In short, my specialty is ‘Western architectural history’ — more specifically, the architectural history of early medieval Spain. My main research focus is the architecture of the Iberian Peninsula (present-day Spain and Portugal) between the seventh and tenth centuries. The Middle Ages in the Iberian Peninsula were marked by turbulence, as Muslim and Christian polities coexisted. Although their relationships were largely adversarial, moments of cultural interaction and exchange also occurred. These dynamics of conflict and coexistence are clearly reflected in the architecture of the period.

In architectural studies, Christian and Muslim architecture are often examined separately, but my work focuses on their interrelationships. I am interested in the people involved and the kinds of interactions that took place across different parts of the Mediterranean world, approaching these questions from a perspective that goes beyond the framework of modern nation-states. Using architecture as physical evidence, my research seeks to understand how cultures were transmitted, exchanged, and intertwined.

Architecture is imbued with the history of human experiences. It records technologies, religious beliefs, aesthetic values, and everyday life. For example, even the way the stones are laid can reveal the techniques of craftsmen, channels of material distribution, or traces of interaction with other cultures. Discovering such connections is, to me, one of the most compelling aspects of this field.

I always wanted to ‘do something other people do not do.’

I have always been interested in history, and after majoring in architecture at the Faculty of Engineering, I decided to pursue architectural history. I wanted to gain a bird’s-eye view of what makes good architecture and urban spaces. However, in Japan there were already many scholars working on Japanese architecture, and within the field of medieval European architecture –the area that interested me more– I found that Gothic architecture was already well covered. In searching for a field that remained relatively unexplored in Japan, I was eventually led to early medieval Spanish architecture.

In previous studies of medieval architecture, Spanish architecture tended to be marginalized and treated as something of an outsider, even within a European context. I was drawn to this sense of foreignness and irregularity. Rather than feeling anxious about pursuing a path few others had taken, I found the challenge of exploring an under-researched field genuinely exciting.

Architectural history is a field with an enormous accumulation of past scholarship. If you want to establish yourself as an expert, you need to find your own perspective. To do so, you must first gain a thorough understanding of what has already been studied.

For example, if you study Spain, which is my own field, it is essential to read documents written in Spanish. But that is not enough. You also need to work with scholarship in other languages –German, French, Italian, or Portuguese, in addition to English– because European or Mediterranean architectural history has been studied extensively by scholars across Europe and North America.

Developing a new perspective requires a substantial accumulation of knowledge, and that process was perhaps the most challenging part for me.

I was able to get through it thanks to my friends who were pursuing their doctoral degrees alongside me. We supported and encouraged each other in the laboratory. Also, whenever I encountered new places, towns, and buildings during my time studying abroad as a graduate student, or while traveling for research, the experience felt almost magical. I would often tell myself, ‘this is what all the hard work is for.’ That feeling sustained me throughout my graduate school years.

Currently, I am working on a research project titled ‘The Formation and Development of Medieval Mediterranean Architecture: A Study through Peripheries, Boundaries, and Inertia.’ Focusing primarily on architecture in the Iberian Peninsula and the western Mediterranean, I aim to rethink traditional approaches to Mediterranean architectural history by foregrounding peripheries, boundaries, and inertia –dimensions that have not been sufficiently explored in earlier studies.

There are many old churches in Spain whose builders and dates of construction remain unknown; however, by closely examining masonry patterns, window forms, and vault structures, it is possible to identify connections between geographically distant regions.

At the core of my research is an attempt to re-examine these architectures across longer time frames and broader geographic scales, without relying on modern national boundaries or stylistic categories. Through architecture, I seek to explore what emerges when the Mediterranean is viewed as an interconnected cultural region.

Sure. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, I had the opportunity to visit Sardinia, now part of Italy, and Corsica, now part of France. Since my research had focused mainly on the Iberian Peninsula, it was my first time visiting those two islands. When I visited historic churches in Sardinia, I was intrigued by how closely their architectural details and construction techniques resembled those of certain early medieval buildings in Spain.

That experience led me to think that there might be much larger cultural networks at work, ones that extend beyond space and time, of which I was only seeing fragments. People, techniques, and ideas were moving across a large area of the western Mediterranean. I started to realize that traces of these movements can still be found in the architecture of many different places.

I believe that what humanity has left possesses power. This may be slightly off topic, but I recently visited an exhibition of Buddhist statues at the Tokyo National Museum. I was struck by the sight of so many people carefully observing the details of the statues with opera glasses. I was fascinated to see how curious people today can be about cultures.

Historical research may not directly generate money. However, it is not irrelevant to the present simply because it deals with the past. On the contrary, it continues to speak to us. I believe that it is fundamental for humanity that there are people who study these cultural remains and work to protect them. I see my own research as contributing to that broader purpose.

In my laboratory, I currently supervise undergraduate and master’s students, and from next year I will also be working with doctoral students. We also have international students: at present, there is a student from Belgium, and in the past we have had students from Bulgaria and Thailand. Not only do the students come from diverse national backgrounds, but their research topics also vary widely, as they are encouraged to pursue themes that genuinely interest them.

