Nori
Architects

When people hear the word “nature,” many imagine untouched forests or beautiful scenery. However, I include human beings—and the buildings and cities they create—as very much a part of nature. Within that framework, I believe the ideal relationship is one in which the presence and activity of humans actually enrich the natural environment, much like the concept of satoyama in Japan, where humans and nature coexist symbiotically.

Satoyama refers to a landscape in which people live and responsibly use local resources, helping to maintain and even enhance local vegetation and ecosystems. By cultivating fields, building homes, and engaging in daily activities, humans and the environment interact in a way that leads to a better overall state. I hope we can reproduce this reciprocal relationship in architectural and urban design.

I see modern cities developed after the Industrial Revolution as environments often inhabited sole­­ly by humans. Yet, in reality, every material used to build these cities is extracted and processed from somewhere on Earth, meaning there is an inherent connection to nature and the planet. I believe the ideal form of architecture or urban design should enable residents to feel connected to nature and the Earth on a daily basis.

For example, buildings can be designed to actively harness sunlight and wind. This doesn’t mean dismissing modern tech­nologies like steel, glass, or concrete; in­stead, it calls for reconsidering traditional materials like soil, wood, stone, or even the land that can often be sourced from the local environment. While it is essential for buildings to meet certain performance requirements, they should not come at the expense of severely damaging the land or undermining its health. In addition, buildings and cities should be designed to coexist with non-human life forms—plants, animals, and microorganisms—so that people can always remain aware of their connection to the natural world.

If architecture and cities can be designed to let us feel this connection to nature and the Earth, we humans are less likely to become complacent or arrogant. Instead, we are reminded to reconsider our values and strive for a more harmonious coexistence. Ultimately, this could transform how we live as human beings. That is the most desirable approach to architecture and urban design.

We live in the so-called Anthropocene, an era in which the Earth’s environment is in crisis, so it is imperative to redirect the course of science and technology. Specifically, we need to refocus our technological efforts on designing and reimagining how we connect with nature and the planet.

“Traditional knowledge” offers a valuable hint in this regard. Before modern times, people lacked powerful machinery and vast energy resources, which meant they had to rely on living in harmony with nature and thus accumulated a wealth of wisdom about it.

There are many remarkable examples, from the layout of villages and the construction of traditional houses to how resources circulate within a region. However, replicating these approaches superficially in the modern era is insufficient. It is crucial to use advanced tools such as environmental simulation and computer analysis to thoroughly understand and integrate traditional knowledge into contemporary practice.

Take sankyo-son (dispersed settlements) as an example: They were designed to holistically manage rice fields, residential dwellings, and defenses against strong coastal winds, aligning natural conditions with human livelihoods. Today, we can employ modern simulation techniques to scientifically evaluate and rediscover such insights. Similarly, we can now safely use wood as a structural material with the help of modern fireproofing and strength-testing technologies, and we can rigorously assess soils and stones.

In the past, stone-retaining walls allowed wa­ter and air to flow without obstruction, whereas concrete walls often block these flows entirely. By revisiting these traditional methods and applying digital tools to meet contemporary standards, we can broaden our ability to restore our connection with nature. Through such processes, we can realize an architecture and urban environment in which humans and nature coexist.

I consider “Earth” here nearly synonymous with what I’ve been referring to as “nature.” It’s essential to create places where people can physically experience the land itself, which means using existing terrain while also working to regenerate it and entire ecosystems. When visitors arrive at such sites, they can truly “play” with the Earth—engaging with the land on a tangible level. To me, this encapsulates the essence of “Play Earth.”

Because landscapes and forests are always in flux, designing spaces where people can perceive these subtle changes is another crucial aspect of “Play Earth.” If changes in light, wind, and other natural phenomena can be experienced as delightful and engaging, those ex­periences become all the richer.

As for “Naturing,” I interpret it as actively designing environments where people can connect with the light, wind, land, and non-human life forms around them. It goes beyond merely touching or observing nature; the more people play and participate in activities in these spaces, the more the environment can be rejuvenated, creating a regenerative cycle. By fostering such regenerative approaches, we aim to build places where individuals can engage actively with the Earth, appreciate the benefits and changes it provides, and find genuine enjoyment in that exchange.

We aim for this plaza to be where people can truly sense their connection to nature. Visitors can feel like they are strolling through a forest in the entrance area and shops. We have also designed staircases and terraces that use the site’s natural elevation differences, allowing people to feel integrated with the Tonami Plain’s landscape. Additionally, a piloti space beneath the building extends into the garden, creating an open, flowing area that softly connects the interior and exterior. Throughout the architecture, we incorporate “surrounding natural resources”—light, wind, rainwater, soil, and wood—to achieve harmony with the environment.

Although this is a mid-sized building, we have chosen wood construction to reduce environmental impact and highlight local materials. Timber from Toyama Prefecture is used for the structural framework, interior finishes, and furniture, enabling the entire space to forge a strong bond with the region. Furthermore, the timber structure itself takes on a form reminiscent of a tree trunk branching outward, aiming to let visitors experience something akin to the rhythms and growth processes found in nature.

We have also embraced the “Living Building Challenge” principles, aiming for zero energy and zero water consumption through renewable energy. With the building functioning as an inte­gral part of its surroundings, we have devised an approach to groundwork, foundations, and exterior design that allows the land to regenerate without harm, creating an environment where diverse life forms can coexist. We are actively collaborating with local communities to establish a network of resource circulation, thus fostering a sustainable relationship between people and place.

Through this design, we hope to create a space where visitors can feel the wind, perceive the shifting quality of light, sense the rainwater cycle, and engage with local wood, soil, and plant life. In doing so, they can discover the joy of being connected to nature and become more aware that they are part of the broader environment. Rather than treating nature as a mere backdrop to be consumed, the aim is to live in harmony with it, nurture it, and regenerate it. Ultimately, we hope this plaza will become part of that cycle and serve as a vital cornerstone for the regeneration of the environment.