IJsselmonde Pavillion for the Architecture
Month of Rotterdam Month
Rotterdam, Zuid-Holland, Netherlands//TU-Delft/Veldacademie//group project
Assambling process of the frame,
Assambling process of the frame, step 2
Assambling process of the frame, step 3
The 1st year’s fourth quarter for the Architecture and Urbanism students from TU Delft Bouwkunde is designed as an interdisciplinary experience, in which students from any track can enroll in a subject from a different one; in my case, I decided to take a taste of the famed Dutch Urbanism taking the Resilient Rotterdam subject, which was a partnership between TU Delft and the Veldacademie in Rotterdam, under the mentorship of Otto Trienekens and Andrea Fitskie. I was the only student from the Landscape Architecture track; my classmates, Thomas Bollen, Pooja Mishra, Yuequi Zhang, Rosalie Granata, Luca Van Loevezijn and Femke Snel belonged to either the Architecture or the Urbanism ones. The goal of the course was to build a pavilion in the main square of IJsselmonde, an extense windswept plain surrounded by the high and narrow Le Corbusier-esque buildings that plague South Rotterdam for the Rotterdam Architecture month; this constrained the design time to a single month, and to be focused in fast assembling and dissembling of the building; to speed up the process, a small contest was held at the beginning of the course and my classmate Poojah Mishra and I were chosen as the heads of the design. Another design constrain we soon found out was the political weather. The quarter started in May 2022, shortly after the beginning of the war in Ukraine and the rampant increase of the prices of several products and construction materials; this prompted our teacher Otto Trienekens to buy a large amount of plywood before the prices increased even further; moreover it limited us the amount of tools, building materials, etcetera that we could purchase with our assigned budget.
Assambling process of the frame, step 4
The project consisted of two elements. The first and main one was a pergola-like structure which was the actual pavilion building; due to the vastness of the square, I insisted repeatedly on making it as big, and, especially, as high as we could possibly make it, so to make a noticeable impact in the enormous square; to achieve this relatively big structure whilst still enabling a fast assembling and dissembling process and at the same time to make it lightweight, we resorted to a series of porticos whose construction details were carefully taken charge of alongside Luca Van Loevezi-
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jn, the head of the construction department. Now, we had to make it engaging. Appealing. To a degree, Instagram-eable. Worthy of Rotterdam’s Month of Architecture. I, with my newfound landscape architect sensitivity, also wanted to reflect the only natural presence in the square, that of the wind sweeping up the Maas River from the Northern Sea; the solution we came across was to fill the space between the pergolas with a dense succession of rows of ropes hanging from a net suspended from the beams; the ropes were leftovers from a nearby factory, and very different in colour; we selected the ones that were in the same colour scheme, including a group of tie-die like strings that we placed as the outer layer; when the wind blew through them, the colours faded into each other, creating an earie, subtle and somehow magical effect on the oversized and unengaging square that proved to be very successful amongst users, who loved walking through them.
This rope curtain also served to conceal the second element: a set of furniture pieces, stacket as a mass in the very core of the pergola, which was designed to enhance the activities that were already taking place in the area; seating for the elderly and a ramp for skateboarders and a large number of cube-like elements that could be combined and stacked together to create more sitting, tables and other elements that can foster play and interaction- something that, judging by the engagement of the locals during the opening, was indeed achieved.
The success of the project was such that, even after its dismantling, it was given a second life; three months after it travelled to Germany to participate in the IBA, for which it was rebuilt in the small town of Sundhausen, in Thuringia, where ita lso garnered the appreciation of the locals, whowould come and sit on its benches to have lunch or a beer.
I consider that this project, despite is small size, represented one of the steepest learning curves in my life, since I was involved in all the stages- design, construction, dismantlement, transportation- and it gave me a different taste of how “real” construction works, much different from my previous work experience in Spain.
