{"id":258429,"date":"2025-12-01T07:03:56","date_gmt":"2025-12-01T06:03:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/aarch.dk\/?p=258429"},"modified":"2026-02-05T10:48:15","modified_gmt":"2026-02-05T09:48:15","slug":"mio-tsuneyama-conversation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/aarch.dk\/en\/mio-tsuneyama-conversation\/","title":{"rendered":"Mio Tsuneyama"},"content":{"rendered":"
<\/div>
\n

OPEN Conversation<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

MIO TSUNEYAMA<\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div><\/section>\n


This conversation was first published for OPEN Architecture Festival, Issue Five (2025): In the Eyes of the Ordinary.
<\/em>
In conversation with Ida Bjerga & Alexander Skovgaard Bagger Hadi
Written by Ida Bjerga

Estimated reading time: 9 minutes.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n\n<\/div><\/div><\/main><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>

I first came across Mio Tsuneyama while living in a shared house in Tokyo\u2019s Fud\u014d-mae neighbourhood. The house, an original 1977 structure with a steel-framed ground floor and timber-framed upper floor, had been carefully stripped back and reimagined with raw, exposed materials. It became known as House for Seven People (2013), one of Mio\u2019s earliest transformation projects in Tokyo and among the first to be published widely. Since then, Mio has steadily gained recognition within the landscape of contemporary Japanese architecture. Most recently, she featured in Make Do With Now, a documentary and exhibition exploring the ecological and social approaches developed by a generation of young Japanese architects, many of whom entered the profession in the aftermath of the 2011 Great T\u014dhoku Earthquake and Tsunami. Reflecting on the impact of that experience in an earlier interview, Mio said: \u201cThe experience of the T\u014dhoku Earthquake in 2011 changed my entire perspective on architecture. Until then, I had been focused on designing refined, minimalist spaces with carefully considered materials and details, things I still appreciate, but I realised architecture had to be more than that. It has to contribute to society in a meaningful way.\u201d

Mio is the founder of Studio mnm, a Tokyo-based practice known for rethinking architecture through the lens of everyday life. Her work often draws on overlooked urban resources such as vacant houses, waste materials, soil, and sunlight\u2014placing architecture within a continuous cycle from production to disposal.

Alexander and I spoke with her about architecture as a temporary node within a complex mesh; her projects House for Seven People and Holes in House; and Urban Wild Ecology, the architectural theory and attitude she shares with her partner, architect Fuminori Nousaku.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>

I first came across Mio Tsuneyama while living in a shared house in Tokyo\u2019s Fud\u014d-mae neighbourhood. The house, an original 1977 structure with a steel-framed ground floor and timber-framed upper floor, had been carefully stripped back and reimagined with raw, exposed materials. It became known as House for Seven People (2013), one of Mio\u2019s earliest transformation projects in Tokyo and among the first to be published widely. Since then, Mio has steadily gained recognition within the landscape of contemporary Japanese architecture. Most recently, she featured in Make Do With Now, a documentary and exhibition exploring the ecological and social approaches developed by a generation of young Japanese architects, many of whom entered the profession in the aftermath of the 2011 Great T\u014dhoku Earthquake and Tsunami. Reflecting on the impact of that experience in an earlier interview, Mio said: \u201cThe experience of the T\u014dhoku Earthquake in 2011 changed my entire perspective on architecture. Until then, I had been focused on designing refined, minimalist spaces with carefully considered materials and details, things I still appreciate, but I realised architecture had to be more than that. It has to contribute to society in a meaningful way.\u201d

Mio is the founder of Studio mnm, a Tokyo-based practice known for rethinking architecture through the lens of everyday life. Her work often draws on overlooked urban resources such as vacant houses, waste materials, soil, and sunlight\u2014placing architecture within a continuous cycle from production to disposal.

