Balloons

Two sites along our itinerary have included the use of balloons as a means of drawing attention to itself. The actual nature of this usage remains unclear, but of the most available comparisons are to objects used by American wholesale or cardealers to draw attention to their businesses.



SHILLA BURIAL MOUND PARK



OLD SUMMER PALACE



Whether in a commercial setting or a cultural setting, this usage, as a performance, seems to indicate a desire to draw attention to the site, to beckon visitors, and most importantly, to assert its presence by utilizing an object that floats high into the air such that it is highly visible from many surrounding vantage points.



For My Eyes Only

Few structures on Earth live more on a basis of performance than the two shrines at Ise, both of whose entire existence is experienced, from a human standpoint, at a great distance and impeded by both a series of physical borders and strict policing—an existence punctuated only by a performance held every twenty years, and but a few others lesser processes held at other intervals. The process of this twenty-year cycle involves the Japanese government rebuilding the entirety of the two shrines and all built structures in their constituent compounds, including 125 distinct shrines and all bridges, at an exorbitant cost drawn from imperial funds, the most recent of which took place in 1993.

Ilicit photo of the NEIKU

The original conception of the structures, their continued use, and their reconstruction are all a mater of performative processes, in which, arguably, the only purpose of the architecture is to affect public spectacles and performances, or else to indicate that they occur. The lay people are not privy to the whole appearance of the structures, required to stand behind a series of high, opaque fences and pray facing a gate within which special white silk drapes obstruct the view of the shrines. Visitors are not permitted even to take photos from their distant vantage point outside of the fence, regardless of the fact that from that area, the shrine is not visible to begin with. No one sentient being in the entire universe but the highest ranking member of the Japanese Shinto religion and the Emperor himself may lay eyes on the contents of these two shrines. The objects themselves are also entirely ceremonial in nature, representing objects bestowed upon the Japanese land at its mythical conception several millennia ago by various kami, a polytheistic spirit-god. Just as with the Heian Complex and the Villa Katsura, those structures which are attached to the Imperial Japanese government are not, in most senses, public property. And yet, as exclusive as the structures themselves are, let alone their contents, they drawn vast crowds and attention from the public, the two Ise shrines sharing in excess, on average, over 10 million visitors annually (14 170 000 in 1995). Historical accounts, such as the Daijingu shozojiki which recounts a Kanname Festival in 934, even record attendance in excess of 100 thousand for the single event alone.

Shakkei (borrowed scenery)

The idea of shakkei in Japanese gardens is to use the background landscape as an element that makes part of the garden. The idea of borrowed scenery is a concept that has been done in Japanese gardens for centuries. It gives the illusion that the garden is bigger than it really is and it also symbolizes the harmony between the larger landscape and the nurtured garden. The borrowed views can be anything from a distant mountain, valley or lake. The garden is manipulated a lot of times by trimming some of the trees in the garden to frame the view of the distant mountain. The landscape in the background adds depth and perspective to the garden and it shows a hierarchy of elements in the garden going from small trees or bushes to bigger trees and then finally to the mountains in the back.

The Oldest New Shrine

The shrine at Ise, both the inner shrine for the imperial family and the outer shrine dedicated to agriculture, has been in a state of constant renewal since its establishment in the 7th century. Every 20 years, the shrines and all accompanying structures including fences and bridges, are rebuilt. In fact, in the plan of the design, two sites are located for several of the temples. The main shoden as well as minor shrines. These are indicated by the map. The map shows that for each shrine structure, there are two pieces of land set aside for it. There are two adjoining rectangles. One is for the current temple, the other is the alternate site of the temple, where it will be in twenty years. These alternate sites are indicated in pink. During such a reconstruction, everything is rebuilt: new wood, thatch, stone, and other materials are sourced for the new shrine.


