders inside. The church interior, however, does not disappoint. I was the first tourist to arrive, and had 20 minutes by myself to take in the stark, formidable pews, stained black, the massive pipe organ that floats up the rear wall, and the refined angles that allow in a quiet bath of natural light up one side wall – this smaller dose of light was a sharp contrast with the cross in the front, which always drew my attention back to the altar.

Other visitors began to trickle in. One was a Canadian, living in Osaka and teaching English. People with white skin traveling alone tend to be magnets for other people with white skin traveling alone, and we soon struck up a conversation. He, bored and lonely for English speakers, decided that he should be my tour guide for the evening. Our first stop (unplanned by him) was the Louis Vuitton building near Osaka Station, designed by Kengo Kuma. After some brief architectural admiration, we moved on to our intended destination: conveyer belt sushi. Customers sat at one long linear table that snaked its way through the restaurant. The conveyer belt ran in front of us, moving plates of sushi through the room; we’d grab what we wanted and allow the rest to pass on to other customers. When we’d had our fill – my fill was mostly inari (rice wrapped in a tofu sheathe then fried) and vege sushi, but I did get over my, um, distaste for raw fish long enough to try some house specialties. When we were finished, we hit a button near our seats; the waitress whisked over, counted the pile of plates in front of us and tallied the bill. It was a great deal – at 100 yen per plate, I had a good sized (and rather intriguing) dinner for well under $10. A great way to end a great day.

Transportation count: 1 subway, 1 train and 1 bus (2 hours) each way (to the Church of the Light) and an extra subway after conveyer belt sushi

Don’t feed the animals (or the children)

Nara, 13 October. I chose to research modern Japanese architecture in part because of my fascination with their high level of craft when building with natural materials in an era in which other developed nations have shifted away from such materials and processes, and toward synthetics and factory production. In my Patterson grant proposal, I suggested that this is partially a result of centuries of Shinto and Buddhist tradition. Few other sites could have demonstrated this connection so clearly as temples, shrines and other buildings in Nara Park. First, they represent a wide range of uses of traditional building materials, such as thatch, bark, paper and bamboo. We see these materials every day… but we’re not used to seeing them on buildings, at least not in an unprocessed form, and especially not buildings that are presently occupied by quotidian functions such as shops and cafes. For example, a small restaurant building had siding made of tree bark and interior partitions made of a thick but translucent paper. In addition, many of the buildings used for ritual have been rebuilt numerous times – many as frequently as every 20 years. This practice of reconstruction comes up when I read about many different buildings; though not commonplace, it is not exactly rare. I expect that it helps to keep the older construction skills and knowledge alive.

I spent my first day in Japan touring through Nara and admiring these amazing structures. Worshipers and tourists are not the only admirers, though: huge herds of deer flock in Nara Park, chasing tourists and each other. They are considered to be holy, and have been living side by side with local residents for centuries. Vendors dot the park selling deer crackers, but a word of warning should you ever be tempted: don’t expect the dominant males to let you off easy. We saw many a scampering tourist and screaming baby that resulted from bizarre and unpredictable deer behavior.

Speaking of bizarre behavior, as we neared the end of our park tour, a group of school children swarmed around, pushed their notebooks towards us and repeatedly demanded us to “sign here!” on the blue cardstock cover. I think I can speak for Sayo as well when I say that neither of us have ever given so many autographs in one sitting. What they were up to we won’t likely ever know… my five minutes of fame may be gone, but my messy scrawl will live on through a large group of giggly nine-year-olds.

Transport count: 2 buses and a heck of a lot of walking

Darkness and light

Nara, 13 October. As the Narita (Tokyo) airport train emerged from its tunnel around 6 this evening, I braced myself for big city-bright lights excitement. I was surprised to realize that my first impression of Tokyo was darkness. In the hour and a half I spent in the terminal, the sun had set and Narita had become pitch black. We had almost arrived in Tokyo before the landscape was overcome by the neon and flashing LCDs I had expected. From Tokyo Station, I boarded the Ginga Express, a night train that would take me to Nara via Kyoto.

