Message from Kazuyo Sejima's lecture at the reSITE 2017 conference
The biggest star of the Prague conference reSITE 2017 was undoubtedly the Japanese architect, Pritzker Prize winner, and curator of the Venice Architecture Biennale 2010 Kazuyo Sejima, whose lecture concluded the program of the first day.
For her lecture, Sejima prepared a selection of her recent projects, both those created by the studio SANAA, which she has led with architect Ryue Nishizawa since 1995, and projects from her own studio, which both partners maintain parallel to their joint studio.
In her Prague lecture, Sejima did not focus so much on the general principles of her work, but rather on specific starting points and particular intentions of the presented buildings; however, she did touch upon them to some extent. Although perhaps not sufficiently enough to completely satisfy enthusiasts of her work desiring a deeper understanding of the motivations and sources of her creativity.
For many statements that Sejima provides about her work in her lectures, more questions arise than answers are given. The hints she offers about her ways of thinking about architecture only evoke greater curiosity and interest in a deeper understanding. When she states that she strives to create “New Type of Space”, questions arise: “What new type of space?”, but what qualities does such a space possess, what character does it have, what does it provide to the user, and in what way is it new? When she says that her greatest inspiration comes from nature, one might think that most Japanese architects claim this, and yet the results are so different. Which aspects of nature, their qualities, properties, or manifestations does she refer to in her case? Nature offers a wide range of inspiration, from the morphology of landscapes, the variability of the seasons and weather, the forms of plants and animals, to fractal geometry – what does Sejima mean when she talks about achieving simplicity through the abstraction of nature as a main principle? When she states that her architectural language arises from the transformation of basic natural principles, which principles does she actually have in mind? When she talks about the importance of life rhythms, about how the Japanese distinguish 24 seasons, in what elements of their buildings can we read this inspiration? When the topic of aging their buildings arises, it seems that this question does not resonate with her way of thinking at all and remains meaningless to her. Is her architecture like a cherry blossom that blooms in its perfection for a fleeting moment?
Regarding the questions that could be posed to the architect and were answered, the questioner is not quite sure whether their question was answered in the way it was asked or whether they received a deeper message from another level of reality. For true understanding, one probably needs to give up the Western model of linear thinking in terms of cause and effect. Statements from Japanese architects regarding the sources of creative inspiration often break our logic and conventions of expected behavior and preconceived knowledge. It is somewhat like solving a Koan (a short irrational story containing an illogical riddle that liberates the mind from established concepts). In such situations when meeting Japanese architects speaking about their work, I always remind myself that Zen advises: “Do not try to understand reality; try to experience it directly. Life is not an intellectual puzzle to be solved but a mystery to be lived.” (Marco Aldinger, Wisdom and Stories of Zen, Portal 2000).
Thus, the best answer to all the questions that may arise when watching Kazuyo Sejima's lectures is the very experience of visiting and staying in the space of architecture that Sejima creates. If not in the real world, then at least in the imagination over the drawings and photographs of her unique realizations that she guided us through in her lecture.
zz: In one of your earlier lectures, you mentioned that your current interest is in designing architecture that becomes landscape, architecture where the boundaries between building and landscape disappear. Do you consider this only in relation to buildings set in open landscapes, or do you apply this principle to buildings in urban environments, for example in Tokyo?
Sejima: Yes, I work with this principle in cities as well, but it is necessary to define what landscape means. For me, it sometimes does not mean purely a natural environment but rather the context and existing environment of the proposed building; it is not just about the morphology of the terrain but also about the buildings and surrounding objects that form the urban landscape. I want my buildings to be more a part of their environment, to be connected to it, and I apply this main idea in both natural and urban environments.
zz: When describing your buildings, you often mention openness and dynamic connections between individual spaces as one of the most important factors. Does this openness stem from the Japanese understanding of the concept of privacy?
Sejima: Perhaps this fact comes from traditional Japanese architecture. It was not my intention to refer to traditional architecture, but openness and connectivity are very important elements in it – the openness of the layout of a Japanese house, divided by sliding walls, the connection of the interior and exterior through a covered corridor that visually combines a private garden in the foreground with the background of the surrounding environment belonging to other users. These elements of traditional Japanese space may evoke the impression from a Western perspective that they cannot provide enough privacy because Western architecture works with thick, solid walls, but I believe that the Japanese strive for a different kind of privacy.
