"Ghost Gardens" is an installation situated in a vacant shopping mall warehouse, features an array of damaged digital tablets mounted to the wall and a "garden" made of concrete debris and tarpaulins. The tablets with broken screens, sourced from second-hand electronics shops, display fragmented text from the Sakuteiki, an old Japanese manual on garden design, particularly rock arrangements and their taboos. The texts, spoken by artificial intelligence narrators, produce a layered auditory environment with the intermittent repetition of the Japanese word 'rock', mapping the visual noise characterized by the repeated presence of rocks in the installation.

The concrete pieces are arranged in the installation in island-like formations, each consisting of a large central piece and smaller pieces surrounding it. Resembling rocks yet hollow within, the tarpaulins mimic natural forms while echoing common visual motifs in urban environments. Evoking construction-related activities like temporary coverings, storage, and protection, they reflect the dynamics of Tokyo's swift urbanization and gentrification, characterized by rapid cycles of demolition and reconstruction. This context combines with the ambient sounds of Sakuteki's teachings on the rules and prohibitions of stone arrangement.

The concrete pieces in the installation come from a Tokyo recycling facility specializing in leftover demolition material. Chosen with the same meticulousness as rocks for a traditional garden, each concrete piece in the installation carries its own memory from various Tokyo structures, contributing to a temporary garden that highlights the aesthetics of the everyday.

Supported by SAHA ASSOCIATION

Activities

Research and presentations in Tokyo

Behind the Scenes of Creation

By Buşra Tunç & Kerem Ozan Bayraktar

True to its name, "Social Dive" was a project that took us thoroughly into Tokyo's many social layers.

Coming together with participating artists from different countries selected through an open call for the social diving program provided opportunities to meet and share with people from different backgrounds.

In 2020, we were accepted to the Tokyo Biennale with our video installation project "Ruderal Garden" (related interview video). The biennale was postponed for three years due to the pandemic. When we were invited to Tokyo again in 2023, our project also changed during the 1 month we stayed in Tokyo. Our new work, named "Ghost Gardens," took on a structure in which the installation was at the center.

We planned daily city walks to do our research and during these walks we had the opportunity to visit many different parts of Tokyo. We were intrigued by the similarities between some of the neighborhoods and Istanbul, where we live. We felt like we were in a larger-scale version of the neighborhoods we discovered and were inspired by in Istanbul. The Akihabara district in particular is very similar to the Karakoy district in Istanbul; it is still in the center of the city with artisans, hardware and electronics stores.

"Ghost Gardens" explores the idea of a garden through the lens of urban landscapes. It is an installation that aims to create new meanings by remapping complex urban systems through the garden narrative. To investigate these dynamics, we experienced Tokyo, analyzing and learning about urban ecology, architectural environment, garden culture, infrastructure, social relations and working discipline. Tokyo introduced us to new perspectives on urban culture that profoundly influenced our approach.

When we think about the idea of gardening in the context of architecture, the city and landscape, we encounter the concept of 'space'. The garden signifies space and uses horizontality and ground level. During our planned daily walks around Tokyo, we looked for potential spaces. The plots we came across between high-rise buildings were often covered over and looked like they would soon be under construction.

The principle of buildings not touching each other due to earthquake regulations is a characteristic of Tokyo cityscape. Exploring the narrow gaps between highrise construction became part of our research walks.

In Tokyo, it is difficult to find large areas of land that have not been disturbed for a long time outside of these small gaps. Because the city is so congested and overpopulated, these spaces are quickly filled with new buildings and infrastructure. To discover such "spontaneous gardens" you have to go outside the center. This surprised us when we first arrived. We didn't expect the city to be so organized and fast.

While we walked around the city, we talked a lot about rapid urban gentrification, that we live immensely in Istanbul where we live, and its effects on city spaces. In the loop of fast destruction and construction, there are times where the construction sites stay functionless. In that limbo stage, hybrid garden compositions, which are manmade materials scattered semi-randomly across the area, takes shape. Construction materials like sand, cement, and concrete blocks scatter semi-randomly, taking on an almost geological resemblance. Urban weeds sprout, creating a temporary ecology amidst the mixed soil and mud. We wanted to recognize this impermanence, to see it as a spontaneous design created not only by humans but also by other forces to a large extent.

