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Japanese Country Style: Putting New Life into Old Houses
by Yoshihiro Takishita
Foreword by Peter M. Grilli
The Appeal of Minka by Sachiko Amakasu
Over the last three decades or so, casual visitors to Kamakura (and longtime residents as well) have wondered about a large, steeply sloped roof that seems to "grow" out of the top of Genjiyama, one of Kamakura's highest hills. Walking through the ancient town's leafy residential lanes or hiking along one of the many trails leading up into the hills, one's eyes are drawn, as if by a magnet, toward the powerful sculptural form of that roof that seems to crown the hilltop and the town itself. When I lived in Kamakura during the early 1970s, I was amused by the rumors circulating down in the town about the structure on the peak of Genjiyama and the identity of its inhabitants: some claimed it was the mountain villa of a former prime minister; no, said others, it was the sanctuary of a religious sect or a cult that worshipped the gods of the sea stretching out far below it. Once, with unimpeachable authority, I was informed by the proprietor of a little restaurant near Kamakura Station that the hilltop was actually the temporary asylum of a foreign ruler, living in exile in Japan but planning a revolution that would restore him to power in his homeland. This theory gained in credibility as local residents observed occasional motorcades of black limousines accompanied by motorcycle police traveling up the steep hill toward the mysterious building at its peak.
I listened to these rumors with keen interest, but said nothing, of course, because I knew that the magnificent roof, which was all that was visible from the valley below, actually sheltered the home of my friends Yoshihiro and Reiko Takishita and Yoshi's adoptive American father, the journalist John Roderick. To me, there was no mystery about the place because I had visited it often and had frequently enjoyed the wonderful hospitality of the Takishitas. Still, I enjoyed participating in the mystery surrounding one of Kamakura's best-kept secrets because the real story of the mountaintop house, though lacking in sinister intrigue, is far more interesting and compelling than anything the rumor-mongers could cook.
I am delighted that Yoshi Takishita has finally told the story of his own house as well as the history and traditions that produced it. In this book he also tells the stories of a number of similar homes that he has created for friends and clients in Japan and abroad. With or without mysterious overtones, his own house atop Genjiyama is, quite simply, one of the most magnificent abodes I have ever visited. Its power stems in part, of course, from its lofty location and the extraordinary vista of hills and ocean that it commands. But even more impressive is the building itself, the all-embracing unity of its architectural components, and the obvious affection that has been lavished on it by its present owners. The house that now commands the most exalted hilltop in Kamakura traveled there from much humbler origins far away, and this book recounts that journey -- a story that offers compelling messages about preservation and craft, about man's place in his natural surroundings, and about an aesthetic that transforms shelter into art.
Yoshihiro Takishita is a visionary who saw, with an eye untutored at first by architectural sciences, that the proud but crumbling old farmhouses of his childhood in the remote mountains of Gifu could be transformed into great homes that satisfied the needs for comfort and convenience of twentieth- and twenty-first-century dwellers. Where others saw only hazard, discomfort, and inconvenience in ancient structures built of heavy wooden beams and straw thatch, Takishita saw enduring beauty and strength. When others were ready to destroy the old farmhouses, trashing their proud traditions and exchanging them for the illusory convenience of prefabricated steel and plastic, Takishita stepped forward to rescue them, to preserve their majestic authority, and, by dismantling and reconstructing them, to transform them (in countless unseen ways) into warm, comfortable, and astonishingly beautiful homes.
Takishita's mission is fully in accord with the principles of the modern mingei, or "folk-craft," movement that has reintroduced to contemporary Japan the simple beauties of its agrarian past. His farmhouse-homes were originally crafted by hand, by carpenters and farmers whose hard work was motivated not by ego or enrichment but rather by function and necessity. Takishita's dwellings were restored by the same hands, guided by a similar spirit of dedication, and he has furnished them with a superb array of antique objects -- ceramics, paintings, lacquerware, and metal crafts -- all made with comparable craftsmanship and zeal. That spirit was perhaps best expressed by the ideals of Yanagi Soetsu, the philosopher and aesthetician who attributed the enduring beauty of ancient crafts to "the hand of the Buddha": "If there is beauty here, it does not stem from the power of a single individual but must be seen as the work of a power surpassing the people involved, operating behind the scenes to endow the object with beauty. To put the matter simply, the other power, the hand of the Buddha, is at work in the beauty of the anonymous object."
