Tadao Ando

In his zen-like, awe-inspiring structures, the Japanese architect reimagines the use of space through an interplay of light and dark that invites observers to draw their own conclusions.

- Renée Batchelor

The Church of the Light in Osaka is a small building consisting of three concrete cubes. As you enter the main chapel, you immediately notice a cross, illuminated through the sunlight that pierces through slits in the concrete. But its spartan interior also causes a sense of disquiet for many who step inside — a point deliberately made by its architect Tadao Ando, who wanted worshippers to fill the blankness of the space with their own spiritual thoughts. It is this philosophy that has influenced a lot of Ando’s works, many of which function almost as a tabula rasa, a blank slate upon which to project one’s own thoughts and emotions.

As a child, Ando, who grew up in downtown Osaka, was strong-willed and energetic. “I could keep myself awake for three days straight,” he recalls. “I wasn’t good at studying, but I was serious about playing. After school, I was always uninhibited and free. I would run around the riverside and play by the river. Whether it was fishing or catching dragonflies, I learned how to live while being in nature and playing around nature. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I learned everything important about life from playing.”

The young Ando started life as a boxer. While he admits the two don’t have direct connections, looking back he has found some parallels. “Architecture and boxing have two points in common; one is that the serious tension will always be present and two, you need physical and mental fitness for that. I think the experience from boxing, which pushes both the mental and physical limits, has been helpful in the world of architecture,” he says.