Araki pulled this off by extracting unnecessary and unseen elements and then adding only what was needed. 'I am not a minimalist, but I don't like excess either,' states the architect. Leaving the room's appearance much as he found it, Araki ripped out the water-supply pipes and asbestos-laden dropped ceiling but salvaged character-giving doors, signage and hardware'plus the pool. Built in 1971, it started out as a tenant amenity at the bottom of a 10-unit apartment complex in Aoyama, a high-end, mixed-use neighborhood in the heart of Tokyo. Entered from the building lobby, the 49-by-66-foot hall for the pool contained the 39-by-18-foot rectangular basin bracketed by changing rooms at one end and a small outdoor garden edging the property at the other.

In accordance with the client's directive, Araki went to great lengths to preserve the pool. In addition to leaving steel ladders and rusty drainage grills in place, he kept its painted concrete walls as they were, reasoning that chips and cracks are part of the artifact. But the floor was another matter. 'Since it slopes about a foot, it can be unsettling to walk on,' explains Araki. He solved this problem by covering the steep portion with two ½-inch-thick sheets of clear glass supported by a stainless steel grid of varying depth to absorb the level change. 'This floor is so strong, you could drive a car on it,' jokes Araki. While the glass's reflectivity evokes water, a nonslip coating renders the surface appropriate for walking or dancing.

Overhead, Araki left the coarse concrete exposed, and suspended from the ceiling curved metal HVAC ducts painted nautical white, adjustable track lighting, and striped sailcloth awnings to modulate the existing skylights in the portion that juts into the garden. Matching curtains cloak clerestory windows on the room's long walls.

To complete the transformation, Araki finished the space with pool-like details and movable parts to enable quick installation or changes in display. Resembling poolside grab bars, stainless steel tubes encircling the pool deck and ceiling can support hooks for hanging merchandise, white laminated shelf units, and glass accessory cases. Individual plastic benches designed by Araki and made by a swimming-supply company look as though they have always been there.

Rough-edged and raw-surfaced, this project reflects a recent trend among some younger architects toward adaptive reuse. 'Previously, people equated old things with poverty,' comments the architect. 'But my generation doesn't share those associations.' For many of his peers, the country's scrap-and-build culture no longer holds water: 'It's so wasteful,' laments the architect. Yet change comes slowly in Japan. 'POOL Aoyama will probably disappear in the future,' concedes Araki. 'That's just Tokyo.'

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