Japanese architecture goes wild

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Taro Igarashi
As both an architectural historian and practicing architect, Terunobu Fujimori was an ideal choice for commissioner of the Japanese pavilion at the 10th Venice Biennale Architecture Exhibition held late last year. The event is the world's largest regular international architecture exhibition and is characterised by a festival atmosphere, with many family groups attending. This clearly indicates the high profile architecture enjoys as part of the cultural landscape in Europe. The 2006 exhibition attracted 48 countries, with contributions ranging from contemporary-art-style installations to displays of important documents. The variety of exhibits and the lineup of superbly designed pavilions make the event a veritable world expo of architecture.
Even in the midst of such an extravaganza, the Japanese pavilion was striking, containing two main displays. The first showcased models and photographs of Fujimori's distinctive architecture, typified by works such as his 2004 treehouse-like "Takasugi-an" (Too-High Teahouse). The second featured the work of the ROJO Society, or Roadway Observation Society, a group formed by Fujimori and artist Genpei Akasegawa, among others. The ROJO society seeks out and records interesting urban scenes for enjoyment. This may involve a day spent photographing nothing but manhole covers or the discovery of a "pure staircase" that leads nowhere and has lost its original function.
Fujimori is renowned in Japan for his distinctive architectural style and the unique perspective he applies to tracking down and publicising architectural works around the country. However, this architectural sleuth is not yet well known overseas. What was the
general reaction to his Biennale exhibition? Most striking were the smiles on the faces of visitors to the Japanese pavilion. People couldn't help but grin when they saw the photos of weird objects collected by the ROJO society. Then there was the design of the venue itself: visitors had to remove their shoes and stoop through a low entrance to a room where the floor was covered with rush matting, and this succeeded in imparting a sense of relaxation. Fujimori also used this technique in his design for the Akino Fuku Museum (1997) in the Japanese city of Tenryu in Shizuoka Prefecture, but its effect was heightened in Europe, where people often wear shoes at home. The design created a public space, where visitors could experience the kind of relaxed familiarity normally associated with a bedroom. In line with the overall exhibition theme of cities, architecture and society, many weighty issues were explored in displays such as the US pavilion's exhibit on urban revival in the wake of Hurricane Katrina which devastated the city of New Orleans in 2005. The serious nature of other displays served to enhance the sense of relaxed familiarity inherent in Fujimori's pavilion.
Japanese pavilions at previous Venice Biennale Architecture Exhibitions have startled overseas audiences with themes such as "City of Girls," "Otaku: personality
= space = cities," and "Fractures," which displayed rubble from the Great Hanshin Earthquake of 1995. The 2006 pavilion once again surprised visitors with a whole new image of Japan. Given Japan's reputation as a high-tech nation, few people expect to be confronted by such raw and wild structures as chainsaw-hewn log models or a mini-theater installation made of thick straw rope woven over a split-bamboo frame. At a loss to appraise Fujimori's architecture, some visitors could only describe it as bizarre. Yet one of Fujimori's aims is to provoke precisely such reactions.
Fujimori structures often astound people in Japan too. When I first saw his maiden effort, the Jinchokan Moriya Historical Museum (1991), it took my breath away. It looked just like the house inhabited by the "Eyeball Father" character in Ge Ge Ge no Kitaro, a manga about spirits and ghosts. Fujimori's background as a historian gives him a wealth of knowledge about all kinds of things, and he dares to open up paths that cannot be evaluated in terms of existing design styles. He creates mysterious houses that you have never seen before, yet feel must exist somewhere in the world. Of course, he takes inspiration from existing structures. But rather than looking to orthodox Japanese sources such as temples or tea-houses, he is more likely to focus on traditional shibamune thatched houses, which have vegetation growing on their roofs. Shibemune is an age-old building technique that has been forgotten even by most Japanese people. I think the following comment by architect Teiichi Takahashi clearly describes the current position Fujimori enjoys in the world of architecture: "I can't help feeling relieved when I look at Fujimori's work, because he is not a rival. There is no way I could design the same things as him, and he never encroaches on my territory. That's why we always get on so well. I suspect everyone feels the same way."
Having accomplished important work as a researcher of modern architecture, Fujimori wrote a history of Japanese architecture called Nihon no Kindoi Kenchiku (Modern Japanese Architecture). This spurred him to embark on a new career as an architect in the 1990s, making the leap from observer to practitioner. With his latest exhibition, Fujimori has written his own new page in the history of architecture.
—Japan Plus