In-Between
Japaň National Exhibition at the 19th Venice Biennale of Architecture
My visit to the 19th Venice Architecture Biennale was filled with anticipation, but also curiosity about how the individual pavilions would tackle the theme of contemporary creative uncertainty, technological changes, and the shifting relationship between humans and the world around them. Among many remarkable installations, one that fascinated me the most - and simultaneously evoked strong ambivalent feelings - was the Japanese exhibition In-Between. This year's darkness at the Venice Biennale was intelligence, both human and natural as well as artificial, so I expected that the Japanese would approach this topic unusually differently than most European exhibitors. Their two-story installation in their own pavilion, the interplay of light and dark, notable work with materials as well as audiovisual inputs, and above all the philosophical subtext of the entire installation led me to reflections that I did not anticipate. And perhaps that is why I carried a certain tension throughout my journey through the pavilion: between fascination and uncertainty, between admiration and questions, between clear aesthetic impact and an entirely elusive message.
This year's Japanese pavilion focused on the concept of "In-Between," which means "between" or "gap," a concept deeply rooted in Japanese culture and architectural tradition. This term - often associated with the Japanese word ma, meaning a gap, pause, or intermediate space - was not presented here as emptiness but as an active and vibrant field of relationships. The exhibition did not attempt to teach the visitor straightforwardly or explain what exactly they were seeing. Instead, it offered a space in which one was meant to find oneself - and to respond to it according to their own perception. And perhaps therein lies its greatest charm, but also its challenge.
The first impression upon entering the pavilion was a peculiar atmosphere, a kind of closeness between the individual elements: columns, walls, staircases, but also sounds and video projections. It was evident that here, architecture speaks not only through physical form. It acted like a living actor. Like someone who is part of the story, or more precisely, like an entity with which we enter into dialogue. This initially confused me: I felt that the space was speaking to me, but in a way that was neither verbal nor symbolically unambiguous. At the same time, I felt respect - the pavilion's effort to offer a different perspective than what we are accustomed to in the usual architectural world. I did not hesitate and went to get the brochure that individual exhibitions or pavilions offer to visitors, despite the fact that the Japanese pavilion had its brochure charged with a fee of 2 Euros, unlike most other exhibition parts.
The curatorial team worked with the idea that intelligence, subjectivity, and creation are not the prerogatives of humans. It can arise between elements, between entities, between humans and architecture, between technology and nature. Artificial intelligence, which is penetrating creative processes today, was presented here not as a tool, but as a co-author. At certain moments, I felt as if the pavilion was creating a kind of "in-between space" of the future - a world in which the building is no longer a passive object but a partner. The visitor thus became not just an observer but a temporary participant in the relationship unfolding on the delicate edge between the real and the possible.
One of the key moments of the exhibition was the audiovisual part, where different forms of recordings and projections complemented each other: human activities, movements of materials, abstracted landscapes, and visualizations responding to the presence of visitors. Here, I felt the greatest strength of the exhibition, but also a certain internal uncertainty. At first, I was unsure of what I was actually watching. Sometimes it felt like I was observing a communication that I didn’t understand; at other times, I felt as though a new understanding of space and intelligence was unfolding before me, as if the clear boundaries between me and the environment had temporarily vanished.
However, this contradiction was in line with the overall intention of the installation - to evoke a sense of existence "in-between," not to offer a ready-made explanation.
The materials used in the pavilion appeared modest yet thoughtful. The spirit of the space was not directly traditionally Japanese, yet had a strong reference to the Japanese strength of balance, harmony, and tranquility, almost meditative, but also disrupted by slight interventions that acted as signals from another world. There was also a dynamic zone on the upper floor, where the audiovisual installation was located, filled with meanings, sounds, and emotions.
My feelings while walking through the pavilion remained uncertain. On one hand, I felt appreciation for the curatorial and authorship team because they managed to create a space that was not an illustration of the idea but part of it. On the other hand, I still had the feeling that part of the message eluded me, that I was still searching for a key that perhaps does not even exist. But I accept this state as part of the experience - not everything needs to be fully clarified to be valuable; what matters is that I was able to experience it.
What resonated with me the most, however, was the exhibition's ability to open broader questions about the role of architecture in the age of digital transformation. Responses to the questions and troubles of intergenerational differences. To what extent does architecture remain an exclusively human endeavor? How much will the concept of authorship change if intelligence enters the process, which is not driven by human intuition or experience? And where is the space for dialogue in all this - not between individual people, but between different kinds of entities? The In-Between exhibition offered more new perspectives than answers. And perhaps therein lies its greatest strength.
