The Scent of Layout Lines

I love going to a construction site right after the demolition is finished and the layout lines have been marked.

The lingering scent of ink diluted in the space gives a premonition of the structure to be built, heightening the anticipation of seeing the three-dimensional forms that were smoldering on a small monitor become real.

The inorganic, unquestionable lines displayed on the monitor appear generously in the physical space, marked by ink-soaked strings held under tension.

No matter how high the precision of the design, this is the moment it is ultimately reduced to the precision of human hands.

It is like the umami obtained when rehydrating dried ingredients; it is the same thing, yet it has a different flavor.

The splashes of ink that fall outside the necessary lines are like applause, encouraging the completion of this space.


I try walking from this line to that line, keeping my stride constant.

Yes, that's it. This is how it should be.

Only when I get the feeling I expected can I truly feel that the design has gone well.


Through the full-scale blueprints drawn on the site, the designer's intent is bridged to the builders, and from then on, it is regularly materialized according to the promised schedule.

I never tire of this moment when imagination becomes reality, no matter how many times I experience it.

Somewhere today, someone's thoughts are beginning to take shape, accompanied by the scent of ink.