Kyoto has many shrines, temples and traditional structures, spurring people to place special value on old building materials over the centuries. After the Middle Ages, merchants at the center of commerce and industry were thrifty in using old lumber in their townhouse-style residences. Even in modern times, old fittings and timber are reused and repurposed. Discover the spirit of perpetuity through the passion of artisans and craftsmen as they use old wood to give birth to a new aesthetic.
This tea shop prides itself on its warm hospitality, conveyed in a cup of tea.
The interior was remodeled using upcycled, antique wood.
A carpenter, conversant in the power of wood, has deep appreciation for old timber.
They had large stocks of wood.
I feel a connection to my ancestors'
wisdom of not wasting timber.
This machiya townhouse-style home was made from quality timber.
Kyoto citizens are now pooling their resources to preserve structures, like this.
The history of Kyoto has
kept this house standing.
I want to preserve the memories
in the building and its fixtures.
Others draw a new aesthetic out of antique wood.
Most important is the passage of time
and the beauty of its character.
Core Kyoto exposes the value Kyotoites place in building materials that have weathered the times.
An expansive temple in the heart of Kyoto.
In 1999, the then-363-year-old main hall underwent large-scale repairs which continued for a decade.
Work focused on retaining as much of the original as possible.
Damaged areas were carefully shaved and planed back.
They were then plugged with other pieces of wood.
The temple building has several hundred areas that have been repaired using this age-old technique.
Carpenters of two centuries ago showed their playful sides in the shapes of plugs they used.
This fish is a more recent addition.
The use of amusing plugs extends the life of buildings and adds character for the visual enjoyment of temple visitors.
Since the middle ages, machiya townhouse-style homes were built by citizens who were at the center of the ancient capital's commerce and industry.
The residences also sometimes served as places of business.
Since the city is surrounded by mountains on three sides, procuring and transporting large building materials was expensive.
Therefore, few machiya were made from virgin wood; most were erected and maintained using old timber.
This machiya retains much of its original charm.
It holds evidence of how often vintage timber was once used in buildings.
A room holding timber for repairs and future home modifications was located directly above the entryway offering easy access.
It currently acts as a storage space.
Over the last few decades, this building contractor has collected and stored unwanted wood and interior fixtures from demolished or rebuilt machiya.
These materials are indispensable for repairing other machiya.
The modules are fixed
so they can be reused.
Their heights are all
around 1.73 m, so carpenters just need to
shave them a bit before they using them.
It's an age-old practice.
In an effort to counterbalance the continuing trend to demolish deteriorating machiya, one group of people works to repurpose existing homes.
This old residence boasts good examples of how carpenters had reused old timber in repairs.
The pillars and beams in the roof are scorched.
They probably survived housefires but were
useable and considered a waste to discard.
These cut recesses show that the pieces of timber are repurposed pillars.
They had large stocks of wood and reused
them like this, instead of throwing them out.
I feel a connection to our ancestors'
wisdom of not wasting timber.
These carpenters are also striving to retain as much of the original as possible as they renovate the structure.
They cover the damaged parts with new pieces of wood.
We shaved the damaged parts on this length,
then used an inlay. It's tedious work.
The timber has aged over the decades,
so it's hard to find something identical.
That's how valuable it is.
Through multiple adjustments, the carpenters labor to hide traces of their repairs.
Looking from here, it looks
almost like it did before.
Making the repairs imperceptible
is hard.
We get called because
we do this line of work.
We believe customers are pleased
with the extra effort.
Fine embellishment adorns antique wood.
Kirikane is an ornamental craft in which slender strips of gold leaf are adhered to surfaces to create delicate patterns.
These are the works of Yasukawa Mimari, born and raised in Kyoto.
A tub found lying about forgotten in a storeroom...
A discarded lump of wood...
Driftwood washed up on a beach from a distant shore...
Yasukawa reimagines old wood and gives it a new aesthetic using kirikane.
I thought I could express myself using the
contrast of rotted wood and lustrous gold foil.
Yasukawa majored in architecture at university.
Searching for ways to express herself, she was attracted to weathered wood as a medium.
I was fascinated with wood.
It held something different
to what I could express.
That's when my father told me about
kirikane, and I started learning the craft.
Kirikane arrived from China with the introduction of Buddhism.
In Japan, it further developed as a major method of embellishing Buddhist statuary.
The delicate, geometrical patterns of gold elevate the grandeur of Buddhist statues.
With this new method of expression under her belt, Yasukawa depicted wild flowers on pieces of timber she found discarded in vacant lots.
Her interest in decaying timber impelled her to travel domestically and abroad in search of driftwood.
After much searching, she returned home to Kyoto.
And, one day, she visited a local shop, which she patronizes to this day.
"Konnichi wa."
I shuddered
the moment I walked in.
Here I'd been to America and Okinawa,
yet Kyoto had what I wanted.
The shop stocks precious wood from around Japan and antique wood once used in historic temples and other buildings.
It's quite decayed, no?
You could display it vertically,
like a hanging vase.
Owner Murao Taisuke shows Yasukawa a piece he has been keeping for her.
It was salvaged during the major dismantling and rebuilding of the Buddhist temple Kairyuu'ou-ji in Nara, which was established 1,300 years ago.
Timber will decay and rot in time.
Many things from over 1000 years ago survive
through various incarnations, without disappearing.
I think their real value is the fact that
they actually exist in this day and age.
But it's not about being old.
Most important is the passage of time
and the beauty of its character.
