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The architect used the topography and viewing points to mold a collection of interior (1) and exterior spaces connected by a continuous corridor of a building (2 and top of page). Photos © Laurian Ghinițoiu, click to enlarge.

Navigating a 10-foot level change, Suo’s fluid form ascends and descends, and widens and narrows along its 722-foot length. Because most of the building is lifted on slender columns, visitors can walk underneath it as they move from one side of the site to the other, as well as between gardens (which include a children’s and an aquarium garden)—three beyond the pavilion and three within its center court. Inside the pavilion, functional areas are linked by a continuous ramp that flattens and expands to incorporate a multipurpose hall, a local-exhibitions gallery, a panorama painting exhibition, an observatory, and a café. Administrative areas and restrooms are in a round structure that adjoins the sinuous one opposite its main entrance. Paralleling the interior are two covered terraces—one connecting the entrance and café areas on the courtyard side, and the other extending out from the observatory.

Overhead, the pavilion’s roof is made of locally quarried Aji stone, a material used often by the Japanese American sculptor Isamu Noguchi, whose Shikoku studio still stands nearby. Unsurprisingly, it took the skills of an old-school tile setter familiar with traditional shrine and temple architecture to install the 34,000 shingles. “Since the building shape is so organic, it was difficult to place the stone,” explains Suo. To assist, the architect created a 3-D CAD drawing showing the position of each piece. Simple 1-centimeter-thick rectangles, the tiles were attached to waterproof sheets and wood panels. These are supported by the roof’s structure, which is concealed by an angled gypsum board ceiling. “Technology should be unseen,” says Suo. Composed of welded steel elements, the roof frame’s complex shape was fashioned from more than 2,000 I-beams and pipe beams, each one unique.

The pavilion’s roof is made from locally quarried Aji stone. Photo © Laurian Ghinițoiu

Holding up the roof frame are 4-inch-diameter solid-steel circular columns spaced approximately 20 feet apart. Though the transparent walls appear to curve, they are composed of flat glass panels, secured with silicone joints that align with the columns. The sheets measure close to 7 feet wide, but their heights vary from 4 feet in the panorama painting gallery, where Suo wanted to minimize outward views, to 15 feet in the café, where he wanted to maximize them. Mostly, the glass stands beyond the columns, but to create the terraces, Suo placed the glazing on the room side and pulled it inward. “Normally, glass is outside of the structure, but here it moves,” he notes. To withstand the 230-foot-per-second winds that buffet the site during typhoon season, Suo used double-paned tempered glass in select places but single-pane panels elsewhere. Lateral forces are offset by strategically placed concrete shear wall segments. Reinforced concrete also forms the 9-inch-thick floor slab, which is held up by galvanized 4-inch-diameter hollow steel-pipe columns and shallow concrete footings. Due to the property’s protected status, construction had to be lightweight, and Suo could not dig deep into the ground.

A series of thin, circular columns support the elevated portions of the structure. Photo © Laurian Ghinițoiu

Adjacent to the pavilion is the Reigan Café, also designed by Suo, a renovation of a privately owned timber structure with a hipped roof. Composed of three parts built sequentially over 90 years, the facility once housed a hotel, café, and souvenir shop. Instead of taking the building down, Suo kept its structure but removed the walls and reconfigured the ground level to align with the pavilion courtyard next door. Together, these two works welcome a new generation of visitors, infusing a disused landscape with fresh energy and, once again, elevating this important historical site.

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