Manifestations of Japanese Stylings in LA

An assignment for an architectural history class at The Southern California Institute of Architecture (SCI-Arc), instructor Christoph Korner, 2013

The Western Eye confounds itself before traditional Japanese architecture. It perceives forms at once infinitely simple and endlessly complex, stumbling before its relationship between form, philosophy and functionality. In many cases, this renders valid comparisons between Ancient Japanese structures and contemporaneous Western creations nullified, but, in order to aid such a comparison, we perhaps must warp our narrow understanding of these structures so as to embody pure ontologies in order for them to divulge new relationships and profundities. Their formal qualities and engineered systems may embroider us more fruitfully with their knowledge thereafter. It is by this comparative method that links across centuries of architecture render themselves visible to our naked eye, though it is important to note that we must not conclude absolute subsequence from them. Rather, it is more productive to our comprehension of the matters if we see them as coincidences among human architectures throughout history. Although seemingly insignificant upon first gaze, the coincidences we encounter therein may hint at something larger, manifestations in their own rights on scales as prolific as global trends in building. This dually reveals both an oddity and (more importantly) a possible archetype of the architectural process across mankind, thus speaking to how we interact and meld our environment. As possibly the most basal level of our interaction within the field, our comprehension of its being across eons and through cultures inherently parallels who we ourselves are, along the way both referencing superficiality in our understandings of the world and the dispositional assumptions inert in our collective mind.

Following this comparative method, we might at first be astonished to see the intricate ways per which Japanese architecture of the past itself parallels contemporary structures around Los Angeles. Equally as possible to pontificate are the superficial overlaps we may be eager to make, should we begin to bastardize the true meanings of ancient intentions in accordance to modern wills. Ergo, it will be easier to begin with defining what is bluntly not a crosscentury manifestation in modern Los Angeles, even to the ends that they appear to be such before deeper interrogation. For instance, both the Higashi Honganji and Hompa Hongwanji Buddhist temples of Little Tokyo reveal themselves to be little more than decorated boxes under even minimal critical analysis. Aesthetically, though they appear to match Japanese precedents, closer reading reveals their amassed hoax. Not only do they follow few of the constructive techniques of traditional Japanese architecture, but they collectively presume a set style which is based upon aesthetic considerations rather than material or structural ideals. As such things go, this stands in biting contrast to authentic precedents across the Pacific, the structures of which represent combined material investigations into adaptation within environment (Young 6). Particularly in the field of earthquake-engineering does this void become incredibly apparent when transposed into a series of juxtapositions Japanese structures from ancient times and Angelino buildings au courant. Herein, the separation emerges, and any ties vanish which these sites in Little Tokyo purport to hold.

Instead, we can perhaps look upon other, less visually analogous structures around Los Angeles to draw valid interconnections between the City of Angles and ancient Japanese architecture. Through this, we gain an understanding that, though these buildings lack visual commonality, their internal structures and intrinsic frameworks mirror, but do not recapitulate, various traditional Japanese designs. To reiterate again, it is important that we note the exact value of these comparisons, for many of the similarities are far from being true cognates. Analogically speaking, they are false cognates, or words whose phonological properties parallel one another across languages while lacking linguistic relationship. That is to say that they arise as coincidental pairings across idioms. Like the German haben and the Latin habere, both meaning to have yet etymologically derived from different histories (the Proto-Indo-European roots keh2p [to sieze] and ghabh [to grab], respectively), these structures on each side of the Pacific Ocean share morphological and organizational commonalities, but otherwise differ on the precise evolutions thereto. Unlike linguistics, wherein these freak collisions across languages mean little more than mottled chance, overlaps in architecture, specifically when outside frames of ancestral history or convolution, harp to architectural intrinsicities. To recapitulate, they alternatively present to us poignant examples of archetypal ideas which inherently manifest themselves in our built world, speaking deeply to the human approach to perceive and to adapt alongside the site, the context and the conditionalities.

