I had been hoping to be able to give an update during my stay in Boisbuchet, but of course the construction time is drawing to an end, so we were quite frantically busy, trying to get as much done as possible!

   I was working on the shojis - shoji describes a panel made of a wooden frame covered in special paper. These panels are used to cover the openings of the building, and are flexible in their positioning, as they are placed inside wooden railings and can be moved from side to side like sliding shutters. Traditional shojis are a miracle of delicate craftsmanship - their intrinsic patterns are once again created without the use of nails or glue; the wooden elements are simply cut to perfection and interlocked where they join.

   We cleaned the old paper off the frames during my first visit by simply soaking them in water - traditionally, the paper of the shojis is replaced every twelve months, usually towards the New Year. Where possible, the shoji is simply dumped in a slow-running river, where the water and the current carry away any traces of the old paper. In our case, the shojis were soaked with a hose, and we took off the paper by hand.

To cover the shojis with fresh paper, a suitable measure of shoji paper is sprayed with water, rolled up for easier handling, and set aside. Special glue that dries off without leaving traces is painted on the frame, and the paper is carefully rolled out on top of the frame. The damp paper takes in the water-based glue, and is smoothed over with a large soft dry brush. Depending on the thickness of the paper (we were using two different kinds, depending on the size of the shoji), the edges of the paper can either be cut whilst still damp, or have to be left to dry. If cut whilst damp, the leftovers come off the frame easily. However, even with thick paper, the cutting of the damp paper is a delicate process, and the knife has to be excessively sharp - I was lucky enough only to cut myself once, and without drawing blood. After cutting away the edges of the paper, the paper is once again sprayed with water, and the shoji is set aside to dry. If the paper is very thin and cannot be cut whilst still damp, it can easily be cut after it has dried; then a sponge with water is used to take off the excess paper.

It is very impressive to see what force the paper develops - whilst drying, the paper becomes smoothly taught over the delicate wooden framework. The paper's tactile qualities made me think of the membrane of a drum - with its slight texture, the paper reminded me of a delicate white skin, giving off a low drumming noise when tapped with a finger.

   Whilst I spent one and a half days with my shojis, the men carried on with the construction. Shafted bamboo was cut with the traditional Japanese tools (I must admit to having quite a thing about crafts tools, and the Japanese saws especially really were amazing). Bamboo pieces were sharpened at the ends and wedged between the pillars, and others were woven into this structure, and tied with string. This framework becomes the basis for the clay plastering. So far, one layer of clay has been applied to the outside of the Kyakuden's walls; this will be followed by another five layers, each of which has to set and dry for approximately 20 days to one month, depending on the overall weather conditions.

   At the same time, the carpenters were putting the flooring in place, which they - even during the construction process - would not step upon in their normal shoes: the muddy Wellington boots were left outside, and the carpenters worked wearing trainers or a type of slippers.

   To me, these little details were one of the crucial aspects of the construction process - it appears to me that there is such an intense amount of tradition and care within the techniques we were able to observe, yet at the same time, the techniques are perfectly up to modern standards and open to improvisation if the need arises. Especially the combination of the traditional tools - some apparently archaic, yet incredibly useful - with the modern-day power tools held a special fascination for me.

   When I left yesterday morning, the scaffolding had just been taken off the Kyakuden, and I was beginning to see it in its full beauty. The entire building has a tremendous, simple elegance, and is created in beautiful proportions. It's already obvious how well it is going to work in its surroundings, and I cannot wait to see it finished! Yet at the same time, right now, in its construction process, it gives wonderful insights into the structure and the concept of the construction.

   Even after only two days of working on the Kyakuden I am exhausted, and it makes me even more grateful to the team. I realise how exceptional their work is - they have tackled the serious challenges of this project in such an impressive way, and are achieving incredible results. I can only say again how deeply honoured and proud I am of being part of such a great project!

All photographs courtesy of and © by Andreas Raab.

*! Please see this link for the last update on the Kyakuden's re-construction:

http://www.facesofdesign.com/blog/reconstructing-kyakuden-hibernation