ERASlNG：

KIRŌSAN OBSERVATORY,OCHl，GUN，
EHIME，1991-94


The island of ōshima lies off the coast of Shikoku，to the northeast of Imabari City in Ehime Prefecture．It covers 45-5 square kilometres and has a population of 10,000. Tangerines and fishing are the main industries．Part of the Geiyo Islands，the largest archipelago in the Inland Sea, Ōshima is next to Ushima，an uninhabited island that is reputed to have been the birthplace of a notorious pirate clan that operated in these waters centuries ago.

The highest point on Ōshima is a 315-metre peak with the curious name Kirōsan ('turtle．aged—mountain'). Although little more than a hill，it looms over the small island．The residents of the nearby town asked me to design an observatory on top of it．

My first visit took place on a winter's day．The mountain was not a pretty sight．Several years earlier, the summit had been levelled and trees cut down to create a so-called Observation Park．The park was a cold，windy, desolate place, almost deltoid of life．The only structure was a small public toilet.

The townspeople wanted to create an observatory that overlooked the outlying islands．They wanted the building to be a symbol of the island and the town．In short， they wanted a monument．There were few constraints．The site was large enough．I was free to determine the internal programme．It was not a built-up area，so planning regulations were not very stringent．Nevertheless, the project proved extremely difficult．I developed various schemes，but none of them was satisfactory．I grew impatient．I could not get the bleak image of the Observation Park out of my head．There are times when the absence of programmatic constraints can actually make it difficult to arrive at a design, but that didn't seem to be the problem in this case．

I thought through the problem once more and came to the conclusion that the very idea of an observatory involved a contradiction．Typically an observatory is constructed to take advantage of a beautiful environment．However, its construction can spoil that environment．It does not matter how beautiful the form of the observatory is; in fact, the more beautiful it is, the more conspicuous it is likely to be, to the detriment of the environment．

Observatories demonstrate the self-centred nature of human perception．They are generally objects—that is the core of the problem．I wondered if this observatory could be made transparent, that is, effectively erased，so minimising the damage to the environment．

I therefore tried designing a transparent object．My real aim was not to create an object, but to choreograph a sequence of movements by the subject—that is，to create a device controlling his vision．Nevertheless, given the site—a park on a hill—it was inevitable that any kind of mass would appear as an object in the environment．With this scheme, I could only try to minimise the impact of that object by employing a material that was as delicate and transparent as possible．

To achieve transparency I decided to use a steel frame，which allows for more delicate columns and beams than a concrete structure．Preliminary calculations showed that，when reinforced with diagonal bracing，columns and beams could be made of steel tubing with a 200一millimetre cross section．The result would be a box-shaped structure，40 metres long，6 metres wide and 12 metres high，wrapped on two sides in stainless steel mesh．The vertical planes of mesh would divide the site into three layered spaces—a bamboo grove，a sandy beach，and an area carpeted with wildflowers—representing the three different types of landscape on the island．At intermediate points in the sequence, glass boxes would penetrate the mesh，enabling the subject to pass from one spatial layer to another．

The purpose of this was to remind the subject that the world is not absolute but is instead diverse and relative in character．The subject was to be made to understand this，not through intellectual argument, but through physical experience．In ascending to the top of the observatory, the visitor would pass easily from one thinly sliced layer to another, from one world to another．Such thinly sliced spaces are rare in the real world but commonplace in cyberspace，where they allow speedy transitions from one layer to another．Computer games depend on that speed of transition．One of the ideas of this scheme was to introduce into real space the structure and speed of cyberspace．

Though thin, each of the three spaces in this scheme had character．Instead of being closed，they were open and connected to the natural environment of the outside world．They were not complete in themselves，but served to mediate．For example，a difference of a few centimeters in the subject's position relative to the stainless steel mesh completely altered his vision of the world．Seen through the mesh，the Inland Sea appeared in vague outline，as if rendered in an impressionist style．Seen without the filter of the mesh，it became a landscape straight out of the Mediterranean，sharply delineated，with bold shadows．Such things do not happen in spaces that are designed to be complete in themselves, which necessarily have depth．The scheme confirmed the fact that the position of the subject determines the appearance of the world to a large extent．It showed that the world could be freer, lighter and more relativistic．

The culmination of the upward sequence of movements was to be the subject's arrival inside a hollow, free-form volume made of living plants．That volume was the sole opaque object in the project．All man-made objects having been made transparent, the only object permitted to assert itself was a natural one．It was almost as if a fragment of the forest was floating in mid-air on top of the mountain. I felt that this scheme effected a decisive reversal．Since Ancient Greece and Rome, artefacts have been made to stand out as figures against a natural ground—a schema that has enabled architecture to assert its superiority over nature．In this project, however, nature was the figure that stood out against a man-made ground．This reversal was Intended to serve as a criticism of the traditional relationship of contrast and domination．

Ultimately, however, I decided to discard the scheme．I did so for two reasons，one having to do with transparency, the other with the critical stance that was expressed．Using a transparent material such as glass is not always enough to erase an object．Many glass buildings are in fact conspicuous objects that thoroughly dominate their environments．In terms of erasing an object, the setting is more important than the choice of material．In this case, the setting was a summit that had already been leveled and turned into a perfect pedestal．Anything that is set on a pedestal becomes an object, regardless of what it is made of or how discreetly it is placed．Most works of
contemporary art are tiresome because they rely on this particular property of the pedestal．

No particular skill or effort is required to turn something into an object．Preventing a thing from becoming an object is a far more difficult task．I had intended to criticize the system for generating objects, first by erasing the object through the use of transparent materials，and secondly by creating a 'natural' floating object made of living plants．However, the scheme was still premised on a levelled site：I was not repudiating the use of a pedestal．In that sense, I was taking a stance that was both critical and conservative．

I began to wonder if it might not be possible to reverse the nature of the mountain peak itself, to make it the very opposite of a pedestal．If I could achieve that, it would represent a far more decisive repudiation of objects than the use of transparency．Even though the working drawings were nearly complete, I decided to abandon the scheme I had developed and take another approach based on burial．simply placing the building below ground without altering its basic form would be the same as concealing an object．My intention was to make the polar opposite of an object．I wanted to explore the potential of a form that was concave and thoroughly passive rather than assertive．

My starting point was to restore the topography．I conceived a concrete structure，with a U-shaped cross—section, set on the existing open space at the summit and bermed and planted on both sides．The top of the mountain was to be restored to its original height, with the observatory forming a slit-like excavation at its apex．Instead of an observation deck it was to be an observation trench．

I decided on the method for planting the berms only after careful study．If the plants did not quickly take root, the steep banks of earth might be washed away by rain．A landslide was the last thing I wanted．First，a welded metal net was used to hold the banked earth in place；then a viscous solution of seeds，fertiliser and fibres was sprayed onto the berms．By these means vegetation was restored to the mountaintop．

The trench is completely Open and exposed to the sky, but is nearly invisible unless one is directly above．Only a thin，sharp slit appears on the face of the mountain．Here, as in nearly all public projects，the client had expected me to create a monument．Being able to meet such expectations is considered the test of a good architect．However the only monument on this site is the natural landscape, Kirōsan itself．I felt that it should be the only thing to admire here．