The result is an impressive and magnificent feat of wealth and power. The reconstructions testify to the authority of the tenno or emperor and of the country itself. The constant reconstruction also has one important effect, that of preservation. Because the shrines have been continuosly reconstructed with little change, the shrine at Ise still preserves the original architectural styles as it was first built. The frequency of the reconstructions really amplify the effect of this process as the skills and tools with which to reconstruct the temples will never be lost. There will be 3 to 4 reconstruction for every person's life, and the constancy of such a cycle ensures the shrines architectural integrity and survival. However, even as the tectonic techniques survive, the tectonic materials are always new and never aged (in terms of centuries of time). Such a process calls in the very question of the old new and the new old. The Ise Shrine has been called the oldest new building in existence. When reconstruction is necessarily built into the life cycle of the building, does the new reconstruction a new building, or is it merely a reincarnation, true to its core despite the change of the skin?

fence

Gohei--zig-zag strips of white paper attached to a rope, operates as a symbol of the Kami and an offering to the Kami. Divine fences are installed throughout the Shinto shrine to mark the scared soil or spaces for worship. With green bamboo at the corners and ropes with Gohei tied to them, the fence creates a physical representation of the presence of the Kami. Whereas in China, fences or boundary elements usually represent a zone that contains valuable objects that are protected from the tourists in gardens or Buddhist temples. The more protected and fenced off an object is from the tourists, the more precious it is. In a shinto shrine, fences decorated with religious emblems are not necessarily identified with an object of immense value to draw in tourists' attention, they are usually used to attract good spirits (not tourists) to the site and establish boundary for scared space that seems empty yet mysterious. As simplicity was the essence of earlier Shinto shrines in Japan, scared spaces are marked by basic materials-- unpainted wood and rope. It appears that the survival mechanism for the Shinto shrine is the unseen and the impenetrable. In contrast, fences in Buddhist temples or other tourist sites are heavily constructed, usually in steel, to provide maximum protection, and also to indicate the significance of the object or view displayed.

FUNCTION_Strategy_06

Garden of Fine Art, Kyoto

Tadao Ando's Garden of Fine Art is an interesting case of a Japanese garden, although certainly not a prototype or anything near an archetype. Ando's design is a composite of simple yet complex ideas and symbolism regarding the Japanese ideals and consequently formal and materialistic qualities. He uses the concrete as a simple yet elegant solution to permit "softness, light, wind, and stillness" all at the same time. This is unaffectedly done with a kind of mysterious emptiness that occupies this water garden-pavilion. The presence of light, water, simplicity, and the certain geometric discipline is just a few of the things that unify the traditional Japanese gardens with the Garden of Fine Art in Kyoto. The use of vertical leveling and layering of surfaces is also strikingly similar to that found in the building complexes found often in Japanese gardens or other architecture (such as religious, Shinto)

At the same time, there are irreconcilable differences, such as the physical presence of water in the Garden of Fine Art in contrast to symbolic presence of water (among other things) denoted by the gravel in many of the rock gardens such as Tofukuji Stone Gardens.

Abstract Scale

In comparison to many Chinese gardens, Japanese gardens are somewhat more abstract and simple in form and representation. Many of the features in these gardens serve as small scale representations for important scenes or real life areas found across Japan. Amanohashidate, a natural land bridge and one of Japans most famous scenic views, is represented by a small land bridge across a pond in the Katsura Imperial Villa, which is just one of many specific views which appear throughout the stroll garden.

Such stroll gardens also incorporate miniature installations, such as small lanterns along the edge of a pond to represent lighthouses at the edge of the sea, or bonsai trees to form small landscapes, while larger trees in the background represent the mountains in distant landscapes.