In the worlds of architecture and art, antique timber refers to building materials that are reclaimed from temples, shrines, residences, and other buildings.
I'll take this.
The deteriorated appearance of each piece echoes the history of human use, and they are attractive for the fact that they are "one of a kind."
This is superb. I love it.
This machiya townhouse in the center of Kyoto was built around 130 years ago.
It is owned by the Tanaka family, who once dealt in sake and soy sauce.
They were fervent parishioners of a large Buddhist temple, which was razed by fire at the end of the 1800s.
In appreciation for their dedication toward its reconstruction, the temple presented them with top-quality wood which they used in their residence.
For example, the ceiling panels are Yaku cedar.
Yaku cedar refers to the ancient cedar trees growing on Yakushima - an island deep in Japan's south, where the trees are over 1000 years old.
They mature slowly, so their complex bark patterns have been admired and sought after for centuries.
Today, it is prohibited to fell the cedars of Yakushima.
The alcove pillar is Southern Japanese hemlock cut with straight, vertical grains on all four sides.
These pillars are the pinnacle of extravagance since they can only be cut from certain parts of enormous trees.
The alcove base is a single pine plank, 160 cm long and 95 cm wide.
The tree from which it was cut is said to have been more than 250 years old.
Wood materials that are hard to come by today speak of bygone eras in Kyoto's machiya.
The current head of the Tanaka family, Tanaka Takashi, wants to conserve the home, as is, for posterity, so he enlisted the assistance of an association dedicated to reusing timber.
The group was established 30 years ago with the mission of stemming the destruction of valuable old residences and machiya, as well as the disposal of their wooden fixtures and other building materials.
Our job is to assist owners of old buildings
in preserving and using them efficiently.
I feel that's of
the utmost importance.
The association's members, who are volunteers from all walks of life, check buildings for roof leaks, insect infestations, and other damage.
They then consider how best to repair and maintain the buildings.
Members include ordinary citizens,
carpenters, architects, and mountain owners.
We envision a society where all resources,
not just timber, are appreciated.
We work to connect people
with similar ideals.
With the aim of making these valuable cultural assets more accessible to the average person, the association put forward the idea of making the Tanaka residence a place
where art university students can interact and learn.
The students held an exhibition of original pieces based on their experiences at the residence.
One newly made kimono has a design inspired by a maturing tree.
Take the wood's grain.
I strongly feel that trees are
the fount of all vitality, all living things.
That's how I chose this kimono's
theme and motif.
The Tanaka residence also has a smaller house attached to it, which was built 110 years ago as a rental property.
Like the main house, Tanaka wanted to preserve the historic wooden structure, so it was fully renovated and is now used a tea shop.
The proprietor was introduced to the property by the association.
I strive to recreate the original atmosphere,
where possible. That has a calming effect.
This building is
about 100 years old, so it's ideal to repair it
with similarly old materials.
Takako is particularly taken by the floor.
She visited various machiya demolition sites and acquired these narrow, wooden floorboards.
The floors in old structures were installed without using adhesives, so they are easily removed and ideal for reuse.
The trays Takako uses to serve the tea and sweets are made from the building's original ceilings and shutters.
Weathered timber repeatedly dries and expands over time as it is exposed to changes in humidity.
Its grain is vivid, and it has a rich patina.
Even though we're in the middle of the city,
I want people to relax after they enter.
I want it to be somewhere they can enjoy
a cup of tea or something and take a breather.
Houses remain alive with constant use and people gathering, and the wooden interiors exude an inviting warmth.
This more-than-a-century-old machiya stands at the end of an alley.
-This door?
-Yes.
You're right. It catches.
Even after renovations are complete, Araki Isamu's company pays attention to each building's maintenance.
He visits clients at the change of seasons to check for defects.
Plywood would fix it,
but it'd be unsightly.
The fact that he does come to see it
gives me piece of mind.
Old timber buildings can be preserved for posterity
if the carpenter and the owner communicate.
Since days of old, Kyoto carpenters have supported people's lifestyles by making a point of regularly checking up on the houses they had worked on.
The Kidas decided to live in a machiya when they moved to Kyoto.
This is their second year in the house.
They purposely chose not to finish off the renovations with a coat of paint, so the repaired sections are plainly visible.
If we modernized this century-old house,
we would destroy it.
Its existence would cease
with our generation.
And we feel strongly against that.
I realize now that we are only one point
in time in the long history of the home.
The old wooden pillars and beams are a record of the history of those who had previously lived there.
The Kidas will leave their mark in the newly repaired sections.
In time, they hope to pass the house and its legacy down to their grown children.
Yasukawa Mimari is out, camera in hand, searching for inspiration in nature to apply to her next creation.
I'm all excited about
the great photos I just took.
I think it will be interesting to convey
the movement of these lines in gold.
It's hard to beat nature,
but I'm inspired by its beauty.
Back in her atelier, she starts work.
Working without a draft, she allows herself to be stimulated and prompted by the piece of antique timber.
The 1,300 years of time that weathered this wood are depicted in the sway of the grasses.
Another piece she worked on concurrently illustrates the silvery flow of water along the wood grain.
The beauty and dignity born from the fusion
of timber that has decayed over time- and this gold leaf glowing
in the candlelight,
has me wishing for peace
in these times we are living.
Reclaimed wood whispers rich narratives of time.
Kyotoites admire and perpetuate skills and values handed down through the generations.
Antique timber keeps this link to the past alive as everyone looks toward the future.