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Sekiyuan waiting house
Sekiyuan waiting house
Chiba, Japan
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Other Projects by kurosawa kawara-ten
Sekiyuan waiting house
Chiba, Japan
Firm
STATUS
Built
YEAR
2022
SIZE
0 sqft - 1000 sqft
BUDGET
$0 - 10K
We designed and constructed the waiting house for the Japanese tea room called Sekiyuan in a residential area of Ichihara City, Chiba Prefecture. This tea room was set up in a corner of the residence, and while a garden had been created, there was no “waiting house” where guests could briefly sit in the alleyway during tea ceremonies, awaiting the host's call. This space was desired. The client, a tea master, studied oil painting at an art university and also loved pottery. He was someone who could create things as naturally as breathing. Typically, buildings are expected to function as vessels with a specific purpose, serving as tools. Especially for something like a residence, used daily and essential for living, no room is left for “playfulness.” Therefore, in modern times, the space for amateurs to participate in both design and construction is almost entirely eliminated; even everyday building activities are monopolized by qualifications and skills. On the other hand, if it were a building for the world of tea ceremony, that very “playfulness” could become the purpose itself.
The landscape gardener Takeda-ya Sakuteiten planned to expand the garden path and build a bench-and-waiting house based on it. Randomly laid bricks and tiles, like debris, break down fixed notions of “how things must be” and create possible futures. Responding to this, the building form is a deformed single-slope roof supported at three points. The roof is wrapped in mortar mixed with soil excavated during the foundation work. This wrapping extends to the gables and eaves, creating a rustic finish reminiscent of a scaled-down thatched roof. No waterproofing was applied; instead, the surface was lightly brushed to create texture, inviting moisture retention and eventual moss growth. The roof surface is the lowest at the rearmost space, inevitably requiring visitors to bow their heads. In this tea room without a traditional entrance, while not a conventional tea ceremony setup, it is also intended to serve as a device that flattens the hierarchical relationship between guests. Furthermore, the diagonal opening of this roof clearly defines directionality within the alleyway, creating an effect akin to an arrow pointing the way. We considered that the act of entrusting one's body to this structure—where heavy elements like mortar and earth are suspended by columns of uncertain fragility—might generate excitement born from instability and unease, inevitably heightening anticipation for the tea ceremony.
Furthermore, this building was constructed through DIT (Do It Together) by an architect skilled in construction and an artist skilled in craftsmanship, rather than by professional builders. While this was possible due to its small scale and the fact it's a temporary waiting house lacking utilities like electricity and water, considering it more generally, one might say that when building an addition to an existing, functional structure, there is no urgent, life-or-death necessity. This allows the action of building itself to become the purpose. Building a structure, cutting wood, carving, mixing mortar, digging earth, and then furnishing it—this sequence of actions is essential for humans to secure shelter. Simultaneously, as acts that influence external objects and allow us to feel their response, they contain a primordial joy. In our modern era where houses have long been commercialized, these very actions have been consumed as products like workshops, as if we were forced to choose and purchase them, instilling a preconception that nothing else is permitted. Yet, through these actions, people should be able to gain confidence and pride in their ability to alter and improve their environment themselves, creating better circumstances. They allow us to return to the most fundamental, yet often forgotten, principle: that the necessary materials are lying around us, and the necessary tools can be made. It is also ironic that teaching this obvious truth—that if you want to change your plan while building, you can rethink it and alter the shape as you work—is only possible with small structures subject to very few legal or functional constraints.
The act of building small structures—not essential, non-urgent, and within one's own control—offers a margin and a playfulness. This seemingly self-serving yet modern act may well restore fundamental human desires and lost conviviality.
The landscape gardener Takeda-ya Sakuteiten planned to expand the garden path and build a bench-and-waiting house based on it. Randomly laid bricks and tiles, like debris, break down fixed notions of “how things must be” and create possible futures. Responding to this, the building form is a deformed single-slope roof supported at three points. The roof is wrapped in mortar mixed with soil excavated during the foundation work. This wrapping extends to the gables and eaves, creating a rustic finish reminiscent of a scaled-down thatched roof. No waterproofing was applied; instead, the surface was lightly brushed to create texture, inviting moisture retention and eventual moss growth. The roof surface is the lowest at the rearmost space, inevitably requiring visitors to bow their heads. In this tea room without a traditional entrance, while not a conventional tea ceremony setup, it is also intended to serve as a device that flattens the hierarchical relationship between guests. Furthermore, the diagonal opening of this roof clearly defines directionality within the alleyway, creating an effect akin to an arrow pointing the way. We considered that the act of entrusting one's body to this structure—where heavy elements like mortar and earth are suspended by columns of uncertain fragility—might generate excitement born from instability and unease, inevitably heightening anticipation for the tea ceremony.
Furthermore, this building was constructed through DIT (Do It Together) by an architect skilled in construction and an artist skilled in craftsmanship, rather than by professional builders. While this was possible due to its small scale and the fact it's a temporary waiting house lacking utilities like electricity and water, considering it more generally, one might say that when building an addition to an existing, functional structure, there is no urgent, life-or-death necessity. This allows the action of building itself to become the purpose. Building a structure, cutting wood, carving, mixing mortar, digging earth, and then furnishing it—this sequence of actions is essential for humans to secure shelter. Simultaneously, as acts that influence external objects and allow us to feel their response, they contain a primordial joy. In our modern era where houses have long been commercialized, these very actions have been consumed as products like workshops, as if we were forced to choose and purchase them, instilling a preconception that nothing else is permitted. Yet, through these actions, people should be able to gain confidence and pride in their ability to alter and improve their environment themselves, creating better circumstances. They allow us to return to the most fundamental, yet often forgotten, principle: that the necessary materials are lying around us, and the necessary tools can be made. It is also ironic that teaching this obvious truth—that if you want to change your plan while building, you can rethink it and alter the shape as you work—is only possible with small structures subject to very few legal or functional constraints.
The act of building small structures—not essential, non-urgent, and within one's own control—offers a margin and a playfulness. This seemingly self-serving yet modern act may well restore fundamental human desires and lost conviviality.
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