To that, I have an interesting story. I have already designed a multifunctional hall for about the third time, not large, just about 200-300 seats, which is meant to serve various purposes, from concerts to lectures to dance performances, and here different acoustic parameters are required for each production. Together with acoustic engineers, we prepared sound panels and both heavy and light curtains that can be exchanged depending on the program. But people preferred to use these spaces completely open without drawn curtains, and every time they praised how good the acoustics are here. If a professional were to measure the acoustic parameters, they would certainly not be ideal for a concert or a lecture or dance, because the space is defined by a glass wall. I think it is possible that the looseness and comfort that openness of the space evokes in people, as well as the influence of a constricted feeling from enclosed spaces, can affect the acoustic absorption of the human bodies and thus the overall atmosphere in the space.
zz: Among the projects you presented today was also the revitalization project of Inujima Island, which you have been working on for about the last ten years. Given this longer timeframe, is it possible to observe the influence of your architectural interventions on the restoration of life to this almost abandoned area? You presented this project twice at the Venice Architecture Biennale. Is there something like a “Bilbao effect” manifesting here due to this wide awareness of the location?
Sejima: In comparison with Bilbao, there are certainly not as many people, but gradually interest in this island is growing. However, near Inujima, there is another small island - Naoshima; there are many small islands in this area. My client initially started building interventions on Naoshima with Tadao Ando; this island is now much better known and receives a lot of visitors. Initially, he wanted to invite me to work on that island, but then he decided that the realizations on Naoshima were already sufficient and that he would shift his attention to other small islands.
For me, this means a continuous project; it is not just about attracting visitors, but about initiating the involvement of people in the actual restoration of the island. We go there with students, who, for example, manually clear the undergrowth and restore old disappeared paths. On the island, we have already built five small art galleries, some of which were created through the restoration of old buildings, while others were added as new small pavilions into the village structure. These five galleries that already exist on the island change their exhibition once a year, meaning that once a year for one month, about fifty artists join the thirty permanent residents of the island, working here to prepare a new exhibition. The latest realization we created here is a small building for accommodating visitors.
I perceive the entire island as architecture and strive for the revitalization of the landscape through art. I strive for softness, the softness of spaces. There are no cars on the island; all the buildings are made of small elements transported by hand. This leads to soft, winding shapes. I try to create a space that users can further develop and transform.
In conclusion, it was impossible not to ask the currently most famous living woman on the global architectural scene what she would advise women architects – how to assert themselves in the predominantly male world of architectural production.
The answer was… Patience.
For her lecture, Sejima prepared a selection of her recent projects, both those created by the studio SANAA, which she has led with architect Ryue Nishizawa since 1995, and projects from her own studio, which both partners maintain parallel to their joint studio.
In her Prague lecture, Sejima did not focus so much on the general principles of her work, but rather on specific starting points and particular intentions of the presented buildings; however, she did touch upon them to some extent. Although perhaps not sufficiently enough to completely satisfy enthusiasts of her work desiring a deeper understanding of the motivations and sources of her creativity.
For many statements that Sejima provides about her work in her lectures, more questions arise than answers are given. The hints she offers about her ways of thinking about architecture only evoke greater curiosity and interest in a deeper understanding. When she states that she strives to create “New Type of Space”, questions arise: “What new type of space?”, but what qualities does such a space possess, what character does it have, what does it provide to the user, and in what way is it new? When she says that her greatest inspiration comes from nature, one might think that most Japanese architects claim this, and yet the results are so different. Which aspects of nature, their qualities, properties, or manifestations does she refer to in her case? Nature offers a wide range of inspiration, from the morphology of landscapes, the variability of the seasons and weather, the forms of plants and animals, to fractal geometry – what does Sejima mean when she talks about achieving simplicity through the abstraction of nature as a main principle? When she states that her architectural language arises from the transformation of basic natural principles, which principles does she actually have in mind? When she talks about the importance of life rhythms, about how the Japanese distinguish 24 seasons, in what elements of their buildings can we read this inspiration? When the topic of aging their buildings arises, it seems that this question does not resonate with her way of thinking at all and remains meaningless to her. Is her architecture like a cherry blossom that blooms in its perfection for a fleeting moment?
Regarding the questions that could be posed to the architect and were answered, the questioner is not quite sure whether their question was answered in the way it was asked or whether they received a deeper message from another level of reality. For true understanding, one probably needs to give up the Western model of linear thinking in terms of cause and effect. Statements from Japanese architects regarding the sources of creative inspiration often break our logic and conventions of expected behavior and preconceived knowledge. It is somewhat like solving a Koan (a short irrational story containing an illogical riddle that liberates the mind from established concepts). In such situations when meeting Japanese architects speaking about their work, I always remind myself that Zen advises: “Do not try to understand reality; try to experience it directly. Life is not an intellectual puzzle to be solved but a mystery to be lived.” (Marco Aldinger, Wisdom and Stories of Zen, Portal 2000).
