An unstable present, with a clouded future.

Designs that entwine with our memories root us in the present, providing comfort and calm.

Explore the beauty and potential of designs that are interconnected with memories.

Hello. Welcome to Design Talks plus, I'm, Andrea Pompilio.

And, I'm Shaula.

So Shaula, our topic this time is designs that interconnected with memories.

That's a good one.

We have a great guest today, let's meet our guest, architect Horibe Yasushi.

Hello.

- Welcome.
- Hello.

To start us off, I'd like to hear your personal take on designs that are interconnected with memories.

So, I have this idea that humans retain all sorts of...

...scraps of different memories, scattered throughout their bodies.

And it's here that I think architecture has a role to play: Experiencing an architectural space can help link all those disparate scraps of memory together, creating a circuit.

For me, that's the true power of architecture.

Let's take a look at some of Horibe-san's designs.

Since establishing his own architectural firm in 1994, Horibe has worked on over a hundred projects.

From restaurants and cafes...

to temples and ossuaries...

and even cruise ships.

His work is truly diverse.

But he especially enjoys designing houses.

He's built many homes around the core design concept of physical memory.

I don't have the ability to create something I've never seen or felt.

That's why I focus on physical memories of comfort and pleasure.

And I think my work is driven by the desire to recreate those physical experiences.

This home was designed around memories of color.

The dark reddish brown of the house's old walls and neighboring roofs.

This hue became a key color for the new house.

By using the color for certain structural features and window frames, the design creates a comforting familiarity.

Meanwhile the white walls of this modern home were inspired by the concept of ancient memories.

Pit houses are considered some of Japan's earliest homes.

A dim, circular room, with space for a fire.

Horibe wanted to recreate the sense of security that pit houses provided.

He designed a modern home in the same rounded style.

A single lighting fixture radiates the warm colors of a flame, stimulating our physical memories.

Why is Horibe so focused on physical memories?

This is the town of Hayama, on the coast of Kanagawa Prefecture.

This home stands in one of its quiet residential neighborhoods.

Horibe worked on it in 2021 for his parents.

The sturdy tiled roof and dark burnt cedar walls make for an impressive atmosphere.

The natural materials stoke a sense of nostalgia in Japanese visitors.

The hallway feels quiet and calm.

Wicker doors and "shikkui" plaster on the walls draw on historical Japanese designs.

This is the living room.

The bold use of cedar logs creates a pleasant dimness whatever the time of day.

Meanwhile, the house's large windows provide plenty of light where it's needed.

It's enormously relaxing to have a view of the outside in brightness while the viewer is in the dark.

It's all about how you shape that combination, how you create that harmony.

I'm influenced by Japanese temples when I design these structures.

The porch beside the kitchen is inspired by traditional "engawa" verandas.

A key part of traditional Japanese homes, "engawa" connect the outside to the inside.

Horibe's adaptation is a connection to distant childhood memories.

A home of physical memories that nurture a relaxed lifestyle.

It's very small but it's never claustrophobic.

It's very soft and welcoming.

This is the key to Horibe's home designs.

How beautiful.

I felt a real sense of nostalgia from that lovely house.

Why did you build that home for your parents in Hayama?

They lived on the 7th floor of a city apartment block.

In an apartment.

But they both came from a very different background.

When they were growing up, they actually lived in traditional Japanese houses, in the thick of nature.

So they spent most of their childhood surrounded by natural landscapes.

It seemed such a shame for them to end up in a 7th-floor apartment, cut off from all that.

Sure.

That drove me to want to create something for them.

I wanted to bring together the local environment, the climate, the history, and the community of Hayama and design something that would suit them perfectly.

Hayama is right on the coast, so I'm sure it gets lovely ocean breezes.

Very humid too.

Really!

Industrial products and artificial materials can't withstand the humidity, so I turned to natural materials instead.

You used those cedar logs for the living area, right?

They offer so many benefits.

For example, they absorb humidity, but they're also able to release it as well.

They also have a wonderful fragrance that many people find very relaxing.

And when used like that in a wall, they're quite good at absorbing sound, too.

Interesting.

These designs are about functionality first.

But I find that the pursuit of multi-functional materials almost always leads back to very familiar, nostalgic designs.

The house has an "engawa," like a porch?

That's right, yes.

With a traditional "engawa," you generally sit on the floor.

My parents are a bit too old to enjoy an "engawa" in this way.