Japanese zen rock gardens like this one at Ryoan-ji are perhaps the most abstract version of garden design, with their calm raked white gravel representing water in which one may only enter through their mind and lose themselves in deep meditation. A series of rocks litter these rock gardens in an abstract, yet purposeful way which hints at an organization which is not obvious or controllable. These stones represent the solid in the void, or the land in the sea and provide a static contrast to the carefully raked and rippled stones to create a calming, peaceful scene.

procession part ii - artificial procession (and portal & frame) at fushimi

there is no lack of documentation of the fushimi inari shrine, which is perhaps most well-known for its "ten thousand toriis," so i shall spare you the obvious touristic photos. the toriis here may not quite number ten thousand, but there are certainly more than one could easily count - and they come in all shapes and sizes. this torii fetish covers not only the actual toriis themselves (which vary both in height and materiality), but also miniature scale models that visitors can purchase:

and also the torii symbols on the guide maps:

each torii is "donated" (i.e. paid for) by a local business, and both the name of the business and the date of erection can be seen on the back of each torii. this is supposedly because the dedicatee of the shrine, inari, was thought to be the patron of business. this sign seems to show that the size of the torii depends on how much money is donated for it:

i find this shrine to be extremely peculiar because the torii in shintoism usually demarcates and symbolises the transition between the sacred and the profane (the sacred-profane dichotomy), but at fushimi, their sheer repetition and commercial nature almost strips them bare of all and any religious symbolism. and so, at first glance they seem to be more decorative ornament, even tourist attraction, than religious gate.

however, as you are through torii after torii along the mountain trails, you really get to experience and appreciate the incredible spatial effect created by the seemingly endless vermillion (orange) tunnels. the toriis are not in direct contact with each other - rather, there is a space, albeit a very small one, in between adjacent toriis - but their close proximity creates the illusion of a continuous corridor or tunnel, pierced regularly and rhythmically with light:

a single torii by itself is a frame, portal, and portal-frame (as discussed earlier). a procession of toriis therefore extends the 2-dimensional portal-frame along a 3rd dimension, thereby giving it depth. further, it blocks and shields the traveller from the outside world both physically and visually by literally "tunnelling" or "burrowing" through the surrounding forest. when two of these tunnels are lined together, you get a mind-boggling spatial illusion: each presents a different path leading to what seems like a completely different universe:

and since you have no idea where either tunnel leads, you can only hope that you chose the right (left) one.

Osaka Prefectural Sayamaike Museum

This museum,, around an hour away from Osaka, is considered a "site museum" of Sayanaike Pond. Sayanaike Pond is the oldest pond for irrigation in Japan, made in the 7th century with an early earth filled dam at first,and its reaches extended all the way to Osaka Castle. The layers of the pond bank formed through around a thousand years of history. The museum displays relics of the recovered site, including the main attraction, a wall piece of the pond bank, a huge monument to ancient engineering, in the front lobby as well the wooden pipes originally used. The museum itself is a monument to the pond, with its siting next to the pond and its architectural elements.

Piece of Pond Bank

The walls of the park complex before the museum entrance are made of rough cut granite stone and seem to blend in with the landscape. Following a path along the waters of Sayamaike, visitors pass a series of granite walls before arriving at a concrete plaza. From here, visitors descend down a staircase, below the pools of water on the upper level, into a water plaza with cascading water falls on both sides. The museum consists of two rectangular volumes flanked by this water plaza. The space is very sensory as people hear sounds of water when walking through recessed walkway as well as seeing both water and light hitting the pool. At the end of this spatial sequence, one enters a cylindrical volume that silences the sound of the water and leads the visitor into the interior of the museum, only giving visitors a cutaway of the plaza.

Religious Commerce

Much of the sustenance of a cultural landmark, as often prior mentioned, involves immersing visitors in an environment that engrosses them in a sense of the past existence of the cultural site. While the sense of these activities may be more pronounced or exaggerated in Chinese examples, Japanese cultural sites are no less culprits of such capitalization.

Many of the temples and shrines of Japan, including Senso-ji in Tokyo, and the topic of this document, Kiyomizu-dera in Eastern Kyoto, are host to highly developed commercial choreographies, the least of which are sophisticated shopping streets leading up to the temples themselves. A great sloping street leads up the side of the mountainous terrain just below Kiyomizu-dera, flanked on either side for quite some distance with shops, restaurants, and boutiques selling everything from ice cream and yukata, traditional Japanese bathrobes, to fans and fake samurai swords, to cellphone keychains and Giant Pocky.

