“When we were building here, a lot of the neighbors asked if it was going to be a restaurant,” says Shirato with a laugh, explaining that their 13-foot-long kitchen island is the largest piece made for a private residence by local metalworkers Konbu Brothers. These were some of the many artisans—intensely vetted—that Sejima and Tanase engaged for this project. Others were the carpenters, in the southwest of Kyoto, who built a bed, drawers, and stairs out of Japanese cypress, and the craftspeople who replaced the kawara, or roof tiles. “It’s very tough to keep these crafts alive,” says Shirato, explaining that even the vernacular knowledge necessary to build a machiya is slowly slipping away. “Preserving a machiya takes a lot of effort,” he continues. “But we think keeping an existing structure for generations instead of tearing it down and rebuilding is much more sustainable.”
“Hear that?” asks Brustad, toward the end of dinner. There’s a tapping sound outside. “It’s the hinoyoujin, or fire watch. Every night people walk the neighborhood clapping bamboo sticks to remind you to put out your fire.” Few households still burn them at night, but this centuries-old ritual has persisted. Brustad and Shirato, some of the younger members of the local district association, hope to join in one of these days, finding their place in the tight weave of the neighborhood.
For Sejima, it was critical that the house—and its residents—exist in harmony with this community. Early in the process she presented five different design proposals, constructed out of paper. They didn’t just depict the house itself but every structure in the surrounding blocks. By studying these models, the architect and her clients could see how the home related to the neighborhood. “She wants the building to be contained,” Shirato reflects. “But also part of the community.”
This story appears in AD’s April issue. Never miss a story when you subscribe to AD.