Geographical situation
All Hallows’ Catholic church and cemetery in El Pozuelo megalithic
area
El Pozuelo, Riotinto county, Huelva, Spain//ETSAM// own project
This cemetery located in the Southern Spanish Municipality of El Pozuelo was first proposed to me as an academic exercise back in 2012 as part of a series of projects to be placed the region around the Río Tinto (Red River), a place renown for its mining history, as it is evidenced by the remarkable amount of megalithic burials. One of them is the Dolmen number 7 in El Pozuelo, which was given as the “starting point” of the project, being one of the best preserved in the area, likely because of being adopted by the successive peoples and cultures. (Pre-indouropean natives, Celts, Romans, Muslims and Christians). From the beginning I sensed the huge potential of this project as a landscape intervention, a sensation that was confirmed once I could see the actual site, but this was dismissed as“gardening” concerns by my professor at the time. However, it haunted me for years and in 2019 I decided to re-take the project. The project revolves around the dolmen-albeit not touching it- and the notion of the many valid backgrounds that conformed its undeniable allure as a sacred, spiritual place. Dolmens, despite its crude looks, were carefully and deftly built to face sunrise in significant religious festivities connected with the death, which in turn became the Christian festivity of Hallowmass referred in Spain as All Hallows, (1st November), with families flocking to cemeteries to honour the dead and decorating tombs lavishly with flowers. Given the nature of the Spanish climate, it is also usually one of the last
autumn days.
As a child, I loved holding my grandmother’s hand as we crossed the cemetery gates in All Hallows, a fairy-tale like realm of blazing flowers that seemed to burn in a colour wildfire and serene cypresses – the traditional Spanish cemetery tree-towering against the Castilian sapphire-blue sky. In an attempt to recreate this impression, and also as a tribute to the Celtic religion, which considered confined water bodies as an entrance to the Otherworld, the access to the cemetery is made through crossing an artificial lake, created by damming an existing streambed, and after that going uphill to reach the church, designed as another “Christian dolmen”, facing All Hallows noon’s sun-the time where religious services are usually held, a place of transition between the dead and the living resting on an esplanade of olive trees, a species of great significance in both the Roman and the Catholic religions; after crossing yet another water stream, one finally plunges into the realm of the death, a slow climb uphill marked by three stops: the monuments of the Gender-Based Violence Victims, of the Deceased Children and the Fallen in the Spanish Civil War, that finally connects with an existing path that heads up to the dolmen. The tombs, niches, pantheons and columbaria are all designed to have a “crude”, megalithic-like appearance and most of the original monte bajo (bush) vegetation is preserved, incorporating a series of non-indigenous species used in this project that reach their peak performancebe it by their flowers our fall foliage- around the late week of October and the first of Novem- ber in Southern Spain. Another remarkable spaces are the Miners Remembrance Garden, a maze of yew hedges enclosing vine-covered “halls”, inspired in the nearby mines’ galleries and the Ceremony Island, a small island in the lake with an amphitheatre to perform other public ceremonies outdoors.
Dolmen no7
warm
The graveyard section plays with the topography to create a number of levels and terraces where every tomb has its own pri- vate “chapel”. Taking advantage of the acidic soils, plants like azaleas and rhodo- dendrons, scarce in other parts of Spain, can be used. Together with other species and architectural elements, they work as natural screens that are pierced to allow certain views from some poits to other, as shown in the schematic plan below. This arrangement was inspired by the great 19th century English landscape architects such as Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown and Johnn Vanbrugh and their strategic placing of ‘eye catchers’.
The trees chosen for this project are largely
LEGENDA:
0-Dolmen no7
1-All Hallows’ Church
2-Auditorium’s stage
3-Graveyard reception plaza
4-Gender-based Ciolence Victims’ memorial
5-Deceased Children memorial
6-Monument of the Fallen in the Spanish Civil War
7-Back entrance and Monument to Rio Tinto’s story and Memory
A-Car Parking
B-Remembrance Island
C-Mine workers’ Memory Garden
D-Monumental Cross
Tombs and columbaria, crossection
native species in the Iberian peninsula; the foreign ones, such as Liquidambar or Gynko biloba,
Landscaping plan: trees
have a longstanding tradiion in the Spanish gardening. The bushes follow the same pattern as the trees, with a number of native
Landscaping plan: shrubs
spe- cies such as Genista or Cistus blending with foreign species that have proven themselves resistant and acdequate to the Southern Spanish climate, such as Rosa, Hortensia or Bouganvilla.
