Fourteen years since the launch of Africa’s Great Green Wall project, only 4% of the 100 million hectares (247 million…
1972 – Nakagin Capsule Tower
Noritaka Minami; Essays by Julian Rose and Ken Yoshida
Kehrer Verlag, December 2015
Paperback | 9-1/2 x 11 inches | 100 pages | 55 illustrations | English | ISBN: 9783868285482 | $45.00
Completed in the year 1972, Kisho Kurokawa’s Nakagin Capsule Tower is one of the few visionary proposals realized by an avant-garde architectural movement called Metabolism. An experimental apartment complex designed with 140 removable capsules, this building in Tokyo embodies the future of urban living as envisioned by Kurokawa at that moment in postwar Japan. More importantly, it is a reminder of a future that was never realized in society at large and exists as an architectural anachronism within the city. In recent years, the building has faced the threat of demolition to make way for a more conventional structure. In the book 1972, Noritaka Minami uses photography to document the current state of individual capsules as a response to their potential disappearance. The photographs examine what became of a building that first opened as a radical prototype for a new mode of living in post-industrial society and how this vision of the future appears in retrospect.
What about the rest of the photographs, the 49 that aren’t in those two gatefolds? They reveal a lot of variation between the two poles of emptiness and ruin. Some capsules, such as the one that wraps around the front and back covers, have the original casework, a feature that now looks like a distant past’s idea of the future, one that has been superseded in the intervening years. Built-in TVs, radios, and other electronics reinforce the anachronistic nature of the capsule’s built-ins. Most of the capsules appear to have had the built-ins removed, with desks, shelves, and other furniture taking their place. What is constant in the capsules are the round windows, always in the center of Minami’s photos but never in exactly the same place, a result of the tripod navigating the unique living circumstances of each capsule, something pointed out in Julian Rose’s illuminating essay.
Ken Yoshida’s essay, a less architectural take than Rose’s, is nevertheless informative, revealing, for example, that the outer layer of the windows don’t open because they were designed to be removed only by firemen in the event of a fire. That the few remaining residents of Nakagin Capsule Tower cannot open their windows fully for natural ventilation means they crack open their doors to the core to get some air, a fact revealed in a few of Minami’s photos. Some of the most interesting images are actually those of the core, where the owner’s possession spill over, bags and buckets catch leaks and AC condensation, and curtains provide privacy while the doors are open. Although we never see the residents, we “see” them through their possessions inside and outside the tea room-sized capsules. As such, Minami’s photos capture Kurosawa’s intent to enable individuality in the midst of mass production and urbanity. The building’s demolition will be a loss to an idea that didn’t have the influence it arguably should have.
* Syndicated content from A Daily Dose of Architecture Books.