So I reexamined the idea of an "engawa" through a modern lens, and adapted it to fit their lifestyle.

This is my modern interpretation.

I have very fond childhood memories of sitting on an "engawa" by myself.

It was a kind of personal safety zone.

I would observe insects, or draw pictures.

My memories of that space are very strong.

I think that's partly because it's a space without a fixed purpose.

A study is a place to work or read books.

The dining room is where we eat.

But in contrast to those rooms, an "engawa" lets you do whatever you want.

It's a very welcoming space.

It's inclusive.

It really is, yes.

And it's connected to the natural world.

It's out in the air, but it has a roof, so you're protected from harsh sunlight or rain.

It's a midway point between the building and the outside world.

Humans are products of nature, and I think we're programmed to react to that natural connection.

I feel like having a space like that, no matter how small it is, it helps to connect to the outside, giving you a stronger sense of the place being your own.

Without that, I find it hard to truly settle in to a place, or feel comfortable in it.

I agree.

Definitely.

I love the way you use light in your designs.

You often don't add many artificial fixtures.

That's true.

I feel that we appreciate brightness more when we look at it from shadow.

Light and shade create depth.

And I think this works to enrich our sensitivity a great deal.

I see.

I grew up in Hawaii and our home there was a little bit dark.

There are lots of trees around that cast shadows over the house.

My family dining room has a window that lets in all this light reflected from the greenery outside.

It's always felt like a very calming space to me.

It feels safe and secure.

And I'm sure your experiences living there must all come flooding back to you whenever you visit.

These spaces really do awaken memories.

I understand you've found inspiration in Japanese temples, is that right?

Playing with strong light and shade, and everything in between isn't really a technique I discovered.

It's something I grew up constantly experiencing, and that memory has never faded.

I was born and raised in Yokohama, near a large temple.

I played there all the time.

Whenever I was inside the expansive temple grounds, I always felt as though I was a part of the temple.

Like I was part of the temple's atmosphere, and the never-ending flow of time.

I think that memory is a fundamental part of how I create spaces, and how I think about an atmosphere or climate.

I realized years later that my roots lie in those experiences.

Interesting.

Next, an artist who connects memories through art.

An extraordinary, fantastical artwork.

This piece is actually made from glass.

It's the creation of Sasaki Rui, an up-and-coming artist who has won many prizes for her work.

From a series that uses light-absorbing, luminescent material...

to clothing woven from glass rods...

to a nest made by layering threads of glass.

Sasaki uses a wide array of techniques to explore the full potential of this material.

My work is visually diverse
but shares one theme.

I want to explore and capture
the familiarity of where I am.

That's been a driving
inspiration for all my work.

Recently she's begun focusing on works that incorporate plants.

There's a personal reason for that.

I studied in the US for about five years.

When I got back, I went
through reverse culture shock.

I'd lost all nostalgia for Japan.
A division of body and mind.

Connecting to plants and
using all my senses helped.

My memories grew new roots.

Plants are vital to my sense of self.

Plants helped Sasaki connect together old childhood memories.

She wanted to express that experience through art.

So, she chose to encase them in glass.

Plants absorb minerals
from the soil they grow in.

They use air and sunlight to photosynthesize.

They're a tangible sign of my memories
and the land's memories.

Glass felt significant to that discovery.

After 24 hours in a kiln, this is the result.

Plants that have lost their color and turned to ash.

The delicacy of the leaf's veins is clearly visible.

Along with countless air bubbles, caused by water evaporating.

The result is a memory of the plant, and of the land it grew in.

Strength, fragility, and an extraordinary beauty.

An artwork that lives on in the memory.

Sasaki's designs combine plants and glass to connect a host of memories.

So this piece we have here is "Subtle Intimacy".

How wonderful to see the real thing.

Yes. It was lovely in the video too, but...

It was, but it's special in person.

Wow.

You can see the air bubbles so clearly like this, up close.

They look like tears shed by the plant, don't they?

I wonder if this artwork also ponders whether the flora and fauna of today are living in the best possible environment.

That would be a very modern concern.

Perhaps, yes.

Maybe.

I noticed that nostalgia seemed to be a keyword for Sasaki-san's work.

You know when you see an old friend after many years, you both feel a kind of... swell of nostalgic fondness.

And you can't help but smile.

Right.

But we don't get that feeling of nostalgia from seeing something we don't want to.

That's true.

It's not there.

For sure.

Good point.