Visitors are momentarily taken aback by the downward orientation of the approach．They do not anticipate walking down，even part of the way, to an observatory on top of a mountain．After passing through a narrow opening，where the walls press in on them from both sides, they arrive at a sunken plaza．The space is open to the sky but enclosed on three sides by high walls．On the fourth side is a large stairway. The only thing visitors can see of their surroundings is the sky；they wonder what sort of observatory this can be．Ascending to the top of the stairway, their field of vision suddenly expands：the islands of the Inland Sea are spread out before them．From this deck (Deck 1)，visitors make a 180-degree turn and cross a narrow bridge with a cypress footway．The bridge connects with Deck 2, located at the opposite end of the observatory, where there are views of the natural landscape．Nature has long been considered sacred in Japan．In many religious spaces, the object of veneration is natural．(At Ōmiwa Shrine, for instance, it is a mountain.1)Typically，visitors to a Japanese shrine are led through a carefully orchestrated sequence, which often includes a bridge．The culmination of the sequence is the shrine building，beyond which worshippers may not go—the object of veneration itself remains out of bounds．For this reason the man-made structures that mediate between worshippers and the venerated object are not massive or assertive, but rather lightweight, fragile and subject to weathering over time．They are most often made of one of the pale，lightweight, fragrant woods，such as cypress, that have been highly prized in Japan since ancient times．Hence my choice of cypress for the bridge, as this observatory, too, is a device for mediating between people and nature．A hierarchical sequence carefully and gradually leads visitors into the inner depths of nature．

Deck 2 is at the highest point of the observatory, the last stage in the hierarchical sequence．From there, visitors go down a separate, steep stairway which returns them abruptly to the sunken plaza．I felt that Deck 2 required a device that effects this sudden reversal—something like the mirror typically positioned in the innermost depths of a Shinto shrine space．Having crossed a bridge，climbed the steps and reached the inner sanctum，the worshipper peers eagerly into the mirror, but the mirror rebuffs his gaze．It does not simply obstruct vision，but shows how it is imperfect, self-centred and self-referential．

The mirror in a shrine strips the act of seeing of its privileged character．I sought to create a device that performed a similar function．My solution was to arrange three pairs of cubes on Deck 2—half of them function as seats while the other hall positioned opposite，are equipped with monitors．

When a visitor sits on the first seat and looks at the monitor opposite, he sees an overall image of Deck 2．If he looks carefully he sees himself sitting on the stone bench —and is unsettled to realise he is being watched．The camera，hidden among trees, is difficult to spot．When the visitor sits on the second seat and looks at the monitor opposite, he sees his own face in profile，his gaze directed slightly downward．Here too，the camera is well concealed：it takes some time to find the small hole bored into the lower part of the adiacent seat．When the visitor sits on the third seat and looks at the monitor opposite，he sees an image of woods—the same woods, directly ahead，that he can see unaided．However, that natural view differs from the image captured by a video camera in colour and resolution；where the image seen by the unaided eye has no fixed frame, the video image has a fixed frame and a clear boundary．Here too, the camera is hidden，suspended beneath the floor of the deck．

Electronic technology is used in these devices to expose the imperfection of vision and reverse its privileged status．Under ordinary circumstances, the seeing subject is under the illusion that he dominates what he sees．However, seeing also opens up the possibility of being seen．Anyone who dominates another through vision is always vulnerable to a brutal reversal．

Akira Kurosawa's 1963 film High and Low2 depicts the possibility of just such a reversal．A child is kidnapped from a luxurious residence situated high on a hill in Yokohama．The picture window of the residence affords a panoramic view of the city below．The kidnapper calls the wealthy owner．I've got your child；he says 'You can't see me, but I can see everything you're doing right now．' The roles have been reversed．The owner of the residence is brutally stripped of the privileged status bestowed on him by his high vantage point．

Kurosawa is pointing out the danger inherent not just in seeing，but in objects．The hilltop residence is a typical object．Set on high ground，as if on a pedestal，it is a product of bourgeois desire．Looking through its enormous picture windows，the occupants come to believe that they dominate not just nature but the world as a whole At the same time, the bourgeoisie wants the world to see the manifestations of their sensibility and wealth．The suburban house enabled them to satisfy this dual desire—to see and be seen．As a result, the twentieth century was the century of suburban houses, which proliferated at an extraordinary rate until they dominated the landscape．

Eventually, however, it was realised that these objects were not as ideal a form as had been supposed．Success was assured only when an object stood alone on a hill, dominating and being seen by the rest of the world．When there were multiple objects，those conditions no longer applied．The view from the object was no longer of the natural landscape or the world at large, but of obiects built by others—other people's houses．The subject was overwhelmed by these unwelcome sights．Moreover，every object was continually observed，inside and out, by its neighbours．
In the suburbs，the misery of High and Low is an everyday occurrence．The dual desire to see and to be seenleads to instability．An object may be made transparent，but it remains an object．And transparent，it is more thoroughly under observation and more thoroughly dominated．

Conditions in the surburbs are in a sense even more wretched than those in the panopticon, a prison system conceived by the English jurist and philosopher Jeremv Bentham (1748-1832)．In the panopticon the cells were arranged so that they could all be kept under constant observation from a central tower．Foucault saw this system as the model for modern disciplinary society3. In fact, disciplinary society is more completely realised，in a less obvious form，in the object—strewn suburbs of today．There is no need there for a central control tower：evading observation is impossible．

Instability is not endemic to the suburbs：all buildings that are objects share it．One-way to overcome the instability of objects is to thoroughly expose it—through theft．Theft is an effective method against those who build objects and with naive delight show the rest of society how much they have to lose．For most people, a house is an irreplaceable asset, the fruit of a lifetime's work．That is precisely why some resort to theft，and why theft has such an impact．

Kirōsan Observatory is a facility for committing theft, for stealing looks at visitors．The beautiful natural environment lures people to the place．Once there，they are invited to go up to the decks from the plaza．On the final deck they are given their come—uppance：'You cannot see me．I can see everything you are doing.' Fear must be instilled in those who would possess and dominate the rest of the world through vision and objects．


NOTES

1. Nara Perfecture. The object of veneration of Miwa Shrine is the mountain Miwayama.
2. Original title Tengoku to jigoku (Literally, ‘Heaven and Hell’), based on the novel King’s Ransom by Ed McBain.
3. Michel Foucault (1926-1984). French social scientist, historian and author of Surveiller ep punir; naissance de la prison, trans. Alan Sheridan, Discipline and Punish: The birth of the Prison (New York: Vintage 1977).

Katie Hovis and Kerry Zawadzki

Are the blogs we are all going to comment on for this week : )

Site study and research

I hope you guys all got the site location, photos and the program. This is the central park in the heart of Wang Jing District of Beijing. It’s surrounded by cooperate headquarter towers, and commercial buildings. The land use for this site is Park, however, the north side of it is allowed for some commercial buildings. These settings give us many different dimensions and aspects to define this site as we need. You may also choose to work on the landscape of the park together with the building if you think it will help you to merge the architecture into the surrounding environment.

Please send any of your questions regarding the site.

Xu

interesting material study

http://architectonicsofmusic.blogspot.com/2009/02/imaginary-landscapes.html

It's a friend's studio blog, shown some of the material study they did for their class.

comments to Kerry's post

hi, Kerry, your writing about the three methods of create Negative architecture is very interesting, and seems very doable. I can totally imagine each of them to be tested and realized and form interesting architecture treatments. I'd suggest you to do some conceptual physical model to try to explain your thoughts by some physical form and logic, it would be very good to be able to see it in reality.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a site!

Hi guys,

Please see the above image for the first information regarding our site.

More information will follow shortly in the form of site photos, Google Earth coords, CAD files, etc.

The site is to be a central feature for a developing urban center of Beijing. The context is diverse with retail, residential, and corporate centers all bounding the site.

Consider the site as a sandbox for experimenting with your ideas about negative architecture.

Jonathan

The Blog of the Week

This Week, Let's all read and add comments to Mark Rogers and Scott Kasper's blog.

