IMPERMANENCE and DEATH of an ICONIC BUILDING
The Nakagin Capsule Tower
The prefabricated living pod of the Nakagin Capsule Tower is comprised of one small room and a compressed bathroom (see fig. 1). [1] Built into the longest wall is custom storage that includes a fold out desk and an imbedded television, audio system, and telephone from the 1970s (see fig. 2). Opposite of the entry, a small sleeping area spans the width of the room (see fig. 3). Directly above the bed rests a single large window. Circular and convex in shape, the window protrudes from the pod like an eye allowing the inhabitant to observe the city, freeway, and life below. The capsule is a vision of the future from the past. Through its compressed space and modular design for living, the capsule interior is reminiscent of Hollywood science fiction movies. Interiors in films such as The Fifth Element portray the denizens of the city housed in isolated containers predesigned for their futuristic lives, which have no direct access to the natural world or social space (see fig. 4). However, the pods in the Nakagin Capsule Tower bring this futuristic vision into reality. Today, the tower is facing demolition due to the building’s deterioration and the discontents of its residents. Built by Kisho Kurokawa in 1972, the tower exists as one of the most representative buildings of Metabolism—a collective architectural movement formed in the post-atomic bomb, American-occupied Japan. The heterogeneous group[2] adopted the name Metabolism because they believed that buildings and cities correlate to living organisms. Like living organisms, buildings and cities should develop organically and reflect the needs of their inhabitants.[3] This paper considers the concept of impermanence—which is at the ideological core of the Metabolist vision—and the actual living conditions of the Nakagin capsules in order to reevaluate the argument to preserve this iconic building.
The Nakagin Capsule Tower is located in the heart of Tokyo[4] and consists of two concrete core towers that contain the building’s infrastructure—electric systems, plumbing, elevators, stairwells, and bridges to connect the two (see fig. 5). 144 prefabricated capsules graft onto the reinforced cores in an irregular pattern to emphasis its modular approach. The living pods are separate from the core towers because of the intention to update the capsules’ technology and structure every 25 years. However, 44 years later, the pods are still the 1972 originals. Since the Nakagin capsules are not renovated as planned, the building is in a state of noticeable deterioration (see fig. 6). The decline of the living units and building as a whole has rendered several of the capsules unoccupied and, in 2007, the same year as Kurokawa’s death, the residents voted for the demolition of the Nakagin Capsule Tower.[5] The vote is pending and the building is still standing today, but how does a building, so popular at the time of its inception, arrive at such an obvious state of dilapidation?[6] Why would its inhabitants abandon the building and disregard its need for maintenance to the point of dysfunction? These questions suggest a decline in the architectural quality of the Nakagin pods. An architect who focuses on the aspect of time and atmosphere in relation to architectural quality is Swiss architect Peter Zumthor. He argues that quality can be perceived through the atmospheric characteristics of a building—material, sound, temperature, objects, movement, tension between interior and exterior, levels of intimacy, and light.[7]
While many of the atmospheric characteristics are perceived through a person’s experience of the space, the Nakagin Capsule Tower’s material and its inhabitants’ objects can be analyzed by observing the current state of the building and how the occupants utilize the capsules. The deterioration of the Nakagin Capsule Tower is visible, especially as the steel of the pods corrodes (see fig. 7). In the Metabolist manifesto architect Kiyonori Kikutake discusses the living unit, comparing the life of the inhabitant to that of steel, saying: "As trees come out new buds, turn red, then fall down leaves, in accordance with the circulation of the four seasons, the living unit will belong together with the inhabitant’s life. The housing unit will be made of steel, because the durability of steel, that is 50 years, is most suitable to serve the man’s life."[8] If the life of steel is around 50 years and is intentionally used in order to correlate to human life, then the purposeful choice of using this material signifies its need to rejuvenate like a living organism. In his discussion of material presence in relation to the atmosphere of architecture, Zumthor says, “[Material is] like our own bodies with their anatomy and things we can’t see and skin covering us.”[9] When the skin—human or building—is weak, it cannot protect what it covers. As the Nakagin capsules approach their fifth decade, their steel skin weakens and exposes the interior to exterior conditions, such as weather or pollution, and as a result, degrades the living conditions of the capsule. In addition, the expectations of the living conditions change as the occupants change. The pods were originally designed for people who Kurokawa calls homo-movens—people in motion.[10] These homo-movens consisted mostly of businessmen commuting to and from the suburbs and Tokyo.[11] Today, due to the increase of Tokyo’s density, the businessmen now stay in capsule hotels where compact, stacked sleeping compartments replace rooms (see fig. 8), leaving the Nakagin capsules home to more permanent residents. In such a small space that is designed for a specific lifestyle, the current Nakagin Capsule Tower occupants’ objects spill outside of their pods and into the hallways of the core towers (see fig. 9, 10, and 11). In addition, the outdated technology of the television, audio system, and analogue telephone are bulky and useless today, taking up much needed storage space. Therefore, the pods no longer meet the needs of the current occupants.