The two criteria for choosing these species were their resistance to the dry, sometimes almost arid Southern Spanish summer, and their ability to be showy in late October and early November, conciding with the festivity of Hallowmass, when the cemetery is believed to be the most visited.. The fact that most of these plants should not pose
important care problems has also been taken into account.
On the rocks: a breakable heaven
Guadarrama Mountains, historic region of Castile, Spain//TU Delft//Graduation project
The present design was my Graduation Project for TU Dleft Bouwkunde, which I did under the guidance of Professor Inge Bobbink and of Professor Ulf Hackauf. Professor Bobbink’s lab, aptly named Circular Water Stories is centered on the topic of water; but, within this framework, she gave us the opportunity to choose whatever location we found most appealing, encouraging us to choose a site in our home countries; consequently I chose a location in the area where I was raised.
The Guadarrama Mountains are a mountain range crisscrossing the Spanish highlands, dividing the historic region of Castile in two. This project explores the possibility of addressing the three main current challenges in the area (climate change, energy crisis and urbanistic disparity) and the complex relationship with the city of Madrid through a drastic landscape intervention in the water system.
Climate change has caused droughts and severe wildfires in the area, but also catastrophic floods and snow blizzards.
Geographical situation
These huge fluctuations take a toll not only in the site’s nature but also on the area’s reservoirs, which are the sole suppliers of drinking water for the city of Madrid, a factor that is enhanced by the fact that the largest reservoirs are in the lowest, more southern areas, and consequently endure a much higher evaporation than the small high mountain reservoirs, which hold water throughout the year but overflow in periods of heavy precipitation. This also has direct effects on the amount hydrological power that can be produced, which is also a critical factor for the city. Another side effect of the proximity of Madrid is the very unbalanced urbanistic development in the area; the towns that are in the
Section of the aqueduct
Section
canal
Diagram depicting the “new world” created by the project with old and new elements.
southwestern part of the site have greatly overgrown, thanks to the fast connection to the capital provided by a freeway and a railroad, whilst the northernmost part, which lacks of any comparable communications with Madrid, has steadily been losing population since the 50s. This is also reflected in the local economy, which has been historically based on cattle farming, stone quarrying and timber extraction; now the main drive in the southwestern part is (by large) the construction and real state industry whilst in the north one the depopulation prevents any kind of economic development; in both cases, the traditional activities are dwindling when not lost, leaving a valuable industrial heritage to decay, especially in the case of the stone quarrying sector.
The common leitmotif of all the three problems in the area seems to be unbalance; there is either too much water or too little, and the same can be applied to population. This unbalance is translated especially through a growingly different, but equally as deteriorated landscape, and can be understood as a lack of connection; which is something that can also resolved spatially. My proposal consists of an over 120km long waterway linking all the reservoirs and a plethora of intermediate water bodies- thus, allowing the redistribution of the water during the heavy precipitation events, as well as an additionally buffer area. This waterway can, depending on the topography, take the shape of either a canal or an aqueduct. Once the precipitation event is over, the water is pumped up to the old, abandoned quarries above the 900m contour line, where
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Existing canal (gravity)
Existing canal (gravity)
Existing canal (pumping)
Existing canal (pumping)
Existing reservoir
Existing reservoir
Proposed canal (0% slope)
Proposed canal (0% slope)
Proposed canal (pumping )
Proposed canal (pumping)
Dam = pumoing sta-
Dam+ pumping station/turbine
Diagram showing the connection of the different water bodies in the project and the pumping
the balance between precipitation and evaporation is 0 or negative, which will be used as the main water storage, so preserving the water during the dry spells. The pumping is powered through photovoltaic energy, provided by the urban tissue, which will undergo a drastic change.
