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May 26, 2023

Kengo Kuma says the future of architecture is simple and sustainable

What does the future of architecture look like? According to Kengo Kuma, it’s smaller-scale, sustainability-focused and about creating a lasting sense of joy rather than a fleeting moment of awe

What does the future of architecture look like? According to Kengo Kuma, it’s smaller-scale, sustainability-focused and about creating a lasting sense of joy rather than a fleeting moment of awe

Steel, concrete and inflated egos are ruining cities. At least that’s what Japanese architect Kengo Kuma believes. “Buildings need life. Concrete and steel buildings … we cannot feel life from them,” Kuma told Tatler when we visited his office in Tokyo’s affluent Aoyama district in October last year. His firm, Kengo Kuma & Associates, occupies multiple floors in a small commercial building, accessed by an old, rickety lift that holds five people at a time, at the most.

It’s a quaint setup for a visionary of Kuma’s calibre—he has completed more than 300 projects in 20 countries around the world, and was named the World’s Most Influential Architect by Time magazine in 2021—but his less-is-more approach is what has made him so prolific.

“Sometimes, design can destroy a place. In the 20th century, to build something monumental was the goal for many architects, to make their mark in history. These great designs can destroy the landscape and the environment,” says Kuma. “But now, the goal is to blend in—to become one with the environment. I think good, humble design is better than great design.”

See also: Tokyo Boutique Hotels for Travellers Who Are All About Aesthetics

Kuma’s works serve as places where the past and present connect, and where visitors can experience Japan’s history through a contemporary lens. He’s known for his love of wood, which he uses in most of his projects, big or small—whether it’s a community library in Yusuhara, a small town in Japan’s southwest, or the 68,000 capacity Japan National Stadium where the Tokyo Olympics were hosted in 2021 and where he incorporated 47 unique types of wood sourced from Japan’s 47 prefectures, as a symbol of unity.

“Historically, Tokyo was a city of wooden buildings,” says Kuma. “This changed after the [Second Sino-Japanese War], but I hope to restore this tradition, and restore the sense of intimacy it created.” As well as offering an earthy respite from a sea of chrome skyscrapers, many of Kuma’s projects are connected to culturally significant landmarks, giving them a place in Japan’s modern landscape. Take the Meiji Jingu Museum, for example, which Kuma and his team completed in 2019.

Accessed via a discreet turnoff on the pathway to Tokyo’s famed Meiji Shrine, the museum was built using trees felled during its construction. “The space was challenging, as [the museum] is in a forest,” says the 68-year-old architect; the resulting construction completely surrenders to the ancient woodlands that surround the sacred shrine.

“I wanted to make the building as low as possible, and in such a way that it disappears into the forest.” And while the museum houses striking artefacts, including a carriage once used by Emperor Meiji dating back to the late 1800s, Kuma’s design has turned the surrounding landscape into an exhibit in its own right.

Large sections inside the museum are left empty, with benches flanked by soaring windows that frame the stillness of the forest, presenting it as a work of art. This is known as shakkei, or the idea of “borrowing scenery”; Kuma endearingly tells Tatler that he “wanted to borrow the beauty of the forest”.

Further afield in Tokyo’s Akasaka district, Kuma was commissioned in 2010 to renovate The Capitol Hotel Tokyu—the legendary hotel where The Beatles famously stayed during their visit in 1966. Kuma redesigned the hotel and its landscaping to blend in with the sprawling forest that encircles Hie Shrine, which sits next door to the hotel and dates back to 1478.

“I wanted the guests to feel connected to the energy of the shrine. It is one of the unique things about Tokyo—that even in the centre of the city, we have these peaceful sanctuaries,” says Kuma, who has designed a dizzying number of hotels around the world, including The Opposite House in Beijing and Ace Hotel Kyoto.

“When designing a hotel, one of the most important things is creating a connection between the neighbours and the guests.” When he begins to conceptualise a project—hotel or otherwise—Kuma says he has to visit the site. “Photos mean nothing; I have to walk in the space, hear the sounds, smell the smells, be in the environment … this is what gives me inspiration. When we build the architectural model, we always include the neighbouring buildings, hills, rivers … the ecosystem of where we’ll be working.”

Kuma’s desire to create spaces that enrich the connection between architecture and the natural world only grew during the Covid-19 pandemic—so much so that he built satellite offices in remote parts of Okinawa and Hokkaido, encouraging his staff to connect with the communities and traditions of these rural pockets.

“In Covid times, we learnt how to [work] remotely. I wanted to use this time to try a new working style, with satellite offices in different areas, different climates. If Tokyo is too hot, I can go to work among the big fields of Hokkaido. It is a dream lifestyle,” he says. “Another good thing is communication with local people: as a Japanese designer, that close communication with the local community is so important.” This is a way of life that resonates with, and is inherent to, Kuma.

He grew up between Yokohama and Tokyo in a satoyama—the name given to Japan’s mountain villages that coexist harmoniously with nature through small-scale farming and living off the land. His grandfather, whom he considered a mentor, taught him how to grow vegetables. “My home was a one storey house with tatami floors and walls made of clay,” Kuma says, fondly recalling the days he spent reading under the afternoon sun on the engawa, a sort of porch that runs along the side of traditional Japanese-style houses, typically facing a garden.

“I still dream of my time in that house. It remains my idea of a perfect home.” The engawa has found its way into many of Kuma’s design: at Tokyo’s Nezu Museum, a long, open-air, bamboo-lined passageway sits between the road and the main building of the private art museum; at the Gulbenkian Museum in Lisbon, Kuma built an engawa-inspired shaded area to connect the Modern Art Centre and the gardens of the Gulbenkian Foundation. “To me, every building is a house, no matter the nature of what I’m designing,” says Kuma. “When I design a museum, for example, a museum is a house: a home for art and a place for people to come, relax, enjoy.”

In December 2022, Kuma completed a major renovation of and extension to the Musée Albert Kahn in Paris, framing the building in a sheltered engawa to blur the boundary between indoor and outdoor spaces. “The engawa is not a border or a boundary; rather it is a transition between inside and outside—an intermediate connective area that allows the building to establish a relationship with its surroundings,” he says. Kuma predicts that the future of architecture will look “entirely different” from the high-octane development of high-rises we’ve become used to, perhaps.

In Kuma: Complete Works 1998-Today published by Taschen in 2021, he noted, “What is happiness today? To live with natural materials, to live with intimacy—there may be less for each person, but still people should feel happiness.”

In short, he is calling for and predicting a return to sustainability and simple pleasures. Kuma hopes to continue building relationships between structures, the people in them and nature. “I enjoy creating these conversations with each space,” he says. “Covid19 taught us many things about relationships. As people, as part of an ecosystem, we are finally beginning to understand the importance of the community you belong to, the importance of nature and the way we live with them.”

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