As I left the pavilion, a strange feeling lingered within me. It was neither a clear aesthetic impression nor an intellectual conclusion. It was more a quiet agreement that some things must be accepted as open. The Japanese pavilion left me not only with a visual imprint - it offered an experience that made me think about how we understand space, ourselves, and the rapidly changing world.
And perhaps that was its true goal: to let us linger for a moment "in-between" - and not to be afraid to stay in this space.
This year's Japanese pavilion focused on the concept of "In-Between," which means "between" or "gap," a concept deeply rooted in Japanese culture and architectural tradition. This term - often associated with the Japanese word ma, meaning a gap, pause, or intermediate space - was not presented here as emptiness but as an active and vibrant field of relationships. The exhibition did not attempt to teach the visitor straightforwardly or explain what exactly they were seeing. Instead, it offered a space in which one was meant to find oneself - and to respond to it according to their own perception. And perhaps therein lies its greatest charm, but also its challenge.
The first impression upon entering the pavilion was a peculiar atmosphere, a kind of closeness between the individual elements: columns, walls, staircases, but also sounds and video projections. It was evident that here, architecture speaks not only through physical form. It acted like a living actor. Like someone who is part of the story, or more precisely, like an entity with which we enter into dialogue. This initially confused me: I felt that the space was speaking to me, but in a way that was neither verbal nor symbolically unambiguous. At the same time, I felt respect - the pavilion's effort to offer a different perspective than what we are accustomed to in the usual architectural world. I did not hesitate and went to get the brochure that individual exhibitions or pavilions offer to visitors, despite the fact that the Japanese pavilion had its brochure charged with a fee of 2 Euros, unlike most other exhibition parts.
The curatorial team worked with the idea that intelligence, subjectivity, and creation are not the prerogatives of humans. It can arise between elements, between entities, between humans and architecture, between technology and nature. Artificial intelligence, which is penetrating creative processes today, was presented here not as a tool, but as a co-author. At certain moments, I felt as if the pavilion was creating a kind of "in-between space" of the future - a world in which the building is no longer a passive object but a partner. The visitor thus became not just an observer but a temporary participant in the relationship unfolding on the delicate edge between the real and the possible.
One of the key moments of the exhibition was the audiovisual part, where different forms of recordings and projections complemented each other: human activities, movements of materials, abstracted landscapes, and visualizations responding to the presence of visitors. Here, I felt the greatest strength of the exhibition, but also a certain internal uncertainty. At first, I was unsure of what I was actually watching. Sometimes it felt like I was observing a communication that I didn’t understand; at other times, I felt as though a new understanding of space and intelligence was unfolding before me, as if the clear boundaries between me and the environment had temporarily vanished.
However, this contradiction was in line with the overall intention of the installation - to evoke a sense of existence "in-between," not to offer a ready-made explanation.
The materials used in the pavilion appeared modest yet thoughtful. The spirit of the space was not directly traditionally Japanese, yet had a strong reference to the Japanese strength of balance, harmony, and tranquility, almost meditative, but also disrupted by slight interventions that acted as signals from another world. There was also a dynamic zone on the upper floor, where the audiovisual installation was located, filled with meanings, sounds, and emotions.
My feelings while walking through the pavilion remained uncertain. On one hand, I felt appreciation for the curatorial and authorship team because they managed to create a space that was not an illustration of the idea but part of it. On the other hand, I still had the feeling that part of the message eluded me, that I was still searching for a key that perhaps does not even exist. But I accept this state as part of the experience - not everything needs to be fully clarified to be valuable; what matters is that I was able to experience it.
What resonated with me the most, however, was the exhibition's ability to open broader questions about the role of architecture in the age of digital transformation. Responses to the questions and troubles of intergenerational differences. To what extent does architecture remain an exclusively human endeavor? How much will the concept of authorship change if intelligence enters the process, which is not driven by human intuition or experience? And where is the space for dialogue in all this - not between individual people, but between different kinds of entities? The In-Between exhibition offered more new perspectives than answers. And perhaps therein lies its greatest strength.
As I left the pavilion, a strange feeling lingered within me. It was neither a clear aesthetic impression nor an intellectual conclusion. It was more a quiet agreement that some things must be accepted as open. The Japanese pavilion left me not only with a visual imprint - it offered an experience that made me think about how we understand space, ourselves, and the rapidly changing world.
And perhaps that was its true goal: to let us linger for a moment "in-between" - and not to be afraid to stay in this space.
Samuel Maňák
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