The Ephemeral House

Why some of Japan’s most intriguing and beautifully designed homes aren’t built to last.

- Lucy Alexander

THE CHERRY BLOSSOM famously represents the fleeting nature of human life, a beauty meant to be admired, enjoyed and let go. But in Japan, the brief, bittersweet cycle of death and rebirth also applies – surprisingly – to houses. This unusual national ideology ends up nurturing bold new designs and a growing slate of award-winning architects, as evidenced by the annual Pritzker Architecture Prize. Japan ties the US with more winners than any other country: eight in total, from Kenzo Tange in 1987 to Arata Isozaki in 2019.

The Western concept of a residence as a stable and secure long-term investment – more tree than flower – that will gradually increase in value over time directly opposes the Japanese view, which sees a house as a temporary structure that expires with its owner. A Japanese building is a short-lived consumer product, not so different from a car or an iPhone, that undergoes a period of fixed-term depreciation, set by the government at 22 years, after which it’s considered fit for the scrap heap. If an Englishman’s – or Westerner’s – home is his castle, a Japanese one is a worthless piece of single-use plastic.

The happy side effect of this throwaway ethos is that Japan has become a sandbox for architectural experimentation, a sort of deregulated enterprise zone that has incubated a culture in which some of the world’s most innovative and pioneering architects have thrived.

One of its most renowned, Kengo Kuma, the designer of the new National Stadium for the much-postponed 2020 Tokyo Olympic Games, tells