Interview with Kengo Kumou

zz: Allow me to start our conversation with the most current question. This month (October 2016) the construction of the Olympic Stadium in Tokyo according to your design is set to begin. In one of your earlier interviews, you stated that it was exactly Kenzo Tange's Olympic Stadium that directed you towards architecture as a child, and therefore, this project is very personal to you, as you would like your stadium to similarly impact the younger generation. What message would you like to convey to the young, to children, and potential future architects with this project?

KK: The Olympics are a kind of celebration, a folk festival – in Japan it’s called Matsuri. The festival/Matsuri is the most important event for the community, during which the community can reaffirm the strength of its unity and cohesion, something that generally lacks space and opportunity during the year. The Olympics currently replace Matsuri, and in this sense, the Olympic Stadium is very important for the local community. At the Tokyo Olympics in 1964, the construction of Kenzo Tange's Olympic Stadium fulfilled this role flawlessly and represented the spirit of its time perfectly. In 1964, Tokyo was experiencing cultural expansion and great economic success, and Kenzo Tange's building very well showcased Japan's achievements in the 20th century. But the Olympics in 2020 will showcase a completely opposite period in Japanese history. The 1964 Olympics represent the age of concrete and economic expansion, while the 2020 Olympics represent a period of maturity and economic contraction. Yet even in the time of economic contraction, we Japanese should be able to find happiness. We need to find a new definition of happiness, and the building of the Olympic Stadium for 2020 should present it. In this sense, I am trying to achieve a totally different direction of design than that shown by the stadium from 1964. For Tange's stadium, verticality and height are very important. My design is the opposite – a low silhouette, as low as possible, a horizontal composition that aims to create harmony with the environment. From a material perspective, the two designs are also completely opposite. Tange's building showcases the strength of industrial materials – concrete and steel. The primary material of my design is wood, particularly in the form of small construction elements. The material of these wooden elements is collected from various parts of Japan, from Japanese forests, but mainly comes from areas where forests were destroyed by tsunamis, which is meant to showcase the strength of the Japanese countryside. This approach is very different from 1964 when the special construction of the stadium was the work of a large construction company as the then leader of society. The project for 2020 shows that anyone, from anywhere, can participate in this common work. Many, many different wooden pieces collected and joined in their diversity can create a new harmony among people.

zz: So it could be summarized that the message of your Olympic Stadium is that something as large and significant as the Olympic Stadium can emerge, even in economically unfavorable times, from small parts when the entire country gets involved?

KK: Yes, yes.

zz: Could it also be said that it speaks to the new role of the architect in contemporary society?

KK: The construction of the new Olympic Stadium itself presents a new system within society. If people wanted to understand this system, they could discover it by observing this building. The stadium in its structure demonstrates participatory and democratic systems.

zz: You also mentioned that the design of the Olympic Stadium was greatly influenced by its proximity to perhaps the most famous and visited Tokyo temple, Meiji Jingu.

KK: There is a very interesting story related to the park surrounding this temple. It is also the result of participation and volunteer work of the people. After Emperor Meiji died, and the government decided to build a Shinto shrine at his final resting place (in 1915), the surrounding area was desolate and empty. Thus, people from all over Japan came together and brought trees from their towns and villages, which they planted there, and so, after a hundred years, a dense forest now surrounds the shrine instead of a wasteland. Alongside this success of collective effort, which has brought such a significant change to the place, the Olympic Stadium could represent another success of combined effort in parallel.

zz: After the 2011 tsunami, you had a series of lectures in which you presented a change in thinking and approach to architecture that this disaster triggered in you, just as it did for many other Japanese architects. Is this influence still as strong and present, and how do you perceive it with the passage of time?

KK: Yes, this influence is still very current. The reality is that the affected and destroyed areas have still not been fully restored; construction is ongoing, but I think only about 10% has been completed so far, so we still have a long way to go. I feel that this event is unforgettable.

zz: Could a similar influence on architects' thinking be traced back to the major earthquake in Kobe in 1995? Your work, as well as architectural production in Japan in general, underwent a marked transformation in the mid-90s, but it is more often attributed to the "bursting of the economic bubble." How do you perceive it?

KK: Of course, the disaster in Kobe greatly affected us, but because the devastated area was able to be restored very quickly, this influence was not nearly as significant as that of the 2011 tsunami. I would say that it is more of a continuous influence of a series of more negative events that gradually changed our thinking to the point where today we must totally reassess our stagnation and start from scratch.

zz: From our perspective as Central Europeans living on stable ground, where we hardly experience earthquakes, it seems that the Japanese still live in great respect for the forces of nature and in readiness for possible disaster. Why did the 2011 tsunami have such a revolutionary effect on the thinking of Japanese architects?

