Japan on the edge -- reconciling ritual with reality.

Over a relatively short space of time, contemporary Japanese architecture has achieved an influential position of the international state. As the critic Botond Bognar has observed, [1] the reasons behind this success are complex, encompassing factors that define Japan at the turn of this century. These include the strength of the economy (which despite the recent recession still qualifies as an economic superpower), the strongly future-oriented disposition of Japanese society, the role of technological progress, the rapid development of the information society, the particular qualities of the urban environment and the Japanese penchant for experimentation and innovation allied to a familiar dialogue with tradition.

Japan is an island nation on the edge of a huge and empty ocean. Over 200 million people live on a limited strip of coastal land, volcanoes at their back, typhoons and tidal waves surging in from the sea, earthquakes striking regularly. The threat of natural disaster has placed Japanese society in a permanent state of emergency and porary and relative. In Tokyo, as in other Japanese cities, the Cycle of rebuilding and redevelopment means that the urban fabric is constantly evolving, a source of dislocation and disorientation to Westerners, who value physical reminders of the past. Yet for the Japanese, change and newness has come to be seen as an important catharsis, a means of renewing cultural an social identity.

Ritual and reality

Within this precarious context, a culture without equal developed. As the Dutch landscape architect Adriaan Geuze notes, For a society built on such a thin shall of earth, geographically isolated from the rest of the world and impelled to rebuild continuously, a sophisticated and complex structure full of ritual emerged'. In this respect, the presence of three religions Shinto, Buddhism and Confucianism is especially significant. Shintoism starts from the assumption that everything is Good-given. Japan owes is very existence to two gods throwing javelins into the sea, the shattering bulbs of mud forming its four main islands. Shinto temples make a ritual out of purification: toru (post lintel gates) are part of this legacy. Buddhism introduced the sammai cultural of social duties and personal obligations. Confucianism has had a moderating effect on Japanese society, emphasizing notions of harmony and balance. Yet instead of being factionalized and bewildered by the demand of three different ideals, the Japane se pragmatically reconcile them by living multi-religious fives. A Japanese might be Shinto at home, a Buddhist at work and a Confucian on the golf eourse.

Grafted on to this complex culture are the effects of exposure to Western influences that began in the mid-nineteenth century. The immediate cause of this exposure was a Western urge to acquire an untouched archipelago in the Far East, occasioning the arrival of Commodore Perry's famous Black Ships, but this military presence was assisted by the enormous pent-up curiosity of the Japanese themselves. Together Western imperialism and Japanese inquisitiveness put an end to centuries of isolation.

The miraculous megalopolis 

The rapid modernization of Japan before and after the war has led to significant generational differences. These also coexist side by side. Elderly people from the feudal era live next to those from the industrial age and the post-industrial younger generation who euphorically embrace. Western consumerism. The capacity to reconcile different realities is exercised in every Japanese family. It is also reflected in the built environment, epitomized by the alternately bizarre and miraculous megalopolis of Tokyo.

Despite its apparently formless and impenetrable urban texture, Tokyo is suffused with a great vibrancy and humanity. Surrounding the massive green void of the Imperial Palace (perhaps the world's most valuable piece of real estato) are a series of village-like districts each with a distinct character and nucleus, linked by an astoundingly efficient public transport system. Historically, there is no Japanese tradition of large urban spaces comparable to the civic squares and piazzas of Europe. Public activities were held in Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, and more importantly, on the streets. These were the setting for the events, festivals and activities of daily life. Today this still holds ture. Japanese population densities are uncomfortably high and rabbit lunch apartments are a reality (the average size of a studio apartment in Tokyo is around 18sqm). But this means that people tend to live their lives in public; in cafes, bars and restaurants, in shopping malls, parks and temples (even the unabas hed love hotels fulfil an essential function). This animated and inhabited public realm generates a strong sense of community and encourages social cohesion.

Tokyo's notoriously unfathomable address system establishes territorial units (cho or machi) that give rise to a clustered rather than linear conception of urban space. [1] From a Western perspective, it appears profoundly chaotic, hut as Roland Barthes observed, 'This city can only be known by an activity of an ethnographic kind: you must orient yourself in it not by book, by address, but by walking, by sight, by habit, by experience; here every discovery is intense and fragile, it can be repeated or recovered only by memory of the trace it has left in you'. [5] While Tokyo may appear tumultuous, anarchic and out of control, its citizens lead surprisingly quiet, ordered lives.

Re-examining tradition

Any evaluation of the present state of Japanese architecture must explore the wider economic and social conditions that govern the production of buildings. The economic crises that arose in Japan at the start of the 1990s (the collapse of' the so-called 'bubble economy') marked a crucial turning point. Commercial commissions virtually dried up and public agencies such as the government and local prefectures became the main patrons of architecture. Ambitious public building programmes -- covering everything from regional arts centres to police boxes -- were put into place across Japan and the results of this are now coming to fruition. In some cases, an unlimited budget and a free hand have allowed architects to pursue an agenda that blatantly ignored the public's interests, but most projects have avoided these pitfalls and have begun to incorporate notions of' community, historical consciousness and regional culture.

Many of the projects shown in this issue suggest that the Japanese are abandoning technological or formal spectacle in favour of a reexamination and re-evaluation of their own tradition. The careful use of materials and details often harks back to historical forms and techniques of the past. Such approaches mark a distinct retreat from the frenetic styling that characterized architecture in the era of the bubble economy. Architects such as Kengo Kuma, Tadao Ando and Itsuko Hasegawa reinvigorate traditional forms and materials with sobriety and clarity, while at the other end of the scale, there is still a delirious, funky energy to the work of emerging younger architects. Practices such as Atelier Bow-Wow, Tezuka Architects, Hitoshi Abe and Klein Dytham straddle a fluid cross section of architecture, urbanism, interiors, furniture and product design, deftly sifting and abstracting elements of Japanese popular culture.

Some Tokyo-based commentators have noted dryly that one reliable means for a Japanese architect to get work in Japan is to he published in Western architectural and design magazines. In the past, this has tended to generate attention--seeking building reinforcing the facile stereotype of 'zany Japan'. Yet while the burst bubble and economic slowdown is likely to curtail the scope of unfettered experimentation, it seems clear that there will also be a continuing fermentation and questioning of Japan's social economic and cultural values and that Japanese architecture will continue to be as richly paradoxical and enthralling as the urban culture in which it is inescapably conceived. CATHERINE SLESSOR

1 The Japan Guide. Botond Bognar, Prinecton Architectural Press, New York, 1995, p7.

2 Japan Towards Totalscape, edited by Moriko Kira and Mariko Terada, Rotterdam, Nai Publishers, 2000, p155.

3 Cliched as it sounds, you can set your watch by the Tokyo subway. If there is a (rare) delay or malfunction, train companies hasten to supply commuters with apologetic chits that can be used to justify inexcusable lateness for work.

4 The system is based on the numbering of urban plots according to a time-related process of land registration, rather than along a street in sequential order.

5 Empire of Signs, Roland Barthes, New York, Hill and Wang, 1982, p108. Quoted in World Cities. Tokyo, edited by Botond Bognar, London, Academy Editions, 1997, p23.