... l’aparent irrellevància de la preservació arquitectònica al Japó modern ...
Versió original més avall, de la pàgina 1245 del ‘Sir Banister Fletcher’s ‘A History of Architecture’, twentieth edition (1996). 2000. Architectural Press’.
La escala i rapidesa amb la qual el ‘turnover’ arquitectònic ha ocorregut al Japó es rebel·la en el fet que més del vint-i-cinc per cent de Tokio va ser completament reconstruït durant la primera meitat dels anys noranta del segle vint. Traient-ne la seva conclusió natural, la velocitat de desenvolupament en trenta anys produiria una completa i distinta ciutat, diferent en totes les peces de la seva encarnació prèvia, excepte en el seu nom. El resultat de veure l’arquitectura com un producte, conseqüentment, ha creat una demanda perpètua de ‘novetat’. Amb l’abandonament de qualsevol noció de permanència, els edificis estan dictat pels incentius econòmics i la llei del màxim rendiment, de manera que la seva existència depèn de la seva novetat. D’aquesta manera, els processos de ‘construir’, ‘enderrocar’ i ‘reconstruir’ han esdevingut sinònims, amb poc espai per a la ‘conservació’. Clarament il·lustrat el 1968, l’aparent irrellevància de la preservació arquitectònica al Japó modern va accelerar la demolició del luxós Imperial Hotel de Frank Lloyd Wright, escassos 45 anys després de la seva obertura. Prioritzant l’espai sobre el temps (d’un solar més que de la seva edat), als edificis antics se’ls atribueix una significació i un valor inferior als nous, en tant que el Japó continua a mirar el futur com a major esperança que al passat. (...)
[paisatges anonims de Tokyo, febrer 2007]
The scale and rapidity at which this architectural turnover has occurred in Japan is revealed by the fact that over 25 per cent of Tokyo was completely rebuilt during the first half of the 1990s. Taken to its natural conclusion, this speed of development after twenty years would produce a complete and distinct city, different in every way from its previous incarnation, except name. The result of seeing architecture as product, therefore, has created a perpetual demand for the new. With the abandonment of any notion of permanence, buildings are dictated by economic incentives and the law of diminishing returns, so that their existence is solely dependent upon their novelty. In this way, the process of building, demolition and reconstruction have become synonymous with one another, with little room for conservation. Clearly illustrated in 1968, the apparent irrelevance of architectural preservation in modern Japan accelerated the demolition of Frank Lloyd Wright’s luxurious Imperial Hotel, barely 45 years after it was first opened. By giving priority to space over time (of a building’s site rather than its age), old buildings are seemingly attributed a significance and value inferior to that of new ones, as Japan continues to look to the future as proving a greater sense of reassurance than the past.
Throughout these vicissitudes of construction, the only fixed and permanent features of Japan’s urban landscape are the neon signs that illuminate its night sky. It is one of the ironies of modern Japan that these two-dimensional advertising signs and slogans resonate with an impact greater than that of the three-dimensional structures onto which they are attached. Manifest through this enduring imaginary is the ascendancy of a purely visual order of things. Reflected not simply by advertisers but also by architects designing successively bizarre and surreal facades, urban life is increasingly predicated upon the idea of surface rather than that of depth. In this way, the medium of the architecture message in Japan has steadily become subsumed beneath the message itself. As buildings progressively become transformed into billboards, the most vivid and lasting impression of Japan at the end of the twentieth century is of a country that has delighted in opposites but whose culture and iconography are uniformly coming to represent the same thing.
La escala i rapidesa amb la qual el ‘turnover’ arquitectònic ha ocorregut al Japó es rebel·la en el fet que més del vint-i-cinc per cent de Tokio va ser completament reconstruït durant la primera meitat dels anys noranta del segle vint. Traient-ne la seva conclusió natural, la velocitat de desenvolupament en trenta anys produiria una completa i distinta ciutat, diferent en totes les peces de la seva encarnació prèvia, excepte en el seu nom. El resultat de veure l’arquitectura com un producte, conseqüentment, ha creat una demanda perpètua de ‘novetat’. Amb l’abandonament de qualsevol noció de permanència, els edificis estan dictat pels incentius econòmics i la llei del màxim rendiment, de manera que la seva existència depèn de la seva novetat. D’aquesta manera, els processos de ‘construir’, ‘enderrocar’ i ‘reconstruir’ han esdevingut sinònims, amb poc espai per a la ‘conservació’. Clarament il·lustrat el 1968, l’aparent irrellevància de la preservació arquitectònica al Japó modern va accelerar la demolició del luxós Imperial Hotel de Frank Lloyd Wright, escassos 45 anys després de la seva obertura. Prioritzant l’espai sobre el temps (d’un solar més que de la seva edat), als edificis antics se’ls atribueix una significació i un valor inferior als nous, en tant que el Japó continua a mirar el futur com a major esperança que al passat. (...)
[paisatges anonims de Tokyo, febrer 2007]
The scale and rapidity at which this architectural turnover has occurred in Japan is revealed by the fact that over 25 per cent of Tokyo was completely rebuilt during the first half of the 1990s. Taken to its natural conclusion, this speed of development after twenty years would produce a complete and distinct city, different in every way from its previous incarnation, except name. The result of seeing architecture as product, therefore, has created a perpetual demand for the new. With the abandonment of any notion of permanence, buildings are dictated by economic incentives and the law of diminishing returns, so that their existence is solely dependent upon their novelty. In this way, the process of building, demolition and reconstruction have become synonymous with one another, with little room for conservation. Clearly illustrated in 1968, the apparent irrelevance of architectural preservation in modern Japan accelerated the demolition of Frank Lloyd Wright’s luxurious Imperial Hotel, barely 45 years after it was first opened. By giving priority to space over time (of a building’s site rather than its age), old buildings are seemingly attributed a significance and value inferior to that of new ones, as Japan continues to look to the future as proving a greater sense of reassurance than the past.
Throughout these vicissitudes of construction, the only fixed and permanent features of Japan’s urban landscape are the neon signs that illuminate its night sky. It is one of the ironies of modern Japan that these two-dimensional advertising signs and slogans resonate with an impact greater than that of the three-dimensional structures onto which they are attached. Manifest through this enduring imaginary is the ascendancy of a purely visual order of things. Reflected not simply by advertisers but also by architects designing successively bizarre and surreal facades, urban life is increasingly predicated upon the idea of surface rather than that of depth. In this way, the medium of the architecture message in Japan has steadily become subsumed beneath the message itself. As buildings progressively become transformed into billboards, the most vivid and lasting impression of Japan at the end of the twentieth century is of a country that has delighted in opposites but whose culture and iconography are uniformly coming to represent the same thing.
Etiquetes de comentaris: arquitectura, japo
posted by bcnseul at 1:36 p. m.
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