When it comes to supervision, what I pay particular attention to is adopting an approach tailored to each individual student. For those who aim to become researchers, I offer concrete advice based on my own experiences –what I struggled with during my own student years and what kinds of preparation are necessary. For many students, however, writing a thesis is the last opportunity they will have to engage in research in their whole lives. As a supervisor, I want to help students shape that experience so that it remains meaningful and valuable.

Students grow significantly over the one or two years they spend working on a thesis. As a university teacher, it is a great joy to witness their growth and moments of realization up close.

A variety of research topics are pursued in my laboratory. ‘Architecture’ encompasses a wide range of subjects, from furniture to cities and even large regional territories.

For example, one student studied streets in Vietnamese cities. At first glance, cities such as Ho Chi Minh City or Hanoi may appear chaotic, but starting from the assumption that there is an underlying logic, the student conducted fieldwork to uncover it. During this process, the student learned about urban space, building regulations, and local customs from local architects, interviewed local residents, and measured numerous alleyways in order to produce architectural drawings.

Another student researched a village in a mountainous region of Spain. The houses there supported domestic industries related to chorizo (a paprika-seasoned Spanish pork sausage) production. Through the study, the student discovered that the village’s architectural and urban characteristics were shaped by specific factors such as topography, a cool climate, and access to areas where pork and paprika were produced. Interviews with local residents further revealed close connections between food production and architecture, as well as how this historic village has been inherited and maintained in the present day. The student stayed in the village for a week and developed close relationships with local residents during the research.

While these findings are academically significant, I believe that the students also gained something equally important from these experiences –personal insights and growth that go beyond academic achievement alone.

Today, I believe it is more important to pay attention to processes rather than results alone. With the rapid development of generative AI, it has become easier to produce reports or written outputs. That makes it all the more important for students to engage in processes that require them to use their own brains, take action, and build evidence through logical reasoning.

The experience of trial and error can play an important role in students’ future lives. If students can vividly remember the one or two years they spent at university devoting themselves to study, that is the greatest reward for me as a teacher. I supervise students in the hope that their memories of those years thinking with their own minds, struggling through difficulties, and turning ideas into something tangible will support them in their future lives in some way.

At present, we are particularly focusing on exchanges with Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok, where one of the professors is a former colleague of mine from my doctoral years.

In 2022 and again in 2024, I accompanied a dozen or so students each time to Bangkok to conduct a week-long architectural workshop. For each workshop, we set up one theme and formed mixed teams of students from both Tokyo Metropolitan University and Chulalongkorn University, who then worked together in groups.

We also maintain an exchange relationship with Université Libre de Bruxelles (ULB). Currently, a second student from Tokyo Metropolitan University is studying there. This connection, too, grew out of a long-standing academic relationship with a colleague I have known since my graduate school days.

Looking ahead, we are planning to develop exchange programs with institutions in India, Colombia, Spain, and Australia. These initiatives are not unique to my laboratory alone, but I believe we are able to offer such international educational opportunities because of the academic networks I have built through my research activities over many years.

I think Tokyo Metropolitan University has a unique appeal. One aspect is its well-balanced location. The Minami-Osawa campus offers convenient access to central Tokyo, while the campus itself is surrounded by a quiet, suburban environment. I see this as a particularly favorable setting for studying architecture.

Another strength is its home-like atmosphere. The Department of Architecture admits around fifty students per year, which is a relatively small number. This allows for close communication between students and faculty. At the same time, our professors are specialists in distinct areas of architectural study –such as structures, environmental engineering, design, and history– making it possible for students to approach architecture from multiple perspectives.

As for international exchanges, frankly, I would say that we are still in a developmental phase compared to some of the larger universities in Tokyo. However, I see this precisely as an opportunity. Because the institution is still growing, it is easier to initiate new activities based on ideas from students and faculty, just as I was able to personally establish connections with universities in Bangkok and Brussels.

With its size and its room for further growth, I believe Tokyo Metropolitan University offers strong potential as a place for learning and research.

As I mentioned earlier, the Department of Architecture at Tokyo Metropolitan University offers an environment in which students can receive generous and attentive support for a wide range of education, largely because of its relatively small size. Another major attraction is the balance it offers between Tokyo as a vibrant, stimulating city and the quiet, focused atmosphere of the campus.

There are advantages that are unique to Tokyo Metropolitan University. Compared with larger universities that offer fully English-taught graduate programs, there may be aspects that seem less comprehensive at first glance. However, the fact that international students take the same classes as Japanese students creates valuable opportunities for close interaction and collaboration. In addition, architecture courses – especially design studios– rely heavily on visual communication, which allows all students to participate actively even if they are not fully confident in their Japanese language skills. Furthermore, several faculty members are fluent in languages other than English, providing further support for international students.

I believe that the experience of devoting yourself to study becomes a lasting asset in life. What you acquire from seriously confronting a subject –thinking deeply, struggling through difficulties, and turning ideas into tangible results– will continue to support you, regardless of the career path you choose in the future.