If my first impression of Tokyo was darkness, then my first impression of the Kansai (Kyoto/Nara) region was light. When I dismounted from my upper bunk Ginga “couchette,” the sun had just risen, and the sky glowed pink over the distant umber mountains. In the foreground, pale green fields peacefully swished by. After the chaos of travel and mouse-trap maze of Tokyo Station, Kansai’s rural tranquility was a sight for sore eyes.

After 35 hours of travel in 9 vehicles, I arrived tired but happy at Sayo’s house in Nara. I have the good fortune of working with Sayo, and the equally good fortune of being in Japan at the same time as her vacation home. Her family welcomed me into their home for two days, and Sayo took me on fabulous tours of historic Nara. Definitely an auspicious beginning to my journey -- thanks!

Transport count: 1 bus, 2 light rail lines, 2 airplanes, 3 trains and 1 car (35 hours)

Beyond the Healing Garden: Biophilic Design in Modern Japanese Architecture

This post includes excerpts from the proposal I wrote for the Anshen+Allen John M. Patterson, AIA Travel Study Fellowship, titled "Beyond the Healing Garden: Biophilic Design in Modern Japanese Architecture."

Over the past few years, the concept of “sustainable,” “high performance design” and “green building” have gained momentum in the architectural profession. Some designers and ecologists challenge these further, suggesting that “sustainable” is not enough; design should be about doing “more good” instead of just “less bad” – to be regenerative instead of just efficient or sustainable.1 While many people view this as an ecological issue – addressing problems like water shortages or global warming – it is also an issue of human health and well being. A growing group of designers and researchers suggest that biophilia should play a greater role in the way we approach the design of our built environments.

In simplest form, biophilia is the “innately emotional affiliation of human beings to other living organisms.”2 In more complex terms, however, biophilia can refer to those relationships or phenomena that came about through our species’ evolution in very different physical environments than those we typically occupy today. Though we now view ourselves separate from, and often superior to, nature, Homo sapiens evolved in symbiosis with the rest of the natural world, resulting in our biophilic tendencies. Biophilia helps to explain why we like trees on our streets, why we have pets, why houses near parks have higher property values and why some people like to “escape” to natural environments. Buildings and cities designed with biophilia in mind support the health and well being of their occupants and as such biophilic design is a critical component of regenerative design.

The three most common tenets of elements of biophilic design – access to nature (views and healing gardens), sun (daylighting) and wind (natural ventilation) – have been researched and discussed in academic and professional forums. These may be the most obvious or straight forward tenets of biophilic design, but they are not the only ones. For the John M. Patterson, AIA Travel Study Fellowship, I propose to study biophilic principals in Japanese architecture, with a focus on facets of biophilia beyond gardens, daylight and natural ventilation. Aspects of Japanese architecture support a unique approach to biophilia, including:

• The use of local, natural materials
• A connection between interior and exterior surfaces, including a blurring of the exterior edge and interpenetration of indoor and outdoor spaces
• Visual and/or physical access to bodies of water
• Duality of prospect/openness and refuge/shelter
• Use of dynamic and diffuse daylight
• A sense of whimsy and mystery

Modern Japanese architects create unique balance of the biophilic elements listed above, while also often providing access to sun, wind and the surrounding natural environment. Some designers, such as Nikken Sekkei, address biophilia through an ecological framework – these architects' biophilic elements are, at least in part, tied in to sustainability, and other aspects of their work are also green. Other Japanese architects’ biophilia stems from historic trends in architecture, culture and religion. While other architects around the world have also been influenced by such issues – Frank Lloyd Wright is among the most famous – Japanese architects/firms, including Tadao Ando, Kisho Kurokawa, Nikken Sekkei, Kengo Kuma, and Shiguro Ban, are worth further attention as biophilic concepts begin to enter mainstream green building in the United States.

Hello

I will be in Japan Oct. 10-30, 2007 with the Anshen+Allen Patterson Travel Study Fellowship researching biophilia in modern Japanese architecture, with a focus on use of light, water and natural materials in building design and building/site relationships. This blog will document my experiences -- both research-specific and general -- while I am abroad. I don't expect to have proper keyboards or spell check, so proceed at your own risk.