Published on Archlosophy on 11 April 2022.
Impermanence
In Japan, April is a month to look forward to- for it is the season of cherry blossoms. Symbolic in nature, it represents a time of renewal. Beautiful as they look, they are however short-lived, lasting only for about 2 weeks under ideal conditions. Yet it is the national flower of Japan, and people flock to have picturesque picnics under the sea of pink. Cherry blossoms are a reminder of the transience of human life- to take, live and enjoy in the moment.
Perhaps it is a coincidence then, that news of Nakagin Capsule Tower being dismantled this month would sound so bittersweet.
Context
Located in the expensive Ginza district in Tokyo, Nakagin Capsule Tower was completed in 1972. The tower has 2 concrete cores of 13 and 11 stories high comprising a total of 144 prefabricated units. These modular units come contained with a porthole window, appliances and furniture embedded in the structure of the unit. The tower was designed by Kisho Kurokawa, one of the four founders of the Metabolist movement.
Metabolism as an architectural movement came about in the late 1950s and gained popularity in the 1960s to early 1970s. Some key ideas of Metabolism include catering to the organic expansion of cities on ‘artificial grounds’. Building components are treated like cells that can be “plugged in and out” to form a greater whole or removed when necessary. Part of the Metabolist inspiration came from biological processes.
Nakagin is one of the world’s most iconic realisations of a Metabolist ideal. Kurokawa intended for the building capsules to be replaced every 25 years, but due to monetary problems and change of ownerships, the tower has not been replaced once and now will never get to be.
Thoughts
I was fortunate to have visited Nakagin in 2019. Although I did not enter the building as it’s reserved for selected people. I remembered my first thought there when I saw the building. It looks sad. Pitiful even. If I can throw in an analogy it would be akin to seeing someone on their deathbed with IV drips plugged into their body. Pardon the graphical metaphor but that was how I felt back then. Exposed pipes and ductwork hanging out from the capsules, the original white capsules turning orange with rust and grey from dirt with each passing day, it was as if Nakagin was pleading with passerbys to put it out of its misery.
My first and last site visit to Nakagin was short-lived. I wished I could have spent more time there, capturing more vantage shots at different angles and locations. Appreciating the architecture. Capturing the essence of Nakagin. News that the modules would be dismantled and sent to museums around the world is definitely a silver lining. Kurokawa’s initial vision did not come into fruition and lasted only 50 years. But with each passing season of Spring, these modules can become tiny time-capsules and I’m sure will inspire future generations to come.
Cherry blossoms fall
On wet ground, a gust of wind,
A river of pink.
And that’s a beautiful thing.
さようなら中銀。(Farewell Nakagin)
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