While the international architecture community fights for the preservation of this iconic building because of its historical significance, one must consider the relevance of protecting a building that resists being preserved—both physically and philosophically. In the life cycle of a building, the Nakagin Capsule Tower is approaching its death. The concept of death in relation to a building is more of a reintegration as opposed to termination. A building that reintegrates so as to serve another purpose or to serve another person is very different from the destruction of the entire system, or in this case an organism. An example would be to understand each pod as the active element of the building that is metabolized, while the core infrastructure of the building is the stable element that is able to accept new metabolic forms—possibly updated pods that have a function other than residential. It is important to note that the "thing" being metabolized is not just architecture, but also the birth and death of the inhabitant. This paper re-frames a fundamental core principle of the Metabolist movement, that is, impermanence and the possibility of regeneration. Would it be possible for the Nakagin Capsule Tower to renew itself? If so, does it look the same or could the new metabolic forms change its physical presence? Would the regeneration of the pods consider the atmospheric characteristics that best suit denizens of the 21st century? The building’s death does not necessitate destruction, but rather reintegration and regeneration of the portions that have been metabolized of their use—the capsules—especially in relation to the humans who live in them. If the building were likened to a plant, then human life would be its chlorophyll. Therefore, human life must be drawn to the space in order to keep it alive.
[1] 7.5 feet high x 12.46 feet long x 6.88 feet wide
[2] The founding members of the group are Kiyonori Kikutake, Masato Ohtaka, Fumihiko Maki, Kisho Kurokawa, and Noboru Kawazoe. See Noboru Kawazoe, Metabolism: The Proposals for New Urbanism (Japan: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1960).
[3] At times, the organic relationship of the building to its inhabitants can be seen as parasitic. See Kawazoe’s Metabolism 1960 for more information on the architectural philosophy.
[4] More specifically, it is in the busy shopping and nightlife district of Ginza.
[5] Rem Koolhaas, Hans-Ulrich Obrist, Kayoko Ota, and James Westcott, Project Japan: Metabolism Talks… (Köln: TASCHEN GmbH, 2011), p. 406.
[6] Within one month of the Nakagin Capsule’s completion all units are sold. The majority were to transitory businessmen.
[7] Zumthor, Atmospheres, pp. 23–65.
[8] Kiyonori Kikutake, “Ocean City” in Metabolism 1960: The Proposals for New Urbanism (Japan: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1960).
[9] Zumthor, Atmospheres, p. 23.
[10] Carlos Zeballos, “Kurokawa: Nakagin Capsule Tower” (My Architectural Moleskin blog, October 6, 2011). http://architecturalmoleskine.blogspot.com/2011/10/kurokawa-nakagin-capsule-tower.html
[11] While it was intended for individual occupation, it could accommodate a family by combining two or more pods.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Kawazoe, Noboru. Metabolism: The Proposals for New Urbanism. Japan: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1960.
Koolhaas, Rem, Hans-Ulrich Obrist, Kayoko Ota, and James Westcott. Project Japan: Metabolism Talks…. Köln: TASCHEN GmbH, 2011.
Kurokawa, Kisho. Rediscovering Japanese Space. New York: Weatherhill, 1988.
Ouroussoff, Nicolai. “Future Vision Banished to the Past.” New York Times (July 7, 2009).
Ross, Michael Franklin. Beyond Metabolism: The New Japanese Architecture. New York: Architectural record books, 1978.
Zumthor, Peter. Atmospheres: Architectural Environments, Surrounding Objects. Basel: Birkhäuser, 2006.
Kawazoe, Noboru. Metabolism: The Proposals for New Urbanism. Japan: Bijutsu Shuppansha, 1960.
Koolhaas, Rem, Hans-Ulrich Obrist, Kayoko Ota, and James Westcott. Project Japan: Metabolism Talks…. Köln: TASCHEN GmbH, 2011.
Kurokawa, Kisho. Rediscovering Japanese Space. New York: Weatherhill, 1988.
Ouroussoff, Nicolai. “Future Vision Banished to the Past.” New York Times (July 7, 2009).
Ross, Michael Franklin. Beyond Metabolism: The New Japanese Architecture. New York: Architectural record books, 1978.
Zumthor, Peter. Atmospheres: Architectural Environments, Surrounding Objects. Basel: Birkhäuser, 2006.