By example, Japanese architecture frequently employed few to no nails in their designs (Addiss 12). This decision holds massive ramifications in regards to earthquakes. As the ground sways, such buildings employing strict rations of nails oscillate freely. This movement counteracts the forces of the earthquake, stabilizing the structure. To enable such a scheme to be implemented throughout a design, a complex interlocking substructure emerged in Japanese design, often categorizing the buildings visually by their intricate beams. This, in turn and by parallel to similar Chinese developments, gradually necessitates the iconic curved roofs so representational of Oriental architecture. These terrace-ottaladen roofs, sheltering underlying buildings from rain as well as taking stress from the weight of the tiles employed alongside, also hold functional ideologies (Coaldrake 367). Both aesthetic resultants rely on simple properties of functionality. Interlocked beams resist earthquakes, and overhung roofs both resolve the intricate system of connections between beams and shelter exposed wooden structures from potentially dangerous moisture, correspondingly. Both are mistakenly mapped onto the various Buddhist temples of Little Tokyo, yet each so clearly employs a myriad of nails to hold together the frame of its structure. In fact, the Hompa Hongwanji Buddhist Temple goes so far as to aesthetically mimic the beams with poured concrete. Indeed, these temples fulfill semiotic connections necessary in their designs, but, in doing so, they fail to honor the architectural rational behind these respective styles. For our purposes, this disparages them to the point of virtual invalidity, which is not to criticize iconoclastically their existences as functional spaces for worship, but rather to declare them disingenuous both structurally and histrionically alike. They can most profitably be understood as effortless mimicry, rather than genuine attempt at transposition between foreign philosophy of design into indigenous landscape.

Left without resonance in Little Tokyo, where each temple displays indulgent regurgitation of nails, screws and all things Western by bastardization, we might more advantageously look downtown to find properly articulated corollaries. Another similar methodology to the aforementioned which propagates easily on both sides of the Pacific is found in the form of base oscillation, a response to earthquakes in modern engineering, effectively allowing the entire structure to move in four directions along a two-dimensional plane during tremors, achieved by supporting the building atop two rows of sliders. The first row enables motion within one axial direction, during which the second set functions for the other. Empowering the coordinates of a Cartesian plane, this allows infinite positions within a defined, two-dimensional area. Such systems have recently been retrofitted into both Los Angeles City Hall and Pasadena City Hall, as well as below precious ancient sculptures at the Getty (Gilbert).

In the case of the newly retrofitted City Hall, placed atop base isolation technology, the building, in conceptuality, exists separately from the ground (Nabih Youssef Associates). When receiving the forces of an earthquake, the edifice concurrently slides across two levels of struts. Each level controls the different direction of oscillation, effectively allowing the entire structure to sway as it will to resist lateral changes in force. While this may be mentioned to further the structural alienation of the mutants in Little Tokyo, it is perhaps more important when seen as a dynamic element during earthquakes. This, in turn, is translatable into the ancient aesthetic which we seek to contrast. In the case, as the ground shakes, stacked frames and beams in traditional Japanese pagodas are freed to move without much resistance on two axes (The Economist). Otherwise minimal structures, heavy terra-cottatiled roofs hold the tiers down firmly. This oscillation works similarly to the two modern adaptations of noteworthiness. Furthermore, a system of springs and pulleys, actively performing dampening forces to the lateral movements, echoes the functionality of the central heart pillar of pagodas, to be elaborated upon in further detail in the coming analyses.

Perhaps foremost in our modern psyche, there appears here additionally a clear parallel to mass dampers, one of which was recently installed at the Theme Building at LAX (Miyamoto Earthquake + Structural Engineers). In these, we see the pertinence in the Japanese’s discovery of the comparable method many centuries before the modern world would grasp its usability in structures. It also dispenses for us a functional underwork to a commonly fetishized aesthetic. The Westerner’s mind is deluded in depictions of curve-roofed structures in all things Chinese and Japanese. They adorn his Chinese food boxes, establish setting in his films and without delay conjure in him an iconographic portal to Asian style, though in reality, these roofs’ development traces more productively to their relationship, as aforementioned, alongside their performance in earthquakes, particularly when addressed as attachments to pagodas. Unknown in the visual perspective by which many process the buildings before them, these heavy roofs effectively function as do mass dampers, in attrition to their role as oscillation devices, when used in conjunction with the thick, sturdy heart pillars (The Economist). Lateral motion created by the structure’s sway during an earthquake is offset by the roof’s mass swinging to and fro in opposite directions. A similar reaction occurs in the Theme Building, though it is subjugated to only one damper located within the depths of the unseen understructure subsequent to recent renovations. While the Ancient Japanese method is forward and apparent, manifesting itself as an actual piece of the building’s personal visuality, extant dampers find themselves leading more reclusive lifestyles, often within the core of the building or otherwise secluded centralized spaces feigned from the public eye. If the heart pillar was the town crier, the damper of nowadays is the leper, ostracized and yet intrinsically interlaced between the inert threads of identity in an architecture. This placement of the former has over the centuries contributed to the falsehoods accompanied by the perception of pagoda-type structures as purely aesthetic in the Western Eye. In this case, the superficial reading of the roofs to be decorative elements has trumped a vital understanding of their actual functionality in perspective of their buildings’ contextual properties and refined histories. Our misunderstanding becomes our cultural comprehension, and a false ethos gradually surrounds the correct consideration of these archaic examples in modern milieus.

