Iconoclast
WHETHER IT IS A TRAIN STATION OR A HOME, JAPANESE ARCHITECT HIROSHI NAITO DESIGNS SPACES THAT ARE WARM, INTIMATE AND WELCOMING
Japanese architect Hiroshi Naito designs understated spaces with a social intent
Hiroshi Naito is a quietly acclaimed architect known for a large body of work that spans everything from intimate dwellings to vast train stations and museums. His work is understated—and so is the man himself. “I have never been marked by any exceptional talent,” he wrote in the introduction to an exhibition he curated in 2014. “I thus believe that the things that I can do can be done by anybody.”
During his Body & Soul of Architecture talk held in November at the Singapore University of Technology and Design (SUTD), Naito explains that the same humility applies to the buildings he creates. “The purpose of architecture is for the people,” he says. “I’m not very interested in the work of star architects. These appear like buildings from outer space.” Instead, he is interested in designing spaces where people can live “in a more relaxed manner.”
DRIVEN BY A PURPOSE
It’s a conviction that was reinforced by the destruction caused by the 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, which—as with other architects like Kazuyo Sejima and Toyo Ito—convinced Naito that architects need to recommit themselves to improving society. But his pursuit of happiness through architecture began decades earlier. Born in Tokyo in 1950, he studied architecture at Waseda University and practised in Madrid and Tokyo for several years before founding his own firm, Naito Architects & Associates, in 1981.
Since then, Naito has designed a number of projects defined by their minimalism, but also by their warmth and human scale. “Humans are creatures that have a lot of wants and desires,” he says. “On a flat surface, we’ll tend to put a lot of furniture because of the desire to assert control in space. In my case, I pay more attention to how to use that space. Perhaps that’s how I see minimalism.”
Compared to Tadao Ando, Japan’s most famous minimalist, “I am not that much of a minimalist,” he says. “Ando is all about concrete.” By contrast, Naito is all about wood. From the beginning, his work has been defined by an intricate balance between wood and concrete. “Wood is the middle ground between what is artificial and natural,” he says. It can be a difficult material to handle, but that difficulty is something Naito relishes. It’s easy enough to make a steel frame for a building, he says, but “wood doesn’t perform exactly how we want it to.” He likens it to the inherent unpredictability of life.
FEELING AT HOME
Perhaps that’s why so much of Naito’s work consists of single-family houses—the bread and butter of young architects, but usually not those as well-established as him. Naito says it annoys his staff, who find houses particularly time-consuming and difficult, but he insists on working on at least two of them per year. “People only spend two hours to visit (a museum), but residential spaces are where people will stay for 24 hours and 365 days a year,” he says. “In order to design such a space you will need a high level of concentration and effort. That’s why residences are most important.”
He cites Alvar Aalto’s Villa Mairea as one of his favourite residential projects. It’s easy to see why. Clad in wood, the L shape of the house creates an interplay between formal and informal areas, and its curves reflect the surrounding topography. Many of Naito’s houses enjoy a similar relationship with their surroundings. House No. 14, built in 1993, has a charred timber façade that glows like a lantern in the woods. House No. 40, completed in 2016, creates a series of snug spaces that are elevated slightly above or sunken slightly below ground.
“I BELIEVE ARCHITECTURE IS A TOOL OF COMMUNICATION”
Naito takes a similar approach to his largescale works, including museums and public transport. He is particularly smitten by train stations, which he views as a stepping stone to domestic spaces. “(People) should have the feeling that they’re on the way back home,” he says. He also likes them because of their outsized impact. “One of the biggest museums I have designed so far gets 500,000 visitors a year,” he says. “Whereas a station I recently designed has more than 20 million using it a year.”
SOCIAL RELEVANCE
The human side of architecture is what
Naito relished most about working on the Bethlehem Library in Medellín, which was completed in 2008 in a neighbourhood hard hit by Colombia’s long-running conflict between paramilitary groups, the government and drug lords. Designed in his capacity as a professor at the University of Tokyo, rather than by his personal practice, the library combines serene public spaces on the exterior with a bustling interior embraced by a curving wood ceiling.
When it opened, “a few thousand people came,” he recalls. “I shook hands, hugged and took photos with all of them. That’s something you don’t see and experience in Japan.” He says he was charmed by the experience, which affirmed a central tenet of his career: “I believe architecture is a tool of communication.”