The Timeless Allure of Machiya: A Modern Revival in Kyoto
There’s something profoundly captivating about the way old and new collide in architecture, especially when it’s done with the kind of reverence Keiji Ashizawa brings to his latest project, Toune. Nestled in Kyoto’s Shimogyo Ward, this 120-year-old machiya isn’t just a holiday home—it’s a living testament to the enduring beauty of Japanese craftsmanship and a thoughtful dialogue between tradition and modernity.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how Ashizawa manages to preserve the soul of the machiya while infusing it with contemporary sensibilities. Machiyas, those narrow yet deep townhouses that once housed both shops and homes, are more than just buildings; they’re cultural artifacts. Their intimate scale, organic materials, and connection to everyday life make them a stark contrast to the impersonal, glass-and-steel structures dominating modern cities.
Preserving the Past, Embracing the Present
One thing that immediately stands out is Ashizawa’s commitment to retaining the machiya’s original details. The raised entrance, the tori-niwa passage, and the timber framework aren’t just architectural elements—they’re storytellers. Each piece whispers tales of a bygone era, and Ashizawa ensures these stories aren’t lost. Personally, I think this is where many modern renovations fall short. They often prioritize novelty over narrative, stripping away the very essence that makes a space unique.
But Ashizawa takes a different approach. He doesn’t just preserve; he enhances. By introducing hinoki cypress alongside the existing cedar and pine, he creates a seamless blend of old and new. The use of natural materials like plaster, washi paper, stone, and iron isn’t just a design choice—it’s a nod to the materiality that defines Japanese architecture. What this really suggests is a deeper respect for the past, a belief that the patina of time is something to celebrate, not erase.
The Art of Subtlety
In my opinion, the true genius of Toune lies in its subtlety. Ashizawa doesn’t force a contrast between old and new; instead, he lets the layers of time coexist harmoniously. The double-height central space, for instance, isn’t just a structural feature—it’s a bridge between the ground-floor kitchen and the living room above, both physically and metaphorically. It’s a space that encourages reflection, inviting inhabitants to pause and appreciate the interplay of light, shadow, and texture.
What many people don’t realize is how much thought goes into these seemingly simple choices. The neutral color palette, for example, isn’t just aesthetically pleasing; it’s strategic. The darker hues on the ground floor complement the aging patina of the house, while the lighter tones upstairs amplify the natural light. It’s a masterclass in how design can enhance the inherent qualities of a space without overpowering them.
Why Machiyas Matter Today
If you take a step back and think about it, the resurgence of interest in machiyas isn’t just a trend—it’s a cultural shift. In a world dominated by fast-paced, disposable design, these structures offer a sense of permanence and authenticity. Ashizawa himself notes that the appeal lies in their human scale and materiality, qualities that are increasingly rare in contemporary architecture.
From my perspective, this revival is also a response to our collective yearning for connection—to history, to nature, and to each other. The softness of wood, the warmth of washi paper, and the intimacy of the spaces create a unique sense of comfort that modern buildings often lack. There’s a richness in the way light filters through the timber framework or how the garden outside becomes an extension of the living space. It’s architecture that feels alive, deeply rooted in the rhythms of everyday life.
A Broader Trend in Kyoto
Toune isn’t an isolated project; it’s part of a larger movement in Kyoto to revive and reimagine machiyas. From shingle-covered teahouses to hotels inspired by traditional design, architects are rediscovering the value of these historic structures. But what makes Ashizawa’s work stand out is his ability to balance preservation with innovation. He doesn’t just restore; he reinvents, ensuring that the machiya remains relevant for modern living.
This raises a deeper question: Can we strike a balance between progress and preservation in our cities? As we tear down old buildings to make way for new ones, are we losing something irreplaceable? Ashizawa’s work suggests that we don’t have to choose. By thoughtfully integrating the past into the present, we can create spaces that honor history while meeting the needs of today.
Final Thoughts
As I reflect on Toune, I’m struck by its quiet elegance. It’s not a showy renovation; it’s a thoughtful reinterpretation. Ashizawa doesn’t just design spaces—he crafts experiences. Walking through Toune, you’re not just in a house; you’re in a story, a conversation between centuries.
What this project really suggests is that architecture, at its best, is more than just function or form. It’s a bridge between generations, a way to connect with our past while envisioning our future. And in a world that often feels disconnected, that’s a powerful thing.
So, the next time you see a machiya, don’t just see a building. See a legacy. See a philosophy. See a reminder that sometimes, the most innovative designs are the ones that look back as much as they look forward.