Layout of the waterway
The existing towns in the western side will be reduced through its division in smaller towns through the demolition of intermediate sections and introduction of forest masses in their place, and by the enlargement of the existing reservoirs; in this way, not only the water would reach the source of pumping power, limiting the energy loses by transportation, but also allowing them to participate in the water system and adding a recreative value.
The inhabitants of the demolished parts will be relocated to new towns built in the lower altitude, larger quarries, which are also integrated in the pumping system. Its urbanism it’s a combination between the traditional Castilian towns and the new mobility trends. There are two sets of streets, a long, linear one that allows the circulation of electric vehicles- designed to fit a fire brigade truck. Another, perpendicular set of pedestrian-only streets where the bulk of the pumping is done through a series of cascading ponds allow for alternative routes. Squares are largely for pedestrians and modelled on the old Castilian towns, harbouring larger pools for water harvesting; the architectonic style is an expressionist rendition of the traditional stone houses. Connection between towns is provided by a cable car integrated in the waterway.
The farmland will also experience changes. The waterway is largely built in the existing farmland, so to compensate
Section of one of the pedestrian-only street in a quarry town, showing Rendering
showing the pumping
of one of the pedestrian-only street in a quarry town, showing Rendering of a harvesting-fishing pond in one quarry town
the farmers who have to give up some of their lands by giving them a bigger plot of farming land in the depopulated northern part, thus providing them with a summer and a winter pasture and allowing them to use the lands adjacent to the canal to travel from one to the other. This strip of land will also adapt to the flood-drought cycle; around the canal, there will be a floodplain that can be used as a water storage during heavy precipitation events, with the water slowly receding into the canal, a 15m-deep cut in the bedrock; some of the extracted rock shall be crushed into boulders which will be laid in the bottom of the canal, so, when the water level drops in summer, it is protected from the solar radiation, thus reducing the effect of evaporation. During this time, to keep the grass green during the cattle migration, water will be sprayed at nighttime from sprinkling towers. This strip of land will be planted so to create a continuous tree canopy that protects the grass from the excessive sunlight (what in Spain is known as a dehesa). The tree species are adapted to the water of the floodplain.
This will be completed with a new system of sewage water treatment that allows the extraction of methane -which will be used for boiling the milk, thus contributing to the farming recovery.
Section of the farmland
My parent’s house’s garden
Alpedrete, historic region of Castile, Spain//private comission//own project
This is doubtlessly, my most personal work. I started designing my parents’ house’s garden right after the house itself was completed, when I was barely ten years old. Back then, all my lore on gardening came from decoration magazines, which in turn were heavily influenced by Anglosaxon landscaping; thus, I first envisioned endless lawns dotted with tall deciduous trees such as beeches or linden, criss-crossed by winding paths, featuring rose gardens and ponds where grass would go down to the very water’s edge. Evidently, all these grand Capability Brown-esque schemes crashed, and quite heavily,
Paeonies in the swimming pool area
the local species- the evergreen, silver-leaved holly oak, the sticky rock rose with its paper-like white blossom in May, the fragrant wild lavender and rosemary- and almost a decade to learn which of the species so praised in the gardening books written by English gardeners for their rainy homeland would actually work in the sunny stone heart of Castille; no rhododendron or azalea would ever thrive in our dry- and water proof- lands, but I got to have my coveted rose garden, and although hydrangeas would practically be razed to the ground by the winter’s frostbite-just like Carthage by the Romans, my mother used to say- they would grow back and bloom in lovely
The pear tree at the start of its blooming season
Geographical situation
with the harsh reality of the dry Castillian climate and the stony soil- my town’s name, Alpedrete, comes from Latin “Ad Petrum”, which can be roughly translated as “(made) in stone”, and its renown for its granite quarries. It took me a couple of years to learn that the only way to succeed was to imitate the local natural spaces; shadowy woodlands crowded with bushes, rather than the neat, sun-kissed lawns in the British and American gardens featured in the magazines I loved so much. It took me even more to appreciate some of
Rosebud in under the Koelreuteria