Alexander and I spoke with her about architecture as a temporary node within a complex mesh; her projects House for Seven People and Holes in House; and Urban Wild Ecology, the architectural theory and attitude she shares with her partner, architect Fuminori Nousaku.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>
\n<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n

HOUSE FOR SEVEN PEOPLE<\/h2>\n

House for Seven People was a project commissioned by a pair of Mio\u2019s longtime friends. \u201cThe client, close friends of mine, had begun to question not just housing, but life itself,\u201d Mio tells us. \u201cThey were reconsidering the system they were part of\u2014capitalism, ownership, working and living in the city.\u201d One worked in real estate, the other in accounting. Together, they found this abandoned house on the market\u2014unwanted but full of potential\u2014and saw an opportunity. It was both a financial decision and a way to create better living conditions for themselves. Their previous flat had been a one-room apartment with a tiny kitchen. \u201cIt was too cramped to cook, host, or even work from home. Their daily life played out in caf\u00e9s, libraries, or izakayas. They had been dreaming of a place where they could invite friends and cook properly in a spacious kitchen, right in the heart of Tokyo,\u201d Mio explained.

From this desire, House for Seven People was born\u2014a shared home for seven residents. The design centers on a spacious communal kitchen and living area, alongside private bedrooms, a soaking tub, and even a patch of outdoor space\u2014amenities rarely accessible to solo dwellers in Tokyo. \u201cIt became a place where people could really live together,\u201d Mio says. \u201cAnd that created a different rhythm of life.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe house they found was affordable partly because it did not meet the road access requirements; the land was legally ineligible for reconstruction,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd they liked the idea of sharing it with other people\u201d\u2014not just for practical reasons, but as an expression of a different way of living. \u201cThey were questioning the typologies available in the city,\u201d Mio explains. \u201cThat wasn\u2019t the direct purpose at first, but it was also a way to create a shift in societal mindsets.\u201d The dominant housing typologies in Tokyo didn\u2019t reflect how they wanted to live. Living alone in small studios, Mio notes, can be deeply isolating and can create big social problems. \u201cBefore, people used to live with grandparents, aunts, extended family\u2014there was some openness, a kind of society in the house. Now, especially for single people, it becomes closed off.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>

<\/div>
<\/div>

HOLES IN THE HOUSE<\/h2>\n

Mio and her partner, architect Fuminori Nousaku, are constantly challenging architectural conventions. House for Seven People was one example, but they\u2019ve also applied this mindset to their own home and studio, Holes in the House, a project they began renovating while living in it. In 2017, the pair purchased a 30-year-old, four-storey steel-frame building in Tokyo\u2019s hilly, semi-industrial Nishi-\u014ci neighbourhood. It wasn\u2019t on the market yet\u2014and it certainly wasn\u2019t considered desirable. \u201cThe house was actually meant to be demolished,\u201d Mio says. \u201cIt was kind of urban trash.\u201d But they saw potential in it. With no budget and a determination to avoid taking out a bank loan, they committed to renovating it gradually, using salvaged materials and whatever time they had. \u201cWe didn\u2019t have a budget, and our goal was not to take out a bank loan,\u201d Mio explains. \u201cSo we renovated it gradually, using whatever materials we had\u2014or were given.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their first priority was simply to make the house livable. \u201cWe started making our life comfortable by insulating the house and keeping the airtightness,\u201d Mio explains. Since they were already living there during the renovation, comfort came first. The transformation moved forward whenever they had spare time, a bit of budget, or came across usable materials. The first phase involved salvaging large timber panels from a demolished 1:1 exhibition model at the National Museum. \u201cIt was meant to be trashed,\u201d Mio says. \u201cBecause it came from the National Museum, technically they couldn\u2019t give it to anyone. So we were allowed to pick it up directly from the trash depot.\u201d They used the timber for cladding their office, as well as for flooring and interior walls. \u201cWe also got wood fibre from the dead stock of a company, which we used as biodegradable insulation,\u201d she adds. Other materials were similarly redirected from waste to resource.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>