The amazing fact is that in this studio, each of the students has their own point about Negative architecture, it insures you may broaden your perspective about this concept by 6 times. If not including the ideas from me and Jonathan.

Xu

Suggestion of comment on your classmates blog

Hi, guys:

I saw a lot of you has followed other classmates blog, that’s very good, please go ahead to make comment on their posts, because of the format of this studio, that will act as our in class discussion. Which is also the point why we need to take a course or studio together, because we need interactive to achieve better efficiency and more interesting results. Otherwise, we just study and reading by ourselves would be just fine. So let’s make this effort worth it.

Two suggestions:

1. From this week on, I would choose two students per week, and every one in the class need to add comments on their posts, as part of our assignment.
2. Try to make comments on the course blog, since it is the one every body will come to, so it is the best place if you want to bring up discussion, and only the discussion will make this online course make sense and benefit every one.

P.S. You may try to make shorter posts, but more frequently, such as one or two paragraph every two days, so it is less work for you every time, but make you think about this studio more frequently. Plus, this made other people more likely to read your post, since it is not long, I won’t tell myself, “ok, I will leave this long one for the weekend to read.” Then it is more like the normal blog we would read. More images and sketches would also help your posts to be more attractive. At the end of this studio, we can vote for the most attractive and most popular blog in our class : )

for example, here is one blog I always read:
http://lu-yi.blogspot.com/

of course it is not just because there's a lot of pretty girls on it.

Xu

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring

http://www.amazon.com/Spring-Summer-Fall-Winter/dp/B0002J4X20/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=dvd&qid=1234710293&sr=1-1

It has such a interesting definition about doors. Amazing.

There's a lot that Architects could do is deeper than just techical stuff.

BREAKING DOWN INTO PARTICLES:

The first time I used louvers was in ‘Water/Glass’. That work is basically a transparent glass box inserted between the two horizontal planes of floor and roof. Since the roof, which extends out towards the sea, would cast an enormous dark shadow and become a conspicuous object if it were make of opaque panels, I undertook various studies to see if I could somehow make it less powerful.

One possibility was to use transparent glass, which would certainly have eliminated any shadow. However, if the glass itself were transparent, the supporting steel str5ucture might become too assertive. I considered frosted glass. If the structure were situated above the glass, it would only appear as a faint shadow to someone looking up. Frosted glass is halfway between transparency and opacity, and might have been the ideal material for dissolving the architecture. However, I did not select it because it was not compatible with water. A 15-centimetre-deep pool of water is a key feature of ‘water/Glass’. The water surface reflects light, and fine particles of light are scattered throughout the space. I wanted a similar particled effect on the roof. Frosted glass is translucent but appears heavy and viscous.

I considered perforated metal. Like frosted glass it is halfway between transparency and opacity and projects a particled image. However, I decided against it because the particles did not sparkle. When light hits water, particles of reflected light dance over the surface; what would produce such a glittering effect on the roof?

I decided in the end to use stainless steel louvers, with blades 1.5 millimetres wide and 75 millimetres high, set at 75-millimetre intervals. The stainless steel was livelier and sparkled more than any other material; it responded most sensitively to changes in light. The louvers cast dark, striped shadows if light hits them diagonally, or become transparent if light passes directly through. They appear in different guises depending on the environment and their relationship to the subject. If the line of sight is parallel to the blades, the louvers seem light and perfectly transparent; if it is at right angles to the blades, they seem heavy and opaque. If frontally lit, they reveal their colour; if backlit, they lose their colour and appear in dark silhouette. Louvers stand between the environment and the subject and reflect that relationship; they interact more than they reflect. If materials that have an invariable and distinctive colour, texture and degree of transparency are absolute, then louvers are relative: their character is not fully determined by the designer or architect but is left in part to each observer, allowing for his or her input. In that way louvers are like rainbows. A rainbow is not something absolute that exists somewhere, but instead it is generated by the relationship between the sun, droplets of water and the observer. Rainbows are relative because they are collections of particles-the operative word being ‘particles’.

By using louvers in ‘Water/Glass’ I effectively transformed and relativised the architecture, creating a condition as ambiguous and variable as that of drifting particles; that is, I ‘particlised’ the architecture. Endeavours of a similar nature were undertaken in a number of different fields towards the end of the nineteenth century.
The impressionists, for example, ‘pariclised’ painting. They believed that colours should be mixed, not on the artist’s palette, but on the retina of the observer. When colours are mixed on a palette，there is a subtractive process and the colour approaches black．The more one mixes pigments in an attempt to create a subtle colour, the darker and heavier it becomes．The impressionists attempted to avoid this by applying pure colours directly onto the canvas in dispersed dots．Mixed on the retina of the observer, these dots created subtle hues and shades．

The impressionists were critical not just of the conventional method of painting but of the relationship between the artist and the observer．Before impressionism, the artist had a privileged status, and the observer was expected to assume a completely passive role．The unilateral nature of this relationship determined the character of works of art—their technique, exhibition and dissemination．Works of an ambiguous or dispersed (i.e. particlised) nature were excluded from consideration because they were not easily accommodated in this unilateral relationship．The system favoured more powerful and coherent works whose objects were clear and coercive and revealed everything about themselves from the outset．There was no possibility of multiple interpretations．

In the wake of impressionism, the painter Georges Seurat devised a specific, scientific method to depict objects—pointillism—which is most fully demonstrated in his Sunday Afternoon On the Island of La Grande latte (1886)．Seurat assigned colours to his dots，which were fine and uniform，in accordance with the optical theories of Eugene Chevreul and Ogden Nicholas Rood．among others．He wanted to make painting scientific because science was open to everyone；in this way, he hoped to destroy the notion of the privileged artist and the unilateral character of the existing relationship between artist and observer．

Seurat died aged 31，and the method he developed was short-lived too, while he remained committed to dabs of paint of a uniform size，other artists quickly discovered that those spots of colour were a superb medium of expression, and that individuality and inner character could be conveyed by subtle changes in their size and the force with which they were applied．The touch of the artist

could be as powerful and individualistic a means of expression as composition or colour．An increasing interest in individual expression led to the demise of pointillism and the rise of fauvism and other twentieth-century art movements．

A further reason for the failure of pointillism was Seurat's idea that painting could be transformed into science by means of colour optics．This goal was not embraced by less scientifically oriented painters．Instead，the avant-garde focused on the reduction of painting to simple geometrical objects，as defined by Cezanne and the cubists．

The end of the nineteenth century was a period of ‘particlisation' in architecture as well，but whereas painters were concerned to integrate aesthetics and science，architects were from the start divided between an aesthetic and a technical approach．Most of the century had been marked by a battle of styles between classicism and the gothic．As historians have pointed out，the two styles share many elements in common,1 most notably a roof with a basically triangular cross section and a centralised，stable character that exercises control over both the parts and the whole of the building．However, the impressions they create vary widely because the objective, in the case of classicism，is to heighten the intensity of the object, whereas the objective of the gothic is to break down matter．In classical architecture, the building is set on a podium，becoming a massive, highly assertive autonomous object．In gothic architecture，by contrast，the building is articulated into small elements：columns，for example，are deliberately designed to suggest bundles of slender members．As a result, there is no sense of mass but only a weightless，immaterial space．

Out of this context emerged art nouveau，which was critical of the heaviness and darkness of traditional architecture and its equation with political or religious authority．The whole basic structure of the world was beginning to change, as new means of transport such as the railway evolved at an astonishing rate．Whereas politics and religion were still vertical forms of communication，transport was for the most part a horizontal form of communication．Hector Guimar's lightweight wrought-iron entrance canopies for the Paris Metro can be seen as an expression of this change．Art nouveau buildings associated with transportation were to be made as light as possible，using the materials of the new age．