shades of pallid blue, due to the acids in the soil, a by-product of granite’s slow decomposition. Camellias would be a perfect bet if placed in the shade and protected from the harsh northern windwe were actually the first people in our neighbourhood to successfully grow camellias-and, despite Japanese maples wouldn’t really progress, peonies and junipers would indeed give the desired oriental touch; besides, the latter proved themselves to be the best groundcovers, successfully overcoming the weeds, and would look lovely against the purple Berberis, which sort of made up for the northern-European dogwoods in winter. Trees from warmer areas, such as Koelreuterias and Liquidambars, would surprisingly feel at their ease in Madrid’s mountainside; our Liquidambar definitely gave a most welcome surprise when
it grew back after a windstorm ripped up its tip. But the greatest surprise came with our blue fir, which we bought when it was barely a meter and survived three different transplant operations; now, with its towering 4 metres, its easily the most beautiful Christmas tree in the area, albeit also arguably the hardest one to place Christmas decorations on. We even got to have a little lawn, although our fight against weeds remains as fierce as the first day. I also began to appreciate some foreign trees that had a longstanding tradition in Spanish gardening, and were part of my daily landscape; the big and ghost-like Lebanon cedars, which could come in shades of gray and blue; the short, stout and always lovely olive trees-although our olive production is, to this day, negligible and the tall and narrow, column-like cypresses that line up our cemeteries’ borders. And, of course, the fruit trees, especially those from the Malus, Pyrus and Prunus genera, which I consider the most versatile and useful kind of trees in Spain. In winter, they don’t block the sun, they have an impressive bloom in springtime, provides with a most needed shade in summer, when they also start to bear fruits; and, in addition, most of them have great fall foliage. And that, surprisingly, some palm species do withstand our bitter cold winters. Another of the highlights of the garden is the swimming pool, which is inspired in the region’s mountain lagoons- with deep aquamarine tiles and featuring granite-stone rocailles with waterfalls. The swimming pool specifically was published in a specialized magazine about pools
All in all, I consider this garden to be my great experiment in the field of landscaping; the one that has suffered my inexperience and the one that has rewarded me for my devotion every passing year; also, the one thing that convinced me to pursue a landscape architect career.
‘Koster’ fir with Christmas decorations
The natural rocaille,
View from the front porch
View
Lawn with pear
rocaille, snown
View from the living room’s window
pear tree in springtime
View of the entry path
Geographical situation
When the 2020’s Dubai Wold Expo was announced, the world beheld it works with impatience, as this was designed to be one of the grandest and most lavish world Expo ever seen. People from all over the globe started getting ready for the six months of opulence and unrivalled splendour fuelled by oil revenues-as the expo would be lasting from October 2019 to May2020. Little did we know that a pandemic outbreak would sweep away all those visages of magnificence in the very year when it was to be held. However, all that dreams of stately grandeur are not lost, as, rather than been cancelled, the expo was just postponed to 2021.
Situation of the domes withinof the pavilion
The plants were chosen based on their resistance to the hot, humid Arabian winter-which is, on average, hotter and more humid than the Spanish summer- and their availability, which was a matter of great importance since the Emirate, like every other Arab county have a very recent and still undeveloped gardening tradition and infrastructure - and so, reliable literature or any other information sources are virtually non-existent. We were to get whatever was there, to put it plainly. So, the intervention was based in the extensive of use of the few available plants that had proven-through empiric experience- both the examination of the existing particular Dubai gardens and placing on site. Another problem was the imposing presence of the colours used in the exterior PVC enveloping, which dye he space in a deep orange.
Landscaping for the domes no 8 and no 14 in the Kingsdom of Spain’s pavillion for the 2020 Dubai’s World Expo
Dubai, Emirate of Dubai, United Arab Emirates// State comission//own project
Exteriors of the pavilion (courtesy of Amann, Canovas & Maruri
The Spanish pavilion, designed by the Madrid-based studio Temperaturas Extremas, formerly known as Amman, Cánovas & Maruri, is likely going to be one of the biggest and most outstanding highlights of the exhibition. The architects-one of them my former Artistic Drawing professor at the ETSAMwere very concerned about the pavilion being eco-friendly and sustainable, and as green as possible, including in their project two “vegetal domes”, this is, two spaces with ceilings formed by rings of plants. The greatest challenge was to overcome the imposing geometry of the circles, and to “naturalize” them somehow, which, in my opinion, involved the need of “uncircling” them, and also how to reinforce the buildings’ message. After all, it was a national pavilion, which aims to reflect and highlight all the virtues of the country that is representing.
