Architectural Exploration 07: A Chinese Architect Shed Tears at Teshima Art Museum—On an Architectural Experience That Defies Words

In Asian countries experiencing continuous economic growth, what is preferred is 'strong and massive architecture.' However, the reaction they showed at the Teshima Art Museum in Kagawa Prefecture (designed by Ryue Nishizawa) defied my expectations.

What is the reason for the 'tears' I witnessed while guiding hundreds of architectural professionals?

This time, I have thought about the 'universal structure of emotion' that the Teshima Art Museum possesses, in my own way. However, there was something there that could not be fully put into words.

Architects who shed tears

After dinner, the participants sat in a circle and talked about 'what was good today.' That day, we visited several famous buildings, including contemporary architecture and temples and shrines from the Kinki to the Chubu regions. Architecture by Tadao Ando, architecture by Kazuyo Sejima, architecture by Kengo Kuma, and the Teshima Art Museum.
One Chinese architect began to speak, recalling the experience, saying, 'The Teshima Art Museum was good.' And then, he shed tears.

This happened during a tour I led from 2018 to 2019 for architectural professionals from Asian countries (about 80% of the participants were Chinese). I guided a total of seven tours, involving about several hundred people, and this scene occurred many times at the Teshima Art Museum.

Developers, designers, construction professionals, and others who want to learn about architecture—why did they, who have seen architecture from all over the world, shed tears at the Teshima Art Museum?

There was something essential about architecture there that transcended culture and economic conditions.

Water droplets are 'alive'

The experience of the Teshima Art Museum is difficult to put into words. In a space that is no different from the outside where there is nothing, water droplets are bustling about.

If I dare to express it with onomatopoeia, it would be like this.

Puku-puku, koro-koro, micha, michacha, nobi~~~n, daba---, sun.

I have used a lot of incomprehensible onomatopoeia, but if I were to put the phenomenon occurring in this space into words, it would feel like this.

A single water droplet is born and flows along, rolling. Its appearance is a round, existence like slime without corners. Unlike the water droplets we usually see, it is not shaped like it is sticking flat to the floor, but rather appears as if the water droplet is round and independent. Just like slime.

The water droplets flow slowly, rolling along according to the slope of the floor. As they flow, they merge with other water droplets rolling nearby and become one. The merged form gains individuality as its volume increases. From a shape like a slightly crushed sphere, it becomes a little more complex, like an amoeba.

It becomes an amoeba that stretches and shrinks toward the slope, stretching out, catching up and having its shape crushed, and wriggling downward. As more water droplets gradually merge, it becomes a long, thin mass of flow. At this time, it becomes an even more unique, long, thin, wriggling amoeba.

Finally, the water droplets gather at the lowest position and merge into the accumulated pond. Although it is a small puddle, compared to a water droplet with a diameter of a few millimeters, it is as vast as the ocean.

Life dwells within the water itself.

I simply follow the trajectory. Then, the next water is born, and I follow that one. Most people don't even speak; they quietly watch as the water is born, grows with its own little personality, and eventually dissolves into the vast ocean (a small puddle). It feels like witnessing the entire life of a living creature in a very short time. And because every droplet is slightly different, I find myself imagining a separate story for each one.

Have you ever felt that water is "alive" within architecture?

Architecture That Transcends Culture, Architecture That Cannot

Between 2018 and 2019, I had an interesting experience. I served as a lecturer for a tour where architectural professionals from Asian countries came to study Japanese architecture, traveling and explaining things together.

This tour involved traveling by bus, and during the travel time, each participant would stand at the front and spend at least several minutes talking into a microphone about their impressions of the architecture they had seen or about their own work. (I couldn't help but think that many Japanese people would find it difficult to stand up and speak like that.)

Among them, there was an interesting commonality.
Almost everyone said they were moved by Tadao Ando's architecture. The powerful concrete walls, the clear geometry, the dramatic staging of light and shadow—these things definitely captured their hearts.

On the other hand, many participants would unanimously say they "didn't really get" the architecture of Kazuyo Sejima. Even though Sejima's architecture is extremely popular in Japan. Transparency, lightness, ambiguous boundaries with the environment—perhaps the true value of these qualities is hard to convey without understanding the cultural context.

To put it simply, in China, where the economy is on an upward trajectory, architecture that is stronger than the rest is sought after. Power, clarity, and presence. These are architectural qualities required by growing cities. However, in Japan, where the economy has matured, there is a tendency to prefer architecture that is equally open to citizens, architecture that blends into the environment, and humble architecture.

This difference is quite interesting, as it shows that architecture is a mirror of society. I witnessed the cultural relativity of architectural evaluation many times during this tour.

However, the Teshima Art Museum, designed by Ryue Nishizawa, was different.

