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Squeezed next to a centuries-old shrine in this historical city stands a slight, two-story abode that looks modern, but is meant to embody the spirit of Kyoto's homes of the past.
The all-white structure with a dramatic glass façade is long and thin, curving slightly to the right, and is comprised of a main living area just over 6½ feet wide, with two wings on each side. In one wing is a little alcove that serves as the children's play area; in the other is the bathroom. The back of the home holds the kitchen, while a spiral staircase leads to a second room and a loft, measuring about 6½ feet by 7½ feet at its narrowest, that serves as the shared sleeping room for the family of four
Tokyo architect Hideyuki Nakayama said the home, while aesthetically modern in every sense, is true to the spirit and philosophy of old Kyoto homes, which integrated public and private space seamlessly in a way that created a sense of flow. He first conceived of a main structure in the middle of the 18½-foot-wide lot, where the far end is rounded in a way that creates the illusion of greater depth "almost like a road that disappears into the fog." Off of it are doors, with some leading outside and others leading to more living space. The building is purposely level with the road, so it feels like one is connected to the street life when looking out from the immense glass window that spans the front.
"I wanted to build something that speaks to what Kyoto is about more meaningfully than just what the eye can see," said Mr. Nakayama.
At just 640 square feet, the house is small, even by Japanese standards. Built for Eizo Okada, a 40-year-old university professor specializing in product design, his wife and two small sons, aged two and five, it holds minimal furniture. There are no closets; clothes are hung on a rod and stored in white opaque plastic boxes. There is no television, and guests sit on the floor. There is a small, round dining table, a prized collection of chairs by designers like Ronan & Erwan Bouroullec and Gamper Martino, and Tokujin Yoshioka's Honey-Pop paper armchair, which is also in the permanent collection of New York's Museum of Modern Art.
The Okadas, who gave Mr. Nakayama almost complete creative freedom, confessed they initially worried that the house might be too small, but say they've come to love it. The many windows and doors allow for plenty of sunlight and breeze, keeping the home light but also relatively cool in the absence of air conditioning (a deliberate decision by Mrs. Okada).
"People can come in and out in so many ways," said Mr. Okada. "Even when we're entertaining, the kids can come home from playing outside and head directly to the bathroom to wash their hands and feet and then go through the garden into the kitchen and do their own thing."
Mr. Okada, who was previously a furniture designer, moved from Tokyo to Kyoto about a decade ago to teach product design at the Kyoto Institute of Technology. He and his wife decided to build a house after their children were born. He and Mr. Nakayama were old friends, so there was no question about Mr. Nakayama designing it.
The first property Mr. Okada found was even narrower, about 10 feet wide and 49 feet deep. The architect created a tree house-like design, where two floors of living space floated above ground, anchored by a steel support. But neighbors complained that the house would obstruct their view, so Mr. Okada sold the property.
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