Metropolis’ “Based in Japan” series interviews influential international residents who are making an impact in the community. This article was originally published in Metropolis Magazine, “Designing the City,” Spring 2025. Read the full issue here.

The first time I really saw Tokyo—not just as a city but as something alive—I was walking down the charming street of Yanaka Ginza. The evening air carried the scent of grilled fish from a nearby izakaya, and the glow of old-fashioned shop signs selling handmade trinkets reflected from the street wet with rain. A tiny bar with wooden lattice windows, its exterior a little worn, a little imperfect, but full of character. It felt like a place that had lived, soaked in decades of quiet conversations and late-night laughter. The kind of place that disappears overnight, replaced by another sleek, glass-clad high-rise before anyone even thinks to mourn it.

Mateusz Urbanowicz knows this feeling well. The Polish-born painter and animator has spent years documenting Tokyo’s storefronts, those unassuming but deeply expressive pieces of the urban landscape. What began as personal sketches turned into published books, like Tokyo Storefronts, a collection that now serves as an unintentional archive of buildings that may no longer exist. But as the city evolves at a breakneck pace, Urbanowicz’s focus has shifted from recording the past to imagining a better future.

“Until now, I tried to represent on the page what I felt was authentic Japan,” he tells me. “But now, especially in my new book, I want to show what I’d like to see.”

Tokyo’s Buildings: More Than Just Concrete and Steel

Urbanowicz’s relationship with Tokyo began through animation. Growing up in Poland, he was captivated by Japanese films, particularly those where everyday life was rendered with an almost obsessive attention to detail. The alleyways in Ghost in the Shell, the rooftops in Whisper of the Heart—these weren’t just settings. They were stories in themselves.

“When I moved here, I was stunned to realize that everything I had seen in anime felt like the other side of a mirror—and then, I was finally standing on the real side,” he recalls. “Every corner, every street, shop and house was an inspiration from day one.”

This inspiration fueled his early work, capturing Tokyo’s cityscape in dreamy watercolor. But there was also frustration. The city he fell in love with was changing fast, often in ways that erased its character. “There’s this mentality that buildings are disposable,” Urbanowicz says. “They go up fast, they come down fast. They don’t really belong to the city and the people anymore.”

Shops that had stood for decades were torn down for large department stores. New apartment blocks prioritized cost efficiency over traditional elements of architecture that made Japan, Japan. But it’s never been about resisting change for Urbanowicz. Cities evolve—it’s inevitable. But what happens when architecture and design stop being an extension of the people who live there?

The Danger of Standardization

Tokyo’s architecture, at its best, tells the story of those who came before. Walk through Yanaka, Jimbocho or Kiyosumi Shirakawa, and you’ll find spaces that feel distinct—century-old wooden buildings housing vintage bookstores, tea shops with sliding doors, and small stores with bright facades that exemplify kanban-kenchiku, or so-called “signboard” architecture.

But increasingly, these kinds of places are giving way to uniformity. “You look at new apartment buildings, and they all have the same design––and where did all the Japanese architectural elements go? What you get now is a building that’s kind of squarish with small windows, gray or white, and no tiles, no engawa and no sliding doors.”

There’s a deeper issue at play here. When architecture falls into the hands of development companies who prioritize cost efficiency, cities lose their sense of place. They become interchangeable. “Does the architecture have to be Japanese? I think, yes,” he emphasizes. “One of the most meaningful aspects of everyday life is a strong sense of place—it fosters a connection to your neighborhood or the area where you work. What truly deepens that connection is its uniqueness, the distinct character that sets it apart.”

Mateusz Urbanowicz Imagines a Different Tokyo

Lately, Urbanowicz has moved beyond documentation. His newest project, Imaginary Storefronts, steps into the realm of the imagined, depicting a modern Japanese town that holds onto its past without being stuck in it. His paintings blend real architectural elements with his own vision, incorporating elements of traditional Japanese design—sliding doors, tiled roofs, wooden facades—into modern structures.

“I want people to see these images and think: Oh, this is so nice, it’s a shame that we don’t have more shops like this,” he says.

His hope is that through art, he can influence how people see their city—and maybe even how developers think about construction. Because the truth is, modernization doesn’t have to mean erasure. Old and new can coexist, but only if there’s an effort to preserve what makes a place unique in the first place.

There’s a lesson here beyond Tokyo. Every city faces tension between progress and preservation, and every resident plays a role in shaping their urban environment. It starts with paying attention—with looking at a building not as something of only economic value but as something alive.

Buildings tell stories; we just have to decide whether we want to listen.

Learn more about Mateusz Urbanowicz on his official website.

You can purchase Mateusz Urbanowicz’s books on Amazon:

Imaginary Storefronts

Imaginary Storefronts (Postcard book)

Tokyo Storefronts

Enjoyed this article? Our Based in Japan series highlights the inspiring work of international residents across Japan. Check out more stories below:

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