Within the proper premises of the Kiyomizu-dera are further instances of commercial insistences that go beyond the entrance fee. Beyond the entrance are several points of worship within the main building, the Hondo, each with a coffer at which worshippers are implored to toss prescribed cash amounts in a ceremonial fashion. A curio-stand just to the right of one of these points offers the sale of talismans and omikuji, or paper fortunes, carved or written upon with specific Chinese characters bestowing specific fortunes or favors against bad omens. Similar services are offered throughout the complex, generally besides a point of worship such as the Kannon Bodhisattva or Amitabha Mahalaka. Behind the Hondo, up a flight of stairs is the Jishu-jinja, the matchmaking shrine, in which several coffers and directives implore a variety of donations for an individual to pray for and perform ceremonial tasks to either ask for love or to ask for the longevity of existing relationships.

Even the Otowa-no-taki, a waterfall the inspired the namesake of the complex, is involved with a ceremonial ritual in which visitors and pilgrims are encouraged to use a long apparatus to spoon water from the natural mountain waterfall diverted into three streams and drink from one of the three to attain different effects, is tainted with a large coffer right in the center.

decoration_mini manifesto

work in progress...

In roaming around the several cities we have visited, I have come to the conclusion that preservation is multi-layered and complex. A simple assessment, I will admit, but it seems to be the most fitting response when working through this controversial topic.

Preservation indicates value, significance and importance, elements that are more sentimental and ephemeral than they are tangible. The idea behind preservation concurrently tugs at the what (the site), the who (the people directly/indirectly involved or affected) and the why (the characteristics of the area that makes it worth saving). Historic and cultural relevance play an important role as well as the promotion of certain lifestyles or social interactions related to the space or site.

In protecting the old in the new world, decoration plays a major role in enhancing attractiveness for tourism and business, and stimulating a sense of national identity. It does more than make a space look nice or authentic; decoration is the primary introduction to the preserved space and acts as a narrative that is carried out throughout the site. Decoration works as both a preservation tool and as an aesthetic tool to protect, or even re-manufacture, the historic and cultural relevance of the space or site.

In the realm of preservation, decoration is a strategy to maintain the old all in itself, but for the different sites, the tactic for preservation varies. In the course of this studio, I have identified ten sub-strategies folded under the decoration umbrella: Replication, Drag-And-Drop, Definition, Embellishment, Camouflage, Place Holder, Excessory, Façade, Art...and something else. (smiley face)

ARCHITECTURAL –SPIRITUAL-COMMERCIAL CONSUMPTION

The Fushimi Inari shrine is the head shrine of the largest shrine network in Japan today, and the shrine is dedicated to the kami Inari, patron of agriculture and business. The shrine is perhaps most famous for its torii paths, which are lined with hundreds of torii, creating an orange corridor for worshippers on their way to the various small shrines that dot the mountain. Each torii is purchased by a certain business hoping for Inari’s patronage and protection. At Fushimi Inari, an entire culture exists to sell charms of various levels to worshippers hoping to gain Inari’s favor. At the low end, one can purchase a name tag or a miniature torii for a couple of hundred yen. These are then hung at certain places. At the high end, one can purchase a real life sized torii for hundreds of thousands of yen. These purchase comprise the entire architectural landscape. The real life sized torii form the corridors of mountain trails; the smaller one necessitate bulletin board like structures to hold and display them. The head shrine located at the foot of the mountain serves to draw worshippers in, and the torii lined paths serve as both tourist attractions and guiding channels for worshippers of various smaller shrines.

