As production becomes increasingly clean and knowledge-based, as our urban economies tip dramatically to service industries, as racism and ethnic animosities ebb, and as the model of mixed use becomes more and more persuasive and visible, cities are in a position to dramatically rethink zoning as a medium for leveraging and usefully complicating difference, rather than simply isolating it.
Raskin, in his essay on variety, suggested that the greatest flaw in city zoning is that it permits monotony. I think this is correct. Perhaps the next greatest flaw is that it ignores scale of use, where this is an important consideration, or confuses it with kind of use.
Work uses suggest another bugaboo: reeking smokestacks and flying ash. Of course reeking smokestacks and flying ash are harmful, but it does not follow that intensive city manufacturing (most of which produces no such nasty by-products) or other work uses must be segregated from dwellings. Indeed, the notion that reek or fumes are to be combated by zoning and land-sorting classifications at all is ridiculous. The air doesn’t know about zoning boundaries. Regulations specifically aimed at the smoke or the reek itself are to the point.
When a space resonates with our humanity, when it feels really pleasant or splendid and beautiful—when you place yourself in such an environment, I've always believed that people will be drawn in. So I guess you could say it's this sense that I try to reflect in the plans; I believe that this will lead in the right direction, to an honest lifestyle.
Mrs. Shimada is very cheerful, and Mr. Shimada is very intelligent; he is able to perceive things objectively, and discern what is precious. I get the sense they live critically, evaluating what is important. Keeping these characteristics in mind, I think about what kind of plan should be provided, in what proportions, and in what kind of house—to best suit these people. I'm constantly reminded of their faces as I prepare the plans. I'm always thinking about human happiness. If it doesn't make you happy, I don't think it's worth building.
I've been doing this for decades, so I've found tools that can't get any better. Tools by a good blacksmith cut well for the entire day, as well as the next; occasionally, even on the third day. I'll think, maybe I should sharpen soon, even though it's still cutting okay.
So that's what it's like — it's all about how good your tools are.
What of machines and prefabrication? How do they compare?
Well, the machine has its limits. We, using handcrafted methods, do things that machines cannot do. Of course, it's not fast like a machine. And in complicated areas like here, things wouldn't go the same using a machine as it would by hand.
We use numerous variations of all these connecting and splicing joints. Using a machine, [the wood joints] can all be made uniform, but really, we need to consider whether that's a good thing. It's better to make each mechanism and joint by considering what's suitable for each unique condition.
I suspect that these tools and these shapes each have their own era. And, well—recently, mass production has made fabrication more practical by using machines, and producing joints that are even easier and faster. Currently, [composite joints] are the most practical—economically as well. That's probably how it became so simple.
The precision [of a prefabricated joint] is by no means bad; a prefabricated joint is more precise than one made by hand with poor skills. Of course, with craftsmen, some are good; others, not so good. It's fine if only people with excellent skills make these joints and build houses; but occasionally, you'll get someone who doesn't. In this case, there's a possibility that prefabrication will provide a more uniform, better outcome.
With prefabrication, they don't really have as much variety in types of joints. Most splicing joints are kama-tsugi, and most connecting joints are ari of a dovetail type; it's even all the same dovetail. In comparison, we use roughly ten times that in variety—perhaps more than ten times.
You have something that is fast, easy, and cheap...
Tōru Abo: Yes, the question is which is better in comparison. I mean, there's no point having a joint made without precision. If you can't chisel with a certain degree of accuracy, there's no point cutting by hand. We often say, "Work accurately and precisely." It's labor-intensive and costs some money, but it's overwhelmingly stronger. The structure becomes more solid.
The kanawa-tsugi allows for easy replacements, without having to raise the building a great deal. However, these days buildings are demolished in less than 30 or so years, so we live in an era where such measures aren't necessary. Because we're living in an era where you demolish the house before things are replaced, we don't have to do this. But in doing so, the two wood members fit together smoothly; the fit becomes incredibly good. This splicing joint, it's surprisingly rigid once assembled; so, even in an era where we have foundations like these, we still use the kanawa-tsugi.
If you consider the inheritance of skills, we can keep this heritage by having young people do the work properly, as they did in the past. If you don't do this, or you become too practical, you'd only make simple things. It's very low tech, this inheritance of skills—using carpentry tools to do manual work. We deliberately put effort into these things, completing work properly in unseen areas.
Architecture equals structure. Design is also important, but structure is the basis of architecture.
By taking the good aspects of both traditional and conventional construction methods, we assemble it securely...So the reason we lay out the marking lines, and carve by hand, is to utilize the good aspects of wood framing from the past when building contemporary wood-framed structures.