DesignApproach

【One Day, Everything Changed】 When I graduated from university, my ambition was to become an architect dedicated to vernacular architecture—an approach that responds to the unique character, culture, and needs of each place rather than relying on mass production or standardized design methods. At the time, however, Japan was entering the age of the internet. Technology-driven architecture was rapidly becoming the dominant trend, while vernacular architecture was increasingly overlooked. As a young architect with little professional experience, I found myself struggling against this tide and questioning my own direction. Determined to broaden my perspective, I decided to return to the roots of architecture by focusing on the relationship between materials and the quality of space. This led me to study under Professor Peter Salter, one of the leading figures in architectural education whose philosophy was deeply rooted in the ideals of the Arts and Crafts movement. I enrolled at the University of East London, hoping to rebuild the foundations of my architectural thinking and rediscover what architecture truly meant to me. 【Another Setback?】 At the University of East London, I studied architectural design through a hands-on process—working directly with raw materials and creating prototypes by hand. I also encountered design thinking, an approach that places the user’s perspective at the center of the design process. Every day was intense. I spent countless hours in the studio, sacrificing sleep, struggling with ideas, and pushing my work forward. In the first year of the two-year postgraduate course, only four out of twenty students in my class passed straight through without repeating the year. I was fortunate to be one of them. Just as I was beginning to look forward to growing further in my second year, the professor I had come to study under suddenly told us that he was retiring. At that moment, I decided to leave the university. Without thinking much about what would come next, I told my family, “I’m quitting school.” They were furious. To them, it was an unthinkable decision. In the end, my sudden decision to drop out led to my family cutting ties with me. 【Ten Firms. One Dream.】 I had no money to return to Japan. I could barely afford to live, and my English was far from fluent. Under those circumstances, most people would have given up on finding a job in Europe. Instead, I devoted myself to building the strongest portfolio I could. I often went without proper meals, spending every waking hour refining my work. The reality, however, was harsh. I would deliver my résumé and portfolio to architectural practices, only to be told, "Just leave them in the mailbox." Rejection became routine. Each time, I returned home, improved my portfolio, and tried again. I had made a promise to myself: if I was going to train in Europe, it would be at one of only ten architectural firms I truly admired. If none of them accepted me, I would rather return home than work somewhere I didn't believe in. To survive, I took a night job as a waiter at a Japanese hostess club in London. Even then, almost everything I earned disappeared into rent and transportation. There was barely enough left to eat. I had a place to sleep, but I was, in many ways, homeless—a situation often described as the "working poor." My days were spent refining my portfolio, and my nights were spent working. Exhausted, underfed, and running on almost no sleep, I eventually collapsed from fatigue. Yet I refused to give up. Six months after leaving university, I had finally approached all ten firms. 【An Unexpected Response】 After months of effort, the results were devastating. One by one, rejection letters arrived from nine of the ten firms. I was overwhelmed with disappointment. Only one firm remained. With nothing left to lose, I made one final call. I expected another rejection. Instead, the response caught me completely off guard. "Please come to the office as soon as you can." For a moment, I couldn't believe what I had just heard. It felt surreal, as if fate had suddenly changed direction. I still remember the awkward smile that spread across my face. At the time, however, I had no idea why their reaction was so different from everyone else's. The reason would only become clear a few days later. 【Gumuchdjian Architects】 Three days later, I walked into the office for what I hoped would be my final interview. The firm was Gumuchdjian Architects, located just a few minutes' walk from Covent Garden Station, in the heart of London's theatre and entertainment district. Hidden behind a simple black metal door, the studio occupied the second floor of an unassuming building. I had first discovered the practice through its celebrated Think Tank Boathouse, published in A+U magazine. Its quiet integration with nature and its refined, textured minimalism left a lasting impression on me. Philip Gumuchdjian, a former protégé of Sir Richard Rogers, had already established an international reputation through his collaboration with Rogers on Cities for a Small Planet and, later, through the winning design for the Centre Pompidou-Metz competition with Japanese architect Shigeru Ban. Although the office was still relatively young at the time, its architectural vision was unlike anything I had encountered. Carrying my oversized portfolio, I stepped inside. Philip himself greeted me with a warm smile. "Come in," he said. "Would you like a cup of tea?" As we sat down with our tea, the interview began. 【An Unexpected Misunderstanding】 "Thank you for coming," Philip began. "So, shall we talk about the translation?" I looked at him in confusion. "The translation? I'm actually here for the interview." He picked up a copy of Cities for a Small Planet and said, "Isn't this about translating the book into Chinese? You're Chinese, aren't you? What's your name?" In my broken English, I replied, "My name is Shinya Mouri. I'm here for the interview. I sent you my résumé about two weeks ago. Do you remember?" Philip paused for a moment before laughing. "Oh! You're the one with the crazy cover letter!" Turning to one of the architects in the office, he called out, "Ralph, do you remember? He's the applicant with that unforgettable cover letter. We rejected him because it was so unconventional." At that moment, everything suddenly made sense. I finally understood why I had been rejected by every firm I had approached. Ralph, a tall German architect with an exceptionally warm smile, simply grinned as if to say, "Yes, I remember." 【Architecture as a Non-Verbal Language】 From that day on, I began working at the office as a part-time assistant. My model-making skills, the precision of my work, my attitude during the design process, and the ideas I contributed were gradually recognized. My position was extended, and I was finally able to leave my night job at the hostess club. Around that time, several major projects began to move forward. The office was also approached by Shigeru Ban to collaborate on the international design competition for the Centre Pompidou-Metz. My contract was extended again, and when the team won the competition, I was officially invited to join the office as a full-time member. My English was still far from fluent, and I often struggled to express myself clearly in words. But through drawings, models, materials, and space, I learned to communicate in another way. Two years later, I became an associate director, leading other members of the team. Not long after that, I was appointed design partner, becoming one of the key figures in the office and working on many of its major projects. After seeing a significant project through to completion, I decided it was time to move on and take the next step in my architectural journey. Soon after, I received an invitation from the office of Jean Nouvel, one of the great masters of French architecture. They were preparing to establish a new interior design division and invited me to join as a potential director. There, I worked on projects at an even higher level, including monuments for national parks, luxury residences, five-star hotel interiors, and exhibition designs for prestigious fashion houses. In that environment, surrounded by some of the most demanding and refined projects in the world, I brought my years of training to a close. 【The End of One Apprenticeship, the Beginning of Another】 Looking back, I often ask myself how I was able to build a career in architecture despite not being fluent in English. I believe the answer lies in developing a form of communication that goes beyond words. Architecture has its own language—one expressed through drawings, models, materials, craftsmanship, and space. I learned to communicate through making rather than speaking. Equally important was the willingness to face the unknown head-on, embracing challenges I had never encountered before without hesitation. That mindset has never changed. What has changed is the purpose behind it. In those days, I was driven by the instinct to survive—to develop the resilience needed to find my place in the world. After establishing my own practice, however, my focus shifted. Survival was no longer enough. My goal became to cultivate the ability to create value for others and to expand happiness through every project and every relationship. I came to think of this as the power of contribution. If there is another stage beyond that, I believe its theme is love—not simply as emotion, but as the ability to build lasting human connections and meaningful relationships. What will it take to reach that stage? I still don't know the answer. My apprenticeship is far from over. The difference now is that I no longer wish to search for the answer alone. I want to explore it together with others, learning through collaboration, dialogue, and co-creation.