Testing of the plants in the pavillion
Romerías are yearly traditional Roman Catholic religious festivities that happen all over the country. They are generally held in May and consist in a short-distance pilgrimage to a chapel or shrine where the statue of a saint, or, more usually, Virgin Mary, is kept. Besides the strictly religious celebrations, such as masses and processions, the participants often engage in other festive activities, such as singing or dancing, with romerias being considered a remarkable valuable source for anthropologists researching on traditional folklore, music and dances. Another typical activity in romerías is having a communal picnic in the shrine’s surroundings, which are typically placed in the countryside. Provided that this dome is to cover the restaurant’s outdoor terrace, I felt like it was only fit bringing this atmosphere to the diners; the peaceful, easy feeling of a large meal amidst grasses and poppies, feeling the breeze moving the branches of the holly oaks above and the perfumed scent of the blooming rockroses. To better recreate this feeling, I have used the four levels in the structure to represent the different layers and planes of closeness; the uppermost one represents the trees; here, White bouganvilleas are to be provided with a branch-like structures, in order to give a glipse of the willowy Spanish holly oaks. The tree area extends down to the lowest level, as to symbolize younger trees which aren’t tall enough yet to measure up to their predecessors. Here, wild bushes such as the fragrant rockrose, represented by the not-less fragrant Spanish Jasmine- wild lavender, Spanish broom- symbolized by the yellow bouganvilleas- mingle with the moss-covered rocks expressed by ground-covering asparagus (Asparagus densiflorus sprengeri).; from other, sun-exposed rocks represented by the White-and-purple tradescantia zebrina, sprout the first grasses, (Pennisettum setaceum). Finally, the lowest level intends to give off the sensation of being in a Castillian meadow in May; wild wheat (represented by the very similar indigenous Pennisetum) mixes with a variety of flowers represented by English lavenders .A cascading waterfall links the four levels, its water represented by the deep blue Ipomoea flowers against the surf of the white bouganvilleas in the background.
Besides from trying to bring to this far-away land such a typical Spanish scene, other considerations have been taken into mind for this design. Some are as equally symbolic, trying to highlight the cultural links between the Spanish and Arab cultures- some of the species chosen have a long tradition is the Moorish gardening- such as the jasmine , others can be easily found in both countries, like bouganvilleas or to refer to the gastronomic character of the space below- wheat is very much the basis of the Spanish cuisine- whilst others are mainly practical, since the shade conditions are very diverse depending on the specific location in the dome where a plant is to be placed.
Diagram showing the different habitus of plants (climber, upright, shaped into trees)
Diagram showing the different pot sizes
Asparagus densiflorus sprengeri
Bouganvillea glabra ‘Snow White’
Bouganvillea spec- tabilis ‘White Stripe’
Bouganvillea glabra ‘California Gold’
Ipomoea indica
Jasminum grandiflorum
Jasminum sambac ‘Grand Duke of Tuscany’ Lavandula angustifolia ‘Royal Purple’
Bouganvillea glabra ‘California Gold’
Tradescantia zebrina
Muqarnas known in Iberian architecture as Mocárabes, is a form of ornamented vaulting in Islamic architecture. It is the archetypal form of Islamic architecture, integral to the vernacular of Islamic buildings. The muqarnas structure originated from the squinch. Sometimes called “honeycomb vaulting”or “stalactite vaulting”, the purpose of muqarnas is to create a smooth, decorative zone of transition in an otherwise bare, structural space. This structure gives the ability to distinguish between the main parts of a building, and serve as a transition from the walls of a room into a domed ceiling. The muqarnas domes were often constructed above portals of entry for the purpose of establishing a threshold between two worlds. The celestial connotation of the muqarnas structure represents a passage from “the functions of living, or of awaiting eternal life that is expressed by geometric forms.”When featured in the interior of domes, the viewer would look upward (towards heaven) and contemplate its beauty. Conversely, the downward hanging structures of the muqarnas represented God’s presence over the physical world.