Art nouveau broke new ground，but like pointillism was extremely short-lived．The classical principle of validating objects through the authority of prototypes had become so engrained that it coloured the thinking even of avant-garde architects critical of classicism．In the case of art nouveau，there was too heavy a reliance on plant motifs，which were too delicate to sustain the movement as a whole．

Reservations about representation led to another approach to particlisation in architecture in the early twentieth century：industrialised buildings．Buildings are by their very nature more or less industrialised，but the term here has a special nuance．The primary method of building in the West before the twentieth century was masonry construction，based on units of stone or brick which are laid one by one and bonded with a substance such as mortar．A building constructed by this method is inevitably a heavy mass．In essence, industrialization referred to technologies used to break down that heavy mass into particles，and specifically to 'dry' construction (Trockenmontagebau)．Dry construction is the opposite of wet construction, a building technique that mixes a material with water, and is completed only when that material has dried．is referred to as wet construction．In wet construction，particles adhere to each other and are not individually distinguishable．In dry construction, water is not used and the particles remain individuated．Walter Gropius foresaw the great importance of dry construction and made it a pillar of architectural education at the Bauhaus.2 He was an ardent advocate of prefabricated concrete construction，which involved the on-site assembly of slabs and panels that had been manufactured in a factory．Particlisation was the most important theme for architects at this turning point in history．

Nevertheless，the form of particlisation known as industrialisation met with setbacks．Buildings broken down into different elements were considered weak and ambiguous in terms of their expression，just as Seurat's paintings were considered weak and ambiguous．The twentieth—century system of communication weeded out particlised works of architecture．However, Works designed by Le Corbusier survived that process of elimination．Oddly enough，Le Corbusier also began with particles．His Maison Dom—ino, published in 1915，was the first important work of his career．His perspective of that scheme became one of the most famous architectural drawings of the twentieth century. Le Corbusier proposed a system based on prefabricated floor panels and steel beams．The Maison Dom—ino was without doubt a dry-construction industrialised house．In subsequent works，however, Le Corbusier abandoned the theme of industrialisation with surprising alacrity．He continued to make statements proclaiming the need for a new technology for a new age, but in his actual work showed practically no interest in dry construction．He remained to the end an architect of in-situ concrete，that is，of wet construction．His about-face enabled him to become the champion of the modern movement．

Le Corbusier dedicated himself to creating 'scientific' (that is，pure geometrical)forms．With dry construction，the abstract character of the planes is inevitably marred by the joints that arise between the panels when they are assembled on site．With in-situ concrete，on the other hand，pure geometrical forms can be created without joints．Moreover concrete, with its suggestion of great mass and aggregation, is effective in endowing forms with an aura of strength．But concrete is not at first heavy, hard or strong；it is fluid，before it quickly sets and hardens．This radical and almost mysterious transformation further reinforces its image of strength．

Le Corbusier made full use of this special quality, though he did not become interested in concrete because of its method of production．What prompted him to convert to an architecture of objects was the shift from particles to objects that took place in painting，the evolution from cubism to suprematism and purism．

Le Corbusier was active in both painting and architecture and won renown by 'trading' between them．Together with the painter Amédéé Ozenfant he initiated an art movement called purism，which focused on the pure，essential forms of geometrical objects．Le Corbusier imported that same shift into the world of architecture, so ensuring that the logic of architecture was suppressed by the logic of painting, and that the logic of production was suppressed by the logic of communication．Straddling two fields of endeavour and two systems of logic，adroitly importing and exporting ideas, Le Corbusier ultimately gave powerful objects of concrete a central role in twentieth-century architecture．

Le Corbusier was not solely responsible for the changes that took place．The twentieth-century system of communication sought objects and，as a result, twentieth- century architecture came to be dominated by obiects. If we wish to recover particlised，that is，ambiguous, variable and relativistic works of architecture，we will have to intervene once more in the system of communication．Unless we critically examine and reverse our passive form of appreciation，architecture will remain object-oriented：the logic of production and the logic of the user will continue to be suppressed by the logic of communication．

Communication between architecture and people, that is, the appreciation of architecture, occurs mainly in three phases．In the first, phenomenological phase，an actual Person experiences an actual space．The second phase, the realm of micromedia, determines in what form actual works of architecture are converted into media. How, for example，is architecture converted into a two-dimensional print medium? How is it converted into drawings? At what angles，in what sort of light and with what degree of resolution are photographs of architecture taken? The third phase is the realm of macromedia．This determines how architecture，having been converted into media，is disseminated or transmitted．In what forms are books and magazines on architecture sold? What kind of architecture do art museums select for exhibition, and on what basis? What kind of visitors do they expect to attract, and how are the exhibitions promoted?

The important thing here is not the number of phases，but rather the interrelations that exist between them. The form of architecture can influence the choice of the medium it is converted into as well as the subsequent form of distribution or transmission．That influence can also be reversed：the form of distribution or transmission can influence the medium into which architecture is converted，and even the form it takes．These two opposing vectors continually roil the architectural world．Generating shockwaves that reshape architectural history．

One might call pre-twentieth-century architecture photographic architecture or, better still，perspectival architecture, because from the Renaissance period perspective was the basic method of reproducing and disseminating architecture．Photography was simply an extension of that method．Like perspective, it is a medium in which time is abstracted；in other words，it converts architecture into limited numbers of two-dimensional still images obtained by a subject observing an object from a certain distance．That distance must be maintained for the object to be reproduced without distortion．

In photography a clear, absolute silhouette is required，since materials and details are difficult to distinguish from beyond a certain distance．Moreover, the building is required to be absolute in character, since the image is transmitted through limited amounts of two-dimensional information. By 'absolute' I mean invariable：the character of the building must not be affected by changes either in the building's relationship to the subject or environmental factors such as the intensity and direction of sunlight．A building that is relative in character, by contrast, is one that can seem entirely different depending on its relationship to the subject；in this sense it is like a rainbow．It is difficult to obtain an overall image of a building with a relative character from limited amounts of two-dimensional information．The image remains fragmented；it never coalesces, even when a number of different aspects are overlapped．

That is why particlised architecture is the polar opposite of photographic architecture．The silhouette is ambiguous．When viewed from a distance，it is hard to distinguish the constituent particles. A particlised work is extremely relative in nature．It can appear transparent and weightless one moment and opaque and massive the next, depending on the way light hits it．It does not possess a clear overall image and never appears to advantage in photographs or perspectives，which are best suited to objects that are not apt to blur or vary.

Just as architecture before the twentieth century was photographic, twentieth-century architecture was oriented towards the moving image，which represented the cutting edge in communication systems．Yet moving images proved expensive and susceptible to manipulation，so it continued to be disseminated by Way of still pictures in books and magazines．The biggest media-related task in twentieth-century architecture was therefore to close the gap between moving images and still images．Architecture was not the only field in which this dilemma had to be confronted．It was the very essence of the era and determined the form of every aspect of culture．

Le Corbusier devised the most ingenious architectural strategy for closing that gap．He made the path of circulation manifest (see Chapter 1，Making a Connection)．By detaching stairs and ramps from other architectural elements and giving them independent forms, he transformed the path of circulation inside a building into objects．Moreover, he deliberately arranged those objects in conspicuous positions in space．

The biggest shortcoming of still images is that they cut time into fragments, and so cannot communicate the way it unfolds．What they can do, however, is capture paths of circulation, as embodied in stairs and ramps．Since these allow the subject to move and movement is a function of time, photographs of paths of circulation can indirectly suggest time. In photography, everything must be embodied in an object, and through the object anything, even time，can be evoked．

Le Corbusier's objectified paths of circulation, captured in architectural photographs, can be said to have anticipated the GUI (graphical user interface) arranged on the screen of personal computers．The GUI is a window to time opened in a two-dimensional still image．By clicking that window, the subject can move freely to another picture, that is，to another time．0ne cannot click
on photographs of Le Corbusier's paths of circulation, of course, even if they do suggest time．His objects remain a unilateral medium；there is no interactive relationship with the subject．That is the qualitative difference between images such as photographs and film on the one hand, and cyberspace generated by computers on the other.

