Tea room "Kankai-an"
Borrowed scenery (outside landscape)
A cup of tea
The name of this tea room, Kankai-an, derives from the use of the Chinese scholar tree, known in Japan as
enju, at its core. Originating in China, this tree has long been cherished as a symbol of longevity, good
fortune, protection from evil, and happiness. It was also the symbolic tree of Shibuya Makuhari High School,
the alma mater of the host, Kankuro Ueshima. Together with the artist Rui Sasaki, Ueshima gathered large,
beautiful leaves from that very tree; these are now part of Sasaki’s piece which is embedded within the
walls of the tea room—as if suspending time within them. Centered on the personal memory of youth, this
space becomes a “tea room of time” where heterogeneous temporalities accumulate in layers.
Upon opening the entrance door, the order of time is immediately disturbed. The first work to appear is
Alicja Kwade’s Against the Run. With its second hand pointing ceaselessly upward while the clock body itself
rotates in reverse, the work unsettles the premise of time’s irreversibility and overturns our perception.
This is followed by a piece by Yuki Nara, which embraces the traces and fluctuations inscribed in its
material, suggesting that time is something that comes into being through subtle vibration.
Within the tea room, time is compressed and revealed in layers. Two tea bowls on the back-right shelf form
the heart of this concept. One is the “Ryuki-wan” by Takuya Tsutsumi. (“Ryuki” means uplift.) Its lower
layer contains coral reef sediment collected by scientists from the strata of Kikai Island, dating back
approximately 3.5 million years; its middle layer incorporates sand from 1.5 million years ago; and its
upper layer features sediment from 850,000 years ago onward—all lacquered onto a wooden bowl. The geological
time of Kikai Island, formed through the uplift of coral reefs, is sealed within this single vessel. The
other is a black Raku tea bowl by the sixteenth-generation Raku Kichizaemon, which carries the 450-year
lineage of the Raku family and the memory of Kyoto's earth and stone. Here, geological time and the time of
human endeavor stand face to face.
On the right wall, in the work by Rui Sasaki, plants are pressed between two sheets of glass and fired at
high temperatures. They turn to ash, yet their forms are imprinted within the glass. Here, impersonal time
and personal memory come into contact, taking on a visible form.
Beside the alcove stands a wooden sculpture by Kineta Kunimatsu. Its restrained form, inspired by the
ridgeline of an iceberg, guides the gaze from the interior outward, connecting the space to the surrounding
city.
At the back, resting upon a stone in the garden, is Isamu Noguchi’s Zazen. Built on a basic
vertical-and-horizontal structure with a firm core, yet with a gentle play in its form, this lightly
composed sculpture possesses a stillness that suspends time, much like zazen meditation. At this single
point, the movement of the city and the weight of accumulated time are released.
In this tea room, time does not exist as a single linear flow. Rather, it appears as something multilayered
and dynamic—reversing, accumulating, sometimes freezing, and eventually opening outward. The time gathered
within extends through the garden—which borrows the cityscape as shakkei—and disperses freely outward.
The host’s intention was to place at the center the remembered time held within the Chinese scholar tree,
drawing diverse temporal layers toward it, and to return the once-in-a-lifetime (ichigo-ichie) experience
that emerges here back into the outside world. As a result, visitors do not simply exist within time; they
stand within time as it moves in many directions. This is as if mutually resonating with the diverse and
rich expressions of the “contemporary” unfolding in the exhibition space below.