Shoji - The Importance of an Ancient Technology in Modern Day Environmental Design
An overlooked material in the modern world. Could delving into Japanese applications and philosophies unlock a deeper meaning to help us in isolation?
Paper, although impermanent, is beautiful. The Japanese aesthetic philosophy of “Wabi-Sabi” perfectly encapsulates the fragile nature of the material. “Wabi” expressed the simplicity and loneliness of living in nature, and “Sabi” meaning withered or decaying: come together to form a wholesome concept of finding beauty in imperfections in nature. As author of Wabi Sabi – The Japanese Art of Impermanence, Andrew Juniper notes that, “It… uses the uncompromising touch of mortality to focus the mind on the exquisite transient beauty to be found in all things impermanent”. It contradicts the Westernised perception of beauty, artificial and nigh unachievable. An embodiment of the Wabi-Sabi concept is the Shōji, a light paper and wooden lattice screen. Translating to “proper peace,” the shōji provides a temporary divide in space, or it can be made permanent with modern adaptation.
Yūgen – “true beauty and gentleness” – another symbolic aspect of Japanese aesthetic philosophy where one is encouraged to have a deep awareness of the tangible universe. Associated with yoga and meditation, it is thought of as a form of poetry where one tries to capture the ineffable presence of living nature through mindfulness. And what is shōji without this notion - A paper blind?
The paper used in shoji screens, named “washi,” is typically made from Japanese mulberry trees (kozo) harvested in winter months and thought of as precious because it is made from natural materials. Shōji was introduced to the Japanese in the sixth century, by the Chinese shortly after washi paper was made popular. Taking advantage of the ice, the water was collected in winter to reduce impurities and lessen discolouration. Made by stretching the water-sprayed sheets over wooden lattice frames (kumiko). The single panels (kōshi) are inexpensive to repair. Western adoption of this eastern practise uses two kumiko frames with washi paper glued in between – rather than one. This makes it more difficult to repair broken sections. The simple sophistication in shōji’s rustic beauty spans centuries. From the Katsura Detached Palace to the intimate “wabi-cha” tea ceremony, both are recognised under the Sukiya style which was used by Japanese higher society and utilise the shoji screen in their construction. The small scale of the tea ceremony’s performance has become an art form much like the shōji. Its function is both practical and creative as they can occasionally adorned with paintings typically at floor level as sitting on the ground is traditional in their culture. Jay Van Arsdale in his book Shōji – How to Design, Build and Install Japanese Screens playfully suggests the use of shōji encourages “participating in the rhythms of nature” as it is a filter, not a barrier. Its permeable sensitivity a mere sieve; a glowing veil to increase airflow but not shelter from the wind. In summer months it is removed to open the space to the landscape connecting the inhabitants to the elements creating a fresh and calming atmosphere. In the winter, the Japanese perform a ritualistic changing of the paper for warmth, but also to cleanse and purify their homes before the New Year.
“In the traditional Japanese house, the wall does not actually exist. Of course walls were used. But their main aim was not to express the simplicity of the wood, paper, earth and straw of which they were made.” The naked materials connote peace relating to the landscape they originate from. This purity, or minimalism, descends from the concept of “Ma”, and is found in various strains of Japanese culture, such as: architecture, interior design, garden design and poetry (one example being haiku). The Spirit of Ma can be translated as an “emptiness” or “pause” – in this instance, a break in space. In Japanese philosophy, a “pause” is a sign of respect, whether it is to bow when greeting or in conversation to emphasise a point. Similarly, Ma is a celebration of the void between objects, making the concept of minimalism older and more humble than it seems. The silence is not uncomfortable; it is in support of sound and therefore the space. Appreciating shōji compliments the tranquillity the architect is trying to expose. The expected serene experience within a Japanese tea house or spiritual temple would not be possible without the connection to nature, cultivated by shōji screens. They allow the user to be aware of the surrounding environment, the veil to the outside world allowing them to be present in the moment. Paradoxically it is this filtered experience that promotes mindfulness and the approach to nothingness ‘Ma’ that one aspires to in the act of meditation.
“In the traditional Japanese house, the wall does not actually exist. Of course walls were used. But their main aim was not to express the simplicity of the wood, paper, earth and straw of which they were made.”
A modern use of traditional Japanese shōji is seen in Kenzo Tange’s residence (1953). The Villa Seijo blends the dichotomy of qualities derived from the Western International and Japanese Sukiya styles. Dramatically raised using pilotis, suggesting the ground floor is unclean - as Le Corbusier indicated in the Villa Savoye. The change in level sets the engawa apart from the landscape, losing its true meaning, creating a balcony for reflection rather than a place to remove shoes before entering the property. Tange illuminates his house utilizing the properties of shōji - diffracting light equally, reducing humidity and not closing off the interior from nature. Harnessing the Komorebi, allowing the refreshing shadows of trees to dance on the walls. The visual noise of the interior complements the serenity of the shell, with Japanese furnishings sparingly decorating the environment. The freeform plan, a fluid space - shaded by the upper level and allowing the outdoors to harmonise with the raw materials.
Tadao Ando is another architect inspired by the purity of the shoji and the Sukiya style, applying the properties of the spirit of Ma in his work as guidelines rather than strict rules. With his deep understanding he can convey through the use of modern materials - concrete, steel, and glass - to reflect the principles, as well as the inclusion of nature as a medium. In Ando’s Glass Block House (1978) the fenestration mimics the aesthetic of shōji through its translucency and regimented straight lines. He relates the two materials through their light diffusing properties, his “aesthetic awareness” challenging the paper screens integrity and applying an artificial remedy to shōji’s short lifespan.
“Light is a mediator between space and form. Light changes expressions with time. I believe that the architectural materials do not end with wood or concrete, that have tangible forms, but go beyond to include light and wind which appeal to our senses.” – Tadao Ando
Compared with other construction, the shōji screen’s properties make it lack insulation quality to abide by modern day standards. It is largely because of this the shōji screen has not been adopted largely in western culture but its influence can be seen everywhere such as Neues Atelier by Peter Zumthor in Switzerland. Mimicking the principles of shoji allows the offices’ employees to focus on their work free from distraction from the outside world, but still filter in the important connection to light and nature. We should continue to utilise this ancient technology to reduce barriers and embrace the philosophies surrounding shoji. I feel this is increasingly important in the current climate as many people are locked indoors unable to create a relationship with the environment.
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