Le Corbusier did not simply introduce time into architecture．His method was，in a sense, cinematic. Cinema has various in—built devices that connect the subject seeing the images to the space of those images．Poststructuralists showed that alternation of vision is the principle behind those devices．This insight is based on Merleau-Ponty's criticism of visual solipsism，which I have already touched upon, and Lacan's psychoanalysis (see Chapter 6：Reversing)．Lacan coniectured that a subject comes into being only when the person is aware of being seen by others．Lacan assigned great importance to this process, which he refe, red to as 'symbolic identification'．

Poststructuralist theory maintains that images taken simply from the view of a protagonist-taken, in effect, by a camera held to the protagonist's eye-do not constitute cinema．The subject viewing such images never establishes contact with the space of the images，but only feels impatience and discomfort because he cannot confirm his own position in that space．The situation changes the moment another viewpoint，one in which the protagonist himself is seen, is introduced．The subject confirms his position and establishes contact with the environment in the images．One viewpoint is simply insufficient．Alternation between two viewpoints brings the audience into contact with the environment．The camerawork is what makes film cinematic．

In short, the alternation of viewpoints is a necessary condition for cinematic media，just as an absolute silhouette of the object is a necessary condition for photographic media．
Le Corbusier was not an artist of film (although he did make films，such as L’Architecture d'aujourd'hui of 1929, co-directed with Pierre Jeanneret)．The medium he used most often was photography．However，by introducing another point of view, he succeeded in creating 'cinematic'photographs．How was this possible? Through an analysis of Le Corbusier's architectural photographs, Beatriz Colomina has shown how he often suggested an unseen presence and thereby another viewpoint.3 He did this by depicting furniture and objects such as a pair of glasses, as well as paths of circulation．Paths of circulation suggested a person moving along those paths and the viewpoint of that person．Why, then，did he not simply introduce actual people into his photographs? The reason is that they would not have served as our proxy；our point of view can only be suggested by a disembodied presence.4 It is important both to suggest another viewpoint and to make possible the substitution of our viewpoint．Only then can alternation take place．Only then is the person viewing the photograph connected to and projected onto the photographed space．

Le Corbusier converted photographic architecture into cinematic architecture．He achieved this difficult conversion by designing and manipulating objects-his only recourse, given the era in which he lived．His continuing dependence on objects is what makes his works heavy and stiff：they draw US in，but oppress us．How can we free ourselves of this dependence? Let us first re-examine the relationship between the subject and the environment．

The moment the peaceful and seamless connection between the subject and the environment was severed，media arose to reconnect the two．Architecture emerged for the same reason．The media and the architecture of any given era are products of the same environment and responses to the same disconnection, so they cannot help but take similar forms．In copying each other, they amplify each other．In this Way their similarity is further reinforced．

Subject and environment were first reconnected by a medium of points，namely perspective．Perspective is the connection of point to point-the fixed point of the observing subject and the fixed point, selected from an infinitely continuous environment, of the thing observed. Photography is an extension of perspective．Two points are connected by the medium of a third point called the shutter．In opening the shutter, the photographer selects a perceptual point, that is, an instant out of an infinitely continuous extension called time．

The exterior of a building is readily perceptible as a point, independent and isolated，in the environment．This made it ideally suited to perspective．Architecture was also a favourite subject matter of photography．The medium was in accord with the subject matter，point in accord with point．A line is an expansion of a point．A linear architecture is a series of experiences that emerge the moment we perceive architecture as an interior．Moving images are similarly linear．They are the spatial，temporal and perceptual expansion of the media of points．Movement expands a point into a line．However, moving images have a fatal flaw：they are unilateral．Movement and expansion are the prerogative of the director．Only the space, time and perception of the privileged person called the director expand；only the director is free．The audience is bound to a fixed position in front of the screen and has to accept what is presented-it cannot intervene with respect to time or space．

The interior, as a linear space, is similarly a restricted enclosure．Only the privileged person called the architect understands all the arrangements of rooms and the interior as a whole．Freedom to move and manipulate space and time is the prerogative of the architect and the user experiences only a restricted space and time．

Freedom，but only unilateral freedom—that is the paradox of the relations embodied by both films and interior spaces．However, the problem is not so much the paradox itself, as the fact that the one-sided nature of the relationship has been so cleverly concealed by camerawork in films or by the circulation plan．Both work on the principle of alternation．In the case of film，it is the alternation of the viewpoint of the protagonist with the viewpoint of those who regard the protagonist．In the case of interiors, it is the alternation of the privileged overall viewpoint with the viewpoint of the protagonist who cannot help but be enclosed in some spatial unit．The classical architect invoked that alternation by arranging a large space of great height at the centre of the building，where the protagonist acquired a privileged viewpoint that enabled him to understand the building as a whole．Le Corbusier conceived a more compact and contemporary version of that device．By means of a circulation device such as stairs or a ramp, he had the subject connect with the building as a whole．

The invention of these cinematic and spatial devices enabled an essentially passive observer to identify with the privileged subject．In reality, an interactive relationship between the passive observer and the space was not possible．Nevertheless, the observer mistook the prearranged alternation of viewpoints for a subjective and spontaneous intervention in space．In film，that illusion is called empathy．In interior spaces, the passive observer comes to understand the space in its entirety, thanks to the central circulation space，and falls under the illusion that he is in control．

The illusion ingeniously conceals the one-sided nature of the relationship．That is not all that is concealed．The passive observer also comes to believe that the limited spatial and temporal enclosure is the totality of the environment．He thinks that he is closely and surely connected to the environment，because its closed nature is concealed．Such illusions governed the twentieth century．

The spatial form called the theme park is the most successful example of such concealments．The perimeter wall of the theme park is carefully hidden，lest visitors see it and awaken from their dream．In order to work its magic，it directs their gaze inwards，towards the centre，where there are spaces of a grand scale and form (such as wide boulevards offering vistas)．Visitors are intoxicated by the privileged position they are allowed to occupy．They fall under the illusion that they are completely connected to-even that they dominate-the environment．The theme park may be an enormous complex encompassing outdoor spaces, but it is nonetheless based on the principles of film and interior spaces：indeed it is the most fully developed form of spatial device of the cinematic type．

The aim ought to be，not to prolong the life of enclosures through cinematic alternation，but rather to dissolve them through particlisation．This is not a matter of making their boundaries transparent or translucent：changing the design or capacity of the surface does not change the form of architecture-an object is still an object, an enclosure remains an enclosure．

This is true even if the surface of an object is particlised．The particlisation of the surface relativises the external appearance of architecture：the exterior becomes capable of changing in diverse ways，depending on the relationship between the subject and the thing under observation．However, an object remains an object in form even if its surface becomes interactive．The interaction that is enabled is prearranged interaction, no more spontaneous than the prearranged alternation between subject and environment in film．

It is not the surface but the form that has to be particlised：the point is not to prearrange interaction, but instead to make the arrangements themselves interactive．Rejecting objects and enclosures brings us to gardens，which are far more open than architecture．Despite this，garden designers often try to close them off．They attempt to construct unique, self-contained worlds because they are individuals who persist in unilateral behaviour, namely self-expression．In doing so, they produce gardens that are enclosures，no different from theme parks．Moreover，no matter how freely gardens may be arranged，they will still have paths that are determined by their designers．Interaction is still prearranged，and designers still exercise control over people．