This book recounts Yoshihiro Takishita's discovery of the ageless beauty of craft in Japan's rural traditions and his remarkable dedication to giving modern meaning to ancient architectural truths. The "story" of the book is the process of rebuilding and restoring his own home and fifteen other old Japanese farmhouses. But there is much more here than an account of foundation-posts and roof-beams and joinery. Takishita's personal story is a journey of self-discovery with deep significance for modern Japan's confrontation with its own past. His vision, craftsmanship, and dedication have brought these farmhouses back to life, giving them a new identity and new meaning. There can be no question that guiding his handiwork and inspiring his efforts has been something more -- perhaps, indeed, "the hand of the Buddha."
Peter M. Grilli
President, Japan Society of Boston
Among all the houses that Mr. Takishita has moved and reconstructed, the old-fashioned gassho zukuri-style farmhouse that was his fifth project is now our home. Though small as such houses go, it makes us feel that we are inhabiting a different era. The structure is solid, with a high ceiling supported by wide columns and beams. Beyond the spaciousness of the design, we take pleasure in thinking back on the huge trees that spent years growing on mountainsides; the villagers turning out en masse to cut and trim them; the old techniques used to craft the house in traditional gassho style, with sloping gabled roofs; and the generations of families who lived here before us, our lives linked now in a continuum with theirs.
The impetus for our acquisition of the house came from dramatist Kuniko Mukoda. "There's an interesting young antique dealer up in the mountains," she told us, inspiring us one day to set out nonchalantly for a look at the Takishita House. Passing from the dimly lit doma, or earthen-floored entryway, into the living area, we saw overhead a ceiling as high and spacious as that of a temple. The massive scale of the beams -- no hint of which showed from the outside -- was surprising and at the same time vaguely nostalgic. Rather than looking at old bowls and plates as planned, we ended up eagerly exploring the Takishita House, as well as the Roderick House next door.
"Are there any smaller minka?" asked my husband, who had been planning to renovate our own decrepit house. Over the protestations of Mukoda, who thought those beams would be "oppressive as hell" to live with, we pushed ahead, and soon heard from Takishita that he had found just the thing. I traipsed through falling snow to watch the house being dismantled in the distant village of Ono, Fukui Prefecture. By the end of spring, reconstruction was underway, and a year later the house was finished. The space under its broad beams radiates peace and comfort. Friends who come by at first all said the same thing: "It's so relaxing here, I never want to leave!" They did seem to linger more than before, in fact.
I cannot forget a story I heard from Mr. Takishita's wife, Reiko. Soon after they were married, the young couple went to see an old abandoned farmhouse on the upper reaches of the Kuzuryu River in Ono. No sooner did they step inside the door than he burst out, eyes shining, "Isn't that beautiful!" The place he indicated was covered with thick rolls of dust and cobwebs. Reiko confesses that in that moment, she worried about her new husband's sanity. I must admit that when I went to Ono that winter to watch that tumbledown old farmhouse being taken apart, I wondered anxiously whether the effort and expense of moving and rebuilding it could possibly be justified.
It takes a special gift to see the true value of what appears as junk to the ordinary eye. Mr. Takishita has an instinctive ability to see through layers of dirt and rubbish -- the accumulated grime of years of daily living -- down to the essential beauty of the underlying form, and the sturdiness of a building's structure.
Above all, the structure is solid, permitting all manner of free experimentation. The charm of the reconstructed house probably has a lot to do with the fact that Mr. Takishita never studied architecture in university and approaches design strictly from the perspective of a home's future inhabitants and what will make them happy. Above the beams in the Takishita living room, in the space formed by the steep angle of the joined roofs, is a free arrangement of endless little rooms -- each with its ladder and stairway -- that conveys the joy of children playing at hide-and-seek.
The young man I recall from those early days has now overseen the rebuilding of thirty gassho zukuri farmhouses, thus saving them from demolishment. Now well into his fifties, he exudes confidence and calm. Apparently Mr. Takishita wishes to rest awhile from the work he has done so well for so long, and consider his next step. I look forward with pleasure to his next bold leap. I have often wished for a bird's-eye view of Takishita's s architecture, a wish that this book will go far to answer.
Sachiko Amakasu
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