Besides, muqarnas where often used in the reception halls and antechambers of the Spanish Moorish’ kings palaces, as most of the surviving examples can attest. This “threshold” feature about them is considered very fitting for dome 8, as it is the atriums’ previous space- an antechamber for a throne room, the last “air world room” before the descend to the “earth world” of the gallery and the theatre. The poliedric, paper-like cascading flowers of bougainvillea are considered to be uncannily similar to the geometric, yet organic shapes that compose the muqarna; to imitate their depth-like effect, two shades-a lighter and a darker one have been used. However, the author considered that the representation of how muqarnas look like today was far more sincere and realistic than the mere vegetal rendition of how they were in a distant past; that’s why he colours chosen for bougainvillaeas were relatively tame-magentas and pale pinks- to reflect the sun’s and time bleaching effect- leaving the much darker tradescantias as remains of the original-or, most times, 19th century restorations-painting.
Diagram showing the different habitus of plants (climber, upright, shaped into trees)
Diagram showing the different pot sizes
Asparagus densiflorus sprengeri
Lavandula angustifolia ‘Royal Purple’
Tradescantia pallida
Diagrams showing the different pot arrays and their placing
Bouganvillea x ‘Miss Universe’
Pennisetum setaceum
Furniture and interior design for a Japanese restaurant
Madrid, historic region of Castile, Spain//academic project//own project
The idea for this projects comes from my fascination with the Japanese culture, specifically of its furniture; and since most Westerns are introduced to the Japanese culture through the gastronomy, I decided to use this opportunity to study the process of how a Western immerses himself, step by step, into the Japanese culture, until he is able to fully appreciate it in all its beauty.
Is furniture capable of guiding us from our Western world and mindset to a reality as different as the Japanese one? is the premise of the exercise. The restaurant is organized into three zones: a Western area, where the reception and a bar are located; from there, you move to the transition zone, dominated by sideboards and display cabinets showcasing Japanese ceramics, along with low furniture designed to support plant elements, such as bonsais, cut cherry branches, or ikebana arrangements. This leads to the Eastern area, where the dining room is located, featuring tables separated by screens. These tables, along with very low chairs, although not as low as traditional Japanese chairs—which would require kneeling to eat, a posture many would find unacceptable—still create the effect of being further from the
Geographical situation
Axonometric of the restaurant
ceiling than usual. An effort has also been made to keep the walls as free of furniture as possible, allowing for the display of scrolls with Japanese miniatures and calligraphy, or prints depicting iconic Japanese landscapes, or even Zen-style compositions with natural elements. This immerses the customer in a Japanese atmosphere, allowing them to enjoy a brief journey to the East.
The West:
This area corresponds to the entrance and the bar zone. Upon entering, the customer first encounters the maître’s desk, made of wenge wood; to one side, there are coat and hat racks. Once the maître d’ has noted the number of diners and any other requests from the customer, they are directed to the bar, where they will be served a snack while their table is prepared. The bar is dominated by a powerful wenge counter with a steel top, backed by shelves made of perforated steel with wooden and glass doors. In front of it, there is a row of steel stools. Additionally, there are steel cocktail tables if the customer prefers to have their appetizer away from the bar. The choice of materials and forms is intended to create a familiar environment for the Westerner, while beginning to introduce certain Japanese concepts. For example, the use of steel tubing in the furniture is intended to reinforce the Western aspect of the bar, as this material is used exclusively in Western furniture. However, the dark wenge wood flooring with clear and bold shapes, preferably parallelepiped, is common to both Western modernity and Japanese tradition. The most Western element, the bar, takes on a somewhat natural character, resembling rock (alluding to Japanese Zen gardens) with a less parallelepiped and more robust form.