When we spoke via video, we got a sense of what Mio meant when she described the house as being in a state of ongoing de- and re-construction. A rust-red steel frame cut through the interior. There were no interior walls. Gaping holes open between floors. A staircase connected one level to the next without enclosure. \u201cOur design was shaped by the opportunities we came across,\u201d Mio says. \u201cWhen we had time or came across materials\u2014we reacted.\u201d They moved in during 2017, completed the office the following year using the salvaged timber, and continued the building in phases. \u201cUntil 2021, when I was pregnant and just before our son was born,\u201d she says. \u201cSuddenly we had to hurry. There were nails sticking out, cables hanging everywhere… it wasn\u2019t safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reflecting on the project, Mio raises a critical question: why must architecture be treated as something fixed and final? \u201cOur understanding of the world is constantly changing, and so are our personal lives,\u201d she says. \u201cThe idea of completion is based on a capitalistic concept\u2014because you have to hand the complete building over to the client to get paid.\u201d By keeping the project open-ended, building slowly, flexibly, and over time, Mio and Fuminori propose an alternative model: one that softens the boundary between the building phase and completion. It also allows clients to start with a small budget, avoid large bank loans, and treat buildings as living, evolving spaces. \u201cWhy do we need to complete everything at once?\u201d Mio asks. \u201cWe should rather continuously adapt and maintain the building together.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>

<\/div>\n<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>

URBAN WILD ECOLOGY<\/h2>\n

\u201cIn 2019, at Holes in the House, we had soil in our garden, and that completely shifted our understanding of beauty in architecture,\u201d Mio explains. \u201cWe started composting everything\u2014food waste, wood scraps… and through that process, we experienced firsthand what does and doesn\u2019t return to the earth.\u201d Every time they dug into the soil, they found fragments\u2014plastic bits, fruit stickers, tea bags, packaging. They also saw how plywood barely degrades compared to solid wood, because it\u2019s mostly glue. These tangible moments of decomposition\u2014or the lack of it\u2014transformed how Mio and Fuminori approach material and design decisions, especially when it comes to short-lifespan construction elements.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, we still use steel and concrete where needed,\u201d she says. \u201cBut using plastic sheets just to make something airtight, knowing it would last only a few years, feels disturbing. Why put something into a building if it can\u2019t return to the soil?\u201d Instead, they now seek out materials that breathe, absorb humidity naturally, and biodegrade. \u201cA few years ago, we were drawn to industrial materials\u2014the cool, shiny stuff. But now we use them less. Our understanding has changed.\u201d This shift has reshaped not just their choice of materials, but how they think about architecture more broadly. Urban Wild Ecology is not a fixed philosophy as such, Mio says\u2014\u201cit\u2019s our attitude.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019re testing things. The idea is to bring back a kind of wildness we once had, so that when something breaks, we don\u2019t call a service. We just try to fix it ourselves.\u201d

The term Urban Wild Ecology began as a subtitle for Holes in the House, but over time, it evolved into a way of thinking and an architectural attitude. An attitude grounded in immediacy and care: connecting with the resources and energy already around us, bricolaging from what\u2019s available, and rethinking habitability not just for humans, but for multiple species. It\u2019s also a response to the environmental crisis, aligned with both Political Ecology and Deep Ecology, but distinct from both. \u201cPolitical Ecology often leans on high-tech solutions and is very human-oriented,\u201d she explains. \u201cDeep Ecology, on the other hand, places nature above human needs. But Urban Wild Ecology tries to respect both. It\u2019s not about waiting for a perfect answer, it\u2019s about doing what we can now, with our hands. It might not be perfect, but we act. We try.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

They primarily use materials from the earth and foreground an understanding that while human and non-human habitability partially overlap, that space needs to be shared with care. \u201cWe design for humans,\u201d Mio says, \u201cbut we try not to disturb others. That includes microorganisms, animals, the soil itself. For example, we choose biodegradable materials that won\u2019t intoxicate the soil. And when we build, we touch the ground as lightly as possible, using independent footings so the ecosystem below can keep working. It\u2019s about small gestures of care.\u201d<\/p>\n

So where do we begin, if we want to adopt this way of thinking? \u201cStart by touching the ground lightly,\u201d Mio says. \u201cAnd use what already exists. Our ecological footprint is already negative. The planet is past its capacity. So instead of extracting more, we should reuse what we\u2019ve already taken.\u201d That doesn\u2019t just mean reducing materials, it means reducing how much surface we occupy. \u201cThe footprint of our buildings needs to shrink. We have to leave more of the soil surface untouched, so it can keep functioning.\u201d Existing buildings should be renovated, recycled, or repurposed\u2014not demolished. But when demolition is necessary, Mio says, the process has to change. \u201cIn Tokyo, we are using the last landfill, which will last only 50 years. If we tear something down, we also need to figure out where to put the debris. That\u2019s a real problem.\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not about opposing demolition or new construction outright, but rethinking the flow of materials and the limits of the land. \u201cArchitecture is a temporary node in a complex mesh,\u201d Mio says. \u201cDemolition, new building, renovation\u2014it\u2019s all about how we circulate materials.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>