If we are to achieve more open spaces，we must aim for a wilderness rather than a garden．Unless designers themselves become more open, however，we will not be able to produce such a condition．We need to abandon the idea of self-expression．Instead of stepping forward，designers need to remain completely open to visitors' needs．Only then will we have a space without boundaries and paths．The space may consist only of an unprocessed cluster of particles-scattered rubble and grass-none the less，countless places will emerge and a network of relationships will develop the moment someone steps foot inside．

Such a condition is called a network society and is similar to a non-hierarchical horizontal network．There are no boundaries or enclosures，no prearrangements or fixed paths, but each subject is surely connected to the world．We have gone from point (perspective，photography and architecture) to line (moving images, interior spaces and enclosures)and now we are about to embark on nets (networks and wildernesses)．However, the form called architecture still survives and，as an object，disrupts the network．

The shrine structures at Ise are set on ground that is covered entirely with white pebbles representing a wilderness．The shrines are ritually reconstructed every twenty years，suggesting that the ground below is far more important than the structures built on top．The fact that the ground is covered with pebbles that have not been worked in any way is significant．The size of these stone particles is also significant．If the pebbles were any smaller, they would no longer be perceived as particles but would instead appear to form a single，heavy mass．The ground would become matter that permits no intervention-absolute，unilateral matter．If, on the other hand，they were any larger, they would become conspicuous objects，as assertive as brushstrokes in a painting．They would become, not a material awaiting intervention, but something already complete, forestalling any intervention．Their dimensions of course are not absolute；they must be determined in each case by the surrounding environment．For example, in the sequence of spaces at Ise Shrine, the subject arrives at the pebbles after experiencing things of various dimensions．from trees to man-made structures．The entire sequential process determines the dimensions of the Pebbles．There is no guarantee that those pebbles will function as particles if taken to another place．The pebbles become particles-pure, unadulterated material．anticipatory, open and thoroughly relative-only as the result of a quite prosaic operation．The first thing for us to determine should not be form or colour, but rather suitable dimensions．We can arrive at particles only in this way．

This applies to cities as well as to architecture．Modern city planning has been an attempt to regulate cities using two means，objects and enclosures．Planners used objects in the still-image phase of media development and enclosures in the moving-image stage．In the former, baroque city planning is a typical example of control exercised through objects；that is，regulation through the use of monumental，object-type buildings at focal points of the city．In the latter phase，theme parks are an example of control exercised through enclosures．The division of commercial districts and residential districts and the twentieth-century city planning method called zoning are also examples of the use of enclosures to exert control.

However, the accelerating speed of life in cities has rendered objects and enclosures ineffective．Baroque cities，conceived as still images, cannot keep pace．Methods based on moving images have become ineffective as well．Although from a bird's-eye view the city may appear to be nothing more than an absolutely random collection of particles，people and information within the city are constantly connecting and separating at high speeds．

We need a ‘particle-based urban theory' to respond to this．A city in which there is a convenience store every hundred metres anticipates the emergence of a city separated into particles．To induce free and random movement of people and particles，we need city planning that is based on the planning of particles，and not on control by means of objects and enclosures．

In determining the size and ‘hardness’ of particles, the various speeds that operate in cities must be taken into account．According to Deleuze，there is no such thing as absolute hardness．Hardness is an expression of the compressive force acting on a material．A wave in the ocean can be as hard as a wall of marble，depending on the speed of a ship．Much the same can be said of particles．The viscosity, hardness and density of particles are expressions of the speed and forces acting on them．The subject must be free to roam．We will be connected to the environment called the wilderness only if we are allowed to wander．

To wander is to trace the contours of particles and lend our ears to the sounds they make．We must scan the distance between particles，not by eye, but with our bodies moving in time．Only then are sounds born．Everything possessing a frequency is subordinate to time, and generates sounds and colours only when its contours have been traced in time．If we want to design a wilderness we must design space as if we were composing music；we must cast ourselves in time and extract sounds from the particles of the wilderness．

The theme of the 'Stone Museum' is particlising stone so that it can be used to generate sounds．The museum is in Ashino, Nasu-chō, Tochigi Prefecture, a village once visited by the famous poet Matsuo Bashō (1644—1694)．The site contained three crumbling storehouses for rice, made of local Ashino stone, a plain，grey andesite．Constructed in the early Shōwa era(1925—1988)，they were architecturally undistinguished，but I felt they ought to be preserved．I proposed that the overall environment be reorganised by means of a few additions to these structures．

Instead of being closed and self-contained，I wanted the additions to be open and vulnerable, more like fences than buildings．My aim was to create several lavers between the preexisting objects so that a free, ambiguous field-a wilderness-would gradually emerge．I felt this field ought to be, not just spatially open, but open to activities and ambiguous in character．Besides an art museum，this facility contains a shop selling local produce, a restaurant, a local community centre and a children's play area．Activities take place not just inside the building but also in the strip of land between it and the adjacent old highway．Additions to this type of traditional architecture are often made of glass，but I felt that glass, by its transparency, would provide too sharp a contrast to the stone storehouses and make them too conspicuous．However, a wall of Ashino stone similar to the walls of the preexisting storehouses would be neither vulnerable nor ambiguous．I decided to use the same stone but to particlise it; that is，to create a fence of stone．In this way, I hoped to make the silhouette of the stone storehouses ambiguous, causing them to melt into the surrounding air．

Particlising stone is by no means an easy task，as it is a heavy and friable material．Moreover, the traditional technique of masonry construction involves cutting the stone into units and then laying those units one by one to create a thick, heavy wall．Masonry construction is the basis for Western classical architecture and the technology that made it possible，or, in other words，the technology at the heart of object-type architecture．That is why I wanted to take up the challenge of masonry construction-to see if I could dissolve the object that is so often a product of that technology．

I began with an extremely simple experiment，extracting stones one by one from a wall of masonry construction．The wall seemed lighter and weaker after only a few stones had been taken away．Having started as a single，coherent mass，it now acquired the appearance of a collection of particles．It wavered between being and representation，between its essential heaviness and its apparent lightness，between its opaque attribute and its actual transparency．The process by which such a dual condition is produced is what I mean by the relativisation of matter．At such times，matter oscillates；it almost seems to generate sounds．We can create various tones by the way we extract stones from the wall；in this regard, designing a structure approaches the composing of music．

I searched for a detail that would convert stone into an even lighter and more insubstantial presence．I found a way of cutting it into slices that were nearly as thin as the slats of wooden louvres．The thinnest possible cross section was 40 millimeters by 150 millimeters．We attached stone slices of this dimension to stone columns in which grooves 40 millimeters wide had been carved．This was obviously a major departure from conventional methods of stone construction．The stone slices were set at 80-millimetre intervals．Since the stones themselves were 40 millimeters thick，the gaps between them were also 40 millimeters．Matter and aperture of the same dimension alternated， generating an oscillation between matter and empty air, reality and fiction，opacity and transparency．The oscillation depended on the position of the subject relative to this ambiguous wall，and the direction of light．The wall did not oscillate independently of the subject；the subject's body and the wall resonated with each other．

By its very nature，stone is under enormous Cohesive force．To release stone from that force and particlise it is difficult．In that sense, bamboo is the opposite of stone—it is particlised from the start．Aggregating or bundling together bamboo is as difficult as particlising stone．It is not only its round cross section that makes it resistant to bundling，but also its extremely lustrous surface and hollow interior．Using bamboo in a form such as architecture, which demands aggregation，is difficult, so it has more often been used in dispersed forms such as fences．Wood，on the other hand，is halfway between stone and bamboo；it is both easily particlised and easily aggregated，which has made it the most popular building material in both East and West．

