Kobe

The name Kobe was familiar from a case study of the 1995 earthquake in the sons' geography book. It was also familiar from a culinary angle - Kobe steaks. Images of precariously hilly terrain dotted with fat cattle and steeply sloping roads were conjured up.

Though not spot on [the cows were hidden from view], my imaginings turned out to be not too far from reality. Kobe is a narrow strip of land sandwiched between mountains and coast. On a bleak, drizzly morning, we set out looking for Tadao Ando's Rokko Housing - stepped housing on a hillside. We spotted the unmistakable exposed concrete and glass nestled amidst greenery on the hillside, but had to walk through the steeply sloped, narrow roads of a residential area, looking for the entry. Taking the road that sloped down towards the sea, we were rewarded with the view opening up to a bustling port. We then headed back uphill on a parallel road to finally end at the foothills, staring straight up at the Rokko Housing. There was an involuntary draw of breath from the group. Whether from the climb or the sight before us, we couldn't tell. 

 There were no compound walls or barriers, but we could not enter the apartment complex to explore the courtyards and gathering spaces that were carved out of the hillside. Tadao Ando worked with the idea of a strong interplay of public and private spaces and nature, utilising the 60 degree slope to give every unit a share of each. "In ascending the slope, gaps are intentionally created. The gaps relate to each other and unite the entire building; at the same time they serve as a plaza". Each of the twenty units have private terraces that overlook the ocean. In the architect's words, "I expect that life in these diverse units will concentrate around the terrace and the opportunity to communicate with nature". A resident came out as we watched, only to have her car automatically exit from the garage onto a turntable and drive off down the slope.

 The long, horizontal lines of the Yamamura house [Yodoko Guest House] cascade in a series of steps, blending into, yet defining the sloped site. Distinctively Frank Lloyd Wright, this 1918 design is clad in Oyaishi, softly textured volcanic stone. It's stepped terraces offer stunning views of the landscape. Inside, is a the play of scale typical of Wright buildings - the small, low alcoves and ante spaces, the large halls opening out to views, and the sweeping terraces.

A highly anticipated trip to Tadao Ando's Church of Light on a Sunday morning left us disappointed, as entry was denied. The church is in Osaka, and we had come into Osaka by the bullet train from Tokyo, and then driven to Kobe. Because Kobe and Osaka are very close to each other, we were driving between the two, though both cities were scheduled as separate visits, and this Sunday drive was one such interlude.

The Takatori Church in Kobe was destroyed in the 1995 earthquake, and subsequently became a base for rescue activities. A temporary church building made out of paper tubes was designed by architect Shigeru Ban. The Paper Church was dismantled in 2005 and donated to an earthquake-struck community in Taiwan, and is still in use there. A permanent church has replaced the Paper Church in Kobe, but a small chapel of paper still stands. That a modest material can be used so effectively is striking. Closely spaced, long and narrow paper tubes [the sort used to encase rolls of paper] not only form a beautiful wall, but also provide the necessary structural strength to enclose the space and support a tent-like fabric roof. The simplicity, practicality and beauty of this quickly erectable and dismantleable structure is stunning.

More of Tadao Ando, in the Museum of Modern Art. The distinctive exposed concrete slabs, with circular punch marks precisely arranged on rectangular grids are trademark Tadao Ando. Circles in rectangles - a small detail, unmistakable.  "Round, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel", round and round we went in the dramatically sculptural circular stairwell. Around and around our heads swivelled, marvelling at the rectangular planes around it. Circles in rectangles - playing out this time at a larger scale. Vast, dramatic spaces, beautifully punctuated by artwork, framing views close and further beyond, beginning and ending, overlapping. It was like moving through an Escher painting. The building itself was an exhibit, most spaces provided for the simple reason that they had to exist to complete, or add to, the set. Vast, starkly beautiful, but empty. If you wanted to photograph architecture without getting people in the frame, this is where you would head. It was the kind of architecture that existed for its own sake. If one went to worship at the Church of Light, the thought occured, one would end up worshipping at the altar of Ando. It was well enough we did not enter the church.

The 4X4 houses by Tadao Ando stand like monoliths or totems, at the edge of the inland Seto sea, facing across it, Awaji, the epicentre of the '95 earthquake. The Akashi bridge spans the expanse, fading into the distance. This starkly beautiful, bleak landscape representing both nature's power and man's modest conquests, is the view that the houses face and open out to.

4X4 meters is the small module size of each house. Seen from outside, the two identical houses stand narrow and tall, capped by big square windows, like eyes, looking out to sea. One in smooth, exposed concrete, the other in rough plywood. I picked up two flat pebbles, one smooth, the other textured from the beach fronting the 4X4 houses. They occupy pride of place on my table, the best of the souvenirs from Kobe.