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Future: A City Still Breaking New Ground
A new sub-center of an old metropolis is
appearing on the Tokyo Bay waterfront. Ever since the early seventeenth
century when the village of Edo (now Tokyo) became the seat of the
shogunal government, urban growth has been a process of transforming sea
into city, in other words, urban expansion through land reclamation. What
I call the Tokyo "Frontier" is the final site of Tokyo's
expansion of twentieth century times when growth was a virtue in itself.
The dynamism of a city is determined by
economic conditions, however. The construction of the Frontier started in
the 1980s amid the so-called bubble business boom. Its infrastructure had
been nearly completed and superstructures were about to go up when the
worst recession since the end of World War II hit Japan in the early
1990s. A planned exposition of the world's cities scheduled to take place
in this water-front project was canceled by a popularly elected governor
whose background was in show business. Corporations that had planned to
build office architectures there decided to postpone construction plans
indefinitely. The center of the new city, which was to have grown up as a
mammoth new business district, remained vacant, a vast empty space.
This museum rises into the very heart of this
incipient city.
The purpose of the museum is to explain the infrastructure
of the city. Beneath the city is buried a huge common tunnel system for
pooling energy, information, disposing of refuse, and for other purposes
required in the future, the largest of its kind in Japan.
The cost of the
construction was the equivalent of that for architecture a nuclear power
plant. The museum is a facility to place this system on public display.
The area that was to have been the hub of the
new sub-city is a vast empty space. Though already included among the
urban centers of Tokyo, the landscape is even more undeveloped than
Tokyo's remotest suburb. A complex that came into being only after having
destroyed the local ecosystem, unless it is developed into a true urban
ecosystem, the area will be a meaningless void that is neither urban nor
rural.
What is
required of an architectural work meant for such a context devoid of any
identity, with no older townscape to provide a point of reference, no
cultural heritage to inherit, no nature to respect, and no future to
forecast ?
The
answer lies in light. A bright light to illuminate the void. A light of
such intensity that it stirs its surroundings to action. By the nature of
its function, one small work of architecture alone will not attract
throngs of visitors. The purpose of the architecture is to play the role of
qualitative-not quantitative-urbanity. The architecture should be a model that
is the city itself. What then should be extracted to represent the
character of this city ?
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