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).