Our project examined the concept of rock gardens through an unusual lens. We imagined and framed derelict and under-construction spaces in the city as spontaneous "gardens". We were inspired by Sakuteki, an ancient Japanese treatise on landscape design. This text formed the basis for our understanding of key concepts such as rock selection, layout principles and certain design taboos (breaking the rules can bring bad luck, according to Sakuteki!). Intrigued by the concept of "cursed gardens", we began to wonder if perhaps we were already living in them in our modern metropolises.

After studying the composition of these spaces, we wanted to bring their spirit into the exhibition space. We collected industrial tarpaulins from various workshops in Tokyo and created rock-like shapes with them. We aimed to create a rock garden-like form from construction materials.

Tarpaulin is a tool used extensively in construction, whose main function is to cover, hide or protect materials. We liked the impermanence and concealing function of this material as well as its ability to take sculptural forms.

Adopting a more hybrid approach, we wanted to show the similarities between tarpaulin and rocks, and instead of a garden made entirely of imitation, we planned to let real rocks seep into the work. To collect rocks, we went to a concrete recycling factory that collects debris from the city and makes different products from them.

Visiting waste recycling centers and factories where rubble is stored led us to ask more questions about material ecology and consumption cycles that are directly linked to our practice. In this sense, Tokyo has been a profound source of inspiration for our work in a way that nowhere else compares to our experiences in major cities in Europe.

It was a very special experience to see construction waste in different pieces in the recycling center. These pieces were being transformed into new materials for future buildings. What was striking for us was that these were remnants from different parts of the city. These were objects with memories. That's why we likened this recycling center to a kind of cemetery. Aren't the things we throw away as trash always endowed with memories in this way? They are somehow ghostly beings. These ghosts reminded us of the ancient taboos in Sakuteiki. We repeated the same question: do we really live in cursed gardens?

Rock garden designs require the careful selection of each rock. We followed this principle and chose pieces of concrete. In the meantime, it worked for us that Tokyoites are already extremely sensitive about everything. Workers showed us each individual stone and got our approval, and even a simple request for sand involved precise gram measurements - a stark contrast to our usual "two shovels" approach back home. This encounter also revealed to us the depth of the Japanese language in measuring even seemingly mundane details. Perhaps this cultural emphasis on precision explains the beauty of Japan's famous rock gardens. It's not just about following rituals; it's about the inherent value placed on design, even in the smallest, often overlooked elements.

After integrating the rocks, sand and cement from the recycling center into the installation, we started to think about whether the garden was in accordance with the rules. For this we went straight to Sakuteiki and reread the various rules of composition. Our garden was not in accordance with the rules. It was a cursed garden.

We thought it would be appropriate to share texts from the book to share this feeling with the audience. In this sense, we thought of presenting the texts with pieces from the city atmosphere.Akihabara's electronic wasteland couldn't offer better potential.

Wandering the streets, exploring shops like the Radio Center (a time capsule from the 2000s!), we came across objects labeled as "junk." These discarded treasures resonated with our repurposed debris garden.

Broken tablets caught our eye, many of which were still functional despite their broken screens. We saw them as a reflection of our "cursed garden"; objects that seemed worthless but held potential. We used these tablets to display the Sakuteiki passages on the wall of the installation, where visitors not only encountered rocks and sand as they walked through the garden, but also heard the passages. When we completed the installation, the repeated words "ishi", which means "rock" in Japanese, echoed back and forth.

Despite all the charm of Tokyo, we did our best not to approach it as an exotic city, thus we were more interested in the debris, the gaps, the invisible, rather than the ideals.

What remains are memories, dialogues, meetings and knowledge rather than art objects. Maybe that's why we make art. And that's why we are happy that our work has been distributed to recycling centers after the exhibition, instead of a museum or gallery. “Ghost gardens” now will be a tiny part of the buildings to be built in the future. Those living in those apartments will not know that the micro powders used in their concrete once belonged to a temporary piece of art.

As a result, we now have a deeper understanding of city layers. We believe that the social diving project has succeeded in this regard. When we see neon lights in Istanbul, we can't help but think about Tokyo and its side streets, and we wish to visit there in the future.