Everyone had long, deep impressions of the Teshima Art Museum. It was impressive to see them choosing their words, trying to verbalize that mysterious experience. And as I mentioned at the beginning, some even shed tears as they recalled the experience.

There is rarely architecture that moves people this much. Architecture that shakes people's hearts, transcending culture and economic conditions. Why is that?

The Reason for the Tears—Universality and Extreme Simplicity

Why did they shed tears? I thought of a few reasons.
Though, these might just be rationalizations I've added later.

1. It is architecture with only the most primitive shelter function

The Teshima Art Museum lacks almost all the elements that should be in a normal art museum. There are no walls. There are no pillars. There are no partitions. There is no lighting. There is no air conditioning. There are no windows. The external environment flows directly into the interior through two holes opened in the ceiling. This architecture doesn't even have the concept of a window. It is an external space with holes opened in it.

All that exists is a huge white shell and two holes opened to the heavens.

This is close to the most primitive form of architecture—an existence that is only a "roof." The first architectural function humanity sought must have been a shelter to keep out the rain and wind. The Teshima Art Museum is architecture that seems to have gone back that far.

Beyond the stripping away of decoration and function, the essence of architecture begins to emerge.

2. The existence of water, a universal material, as life

Rei Naito's work, "Matrix," features water welling up from the floor as its protagonist. However, this water is not merely an "exhibit." It integrates with the architectural space, behaving as if it possesses life.

At the Teshima Art Museum, "water" functions as a universal material.

Humans are composed of 60-70% water. Water is essential for sustaining life. It is something everyone in the world needs and everyone knows.

It has been given an entirely new expression. Each individual droplet has its own drama, and each weaves a different story. We bear witness to their life cycles.

This experience has the potential to create a universal emotion that transcends culture.

3. Being an extremely simple space

When working abroad, I am often told that "Japan equals simple." The simplicity that is taken for granted in Japan seems extreme when viewed from overseas.

The Teshima Art Museum is an architecture that pushes this "Japanese simplicity" to its limit. To a degree that surprises even the Japanese.

Because it is simple, everything stands out. The flow of the wind, the changes in light, the movement of water droplets. The absence of anything allows everything to be seen.

At the Teshima Art Museum, through the Japanese interpretation of harmony with the environment and a kind of obsessive simplicity, even we as Japanese are surprised by its simplicity. I suspect that for people from abroad, this is even more surprising.

Because it is simple, all environments and behaviors are highlighted. Just as the presence of an artwork placed in the center of a white cube gallery stands out, this structure, which highlights things precisely because of its simplicity, functions in relation to the natural environment.

Architecture and art that could not be simpler blend into the environment while simultaneously existing as something alien. On-site, one feels a sense of unity with the environment, yet at the same time, a space that is quite alien and unlike anything seen before exists right in front of you. This paradox confuses people and moves them deeply.

When the wind blows, it enters through the openings and flows throughout the entire space. When light shines in, the white floor reflects its brightness. When clouds move, the color of the sky visible through the openings changes. When birds sing, their voices resonate.

The architecture says nothing. It simply exists. That is precisely why the environment begins to speak.

4. The intensity of a site-specific experience

Teshima is a small island. Creating a motive for people to go out of their way to visit is more difficult than one might imagine. It is necessary to provide an overwhelming "experience that can only be understood by visiting," one that goes beyond what can be experienced through information on a smartphone.

In tourism, being extreme is often important to create overwhelming brand value. The Teshima Art Museum is planned as a site-specific work that can only be experienced in that location. This architecture and art cannot exist anywhere other than Teshima.

The success of Naoshima is in the same context. Its simplicity attracts people from all over the world. The Teshima Art Museum seems to go one step further.

The simplicity and aesthetic sense that we take for granted have become a uniqueness that conveys a very Japanese culture. And the Teshima Art Museum can be said to be the pinnacle of that.

I have not yet fully grasped the reason for the "tears."

I wrote down four reasons: a primitive shelter, universal water, extreme simplicity, and a site-specific experience.

But, to be honest, these might be rationalizations added after the fact.
The moment he shed tears in that circle after dinner—could that really be explained by the four reasons I wrote down?

Perhaps it is something simpler. A time spent just staring at water in an empty space. Maybe that was enough.

Or perhaps there is an entirely different reason.

It is possible to analyze the Teshima Art Museum as a "success story." Thoroughness of concept, exploration of universality, intensity of experience—these certainly exist.

But I don't think I have been able to fully verbalize the reason for the tears.

The moment you try to verbalize it, something spills out. Architecture always has parts like that.

Perhaps the "tears" were not shed because they were understood, but because they could not be understood.

When I visit Teshima next time, what will I see? Will I be able to see those rolling water droplets from yet another angle?

And will I be able to create "tears" in my own projects? I feel like that is something that cannot be grasped by methodology.

If you have any thoughts on this article or your own experience at the Teshima Art Museum, please let me know in the comments.