The Design Journey Behind IWADO BASE

How a mountaintop phone call, a coastal site, and quiet conviction shaped a retreat in Tottori

Good design often begins with a feeling. For us, it began with wind.

What was meant to be a routine survey trip to Tottori quickly became something else: a moment of recognition. The coastline didn’t ask to be tamed or romanticized. It asked to be left alone.

We were brought in early by Professor Minami of Atelier Implexe, who had once taught Ryo during his Master’s program at Kokushikan University. Ryo is known for being outdoorsy, brave, and adventurous. Sometimes, to my dismay, that meant I had to tag along and do equally daunting things. But challenges are always welcome. As Brené Brown once said: Courage over comfort.

On that same trip, while hiking up to Nageiredo, the cliffside temple suspended in mist, Ryo received a call. I remember him pausing mid-climb, drenched in sweat, trying to catch a faint signal in that remote place. It was Professor Minami again: “You’ve been selected as a part-time lecturer at Kokushikan University.” The words crackled through the wind and spotty reception, but somehow the timing felt fated. IWADO BASE would demand both intellectual rigor and quiet resolve. We were ready.

Concepts That Emerge, Not Impose

From the beginning, our goal wasn’t to design a destination—it was to protect an atmosphere.

We began with loose sketches and playful forms, but quickly realized that restraint was essential. To honor the site and its surrounding community, we had to pare everything back. Our concept boards emphasized texture over shape; our renderings blurred the line between shelter and landscape. We asked: how could the buildings be less visible, less intrusive? What already existed—the dunes, the slanting light, the windblown grass—became our primary guides.

Site visits turned into observation exercises. One detail stood out to me, as someone from the Philippines: there were no coconut trees. At home, their towering presence is iconic—and sometimes hazardous. But here, their absence meant large glass windows could be used without worry. Still, this wasn’t a tropical escape. We had to design for four seasons—especially the two harshest: Tottori’s scorching summers and grueling winters.

But that contrast became part of the vision. Summer surfing. Winter camping by the sea. Walking from sauna to shoreline. It became less about designing a structure, and more about shaping an experience.

Collaboration and Constraint

While the client gave us creative freedom, the site had very real limits: strict UNESCO zoning, limited infrastructure, environmental protections. And then there were the panicked calls: client to contractor, contractor to city hall, city hall to Ryo.

Investing in Japan’s least-populated prefecture wasn’t without anxiety. The stakes were high. But instead of resisting the constraints, we treated them as a framework.

We worked closely with local artisans, carpenters, and engineers. On-site, we tested cladding samples, prototyped joinery, and adjusted to what the landscape allowed. Every design decision became a quiet negotiation with nature, with climate, and with the people who knew the place best.

The Outcome: Emotionally Quiet Spaces

IWADO BASE was never meant to be loud. It was meant to be felt.

In the hush of early morning light filtering through fabric. In the grain of wood beneath your feet. In the unfiltered sound of the ocean—present, not performed.

This wasn’t a showcase of invention, but a process of resonance. A place that revealed itself not through spectacle, but through stillness.

And maybe that’s why this project continues to matter—not just as a completed retreat, but as a memory. A phone call on a mountain. A coastline that asked for less. A quiet that became the design.