October 17, 2008
just like honey
[ebisu, neighborhood in tokyo where "dancing trees, singing birds" is located -- if my googling skills haven't failed me]
Two projects in Tokyo (via Tokyo architecture blog what we do is secret) demonstrate contrasting approaches to the utilization of limited urban space, but both show how that limitation can become a strength.
The first is an outdoor shopping mall, Sarugaku, in the Daikanyama district, which accomodates six buildings and ten retailers on less than six thousand square feet; architect Akihisa Hirata does so by means of compression, allowing shops to sit atop one another and relying on shoppers and storefronts to fill an otherwise unadorned public space:
[images via Akihisa Hirata Architecture Office]
Balconies and projected walkways are accomodated by tapering the second floor of the buildings, drawing the public realm up from the street level into the air as well. I also appreciate the scale of the project, as well -- incremental additions are to be preferred to massive urban planning schemes, as a general rule, I think. Their spatial constraints frequently enable the architect to make bold gestures without being overbearing.
[dancing trees, singing birds; images via Metropolis]
The second is an apartment complex by Hiroshi Nakamura, of quite similar size (8290 square feet). The approach, though, is nearly entirely different -- rather than a clean, spare urban space activated by the buzz of shoppers and lit storefronts, the project -- which has the charming title "dancing trees, singing birds" -- is filled by mature trees and clinging vegetation, creating a space that seems worthy of the tag "magical urbanism". If it seems improbably that such a new project could have such wonderfully overgrown plantlife, that is because it is. Nakamura explains the unique approach his firm took to tree preservation:
"The site is located in the very central district of Tokyo surrounded by trees over 20m high. We felt that such greenery was a precious asset to a crowded city like Tokyo, and wanted to preserve this forest; to build with it rather than to build on it. We began the process by measuring the shape and the location of each and every tree with a laser pointer and created a three dimensional computer model from the collected information. Then we consulted a tree doctor and discussed how we could build without damaging the roots. The 'huts' were constructed according to the location of the branches, leaving enough room for the trees to sway in the case of tropical rainstorm. Towards the top of the building, we located small birdhouses echoing the shapes of the 'huts'."
While on the one hand this sort of delicate construction process is, at least for the time being, a luxury for the wealthy, it seems to me that it is the sort of luxury that might be worth paying for -- an architecture of conservation, rather than an architecture of consumption.
More:
Metropolis article on dancing trees, singing birds
I've written before on the virtue of compressed space in Tokyo (though that post dealt with compressed space in the context of a single family home).