<\/div>
<\/div>

TEMPORARY NODE WITHIN A COMPLEX MESH<\/h2>\n

To address the challenges of global warming and ecosystem destruction driven by the material cycles of a capitalist society rooted in mass production and consumption, Mio and Fuminori approach architecture as a temporary node within a complex mesh of resources, knowledge, technology, and institutions. \u201cThe mesh is actually based on Bruno Latour\u2019s actor-network theory,\u201d Mio explains. \u201cIt\u2019s not just about materials or resources, but also technologies, skills, laws, institutions, infrastructures\u2014all of which shape the environment we build in. Architecture, as we see it, from resource to decomposition, is just a temporary state within this complex mesh.\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s easy to see the material chain\u2014from nature and raw matter to reuse or trash\u2014but behind that chain lies a whole network. \u201cHow we extract materials depends on our knowledge and skills, but also on systems of supply and logistics,\u201d she continues. \u201cThe supply chain is shaped by regulations and industrial priorities, which tend to be based on fast supply and fast consumption. So the mesh isn\u2019t only made of actors\u2014it\u2019s defined by how those actors connect.\u201d<\/p>\n

For Mio and Fuminori, designing architecture means designing that mesh and rethinking how rules, tools, materials, and skills interact. \u201cOur role is to find new combinations, new ways of working with this system so we can decompose materials back into the soil\u2014not just pile things into landfills.\u201d This view also reframes the meaning of demolition, renovation, and construction. \u201cAs I said earlier, demolition, building new, or transformation\u2014they\u2019re all ways to circulate materials,\u201d Mio says. \u201cWe can build with new materials, sure. But what kinds of materials? How long will they last? What can be reused later on? Can they go back to the soil? How long will that take? That\u2019s the mindset we need.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>\n\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n

This attitude is already taking root in the next generation. Mio speaks of those now in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties who were children during the 2011 T\u014dhoku Earthquake and the 2016 Kumamoto Earthquake. \u201cI think they see the worlddifferently than my generation,\u201d she says. \u201cThey\u2019re drawn to salvaged materials. They rescue abandoned houses. They\u2019re less concerned with respecting architectural form and feel more connected to art, philosophy, and a more organic way of designing and working. These young architects aren\u2019t just responding to clients\u2014they\u2019re proposing how to live and work in a changing society.\u201d

Mio goes on to say that she believes the role of the architect is to question the state of the building industry itself. \u201cWe\u2019ve all been players in the game, but now we have to question the game. Question the rules.\u201d The demand is already changing. Society is already shifting. But regulation always comes later, she explains. \u201cSo we have to challenge, rethink, propose new ways of building\u2014not just repeat what we\u2019ve already done or make visually beautiful things. Questions are the answer.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div><\/section>\n<\/div><\/div>

<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>
\n
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

This conversation was first published for OPEN Architecture Festival, Issue Five (2025): In the Eyes of the Ordinary<\/em>.<\/span>
\n
The issue was produced by students from the Aarhus School of Architecture:
Ida Bjerga, Osmo Hadad-Lange, Alexander Skovgaard Bagger Hadi, and Birke Langkj\u00e6r Jakobsen.
<\/span>
The non-profit project was supported by The Dreyer Foundation.<\/span><\/p>\n

Image credits: 1) Suzuki Jumpei, 2) Yasuaki Morinaka, 3) Yasuaki Morinaka, 4) Suzuki Jumpei, 5) Ryogo Utatsu, 6) Ryogo Utatsu<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
<\/div>

RELATED CONTENT<\/h2>\n<\/div><\/section><\/div>
<\/div>
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\"OPEN26<\/a>
Podcast <\/span><\/span>

Lacol<\/a><\/h3><\/span><\/header><\/div>