Thus, the best answer to all the questions that may arise when watching Kazuyo Sejima's lectures is the very experience of visiting and staying in the space of architecture that Sejima creates. If not in the real world, then at least in the imagination over the drawings and photographs of her unique realizations that she guided us through in her lecture.
zz: In one of your earlier lectures, you mentioned that your current interest is in designing architecture that becomes landscape, architecture where the boundaries between building and landscape disappear. Do you consider this only in relation to buildings set in open landscapes, or do you apply this principle to buildings in urban environments, for example in Tokyo?
Sejima: Yes, I work with this principle in cities as well, but it is necessary to define what landscape means. For me, it sometimes does not mean purely a natural environment but rather the context and existing environment of the proposed building; it is not just about the morphology of the terrain but also about the buildings and surrounding objects that form the urban landscape. I want my buildings to be more a part of their environment, to be connected to it, and I apply this main idea in both natural and urban environments.
zz: When describing your buildings, you often mention openness and dynamic connections between individual spaces as one of the most important factors. Does this openness stem from the Japanese understanding of the concept of privacy?
Sejima: Perhaps this fact comes from traditional Japanese architecture. It was not my intention to refer to traditional architecture, but openness and connectivity are very important elements in it – the openness of the layout of a Japanese house, divided by sliding walls, the connection of the interior and exterior through a covered corridor that visually combines a private garden in the foreground with the background of the surrounding environment belonging to other users. These elements of traditional Japanese space may evoke the impression from a Western perspective that they cannot provide enough privacy because Western architecture works with thick, solid walls, but I believe that the Japanese strive for a different kind of privacy.
To that, I have an interesting story. I have already designed a multifunctional hall for about the third time, not large, just about 200-300 seats, which is meant to serve various purposes, from concerts to lectures to dance performances, and here different acoustic parameters are required for each production. Together with acoustic engineers, we prepared sound panels and both heavy and light curtains that can be exchanged depending on the program. But people preferred to use these spaces completely open without drawn curtains, and every time they praised how good the acoustics are here. If a professional were to measure the acoustic parameters, they would certainly not be ideal for a concert or a lecture or dance, because the space is defined by a glass wall. I think it is possible that the looseness and comfort that openness of the space evokes in people, as well as the influence of a constricted feeling from enclosed spaces, can affect the acoustic absorption of the human bodies and thus the overall atmosphere in the space.
zz: Among the projects you presented today was also the revitalization project of Inujima Island, which you have been working on for about the last ten years. Given this longer timeframe, is it possible to observe the influence of your architectural interventions on the restoration of life to this almost abandoned area? You presented this project twice at the Venice Architecture Biennale. Is there something like a “Bilbao effect” manifesting here due to this wide awareness of the location?
Sejima: In comparison with Bilbao, there are certainly not as many people, but gradually interest in this island is growing. However, near Inujima, there is another small island - Naoshima; there are many small islands in this area. My client initially started building interventions on Naoshima with Tadao Ando; this island is now much better known and receives a lot of visitors. Initially, he wanted to invite me to work on that island, but then he decided that the realizations on Naoshima were already sufficient and that he would shift his attention to other small islands.
For me, this means a continuous project; it is not just about attracting visitors, but about initiating the involvement of people in the actual restoration of the island. We go there with students, who, for example, manually clear the undergrowth and restore old disappeared paths. On the island, we have already built five small art galleries, some of which were created through the restoration of old buildings, while others were added as new small pavilions into the village structure. These five galleries that already exist on the island change their exhibition once a year, meaning that once a year for one month, about fifty artists join the thirty permanent residents of the island, working here to prepare a new exhibition. The latest realization we created here is a small building for accommodating visitors.
I perceive the entire island as architecture and strive for the revitalization of the landscape through art. I strive for softness, the softness of spaces. There are no cars on the island; all the buildings are made of small elements transported by hand. This leads to soft, winding shapes. I try to create a space that users can further develop and transform.
In conclusion, it was impossible not to ask the currently most famous living woman on the global architectural scene what she would advise women architects – how to assert themselves in the predominantly male world of architectural production.
The answer was… Patience.
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