Office landscape - design of Zenrosai Computer Center in Tama, Japan

Architectural Review, The, April, 1996 by Dana Buntrock

A new headquarters for a computer company located on the outskirts of Tokyo is a serene yet crisply honed synthesis of natural and man-made elements.

Tokyo, fast approaching a metropolitan population of 13 million, is known for its crowded trains, tiny offices and rabbit hutch housing. In response to these conditions, the metropolitan and national governments, have, for 30 years, promoted new development in outlying areas of the capital - with mixed success, as any visitor to the notable buildings by Maki and Isozaki in the city of Tsukuba might tell you. One area where redevelopment efforts have flourished is Tama New Town. This community takes in four small cities - Hachioji, Machida, Tama and Inagi - and is expected to reach a population of 400 000 by the turn of the century. The region enjoys rapid rail connections to the centre of Tokyo and a forested, undulating landscape not far from the Meijinomori Takao National Park.

Understandably, it is not only the residential population which has swelled; large offices and universities have also relocated to Tama in recent years. In this context, the Zenrosai Computer Centre at 21 350 sq m is actually a rather modest building. Designed by Dai'ichi Kobo, the new building allowed a labour union, the National Federation of Workers and Consumers Insurance Cooperatives, to combine and expand its computer and publishing activities. Tei'ichi Takahashi, the principal of Dai'ichi Kobo, saw the inherent beauty of the Tama area as crucial to making Zenrosai a place which could accommodate computer-based activities. Since the company's employees generally operate equipment alone, Takahashi feet that by drawing nature into the workplace he could create a more pleasant, humane and productive environment.

Locating public spaces at the top and bottom of the building, Takahashi uses gardens and the landscape to extend important interior areas where employees and public gather. The first floor coffee shop and lobby, as well as the basement gallery, are arranged so that they overlook controlled views - small gardens, a piazza and an artificial pond rather than adjacent houses and apartment buildings. The calm emptiness of these spaces lends a serenity to the building and creates a sequence of interiors that respond to the changing light and seasons. On the top two floors, an employee dining hall, an exercise room and meeting rooms are located adjacent to a rooftop terrace. Here, all sense of the building acting as a frame is removed; railings, where they exist, are slender steel cables, and wide planters only 200 mm high, surround part of the terrace, alleviating the need for railings to be used at all. A skilfully located planting bed, combined with large areas of mullion-free glass, establishes a connection between the dining hall and the surrounding landscape through an effect known as shakkei (or borrowed landscape) by which the hills appear to be an extension of the building.

Finishes are limited to a palette of concrete, travertine marble, aluminium panels and water. These are paired in various ways - the two artificial materials, concrete and aluminium, give the exterior a smoothness and precision appropriate to a computer centre. Inside, where concrete and marble are united, or aluminium is reflected in the flat surface of the central pool, the natural materials prove surprisingly effective in warming up their complements.

The evident skill displayed in handling the building's components - drawing a line smoothly first as a construction joint and continuing it as a panel joint or a thin sheet of marble - requires both experience and sensitivity. Takahashi, who has been a noted presence in Japan's architectural community since his award-winning design for Osaka University of Art in 1960, has perfected the use of concrete over many years and is well known for advocating that architects work cooperatively with contractors and labourers to achieve a refined solution. Takahashi also includes manufacturers in the design development process; here, he worked with the glass company Figula to develop a skylight sandwich panel with a honeycomb aluminium insert, now available on the market. This material is used over the basement gallery, filling it with a rich, diffuse light, while preventing direct sunlight from falling on displays.

Collaboration with the contractor also created the opportunity for key design decisions to be fine tuned on site. Takahashi feels that some areas cannot be worked out adequately in models and drawings, so adjustments are tested during construction. At Zenrosai, the entry sequence and the height of the penthouse were developed in this way. Making modifications at the points where the building meets the ground and sky, he establishes a sense that it is firmly rooted to its location.

Traditional Japanese architecture is understood to have strong ties to nature and context; unfortunately this is often less true of contemporary work. Perhaps influenced by the high degree of precision and the astonishing range of industrial materials available, the designs of many Japanese architects rarely include the warmth of wood or stone - so historically fundamental - and even gardens are rare. Through his design at Zenrosai, Takahashi has effectively made the argument that precision and warmth need not be antithetical, again challenging younger architects with his work.