If we then continue to compare styles based on assumptions that architectural reality could fundamentally be seen as a resultant of structural intentions manifest aesthetically, a return to the analysis of Little Tokyo shows that both temples fail to complete their prerequisites. Instead, we see a variety of other buildings as in fact more similar to ancient structures. Should we desire a fruitful comparison, we must look no further than the US Bank Tower. Along its façade above the 53rd floor, reinforced struts help the structure resist winds and swaying as result of earthquakes (Emporis). By vertically tying the levels together in their most vulnerable areas, the risk of exaggeration of forces along the height of the structure is minimized. Likewise functions the aforementioned heart pillar of the Japanese pagoda designs (The Economist). Pagodas’ strong vertical connection throughout their structures allows them to both sway adequately and to resist overarching tensions at one time. Again, we must see these adaptations to the environments as two distinct evolutions not necessarily connected. Rather, they serve to distinguish a technique which has itself been manifested multiple times over the course of human architectural history. As is such, we ought to regard them as highly crucial in our understanding of how we perceive the built world by default. Using them, among others, an archetypal response to stimulus can be identified. In this case, it represents a clear vertical bias in securing taller structures which clings to the dichotomy of both adversely allotting and systematically stemming sway in buildings. It therefore stands as highly poignant that these two human interventions into the physical world respond in similar ways and demonstrate an adaptation which sufficiently spans a dramatic difference in scale and context. While the traditional pagoda address problematic sway at much more physically minimal scales, the fundamental process employed in each building carries over consistently between size, venue and culture.

Nonetheless, differentiations can be made which perhaps address better the conditionary situations in which each structure exists. The US Bank’s Tower’s core is relocated for elevator shafts, stairwells, access ducts and the like; the Japanese pagoda has no such parameters to which to adhere. Therefore, its structural element (the pillar) can consume much of the volume therein. Still though, this may, in another interpretation, mirror the central concrete structure so commonly employed in modern skyscrapers. The core seems to be the most intrinsically protected in the human mindset. It shelters us, perhaps harping back to the inner security and persistent search for complete encapsulation which we found in primitive, cave-dwelling eons. Both Ancient Japanese architects and contemporary American engineers seem to have grasped this concept in their designs. Because we find these two widely separate understandings of architecture overlapping in this particular circumstance, we must attempt to fortify their value in connection. Clearly, a more acute understanding of an approach to combat an inherent architectural problem is in play. Through an iterative evolution, the two resultant solutions overlay larger concepts of the human condition in relation to "architecturality", if we may. They insinuate the certain understanding that such loads can be counteracted both by working on façade and core levels. In turn, an applicable holistic vantage on how issues must be ascertained, categorized and resolved precedes our understanding. It both blinds us and fortifies our approach into the future at once, yet the identification of its presence in the architecture around us is without doubt constitutive to constructive approaches to considering its importance.

These comparisons between the modern West and the ancient East overall dynamically demonstrate similar alignments about structural responses towards environmental restraints. It is also of note to observe the mentioned bastardizations of the Eastern aesthetic, lest we forget the evidently pragmatic nature of traditional Japanese design in the face of purely formal reproductions. Rather than reject them as failures, they may provide us an interesting base for thought. They show the sheer success of the Japanese methods in integrating the structure into the overall visual ethos of the building and in so doing communicate the overwhelmingly assumption-oriented judgments which occur between cultures whose architectures begin to interact. Whereas contemporaneity in Los Angeles has attempted to understand the Japanese design style on a level only pursuing the resultant of a long evolutionary process, natural circumstance has covertly masqueraded parallel techniques into a sizable collection of Angelino buildings. These moments of contextual espionage and parental confusion surround us, capitulating in a multiplicity of human intrinsicities architecturally representative throughout America’s second largest metropolis. Little Tokyo’s temples may show gaping misjudgments by each culture of the other visàvis formal assumptions, but other cases such as the US Bank Tower and the City Hall articulate a more passionately intimate brush with understanding and reaction – one which seems to infect the very most underlying ideologies employed. By learning from these, we see that the validities we rely upon may be deeper than surface appearances. They are, in fact, ontologies persistent only when viewed as misunderstandings. Although this may in fact be productive in deriving certain mutations of forms, the more hidden commonalities between our cultures’ breakdown differentiates what aesthetics may surmise. Through this perception of the puritanically formal as a weak standpoint for deepened criticality, the broader depth of identification for parallels unravels before us our own human condition in relation to – or rather emergent within – our architecture.