Hanging Paintings in Barber Shops and Playing Strings in Temples: How ‘Non-Traditional Spaces’ Embrace Culture

Cultural spaces are not limited to museums and concert halls.

In Onomichi City, a barber shop displays paintings on its walls for just one day during the festival. In the Asa North District of Hiroshima City, a former orchestra musician who is now a temple priest plays the cello. Both places have different primary functions. Yet, there is an atmosphere that is absent in dedicated cultural facilities—moments when culture subtly intersects with daily life.

These two examples illustrate a system where it is not about creating spaces for culture, but rather about existing places embracing culture. Who does this ease, and what does it enable? We explored local voices and structures.

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One-Day Art Exhibition in Onomichi’s Barber Shop: Changing the “Waiting Time” on the Walls

The “Sanno Festival” takes place every year on May 16 in Onomichi City. On this festival day, a barber shop located in a corner of the shopping district becomes a venue for a one-day art exhibition. The initiative was organized by local resident Mr. Okada, who has been acquainted with the barber shop owner for many years. The idea originated from the thought, “People come out on the festival day. It would be interesting to have art along that flow of foot traffic.”

The exhibition featured works from several artists active in the region. Small oil paintings and drawings were displayed on the walls beside the barber chairs, next to mirrors, and along the windows of the waiting area—places typically occupied by calendars and magazines.

The shop owner shared in an interview:

“We don’t operate on a reservation system, so sometimes customers have to wait a bit on weekends. I thought if they could look at the art during that time, waiting wouldn’t be so bad.”

What stands out in this statement is the underlying structure. The barber shop inherently has “waiting time” where people linger—10 or 15 minutes in the waiting area. This time, which is usually considered “empty,” transforms into “viewing time” when art is hung on the walls. There is no need to make a special trip to a gallery. If you come to get a haircut, and there happens to be art there—that serendipity dissolves the boundary between the everyday and culture.

According to Mr. Okada, the number of visitors on the festival day increased by about 30% compared to a typical business day. However, it is difficult to separate this figure from the festival’s own draw. More importantly, there were several people who entered the shop for the first time to see the exhibition. The threshold to the barber shop was lowered slightly by the presence of art. For the artists, it provided an opportunity to showcase their work without incurring the costs of renting a gallery—typically a few thousand to ten thousand yen per day in Onomichi City.

The actual costs for the exhibition were estimated by Mr. Okada to be around several tens of thousands of yen. The main expenses were for framing adjustments and printing informational flyers, with no venue rental costs. The shop owner’s willingness to say, “If it’s okay with our walls,” made this system possible.

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Music Concert at Ganseibo in Asa North District: The Reverberation of the Main Hall Creates a “Listening Space”

At Ganseibo in Asa North District, a Jodo Shinshu temple, a music concert is held where the priest himself plays the cello. The priest has a background as the principal cellist in a professional orchestra and has continued performing even after taking over the temple. The concert features a program centered around string instruments, with family members joining in.

The main hall has sound characteristics that differ from a concert hall. With its high wooden ceiling, tatami flooring, and soft light filtering through shoji screens, the sound does not bounce off hard walls but gently spreads, absorbed by wood and fabric. One participant remarked, “It felt like the sound was soaking into my body.”

The priest commented:

“Temples have always been places where people gather. They were not only for memorial services but also for community meetings, consultations, and children’s play areas. I believe the music concert is an extension of that.”

This statement reflects a historical perspective on the functions of temples. Before the modern era, temples served as public spaces in the community and hubs for information. As their functions became limited to ceremonial occasions in modern times, the reasons for visiting temples decreased. The music concert is an attempt to add one more reason to visit.

In fact, on the days of the concerts, visitor numbers significantly increase compared to regular worshippers. According to the priest, some families have come to know the temple through the concert and later participated in memorial services and events. Music serves as an “entry point,” re-establishing the relationship between the temple and the community.

Here too, comparing the costs of renting a dedicated hall is relevant. Renting a 100-seat hall in Hiroshima City for half a day can cost several tens of thousands of yen. In the main hall, there are no venue rental costs. However, the sound equipment is minimal, and air conditioning is limited. Yet, this does not function as a “constraint” but rather as a “characteristic” because the context of the temple—its tranquility, solemnity, and depth of time—resonates with the performance.

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Overlapping Aspects of the Two Cases: A Common Structure of “Spatial Margins”

Onomichi’s barber shop and the temple in Asa North District differ in industry and scale, yet they share structural similarities.

First, both had “margins in spaces meant for primary functions.” The waiting area of the barber shop and the main hall of the temple. Spaces typically used for different purposes become vessels for culture for a specific period. Instead of creating new dedicated facilities, they utilize the “unused time slots” or “unused wall spaces” of existing areas.

Second, the hosts of these spaces—the shop owner and the priest—function as the “receiving side.” They are not experts in cultural projects. However, they made the decision to open their spaces. Behind that decision lies a long-standing relationship with the community. The familiarity between Mr. Okada and the barber shop owner, the trust between the priest and the temple congregation. The system is built upon these relationships.

Third, the design of the connection is such that it is not about “making a special trip” but rather about “finding something there when you go.” When you come to the barber shop for a haircut, there is art. When you visit the temple, there is music. This serendipity lowers the psychological barrier to culture. Many people feel they must “go to” a museum, but there is no need to feel that way about seeing art in a barber shop.

When these three conditions—spatial margins, the presence of welcoming individuals, and incidental connections—are met, “non-traditional spaces” begin to function as vessels for culture.

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Who Does This System Benefit?

Let’s reframe the question. Who does this system ease?

First, artists and performers. The burden of securing a venue for their presentations is lightened. Especially in rural areas, options for galleries and halls are limited. By opening existing spaces, one barrier of “not being able to present due to lack of venues” is reduced.

Next, the hosts of the spaces. For the barber shop owner, it helps attract customers, and for the priest, it becomes an opportunity to reconnect the temple with the community. It does not detract from their primary business; rather, it reinforces the value of their main activities.

And finally, local residents. There is no need to travel far to engage with culture. They can encounter culture within their living area, along their daily routes. This is particularly significant for the elderly and families with children, who may have limited means of transportation.

However, there are points to be cautious about. This system heavily relies on the “goodwill of the hosts.” To ensure sustainability, it is necessary to design it in a way that does not place excessive burdens on the hosts. In the Onomichi case, Mr. Okada took on the planning and coordination, while the shop owner provided the space, creating a functional division of roles. As long as the system operates solely on personal enthusiasm, it cannot truly be called a system.

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Future Points of Interest: Will the “Decision to Open Spaces” Trigger a Chain Reaction?

The initiatives in Onomichi and Asa North District highlight the perspective of not lamenting the “lack of cultural facilities” but rather reinterpreting the “possibilities of existing spaces.”

What to watch for moving forward is whether this movement remains isolated or expands into a broader network. Will the efforts of one barber shop and one temple spread to neighboring shops or other temples? For this to happen, it is essential not only to share successful examples but also to accumulate practical insights on “what happens when spaces are opened and what challenges arise.”

Culture can thrive without dedicated vessels. However, there needs to be a hand to embrace it.

The single painting hung on the wall of the barber shop in Onomichi, the sound of the cello resonating in the main hall of Asa North District—what made these possible was the quiet judgment of someone who said, “If it’s okay with us.”