The cohesive force of stone was central to western architecture, which used it to create powerful objects that could express and unite the organisations and communities represented by the objects．Modernism ostensibly began as the antithesis of that western architectural tradition, that is, as the antithesis of cohesive force and as a movement to dissolve objects into particles．However, the cohesive force of concrete ultimately conquered modernism；particles were defeated．Ironically, Le Corbusier, the most adept user of concrete，then became the hero of modernism．

After Le Corbusier achieved success with the Vilia Savoye, Bruno Taut arrived in Japan，having been practically chased out of his homeland．Visiting Katsura Detached Palace on the day after his arrival，he was stunned by the sight of a bamboo fence even before he had seen the villa itself．He described himself at that moment．'I just stood there silently．Finally I said，“This is truly modern”’.5

For the rest of his stay in Japan Taut used bamboo with great enthusiasm in both architecture and furniture．The walls of the large room in the Hyoga Residence were lined with slender bamboo, arranged vertically．The two or three hundred small lightbulbs on the ceiling of the social room are each hung from a bamboo chain，and the chains in turn are suspended from bamboo poles．In just three years, Taut learned practically all there is to know about the properties of the eloquent material of bamboo．He discovered in its particlised nature the very essence of modernity．

When I was invited to participate in a project called Simple Garden in Les Landes on the western coast of France, the first thing that went through my mind was the way Taut's encounter with bamboo had provided him with an entirely new approach to design．We Japanese are so familiar with bamboo that we are insensitive to its power and technique．I thought that perhaps on French soil it would suggest new techniques and new worlds to those who encountered it，as it once did to Taut．

Simple Garden is part of a project directed by the French artist Gerard Boidin．Its aim is to allow children from all over the world to stay for a year in a ‘house’ in the pine forest of Les Landes and experience a life at one with nature．What we normally call a house is a cohesive human dwelling that excludes outsiders．Simple Garden is no ordinary house, but a place that attempts to establish human relationships that are open，temporary and nomadic．I felt that the container for those relationships ought to be equally open and ambiguous．The outer membrane of the structure consists of bamboo arranged in a dispersed way, as particles．A breathing fabric of natural fibre is stretched over the bamb00．Inside this space is installed a second membrane, which helps to control the temperature and humidity．Two layers of air are formed．one closer to the outside air than the other．The structure exercises a gradual and ambiguous control over not only temperature and humidity but also vision and movement．
A series of spaces that is neither outside nor inside, neither architecture nor garden, extends through the pinewoods of France．

This structure of bamboo and membranes can be dismantled and moved．The site changes-in summer it is near the seashore，in autumn it moves to the woods inland．It may be in France one yea, Japan the next．The structure can be freely changed in response to the configuration of the site．There are no limits to its location or form：the particles repeatedly gather and disperse．In this case the bamboo always remains a material，1ust as the pebbles at Ise always remain a material．The children who use the spaces are particles as well, repeatedly gathering and dispersing．

Architecture is another name for the aggregation of matter (i.e. the creation of an object), and ‘particlisation’ is the reversal of that aggregation．The German philosopher and mathematician Gottfried Leibniz (1646—1716) effected this reversal in philosophy long ago, to counter the Cartesian deftnition of matter as an absolute mass (aggregation) that was independent of the mind．Critical of such a mass，Leibniz proposed that the universe was formed of individual particles called monads，which were distinguished by an irreducible simplicity．He believed that every experience was the outcome of the unstable combination or oscillation of these monads，which were continually changing. Leiblniz criticised all attempts to create a stable, fixed aggregation，declaring ‘the monad has no window'；neither substance nor accident could come in from outside．

In the same spirit, we must continue to reject windows．We must continue to shun the stability, unity and aggregation known as the object．




NOTES
1. John Summerson，Heavenly Mansions and Other Essays on Architecture (London: Cresset Press, 1949)
2. Gropius was director of the Bauhaus from l919 to l928.
3. In Privacy and PubLlcity Colomina points out that all those pieces of furniture and belongings suggest the Presence of Someone other than the resident and presents an interesting theory that Le Corbusier introduced the viewpoint of a detective or voyeur. See the photograph of the terrace of the Villa Savoye Chairs are more important props than tables because they suggest human presence. Here, the chairs have been deliberately arranged at an odd distanee from the table in order to serve as proxy for our viewpoint (P. 23，Le Corbusier and Pierre Jeanneret，Oeuvre complete l929-1934 (Editions d'Architecture, Zurich，1934).
4. See the photograph of the vestibule of the Villa Savoye. Here too props have been arranged in odd ways A table has been forcibly wrapped around a column，and a hat and coat are placed on the table，drawing us into the scene (Oeuvre complete l929—1934．P. 26)
5. Taut，Nihonbi no saihakken.

The Relativity of Materials

The selection and application of materials is central to Kuma's perspective on design. His essay below describes his fascination with "particlizing" materials by breaking them down into essential relationships.

In the essay Kuma likens his view of materials to the phenomenon of a rainbow. He describes a rainbow not as an object, but rather a multi-layered relationship between particles of water, a group of substances known as "sunlight" and a specific perspective. This delicate balance is a reflection of the fragility of the world around us. For Kuma, particlizing materials allows him to impact the world freely and infinitly.

As Xu said, we are each looking to define our own logic, or design process. Kuma's viewpoint does not necessarily represent the "right" way to look at things, but hopefully it can serve as a tool to sharpen our own understanding.

Jonathan

The Relativity of Materials
Kengo Kuma
(Published in JA The Japan Architect, 38, Summer 2000)

Why do I want to particlize materials and reduce them to tiny pieces? Why do I want to break down stone, bamboo and Japanese paper into louver-like particles? Why do I want to punch countless holes in every material?

It is not because I hate materials that I smash them and divide them into fragments. Nor is it because I dislike their tactile qualities.

On the contrary, it is because I love them. Without particlizing materials, we cannot appreciate them as materials, nor feel their vibrancy.

No matter how rich the tactile qualities of materials are, if they appear as single masses, then to me they are not vivid, because they do not change their expression. If materials are thoroughly particlized, they are transient, like rainbows. At times they clearly appear as object, but with a momentary change of light, or in respect to the observer's movement, they instantly disperse like clouds and dissolve like mist. Louvers that appeared to be walls suddenly become transparent and disappear. This transience and fragility is their charm, and their very essence.

The reason that the fragile nature of materials feels essential to me is that I wish to accomplish something with them. That is, I think of materials as basic ingredients for making things, and always want to use them proactively. But on the other hand, the outcome is never as expected, and I realize I am continuing to fall short of my own expectations. To me, torn apart by those two emotions, materials are fragile and transient, and the true attributes of a material emerge only when it is broken down into particles. In other words, particlizing materials turn them into ingredients awaiting action by the architect. They are not a result of action, but rather ingredients for action. They emerge not just as submissive ingredients, but profound ones that, without revealing their true nature, continually fail to meet the architect's expectations.

Materials can't be too big or too small. If they are too large, they become a mass. If they are reduced to particles that are too fine, they once again take on the appearance of a single mass when they are grouped together; they lose their transience and cease to be ingredients. For that reason, the size of the particles must be given careful consideration.

