Interview about Ripple Multifunctional Architecture, winner of the A' Architecture, Building and Structure Design Award 2023
Takatoku Nishi has created an architecture that allows people to experience the beauty of nature around them as it shifts from day to day. It is a phenomenon of light that is produced and drops into space by the forces of the sun and wind. This architecture is just a gimmick to incorporate the forces of nature; all it needs is the forces that are constantly occurring in the natural world.
View detailed images, specifications, and award details on A' Design Award & Competition website.
View Design DetailsThe optical phenomenon I discovered was actually very small, with a diameter of less than one centimeter. Inside the straw, light undergoes multiple reflections and then produces a diffraction effect upon exiting, creating a ripple-like movement. This intriguing and beautiful quality of light inspired me to create an architectural space where people could experience it in a pure form. Translating this into an architectural scale was a series of challenges. Initially, I conducted simple experiments with a 1/30-scale model to observe the light effect, roughly estimating the spatial height, pipe size, and the level of dimness required to make the effect visible. Since artificial light was used in these experiments, I calculated whether it would be feasible to recreate this effect under natural sunlight when scaled to actual dimensions. Once it became clear that the space could function at a height of 4 meters under sunlight, I began parametric studies at a 1:1 scale, experimenting with various materials and sizes, ultimately achieving a maximum effect size of one meter. The design of this architecture integrates the discovered light phenomenon while incorporating the unique characteristics of the site and environment into the spatial layout.
The ripple-like light phenomenon within the straw, which marked the beginning of “Ripple,” was created by moving the light source. I wanted to express this entirely through natural forces. So, I began by gathering information about sunlight. Researching the solar altitude in Tokyo, where I live, I found that the sun reaches an angle of about 32° at the winter solstice and around 78° at the summer solstice. Since the exhibition was scheduled for winter, I decided that directing sunlight from the side into the pipes would be more challenging than capturing it from above. By capturing winter light, I believed I could create the phenomenon at various times and seasons, which led me to design around this specific angle. The 31.6 degrees was calculated based on the solar angle during sunny periods of the exhibition timeframe. Ultimately, the design can also capture sunlight at angles as low as 7 degrees in the evening. Next, for the wind speed, I researched the average annual wind speed for the site during the design phase. I gathered data from general online databases and then took actual measurements with an anemometer, comparing the two. From these, I calculated an average wind speed of approximately 1.5 m/s. Knowing this wind speed and the solar angle allowed me to create a mechanism to capture these forces ideally. In other words, by thoroughly understanding the natural forces surrounding the architecture, I maximized their potential to create the desired light phenomenon.
As a Japanese person, I have long been accustomed to the unique atmosphere of Japanese architecture. I have always been particularly interested in the imaginative beauty encapsulated within spaces like traditional tea rooms and temples in Japan. I believe this beauty arises from elements such as natural sounds and air, combined with the sense of incompleteness that comes from not seeing everything at once—a quality that connects to darkness as well. In Japanese aesthetics, there is a concept known as “In Praise of Shadows,” advocated by Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, which extols the subtlety and beauty of shadows in spaces. To me, an architectural space is something that people feel, and through it, they imagine. I had been reading Peter Zumthor’s books and collections of his works for some time, and about a year before creating “Ripple,” I visited his Bruder-Klaus-Kapelle for architectural research. I was fortunate to have the space to myself. For a long time, I immersed myself in the space, experiencing the light, but also the temperature, the sound of the wind, the scent of the grass, the reflections in puddles, and the light on the walls—I truly felt the space with all my senses. Entering his space, a story would naturally unfold, and the space felt as if it were constantly alive. It was truly a memorable experience.Zumthor’s “atmosphere” involves people recalling past comforts upon entering a space. I interpreted this as the scenes created by natural phenomena. Thus, the Japanese concept of “imagination” within space, which I inherently valued, aligned with Zumthor’s concept of “atmosphere.” Through this fusion, the completed space combines Japanese aesthetic sensibilities while transcending them, offering visitors a spatial experience rich with narrative that awakens the pure feelings humans have held since ancient times.
From the beginning of the design process, I felt strongly that I didn’t want the space to be a dark room. If the space were simply dark, it would lose its architectural meaning in this project. In a room designed solely to view light phenomena, the shape of the space becomes inconsequential, making the need for new design redundant. I found inspiration for a space that is both comfortable and creative from traditional tea rooms and Peter Zumthor’s spaces. In my experience, the lighting level in the Bruder-Klaus-Kapelle was about 20lx. Using this as a reference, I designed the louvered wall system to achieve a light level between 20lx and 40lx. Simply creating openings would not produce the ideal brightness, so I used a silver-white paint on the outer wall to increase reflectivity, channeling light into the space. Conversely, I painted the interior walls with charcoal-black paint to lower the overall brightness. Additionally, the floor is finished in white plaster with added gravel for a unique, natural texture. The main stage for the light phenomena is the floor, which needs to be white to render the movements of light visible. The walls help to control the reflection from the floor. Through this design, I achieved an illumination level of 30lx. As an additional effect, the light coming through the louvers naturally connects the ceiling pipes and floor with concentrated beams, guiding people’s movement. This creates an urge to explore deeper into the space, allowing visitors not only to observe but to become one with the light phenomena on the floor.