I think that nostalgia can be a very good sign of the emotions that matter.

It points us towards how we should feel.

Sasaki-san talked about losing that sense of nostalgia and familiarity as a division between mind and body.

Do you have any thoughts on that?

I think humans are driven to touch the physical.

We have this need to ground ourselves.

For Sasaki-san, the key element was plant life.

Getting in touch with nature, feeling that physical harmony is what allows her to connect with her memories.

The natural world has so much more history than any of us.

I can see how connecting with it would help stimulate our memories.

Let's take the example of trees.

The average tree can live much longer than any person.

You might feel this in a pine tree, or maybe a cherry tree.

But we can even feel this indirectly, for example with trees that appear in songs or paintings.

Our ancestors depicted these plants in all kinds of ways that all feel familiar to us.

I think seeing a plant raises echoes that remind us of all these complex and interlinked memories.

Nostalgia can often be something visual, but I find sound can be very stimulating as well.

The sound of wind chimes always makes me feel nostalgic.

Oh yes.

Probably because we had one in our house where I grew up.

When I hear it, I can almost feel a breeze.

It's nostalgic, and it also feels comforting.

Sounds can flick that switch too.

Definitely.

A tiny chime can set off a whole host of memories and emotions.

This is something that I find very interesting.

I feel like it reveals the depths of the human mind.

For sure.

It really makes you think about the connection between old customs and memories.

Let's meet a fashion designer bringing new value to old memories.

Leading Japanese fashion designer Nakazato Yuima.

In an age of fast fashion, his work carefully examines the platonic ideal of clothing.

He designs haute couture: utterly unique original clothes.

From glimmering film fabrics, to artificial recreations of spider-silk proteins, his work is cutting-edge, incorporating the latest technology.

Recently he's focused on a project that democratizes haute couture.

Very few people have access to
haute couture. It's unfamiliar.

I'm always thinking about
how to close that distance.

In 2020, Nakazato launched his 'Face to Face' project with the goal of making haute couture feel more familiar.

He takes a much-loved white shirt from a client.

Through online conversations, he unravels the memories the shirt holds.

Then he transforms the item.

Hello, I'm designer Nakazato.

- It's nice to meet you.
- It's a pleasure.

I inherited my mom's shirt.

I want to showcase that story.

Kimonos are inherited through generations.

I'd like the same for clothes.

Nakazato gets design hints from other places too.

Someone wore this for decades.

A simple gesture or expression
can bring these memories back.

All of that is important information.

He considers how the shirt was once worn, and the wearer's feelings towards kimono...

...as well as how the client will wear the item going forward.

This is the final result.

A casual yet elegant design with an obi belt as an accent.

We rarely share our memories with other people.

Yet they live in our clothes.
We have feelings for them.

Clothes are a construct
worn by human animals.

When we recognize that union,
we change our approach.

Designs that interconnect memories: Nakazato's exploration of the potential of haute couture continues.

So, Yuima-san has actually joined us on the program before.

What did you think of his Face to Face project?

I felt the heart of the project transcends the material.

Though I know nothing about fashion!

No, I think you're right.

Oh definitely.

That feels very similar to architecture.

My designs aren't about the memories of physical objects.

What I want to do is to access those memories as a way to speak to the heart.

My work is about how to best do that.

How to ensure my designs speak to the emotions.

There are definite similarities between you.

I think so, yes.

I feel as though, in some ways, the pandemic has prompted a real movement to return to traditional ways of life.

I think there are so many invisible threats: the pandemic, environmental issues, and wars everywhere.

People are deciding how to cope with that constant stream of information.

This is something that I think a lot of young people in particular are grappling with, subconsciously.

And it's possible that this struggle is leading them back to their memories.

They're asking themselves, who am I?

Where am I from?

That's what's driving these trends.

Finally, I'd like to ask you about your vision for the future.

What lies ahead for you?

I spent decades trying to create what doesn't exist.

To spin something out of nothing.

But more recently and moving forward, my designs will try to give shape to what already exists.

I don't just mean material, physical existence, although that's part of it.

I'm talking about our emotions, and our memories.

That's going to play a major role.

I think the notion of our lives having meaning, and the roles we play will become important themes as we design going forward.

I look forward to seeing more people tackle those issues.

I've really enjoyed our conversation today.

It's brought back some of my own memories.

I hope we can talk again!

Absolutely.

- Thank you for joining us.
- Thank you.

Thank you!