Where the sun rises |
Great Japanese Calligraphy seems to be so casual and off-hand as to be almost careless. True greatness presents a trap for the unwary. It makes the almost impossible seem both simple and easy. Truly great design transcends aparent discipline so completely that it seems to be almost without discipline. The path to perfection begins with the realisation that to truly know is to realise how little you know.
In Japanese "aki" means "of the epoch" and "0" means "man". "Akio" thus means "a man of his time". "Hayashi" means "forest". Akio Hayashi is a Japanese architect. He does not seek power, but the gentle and casual sensitivity of his work makes it very powerful indeed.. His work transcends the need to dominate, the need to look well in the architectural press, and the need for display. The death of Emperor Hirohito in 1989 marked the end of the Shou Wa epoch, and his son Emperor Akihito chose the name for his new epoch carefully. A Japanese name is never written carelessly, and it is never given carelessly. The writing and the giving are both art forms. The Hei Sei epoch means the "Time of Peace and Success". Market- driven names like "Seaview Drive" would be incomprehensible to the Japanese. Akio Hayashi is thus "the forest standing tall in this time when success in bringing peace to the world, and har- mony to the environment, are within our grasp". Akio is indeed a man for our time. Akio is the driving force behind the Japanese group called "Architects for Peace and Environment", and he also represents Japan on the executive of Arc-Peace, the international network of designers concerned about peace and environmental issues. For Akio, peace is much more than the absence of war. It can be disturbing to visit the Hiroshima "Peace Museum" and find little more than photographs and memorabilia from a past war. The museum keeps festering wounds open, while carefully avoiding comment on real issues such as the aggressive imperialism of Kenzo Tange's new town hall, now rising above Shinjuku, in a display of the same power mania which caused the Hiroshima bomb. In a power struggle who indeed is the victim, and who is the slayer? The Hiroshima Peace Museum is really a memorial to war, and a confession that as a planet we have not come to grips with obsessions which are generated by defeat. Akio looks forward to an architecture of peace. He also looks back to old traditions, and lessons learned. The Japanese skill in touching the landscape lightly or seeing the whole universe in a garden seem to a New Zealander to stand in sharp contrast to the killing of whales or drift-net fishing. But the apparent enigma only serves to confirm those divisions which exist within every culture. Akio's roots reach down to draw sustenance from good traditions, while his branches reach up to touch visions of a time when conflict will be transformed through design into delight. In this he is like his daughter Miki Hayashi. Miki means "beautiful tree". Miki Hayashi, the "beautiful tree in the forest", is an interior designer with Nihon Sekkei, one of Tokyo's largest firms of architects, planners and engineers. Her work is at the leading edge of contemporary design, but she is also learning to be a master of the tea ceremony. The Chinese characters for the description of Japan as the "place from where the sun rises", first used by Prince Shofoku in the 7th century when writing to China, can be read as either "Nippon" or "Nihon". The significance of the use of the form Nihon by Nihon Sekkei should not be ignored by New Zealand architects. Akio is constantly questioning what it means to be Japanese. In this he has a close affinity with the many architects all over the world, from Mexico to Moscow, who are striving to recapture the integrity of their own cul- tures. At a time when affluence would seem to provide little incentive to ask questions, Japanese architects recognise that they have been enslaved to a foreign culture for the past 45 years. The brutalism of a European architectural game had nothing in common with the touchability of a Japanese street, with its friendly pot plants and tiny gardens. Yet in New Zealand our cities remain caught in the grip of architects and entrepreneurs who want to play someone else's game. Those architects who are concerned about what it means to be a New Zealander seem to be overwhelmed by the New Zealand business ethic, which implores others to turn us into slaves, and invites them to destroy our integrity. The Japanese cannot understand why we want them to buy our birthright, at bargain basement prices. Akio is of course profoundly interested in other cultures, because he realises that only through understand- ing other cultures will he be able to fully understand his own. Nothing escapes his per- ceptive eye. Like other Japanese architects he too has drawn from the well-spring of the Modern movement, but with typical Japanese thoroughness he went far beyond mere imitation of form. Akio recognised that philosophy is the source of form. The hallmark of all Akio's work is the clarity and relevance of the philosophy on which each building is based. Akio understands that preparing a plan for a building does not mean drawing an illustration of a conclusion. A plan is a way of seeing, or a measure, against which every decision may be assessed. In Akio's office, once an absolute clarity of direction has been established the designing and the building seem to proceed with astonishing ease. The Maebashi Driving School began with the philosophy of the building assembled from components. Every joint and every finish enhances that philosophy. The form of the building is assem- bly, just as the exposed bolted steel joints arc the assembly. The logic follows through to the neon touching the sky, the steel stairs, or the furniture. In contrast, the Hanamura Restaurant in Maebashi is concerned with ritual. Anyone going to the Hanamura Restaurant only needs to look into the eggshell transparency of the 20 coats of polished plaster to see something of the mind of a person who would make such a building. The building is a ritual act, and the design process was a ritual. The tea ceremony has little to do with tea. Observing and learning are a necessary beginning for education, but no progress can be made until it is recognised that observation is only a glimpse of the reality, and learning is a trap if the tea ceremony is confused with the tea. "Kazu" in Japanese means "to learn" and "ko" means "woman". Kazuko is Akio's wife. She lectures in education at Maebashi University. Kazuko under- stands that, as Ivan Illich said: "Teaching can be an impediment to education." The essence of a culture can- not be taught. Akio's Peace Garden, which is the focus of the two- storey courtyard of the Maebashi High School, says nothing about war. It rather invites us to look at a leaf being washed across the granite by the rain towards the drain. Zen philosophy suggests that through looking at the leaf intensely enough and long enough it is possible to see the whole of life cap- tured in the leaf. Neither the leaf nor the Peace Garden would be com- prehensible to the new cultureless strata of New Zealand middle management, who think life is simple, and that they understand what it is about because they have watched a few training videos and been to a university. True greatness presents a trap for the unwary, who imagine that a name is just a name, in the same way that they imagine a tea ceremony is just a complicated way of having a cup of tea. To have purified yourself through discipline so that you are finally able to write your name in a way which is totally casual and absolutely free is to show that you are a truly great artist.
Published in "Home and Building" June/July 1991 p115
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