Since founding his Tokyo-based practice, the architect Akihisa Hirata has explored buildings as evolving environments rather than fixed objects, creating spaces where people, plants, animals, light, wind, memory, and culture can overlap. From Tree-ness House in Tokyo to the Museum of Art and Library, Ota, his work challenges the conventional boundaries between inside and outside, public and private, architecture and landscape. At the heart of this approach is what Hirata describes as an “Entangling Base”: an ambiguous, interwoven margin where different forms of life and activity can meet, interact, and transform one another.
This ethos goes beyond his built work into his exhibitions and ongoing research into how architecture can respond to a changing world. In his recent exhibition “Architecture Arises at the Water’s Edge for Humans,” Hirata examined the unstable boundary—or “shoreline”—between humans and nature, asking audiences to reconsider the assumption that the two exist separately. As his practice moves forward, he is increasingly interested in architecture as something “biological”: adaptable, responsive, and capable of generating new relationships over time.
Hirata shared with Whitewall the origins of his philosophy, the influence of Osaka, Kyoto, and Tokyo on his practice, and how architecture might help us rethink the ways we live together in increasingly complex cities.
Architecture Tied to Nature
Courtesy of Akihisa Hirata.
WHITEWALL: Your work has a deep connection with nature, where buildings grow from and within context rather than just appear in it. How did this first emerge in your practice? Why is it still central to your firm today?
AKIHISA HIRATA: For me, nature is not something external like so-called “greenery” or “landscapes,” but rather the entirety of the behavior of living beings, including humans. This idea crystallized during a period when my experience at Toyo Ito & Associates overlapped with the deepening of my own thinking. At that time, architecture tended to be positioned as an “artificial object” opposed to nature. Yet in reality, architecture also behaves as a material within the environment, changes over time, and interacts with other entities. Rather than “placing” architecture, “generating it as part of the environment”—that perspective is the starting point of my practice. It is evident, for example, in my first work, the Masuya. The reason this idea remains central today is that no matter how sophisticated cities become, the fact that humans are living beings does not change. Architecture must not evade this fact. Rather, I believe it should confront it head-on.
“Architecture also behaves as a material within the environment…”
—Akihisa Hirata
WW: You’ve described architecture as a space of “interwoven gaps”—something you call karamarishiro—where human, plant, animal, and cultural histories co-exist. How does that idea play out, from sketch and draft to the actual project?
AH: “Entangling base” refers to the margin where different entities intersect, where function and meaning are not unambiguously defined. Humans, plants, animals, light, wind, memory, culture—I consider the state where these simultaneously exist and interfere with one another to be the essential richness of architecture. In the early design stages, rather than first organizing uses or programs, I explore through sketches and models “what kinds of beings might inhabit this space and what activities or endeavors they might undertake.” Within this process, I deliberately create overlapping, ambiguous spaces to prevent circulation paths and structures from becoming too rigidly fixed. In the final architecture, this “entanglement” materializes as structure, material, and scale. More important than the moment of completion is the very process of being used, nurtured, and transformed.
Indoor-Outdoor Living
Courtesy of Akihisa Hirata.
WW: Many of your recognized projects—like Tree-ness House in Tokyo—blurthe boundaries of inside and outdoors. How do you balance enclosure and openness when working in a dense urban environment?
AH: In cities like Tokyo, the binary opposition of “open/close” is no longer sufficient. What I am conscious of is opening partially, incrementally, and multi-layeredly. In “Tree-ness House,” rather than clearly separating indoors and outdoors, I created semi-outdoor areas and spaces where plants could intrude throughout. By allowing sightlines, breezes, sounds, and sensations to flow gently back and forth, psychological openness emerges even within physically dense spaces. What matters in the city, I believe, is not total liberation, but how carefully we can create “breathing spaces.”
WW: Projects like the Art Museum & Library, Ota, and the Center of Yatsushiro Folk Performing Arts have become institutions and landmarks beyond their programs. How do you consider community when you’re designing cultural buildings for the public?
AH: When designing public buildings, I prioritize “everydayness” over “symbolism.” I consider whether people can stop by, linger, and reconnect without needing a specific purpose. At the Museum of Art and Library Ota, by layering the distinct institutions of a museum and library, we aimed to create a space where stillness and movement, expertise and everyday life intersect. For the Dendenkan, I consciously designed a structure where the folk performing arts rooted in the community permeate the building’s interior. I believe community is not something “created” through design, but rather something for which the conditions are prepared to allow it to emerge.
“I prioritize ‘everydayness’ over ‘symbolism’…”
—Akihisa Hirata
WW: Your recent projects, like Maebashi Galleria and HONTOKA, continue to weave living, commercial, and community spaces together. What new questions about urban life are you asking in this phase of your practice?
AH: The question I pose at Maebashi Galleria and HONTOKA is: To what extent must life in the city be compartmentalized? Living, working, shopping, gathering—does the modern urban structure that strictly separates these truly align with our biological sensibilities? Couldn’t urban life become more flexible if different activities blended together more seamlessly? I believe architecture is both the vessel that allows this blending and the catalyst that enables it.
Influence From Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka
Courtesy of Art Museum & Library, Ota and Akihisa Hirata.
WW: How did your upbringing—being born in Osaka, studying in Kyoto, working in Tokyo—influence the way you approach architecture?
AH: The diverse energy of Osaka, the layered history of Kyoto, and the vitality intertwined with Tokyo’s topography. These three urban experiences constantly overlap within me. Growing up as an insect-loving boy in the suburbs of Osaka, I felt architecture should bring us closer to the natural environment. Tokyo’s vibrant cityscape reinforced that intuition. Lately, I’ve become increasingly curious about architecture’s role over long periods of time, and Kyoto’s sense of history may be connected to that.
WW: You’ve also curated exhibitions about architecture’s role between humans and nature—most recently with “Architecture Arises at the Water’s Edge for Humans.” Can you tell us more about putting together a show about this? What was the most important message for you to share with the audience?
AH: This exhibition emphasized not presenting architecture as a “finished work.” The unstable state where the boundary between humans and nature fluctuates—I call this the “shoreline.” Through models, drawings, videos, and words, the exhibition showed how architecture is reconnecting with its environment. What I wanted to convey to the audience was the extremely simple fact that humans do not stand outside of nature.
WW: Are there similarities between curating an exhibition and creating architecture?
AH: They share many commonalities. I believe both are acts of “initiating thought through space.” Exhibitions are spaces that can pose questions more immediately than architecture, while architecture is a device that embeds questions into society over a longer period of time. They differ only in scale and timeframe; fundamentally, they are the same endeavor.
WW: What questions—about climate, materiality, community, or how cities might evolve—are you asking in your practice today?
AH: What I am currently deeply conscious of is the question: To what extent can architecture be “biological” Climate change, resources, community transformation, urban aging and regeneration. I believe architecture should not provide fixed answers to these challenges, but rather remain an entity that continually responds to change. Transforming architecture from a “device of control” into a “place where relationships are continuously generated”—an Entangling Base. I consider this shift to be the core of future practice.