The light phenomenon only appears effectively within a cylindrical form, so I began by testing various pipe materials, including acrylic, mirror, film, stainless steel, and aluminum—essentially any material I could obtain. Under specific conditions, I examined the light effects of each, and acrylic pipes proved to be the most efficient. The testing involved setting a fixed distance between the light source and the floor, then conducting a parametric study to determine the optimal thickness, length, and material. Acrylic consistently yielded the best results. Once I selected acrylic as the material, I focused on finding the dimensions that best integrated with the spatial design. If the pipes were too short, the effect wouldn’t manifest properly within the room’s height. A diameter of 80mm provided the ideal balance between spatial appearance and the desired light phenomenon. I sandblasted the surface of the pipes because if they were left transparent, the light would diffuse and escape. Sandblasting was essential to confine the light, allowing it to travel through the pipes efficiently and reach the floor. Moreover, if the pipe walls were too thick, the edges would glow intensely, similar to an optical fiber, creating unnecessary light that would interfere with the effect. To reduce this, I limited the wall thickness to 2mm. In the future, I would like to experiment with glass or other materials if given the opportunity to further develop this concept.
Architectural designs that incorporate natural elements, especially natural light, have existed for centuries. For instance, in Japan, there are spaces like Katsura Imperial Villa and Jōdo-dō Hall at Jōdo-ji Temple, while globally, the Pantheon and Le Thoronet Abbey also come to mind. The method of allowing space to transform with the sun and moon’s movements has been passed down to today’s architecture. Of course, architects I admire deeply, like Peter Zumthor and Finnish architect Juha Leiviskä, also embody this approach. What distinguishes my architecture from these existing examples is the way it offers a more kinetic transformation—a direct, visible expression of natural forces within the space, almost like kinetic art. The purpose of this building also differs: it’s not a space for prayer, but rather a place to fulfill a simple desire to experience nature’s forces within an architectural setting. To me, architecture represents the largest human-made space that can visualize and convey the beauty and power of nature in our everyday surroundings. Unfortunately, Japan, being a country prone to natural disasters like earthquakes and typhoons, may have fewer individuals who seek this kind of architectural space, as it requires maintenance and has no other function beyond immersing people in nature’s forces. However, I believe that, in the future, not only in Japan but globally, we may see an increase in architectural spaces that simply connect people to natural elements. People tend to feel attached to what they can see.
This component was indeed the most crucial element in this architecture, and its development required extensive research. The challenge was to direct sunlight at a 30-degree angle into vertically standing pipes. The material study began with various lenses—concave, convex, and Fresnel lenses. However, while these lenses could focus or diffuse light, they couldn’t direct sunlight in a way that maintained its intensity. Through trials, I found that prism glass was effective for manipulating light, and I experimented with different prism shapes. Taking into account the requirement for wind-driven rotation, the triangular prism proved to be the most effective shape. Using the calculated wind speed of 1.5 m/s as a basis, I then gradually developed a mechanism with a circulator to ensure smooth movement. I remember the joy and excitement I felt when I attached a prototype to the ceiling and saw it move with the wind for the first time.
What I focused on in designing this space was achieving a balance where neither the optical phenomena nor the architecture itself would dominate. Instead, I wanted the light, space, and architectural form to harmonize. If the space were too dark or the structure were a simple cube, the phenomena might overpower the experience. Conversely, if the space were too bright or the architecture too complex, the phenomena would lose focus. The appearance of the acrylic pipes, for instance, could easily become distorted if not handled carefully. To achieve balance, I often rely on geometric forms to guide the design, and this project was no exception. I find that capturing natural forces within a geometric structure creates a unique movement and scenery distinct from typical natural landscapes. The spacing between pipes, set at 1 meter, was based on the desired effect size and the sense of pleasant overlap. The zigzag arrangement of the pipes stems from both the site’s shape and initial architectural concepts. The wall construction also follows this principle. Ultimately, I adjusted details on-site to ensure harmony. During installation, I even removed a pipe that felt excessive and rebuilt the ceiling accordingly. By allowing for both spatial and optical "gaps," visitors are encouraged to discover connections within the space.
I see this architecture as having a role similar to that of a rainbow. A rainbow appears when conditions like post-rain humidity, sun angle, and human perspective align in just the right way. When people see a rainbow, they often find it beautiful, rare, or even feel a sense of good fortune. It might even spark a sense of wonder or adventure, like searching for hidden treasure. A rainbow is created by water droplets in the atmosphere acting as spherical lenses, dispersing sunlight to reach our eyes in a unique way. With just these water droplets, the everyday landscape transforms dramatically. This architecture works similarly. The environment is the same, with the usual sunlight and wind, but by integrating these natural elements, the building allows people to notice the beauty within their daily surroundings. With only a small added component, the familiar beauty of nature becomes visible. And just like a rainbow, these phenomena appear only in unique, unrepeatable ways. In Japanese, we have the term "ichigo ichie," which reflects this sense of fleeting, once-in-a-lifetime beauty. Recognizing this can heighten our awareness of the present moment and allow us to appreciate the transience of life.
"Ripple" was my first opportunity to create an ideal full-scale architectural work. I have long pursued research and projects on light and natural phenomena to connect people with the environment, but these previous works were often smaller-scale experiments compared to my vision. Being able to realize "Ripple" and to receive an award for it was incredibly gratifying. It felt rewarding to have the culmination of my work recognized both domestically and internationally. Next, I am particularly interested in integrating phenomena such as the aurora and atmospheric particles into architectural spaces. Since 2023, I've had opportunities to visit Finland, where I’ve been researching architecture that incorporates light in unique ways. I am currently exploring ways to translate these observations of natural phenomena into new architectural forms. As I am not yet working with specific clients, the primary challenges are securing funding and finding suitable sites. Lately, I've been dedicating significant time to grant applications and administrative work, which has been a bit frustrating as I’m eager to return to experimental work. However, I am committed to creating new architectural projects in the near future that build upon and expand the themes of "Ripple."
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