KK: It is true that large destructive earthquakes occur in Japan approximately every hundred years, the last Great Kanto Earthquake in 1923 destroyed most of Tokyo. But since then, we have experienced economic expansion and an industrial revolution, and until 1995 we completely forgot about earthquakes and that we live on unstable ground. In a way, it was a very fortunate period, but because of this luck, we became very arrogant and forgot the humility and modesty that were inherent in Japanese society, which I think has not been good for us at all.

zz: In one of the interviews, you said that the 1990s after the "bursting of the economic bubble" personally provided you with the time and space to find your unique approach to architecture. Could you describe the key themes of your work before and after the "bursting of the economic bubble"? What characterizes these periods?

KK: When I started my architectural practice in 1986, the economic "bubble" was at its peak, and as a result, we had many projects. But that didn't last too long, and the following 1990s after the "bursting of the bubble" were economically and commercially very poor. During this difficult period, I traveled a lot around the Japanese countryside and had ample time to explore and understand the landscape and to be in contact and communicate with local craftsmen. Working on small projects, like the Yusuhara Visitor's Center (1994), allowed me to collaborate closely and intensely with local craftsmen, and through this collaboration, I discovered my new approach to design. Before this period, I sketched and designed alone and tried to ensure that my designs were realized. It was a one-way design process, and these designs came from my ego. But in the 90s, I discovered a new exciting approach to design, which was the process of collaboration. It is a much more joyful way of working because we can rely on each other and, through combined effort, elevate the design to a higher level. This period thus became the foundation of my work. And after the year 2000, when our new method began to be accepted in other countries as well, I got the opportunity to try out this way of working in different contexts, which allowed me to further develop and expand the method. One of the first projects outside Japan was the Great (Bamboo) Wall House (2002) in China. Teamwork became a solid part of my work. Some of my employees have been working with me for over twenty years, and collaborating with them is a great pleasure for me. I am fortunate to have such a well-functioning and communicative team around me. I truly love teamwork.

zz: According to your words, it is also very important for your practice that you can engage in material and construction experiments on small objects with your students at Tokyo University, which subsequently enrich your further creation and larger projects. What are you currently working on with your students?

KK: Currently, we are preparing an urban plan for a small town on Shikoku Island with the students. The assignment comes from a small local company and involves creating a new city center. First, we will create the main urban plan, and then we will announce a student competition for its individual buildings. In this project, I don’t want our studio to design the buildings; I would prefer for the new city center to arise from the ideas of young students. We are trying this approach for the first time; we usually design the buildings ourselves, but I would like to pass on my experience to the next generation.

zz: With your students, you have realized very unconventional ways to use materials in small pavilions, such as plastic building blocks filled with water, alloys with shape memory, or the principle of magnetic connections in constructions. Have you been able to apply any of them in a larger project?

KK: Unfortunately, not yet, but for example, the magnetic connections used in the Hojo-an project could be very well applied. Magnets replace steel connectors. Construction is very fast because of them, and the building can easily be disassembled and transported to another location. Historically, builders in Japan avoided using metal connectors like nails in combination with wooden construction because they knew that the life of iron is very short. Instead, they used ropes or special wooden joints. Magnets can be a new version of these joints.

zz: Experiments come with the possibility of failure; we learn from mistakes, many great discoveries have been the result of error or chance – which unsuccessful experiment has given you the most insightful knowledge?

KK: Perhaps the best example could be my buildings from the 80s. During this time of the "economic bubble," I was already attempting material fragmentation, but I was using concrete for that. Thus, I discovered the limits of concrete. Concrete is not a suitable material for division, and the attempt to fragment it was a superficial, egotistical activity. That was a kind of failure that led me to the decision not to use concrete as the main material of my buildings.

zz: Your office oversees the experimental ecological village Memu Meadows in Taiki-cho, on Hokkaido island. You yourself, with the support of Tokyo University, built the first experimental pavilion Même and supervised the construction of other objects that emerged from the international university competition. What is the latest development in this location?

KK: Six pavilions – experimental houses – have now been built in the location, each designed by a different university based on the winning designs from the individual years of the LIXIL International Student Architectural Competition. The latest completed project is the Inverted House, the winner of the 5th year of the competition, designed by the Norwegian University in Oslo. Soon, construction will begin on the winning design from the 6th year of the competition, which is from the Royal Danish Academy in Copenhagen.

zz: Could you explain the concept of your installation "Floating Kitchen" at this year's Venice Architecture Biennale?

KK: The idea of the "Floating Kitchen" was very simple. We did not want to design any kitchen system. I think cooking does not require a kitchen. We need fire, tools, and ingredients, and that alone is sufficient for cooking. In our installation, we combined individual kitchen utensils and necessities into the shape of an object. It is a spatial collage.