How can we bring once-forgotten homes back to life? Naoshima and the Blue House are two stories about revitalising and repurposing nearly-abandoned homes that give hope in an environment of intense industrial and urban development.
Naoshima, Japan
A small island of Japan’s Seto Inland Sea, Naoshima grappled for years in the aftermath of an industrialisation boom and population decline. Today it’s a renowned art island, thanks mainly to the Benesse’s Fukutake family and the internationally recognised architect Tadao Ando — a champion of the coexistence of architecture, art and nature.
In the early twentieth century, when cities worldwide experienced massive technological advancements in manufacturing, Naoshima was no exception. The northern part of the island underwent a profound industrial transformation into a copper refinery complex. While it created myriad job opportunities as well as more stable income sources than fishing and salt production that the villagers used to rely primarily on – the copper smelting caused more harm than good. Acidic emissions, a byproduct of the smelting process, decimated trees on Naoshima and neighboring islands, thus ruining the once-magnificent landscape.
The more polluted Naoshima’s environment became, the less appealing it was to visit and reside, exacerbating the already dwindling population due to rural-urban migration. It was not until the 1970s that some measures to control environmental degradation were implemented on the island, concomitant with the then-mayor Chikatsugu Miyake’s plan to develop other industries in order to reduce dependency on copper refinery. 1985 marked a turning point in the island’s history. The mayor met with educational publisher and visionary businessman Tetsuhiko Fukutake, and together, they decided to redevelop the southern side of Naoshima into an international children’s campground.
Tetsuhiko’s son and successor, Soichiro Fukutake, went a step further by embedding contemporary art and architecture into the island upon witnessing “the damage inflicted from the excesses of modernisation and urbanisation on Naoshima” during his visits there. And so, a new chapter of Naoshima quietly began.
Any discussion of Naoshima’s revitalisation journey is incomplete without mentioning the astounding outputs of multi-award-winning architect Tadao Ando on the island. A self-taught architect, he cultivated a minimalist style — expressive of the Japanese philosophy Zen — through concrete, sharp geometric forms, and natural light. His substantial body of work from museums to temples and private houses, is visible all over Japan and the world. Naoshima is where he spent over three decades reshaping the landscape. He writes in his book, Tadao Ando and Naoshima, the essence lies in creating “places of possibility”: “Where art, nature, and people are brought together in a direct matter and can mutually stimulate one other.”
Hoping to get a sense of what places of possibility could possibly be, I went on a solo trip to Naoshima without giving it much thought — on a freezing cold January day. Shivering almost all the time, forgetting how to ride a bike, and constantly missing the town bus — things that usually irritate me — did not do so in a landscape filled with artistic inspiration and enthusiasm. To make the most of the day, I explored Tadao Ando’s architectural works from Chichu Art Museum to the Valley Gallery and Benesse House Museum. Walking along the semi-outdoor Valley Gallery, whose trapezoidal design echoes the valley’s contours, I lost myself in the tranquil surroundings, aware of every fleeting, subtle expression of nature like a ray of sunshine and a light breeze.
As the sunset came closer, I made the last stop on my journey — the island’s oldest district, Honmura. I walked past a once-akiya (abandoned) wooden house, Minamidera, now home to James Turrell’s Backside of the Moon; the refurbishment by Tadao Ando that drew inspiration from surrounding temples and shrines of bygone days. Minamidera is part of the Art House Project, launched in 1998 to convert century-old vacant houses and buildings into art sites. Besides instilling artistic vitality into the town, these revived homes often carry a piece of the island’s history and culture.
The gradual expansion of the Art House Project — currently spanning seven locations — contributed to enhanced community engagement, which some residents began serving as art co-creators or exhibition volunteers and guides. In recent years, especially following the inaugural Setouchi International Art Festival in 2010 (held triennially), Naoshima has firmly established itself as an art tourist destination. This has, in turn, opened up many business opportunities that has led to an influx of a young population, and many locals have started their own restaurants and lodging facilities. Government data further reveals that the year-over-year increasing number of newcomers to Naoshima is predicted to outnumber the existing housing supply soon.
The story of Naoshima could’ve been utterly different. Imagine if its population continued to shrink and wound up becoming a “ghost town,” an impending crisis facing many rural Japanese villages, Naoshima’s unique memory and history would ultimately be lost.
