Tadao Ando's First English Memoir 'Towards Light' Is About Everything but Architecture

Tadao Ando, the 85-year-old Pritzker laureate, has published his first memoir translated into English — and he admits it drifts far from his profession's technical core. 'Towards Light: A Philosophy of Life and Architecture', translated by Polly Barton, costs £25 and is available from Scribe Publications.

The book's sharpest surprise sits in Ando's own framing. 'Although the book is meant to be an account of an architect's life, as I continued writing, I found myself wandering further and further away from architecture,' Ando tells Wallpaper*. 'Readers who pick it up expecting a discussion of architectural theory may be surprised by how much of the book ventures outside of architecture.'

From the ring to the drafting table

Ando's path to architecture started in a boxing ring. Aged 17, living in Osaka, he fought briefly as a professional boxer. The two careers, he says, share one thing.

'An architect holding a pencil and drawing, and a boxer wearing gloves and stepping into the ring, are of course engaged in entirely different professions and ways of life,' says Ando. 'But to me, they are fundamentally the same in one respect: both are battles in which you must overcome your own fears and find the courage to move forward. A boxer endures gruelling training and relentless weight cutting, pouring everything into a single fight. In the end, all you can rely on is yourself. Boxing is a profoundly stoic and solitary sport. Yet it is precisely by pushing your body and mind to their limits that you discover strengths you never knew you had.'

Architecture works the same way, he argues. When a project carries severe constraints on its programme or budget, design freedom shrinks. But, he adds, 'those very limitations force you to think deeply about what is truly necessary and what you should create. And somewhere in that process, a glimmer of light begins to emerge.'

What does the memoir actually cover?

Ando says he set out to write honestly, but his thoughts kept wandering. He abandoned any systematic structure.

'In the end, I gave up trying to organise my life into a systematic narrative, whether by looking back chronologically or objectively explaining the circumstances behind particular events,' he explains. 'Instead, I decided to write freely, following wherever my thoughts took me. That made the process of selection all the more difficult. From the vast accumulation of memories and experiences within me, deciding what to include and which moments to capture in words took some effort.'

The book still dissects the stories behind his greatest buildings. But readers should expect a life, not a theory manual.

A self-taught rise from postwar Osaka

Ando's beginnings underscore why. Born into a working-class family amid the ruins of postwar Osaka, he couldn't afford university. He taught himself architecture at night from books and founded his practice in a cheap rented room in 1969.

Success came slowly. His first built work was the single-family Tomishima House in 1973. Three years later came his critical breakthrough: Row House in Sumiyoshi, also known as Azuma House, completed in Osaka in 1976.

The honours followed:

• Pritzker Architecture Prize, 1995
• Japanese Order of Culture, 2010
• Gold Medal of the American Institute of Architects, 2002
• Grande Ufficiale dell'Ordine della Stella d'Italia, 2015

Ando's work blends modernist design with Japanese tradition, playing with light, shadow and nature. His buildings have become cultural landmarks in Osaka and worldwide. Yet 'starchitect' feels reductive for a man who built his career from a rented room.

What does this change for readers?

Ando wants the book to land as a provocation, not a monograph. He hopes readers finish it thinking, 'So, that's another way to live a life!'

'And if, when they close the book, they are left with even a small sense of hope – a feeling that perhaps they, too, might try something new or find the courage to take a step forward – I would be happy,' he concludes.

By Grace Kim