This mechanism of architectural production and survival (as there will always be businesses looking to purchase one for good fortune) has been in place for a very long time and really is a survival mechanism founded on a certain spiritual desire of the worshippers that is eternally human and perpetually extent. In other words, these torii architecture will always remain and grow (i.e. survive) for as long as people believe in the power of Inari (even for lack of a better alternative). The tectonic strategy is almost akin to the metabolist mode, where you simply have a bunch of premade units that you simply add on as you require. This is perhaps a super species strategy, as there seems to be no sign of decay for these torii. It’s just as easy to put one up should one fall down, and the mechanism seems to be going strong. It’s interesting to note that where traditional building survival is realized, some sort of commercial incentive is in place. Except at Fushimi Inari Daisho, the commercial incentive is ultimately spiritual.

Supplement - strategy- protection

At the old summer palace, which was once a private recreation area of the imperial family in Beijing, we encountered an instance of preservation that seemed only appropriate at a popular tourist destination in China, with an everlasting, overwhelming amount of visitors. Due to a frantic desire to protect historical sculpture while stressing the authenticity of it and opening it up to the public, a compromise was struck: the result was an encasement of a bronze crane in an intimate wire mesh cage in the shape of the sculpture, fenced off from direct access. From afar, one could hardly figure out if the cage was part of the sculpture as it became a mutated, caged crane that stood out from the cluster of similar sculptures. This is an example of how the old is being protected by a new membrane/supplement, which tries not to suppress or overwhelm the old, perhaps not with much success. Clearly, this protective shield also became a device to lure the attention of passing tourists by stressing the value of it--by look but no touching, without sacrificing the original form of the sculpture enclosed within. It's no surprise that it was the one of the most crowded sites for photos in the garden, so one could conclude that highly protected objects or sites draw in spectacle, and spectacle draws in more spectacle. It seems that the sculpture preserves itself by asserting its physical dominance over others, or by increasing the lifetime of the sculpture. Layers of protection- the pestal, steel fence, and wire mesh cage give the sculpture a sense of significance and authority, and creates boundary and distance between the viewer and the displayed object, turning it into an isolated, permanent object that is untouchable and distant. In contrast to the old summer palace (yuan ming yuan), visual aspects ranging from sculptures to natural landscapes are protected and choreographed more carefully to accommodate the large flow of tourists.

procession part i - natural procession at arashiyama

having both read about and being told about the reknowned bamboo forest at arashiyama, i decided to spend the afternoon there and see what all the fuss was about. the journey to arashiyama was straightforward enough, but once i arrived i had to ask for directions to the forest since i couldn't understand the japanese map. the station attendant told to me follow the main road for about 500 m and then i would see the entrance to the forest on my right. it took a while to actually find it since the entrance is not clearly marked, and sort of just quietly branches off from the main road.

hang on a second, why does something naturally occurring like a forest need an artificially designated entrance?

and why is there a paved concrete path running through it, flanked on either side with 6 foot tall fences?

the forest itself is completely blocked off from public access; you are only free to experience it from the path cutting through the bamboo trees designated by... well i'm not really sure who by. yes, the view from the artificial path isn't exactly bad, but i would much rather be able to freely walk amongst them, choose my own path, and perhaps even (gasp) touch them. what's more, the paved path only extends some 4-500 metres (i estimate) up a hill, and then you arrive at the observation deck where you are presented with this view:

and then it's time to turn around and go right back down the way i came. hang on another second, LOOK AT ALL THOSE TREES! oh wait, i can't get to them. drats, time to go home then.

sure, it's a pretty view, but it still doesn't disguise the fact that the so-called "bamboo forest" seems less of a forest and more of just a mountain (hill) path with bamboo trees planted on either side. and i would dare even to say that the trees are subservient to the path itself. truly, i wonder which came first, the path or the trees?

regardless of my cynicism, the natural (but artificial) procession and repetition of the bamboo trees generates a vertical rhythm that is, for lack of a better word, quite magical:

the repetition of the slim vertical trunks creates a grill that selectively lets light in, which, coupled with the natural filigree of the canopy above, generates a beautiful, almost ephemeral, illuminance. it is easy to see the appeal of using bamboo as a structural material and/or emulating such an effect in asian architecture, such as at the entrance of our kyoto hotel:

this is the first of a two part post which will be followed up by the artificial procession of the "thousand toriis" at fushimi.