The Blue House, Hong Kong
A Lingnan-style house built in 1922 in the heart of the city, the Blue House was threatened by demolition and wholesale redevelopment at one point. Now, it has become part of a multipurpose cluster with residential flats, restaurants and community spaces by virtue of the strenuous efforts by the government and civic groups.
Hong Kong, my hometown, wouldn’t proclaim itself a city with history. “Out with the old, in with the new” is not merely a Lunar New Year tradition (to cleanse and bring good luck!) but a way of life deeply entrenched in its culture. Despite their cultural significance, many old buildings and structures cannot escape the fate of demolition, owing to the consistently expensive and competitive real estate market. Historic sites, including the city’s first public multipurpose cultural center, Old City Hall, built with European-style colonnades and archways, and the late 19th-century neoclassical Queen’s Building, have been lost to make way for skyscrapers that have eventually taken over the whole city.
Among the few lucky survivors is the Blue House, a 1920s low-rise tenement block (known as a “tong lau” in Cantonese) that has turned into a living heritage in the city’s hectic commercial district, Wan Chai. Its architectural style celebrates a mix of Chinese and Western colonial influences — a mirror of Hong Kong’s broader culture, in essence. While the tall ceilings and open balconies are characteristic of Lingnan design, the Blue House is a blend of colonial-style elements, such as shuttered windows and bud-patterned tiles.
Before its acquisition by the government in the 1970s, the Blue House site had been home to an array of small businesses. It was first occupied by Wah To hospital, then a temple, which was later replaced by a martial arts school and various other establishments. The Blue House wasn’t blue until the 1990s, when abundant leftover blue paint from the Water Supplies Department was used to paint it. Though at first, this decision caused discontent among some residents as the shade of blue used is often associated with Cantonese funeral rituals – it went on to become the Blue House’s most iconic feature and, without a doubt, a contributory factor to its fame among locals.
Once on the to-be-demolished list, the Blue House was saved after being listed as a Grade I historic building in 2000. As Hongkongers’ awareness of heritage conservation grew around that time, several policies were introduced. Of note is the Revitalising Historic Buildings Through Partnership Scheme, which came at the right time. The HK$75 million grant supported the nonprofit St. James’ Settlement, in concert with several community partners, to renovate the Blue House through a project named Viva Blue House in the mid-2010s.
The then-residents of the Blue House were asked to temporarily relocate to the adjoining Yellow House amid renovation for the dual purpose of minimising disruption to their daily lives and encouraging their continued participation.
A top-floor apartment of the Blue House sets itself apart. It’s subdivided into separate, tiny units that mimic the living conditions of the old days, each packed with assorted relics left by the earliest occupants. I read through each and every piece of the relics while on a guided tour — electric bills, rent receipts, celebrity posters, love letters, etc. They took me back in time, and I felt as if I was reading an old Chinese novel, sipping a cup of Pu’er tea, and listening in on my neighbors’ lively chatter through the thin walls on a cozy 1970s afternoon. However, its balcony views of modern restaurants and high-rise buildings scattered across Wan Chai, soon brought me back to the present.
Thankfully, more moments and stories are under creation by the current Blue House’s community. The neighborhood gathering spot on the ground floor hosts a multiplicity of activities around community bonding and sustainability, from volunteer hairdressing to soap-making workshops and second-hand and green markets. But it isn’t just a glue that holds the community together; it’s also a pilot hub for St. James’ Settlement’s Community Oriented Mutual Economy (COME), a platform where people from all walks of life can exchange knowledge, skills, services and goods. The platform is unique for its time-based currency, where the medium of exchange is derived from a person’s volunteer hours. Items for exchange like books and handicrafts are all donated by community members, thereby reducing unnecessary waste in one of the world’s most wasteful cities.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Blue House cluster won an Award of Excellence at the UNESCO Asia-Pacific Awards for Cultural Heritage Conservation in 2017 for “[having] safeguarded not only the architecture but also the living history and culture of a neighborhood.” It is a story of generations of Hongkongers finding their roots, prompting reflections over established values and beliefs that led the city to stratospheric growth but came at a great price.
Be it revitalising a place (Naoshima) or a single building (Blue House), we are recreating lost stories and, more quintessentially, reconnecting with the communities and the habitat once lost in the rush for industrial and urban development.
Jodee Fok
Jodee Fok is a Hong Kong-based writer and researcher with a passion for social causes, the arts, and coffee. Her work has appeared in several regional and international outlets, including The Diplomat, Inside Philanthropy, Storm Media, and Barista Magazine.