Their size must be determined in response to the distance between them and the observer, the relative size of other particles, and the framing. The central focus of my designs is the selection of particles and the determination of their size and details. If design were suddenly to be redefined as a process of "selecting particles", we architects would be thrown into an entirely new world. The biggest change would be that processes which so far have been divided into architectural design, garden design and urban design would be integrated into a single act: that of designing particles. The fact is that until relatively recently Japan had no boundaries separating these three areas. Teachers from Europe who visited Japan at the end of the 19th century divided into three parts an area which until then had been, in the Japanese mind, seamlessly linked. Before that, architects had concentrated their awareness on the design of particles, regardless of whether the target of the design was a building, a garden or a city. For example, garden designers felt that the central theme of their work was to consider what size gravel should be used to cover the garden. In the design of Ise Shrine, for instance, the key aspect was not the form of the buildings or their proportions, but the size and dimensions of the cobblestones, made of white granite, that formed a stone carpet around the buildings. the design of the stone garden of Ryoan-ji Temple, the most famous of all Zen temples, comprises nothing but the size of the fine gravel, along with the depth and pitch of the numerous grooves made on its surface with rakes.

In buildings too the greatest emphasis was placed on the design of particles. Before books on architecture were imported from Europe, Japanese carpenters relied almost entirely on Kiwari, a system or principle used in traditional Japanese architecture to determine the proportion and size of each component or module in the design and construction of buildings. The kiwan technique is said to resemble the orders of classical architecture as well as the size/dimension of wooden building materials, which is also referred to as the Le Corbusier Module. What makes the technique differ most from these Western architectural criteria is that Kiwari is a standard for the size/dimensions of the material wood, which is a specific particle. Another point is that without setting the size of a particular particle, deciding the dimensions of the building becomes meaningless.

As we have seen, everyone involved with architecture in Japan in the past-carpenters, gardeners, and government people engaged in urban planning-did all their designs by using particles as their standard. In this way, the entire environment became seamlessly connected, creating an environment which people found warm and comfortable.

Gilles Deleuze explains the same thing using the concept of elasticity of materials. He states that all materials have elasticity. In his view, elasticity is a reflection of the active compression of materials and all elasticity is relative. For example, if a ship travels at a certain speed, the waves become as hard as marble. In this way, any material can be solid, liquid or gaseous, depending on the forces acting on it. I agree with Deleuze that materials are relative, and that the relative state of a material is determined by the activity of the observer. Where Deleuze uses elasticity to illustrate this argument, I use particles. My aim is not only to explain this concept, but to clearly reveal the relativity of materials and make it evident, by actually reducing them to particles. If I were to add one thing to Gilles Deleize's theory, it would be that a substance's phase is not determined solely by the relationship between a substance and an entity. Rather, an infinite number of substances overlap one another in layers, and the relationship between this multi-layered substance and the entity determines a single phase in the substance's relativity. To take the phenomenon of the rainbow as an example, a rainbow does not appear only in the contest of the dyadic relativity between an entity and an object-particles of water in this case. Instead, the multi-layered relativity of the entity, particles of water, and a group of other substances (in this case, the source of light known as the sun), makes the rainbow appear.

This is just one example that shows how complex and delicate the world is, and how it is constantly shifting between modes. To clarify the uncertain delicacy of this world, I personally want to transform buildings, gardens and cities into particles. Sometimes, the world towers over us, solid as a rock, like a looming wall. Its absolute presence is such that it robs us of our courage. The fact is, however, nothing is as delicate and uncertain as the world. We are able to approach the world and act on it in a variety of ways; the world responds to us and transforms itself in an infinite number of ways. This is how much the world is free, and my hope is to identify this fact through design, which is a specific act.

In the traditional wooden structure of Japanese architecture, Kiwari was born out of craftsman-technology, it is the system that determines size and proportionality of each part.

Our goal, again

As you can see, Kuma is using his design and built process to define his idea about negative architecture, and this is the core point we want to learn and use as a sample for this studio. Eventually, each student will using their own project to define their own “Negative”, not necessary the same as Kuma’s (glass and merge into the ground or landscape), but definitely the way he set up his logic, his design process, how he relate his interest in philosophy to his building, are the things we want to refer to for this project. Above all, this studio is not about design a building, but about how to define an idea or a notion, or how to develop a system of theory.

Xu

Shinonome Apartment Building

Shinonome Apartment Building

One Omotesando

Baiso Buddhist temple

Soba Restaurant

Soba Restaurant

Soba Restaurant

Forest Floor

Great (bamboo) Wall

Ginzan Bath House

Stone Museum

Kitakami Canal Museum

Kitakami Canal Museum

WaterGlass

Kiro-san Observatory

KUMA'S DISAPPEARANCE, AN INTRODUCTION TO ANTI-OBJECT

How then, can architecture be made to disappear?
Kengo Kuma

Written in a manner that swings gently between manifesto and self-analysis, Kengo Kuma's Anti-Object presents a timely critical evaluation of 'self-centred' architecture that is deliberately distinct from its surroundings. Kuma labels such buildings or landscapes 'objects' and, as his title suggests, his interest lies elsewhere. Kuma observes how the impulses of what he calls an 'objectivisation' of the world have permeated modern architectural culture, for which he seeks redress in ways both surprising and subtle. In the process, he deconstructs the philosophical pitfalls of modern subjectivism as well as the tired clichés of contemporary architectural contextualism. As he says, 'No particular skill or effort is required to turn something into an object. Preventing a thing from becoming an object is a far more difficult task.'

Emerging from this is what we might call a situational architectural sensibility, whose currency derives from the author’s distinctive voice regarding the impact of new digital and information technologies on architecture. For Kuma, the kinds of fragmentation we now experience in our daily (heavily mediated) lives create a condition that makes urgent a radical new kind of architectural project: an architecture of disappearance. ’My ultimate aim’ he writes early on in this book, ‘ is to “erase” architecture’. Such an ambition couldn’t be further removed from the majority of a younger generation of digital experimentalists today, pursuing a renewal of formalism not seen within architecture for decades. For the purposes of conjuring up an image of Kuma’s contrary aim (and owing especially to the beautiful glass surfaces in his buildings that refract images of their overgrown surrounding landscapes), I would suggest that you think here of John McTiernan’s sci-fi classic The Predator: and alien entity moving swiftly and effortlessly and near invisibly through its natural surroundings. Like McTiernan or the theorist Paul Virilio, Kuma sees new digital and information technologies as leading us to an aesthetics of disappearance, rather than image or form.

That the architect of one of the most jarring and visually disturbing examples of postmodern historicism (the surreal M2 Tokyo office building completed in 1991 to great attention and acclaim) could call for an architecture of disappearance seems hardly believable, at first glance. But one of the ironies of the text, with its steady appeal to the benefits of contextualism, is that it has clearly afforded the author an opportunity to contextualize his own body of work through considered self-reflection. This modest book is thus the rarest kind of writing in architecture today: an extended essay that is not so much history or theory as a volume of self-assessment and redirection for an architect at the mid-point of his career. Accordingly, we are pleased to be able to present it here in a first full English translation, as a book that embodies a central ambition of AA Words: to forster and promote architectural texts in an era otherwise dominated by visual excess and an endless circulation of images. This is a compelling context for the book that follows, a context in which it fits – and at times dissolves –seamlessly.

Brett Steele
August 2008

The first week

hi, guys:

It was very nice to read the posts on each blog and find many different definitions about the Positive and Negative Architecture. Please note that for the coming week, you may try to transfer your definition and exploration into a system or a design strategy, which you may use it to help you for the coming up design task. For example, the system may help you for doing analysis of the site information, and build up some regulation or limitation for your design process, which could fit for different program or site condition. I will post some more images to further explain it.

Xu

Jonathan Byers is on Board

Jonathan Byers, the TA of this class is officially on board, defined by his physically presents in Beijing. He will be giving reference readings, comments and join our discussion，we will explore these interesting ideas together! I'm sure his view point will add more balance to this studio.

Xu