Interior of the bar area
Details of different furniture elements in the bar (West)
The Transition:
When the moment arrives, a waiter comes to escort the customer; the table is ready. Past the bar, the customer enters a sort of hallway composed of two fundamental elements: wenge wood shelves with African whitewood or glass doors , displaying Japanese ceramics and crafts objects, and low tables made from the same shelves turned ninety degrees, also in wenge wood. Depending on the season and festivities, various plant arrangements can be found here: bare bonsai branches, blooming cherry blossom branches, ikebana arrangements, etc. This area’s lighting is softer and more yellowish, with darker colors and the lush vegetation preparing the senses and mind of the customer to open up to the new and unexpected dishes they will enjoy at their table.
The materials aim to gradually introduce the customer to the Eastern world: African whitewood wood was preferred over other similarly colored woods like cherry or birch, properly varnished, because it’s a tropical wood. While not the entire Japanese archipelago enjoys a tropical climate, tropical woods are unconsciously associated by Western-
ers with exoticism and distant lands. Metals give way to more natural materials: wood and glazed ceramic, taking shapes that are bold and parallelepipedal, but without the lightness of Western furniture. Their lower height begins to introduce the idea of a world where proportions are different. The Western “vertical” concept of sideboards (as seen in classic boiseries where classical orders articulate the composition in vertical stripes, cutting through elements) is contrasted with the Eastern horizontality, where horizontal lines break and cut vertical ones without continuity. The sideboard here is also composed to imitate Japanese tokonoma. Not less important in this part of the restaurant is the vegetation; its introduction may surprise Westerners in a transitional space like this, but in Japan, vegetation in any form (bonsai or arrangements) is present in all public and domestic spaces. Furthermore, the well-known cherry blossom flowering is de-banalized; for Westerners, it’s little more than a picnic snack. Here, as they traverse the hallway populated with blooming cherry blossom branches, the customer experiences the “immersion in flowers” beloved by the Japanese, acquiring a mood similar to that before a meal.
Details of different elements of the screen in the transition area
Details of different screens in the transition
Interior of the transition area
The customer is led by the waiter to their table, entering a small private area enclosed by wenge and African whitewood wood screens with lattice work. Here, the lighting is golden and the furniture is low; a dominant feature is a modular wenge wood table, with a curious box in its center where the customer will place their payment and tip, following Japanese etiquette which dictates that money should never be left in plain sight when paying, as it may offend the establishment owner. Both the tables and chairs are notably lower than usual, yet upon sitting, the customer discovers they are no less comfortable than regular chairs, compensating for their height with greater depth (similar to how a sofa is lower than a chair but not less comfortable). The chairs are all different from each other, as uniformity is a Western virtue; in the East, the value lies in the uniqueness and individuality of objects (contrary to individuals). Once sitting in these chairs, much further from the ceiling than usual, the customer can finally enjoy the flavors of Japanese cuisine in an environment close to where they originated, and in a mood perfectly suited to appreciate them, thanks to the transition they have undergone from their own world. Now, seated in front of Kyoto porcelain tableware, savoring the finest Japanese delicacies, they are in the fullness of their journey to the East. In this part of the restaurant, forms are always continuous, and except for the screens, there are no breaks or right angles. While Japanese furniture rarely lacks edges to such an extent, it is clear that Japanese carpenters aimed for seamless continuity across all surfaces. Since methods for bending wood were not developed until the 19th century in Europe, Japanese carpenters employed strategies like invisible joints, the use of a homogenizing varnish, and minimizing the number of corners. The tables consist of separate legs and boards that interlock with hidden steel joints, allowing them to be expanded or shortened depending on the number of people seated at the table. They are designed so that no one sits at the head; in ancient Japan, dining hierarchy was established differently, using various tables, and no one ever sat at the short side. As mentioned, the chairs are all different, with five distinct types. Both tables and chairs are made of dark wenge wood. The modular screens also feature a joint similar to that of the tables, adding warm touches of color with African whitewood wood panels. Expect golden-toned lighting that enhances the wood’s features.
Interior in the dinning area (East)
Intersection of the dinning area (East) and the transition
Details of the chairs in the dinning area (East)