decoration_excessories

This weekend, we went down to the Geisha district in Kyoto. It is the largest district where geishas entertain their clients, but the business/career itself is very small and is declining. In efforts to rehabilitate the lifestyle, there was a major development of certain streets (identified by their cobblestone paving) that turned original private machiya houses into small and eclectic restaurants and bars. In restoring this area with elements of the "old", the whole neighborhood is more or less very new looking. And because it is not used for what it used to be used for (lower income housing, small tea shops and stores) it in itself is a decorative object. The interaction with the space itself is minimal (used by tourists, geishas, and business men at certain times of day). Its an excessive addition to the fabric of Kyoto, an artificial revival of a lifestyle more than that of a place.

Also this screen motif, as a traditional aspects of the machiya houses, was quite overplayed, (incorrectly at times) but was a major player in making this area appear "old" and refurbished.

LOTS of Assembly Required

East Asian architecture is known for its intricate detailing, particularly when it comes to the roofs. Hundreds of thousands of pieces of wood, metal, and tiles go into completing a roof, and the need to create height and grandeur, as architecture (most prominent in the roof) is a status indicator, necessitated bracketing, layering, carving, tiling, and painting on a monumental scale to create the intended effect. The assembly of such roofs took a tremendous amount of man-hours. In the Kyoto Imperial Palace, it takes about 25 years to re-roof all the buildings and each roof only lasts approximately 30 years. By the time one cycle of roff replacement is complete, another cycle has to begin again. Inbuilt into the architectural process is the ideal of maintenance, and almost by definition it is impossible for one to retain the original authentic material.

But material discussion aside, the complicated assembly process for a roof alone has some sort of preservation merit, at least for structural enthusiasts. Documented above are two examples of roof tectonic preservation, where a section of the roof detail has been preserved for the public to see. The first one demonstrates the layering of cypress bark that gives a unique and organic roof to the Japanese roofs at the Kyoto Imperial Palace. No metal is used and the entire structure is composed of layers meticulously threaded together with wood pins the size of toothpicks. The second one is from Higashi Honganji, and the Chinese style roof with its tiles reflect the flow of culture and Buddhism from the Chinese mainland.

The two roof archetypes have been displayed in detail for tourists to see exactly how these structures were built. As an architecture student, it is a lot easier to understand the section then it is to look at the complete roof and try to figure out the exact assembly. The intent of preservation is at least achieved in this regard. But, what if that was the only intent, that we only need to preserve buildings for the sake of preserving the tectonic process? Would we need the whole temple structure to remain original? An even better question is, since we do know how to construct the original structure, is it necessary that we preserve the original material assembly? If it falls, we can rebuild it again. History testifies to this and especially in earthquake prone Japan, rebuilding is the norm rather than the exception. How do we then evaluate authenticity? At the very least I suppose, the documentation of these impressive assembly structures as sectional models can be seen as a successful example of preservation. It's tectonic survival strategy is one of fetishization, where decontextuallization achieves the intended tectonic method preservation.

Ryoanji

Ryoanji is most famous for its zen rock garden, with its 15 stones over raked gravel. The only "green" in this garden is the moss, and the minimalism of zen gardens is represented here. There has been much speculation behind the layout and meaning of this garden, but the focus of this post is on the context of the garden. Behind the zen garden's walls, there exists a density of trees, of varying heights, species, and shape, all of which become edited out when looking at the zen garden and serve to contrast the white of the gravel and the sharp greens of the trees. To the right of the viewing veranda, there is an often overlooked garden, filled with the same character of trees as the ones that exist beyond the wall. It is a cooler place, with shade and grass, and again, highlights the contrast between the two. It is as if the greenery behind the wall has suddenly and unexpectedly supplanted itself within the zen garden, giving the eyes rest from the glaringly bright white gravel and shifting the background to the foreground. They are only in view of each other in the peripheral sense, and it is has greater contrast because of the shift in perception, which underscores the rock garden in its simplicity.