I am really interested in these sorts of spaces. In this case, these is an old brutalist office building in Kanazawa, Japan that was purchased in 2019 by artist Hiraki Sawa. The original intent was to turn it into a co-working space, but eventually the idea evolved into a hybrid "co-being" space that can be rented as a place to stay and/or as a place to facilitate creativity.

The space itself was left mostly raw and exposed, but neon movable walls were inserted by AB Rogers Design that allow you to configure the volumes as you'd like. What's interesting about spaces like these is that they enable play and experimentation. Maybe it also makes money, or maybe it doesn't. But that doesn't seem to be the main point.

The point is to empower creativity. And finding spaces to do this can be tough in competitive markets where demand is consistently outstripping supply. Oftentimes you need some slack in the system so that there's literal breathing room for new ideas, or rich people who can make it so.

Whatever the case, I am a believer that when given the opportunity, people will generally find a way to imagine and create. So if you happen to find yourself in Kanazawa and would like to book this space, which is called Fish Market, click here. Guests are being asked to submit a request explaining how and why they'd like to use the space.

It'll be fun to see what this leads to.

Photos: Takumi Ota via AB Rogers Design

We have spoken over the years -- here, here, and here -- about the centralizing and decentralizing forces that play out within our cities. Agglomeration economies, for example, are a centralizing force. There are real economic benefits to people and firms clustering together in cities.

However, there are also many decentralizing forces. Traffic congestion is one. And of course, the pandemic also proved to be a powerful one for many cities.

But the fact that we even have cities in the first place should tell you that the centralizing forces do tend to win out over the decentralizing ones. And a perfect example of this is Tokyo. Usually considered to be the largest metropolitan area in the world, Tokyo has about the population of Canada in one city region.

And here, the centralizing forces are so great -- even for families -- that the government actually pays people to relocate to places outside of Tokyo's 23 wards (and its immediately surrounding areas). Previously the maximum figure was ¥300,000 per child (~CA$3,056), but this has now been increased to ¥1 million per child (~CA$10,188).

A key driver of this is surely Japan's demographic problem (namely a shrinking and aging population base). But it doesn't change the fact that lots of people appear drawn to the world's largest city.

Japanese Metabolism was a post-war architectural movement that was based around the idea that cities and buildings should be able to grow and transform just like other organisms. There are other elements to the movement, but this was at its core. And perhaps the best example of the Metabolism movement was the Nakagin Capsule Tower in Tokyo (pictured above).

Constructed between 1970 and 1972, the 13-storey tower consisted of two structural elements and 140 self-contained / prefabricated capsules that were hung off the building's cores.

The original intent was that these capsules could be removed and replaced over time and that the building could evolve just like any other organism might. But that never really happened and, coming on the end, only about 30 of the 140 capsules were apparently still being lived in, with the others being used for various purposes, such as storage, or not at all.

And so after a whole lot of debate, the building was disassembled earlier this year, which isn't quite the same as a straight demolition. The pods were removed and then the core came down.

But a number of the pods have been salvaged. The architect's family took 4 pods and created an Airbnb retreat a few hours outside of Tokyo. And a longtime resident in the building decided to quit his job, acquire 23 of the capsules, and dedicate his life to now getting these things into museums and other commercial settings.

I don't feel like it's my place to comment on whether disassembling the tower was a good idea or not. But I do think there's something poetic about an icon of Metabolism having its capsules removed, restored, and then sprinkled around various places. Wasn't that always kind of the intent?

Photo by Roman Davydko on Unsplash