Anyone marvelling at Kisho Kurokawa's Nakagin Capsule Tower in the last 15 years or so would have seen that this most iconic, singular example of metabolist architecture, completed in Tokyo's Ginza district in 1972, was existing on borrowed time. Its 140 self-contained living units hung off concrete cores with rusting bolts that had become seismically unsafe. They were insulated with asbestos, their cramped interiors in disrepair. Even the impeccably maintained capsules -with original built-in bathrooms and bedside Sony telephone and speaker panels - had lost their appeal to all but the most diehard enthusiasts. None of this was insurmountable. In line with metabolist doctrines, Kurokawa intended for the capsules to be upgraded every 25 years; his son, Mikio, and the building's residents' association argued for this until the end. While some of the capsules will go to museums (including M+ and SFMOMA), it was perhaps inevitable that the building itself would succumb to the laws of physics and real estate, attesting to the fragile impermanence of even an architecture that was about change.
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