Something can exist without being fully defined. Measurement gives it boundaries, turning possibility into something we can name, compare, and understand. But in defining a thing, we may also reduce the many ways it could have been understood.

The exterior is almost entirely brick, but the surface behaves more like carved stone than conventional masonry. Thousands of narrow handmade bricks are laid with subtle irregularity, allowing the mortar joints, recessed windows and sharply chamfered openings to become part of the composition rather than decoration applied afterward. I’m particularly interested in how the deep cuts interrupt such a heavy mass—the building feels protected without becoming completely closed. As daylight moves across those uneven courses, what first reads as a solid wall begins to show its texture, depth and imperfections.

When privacy limits what a home can look out toward, one solution is to create something worth looking into. Here, a three-storey courtyard becomes an internal landscape, enclosed by rough split-face stone and planted with tree ferns, low vegetation and vines that will eventually descend through the void. Full-height glazing places this garden directly against the rooms, so the stone, foliage and changing daylight become part of the interior rather than scenery beyond it. It is a clever reversal: instead of relying on distant views to make rooms feel expansive, the house creates depth within its own footprint.

Rather than treating daylight as something that simply enters through a window, a large elliptical opening appears to have been carved directly into the room. Its curved reveal softens the light before it reaches the walls, while the irregular, almost faceted mirror below introduces a second opening—this one reflecting the long passage beyond. The built-in timber ledge keeps the floor largely uninterrupted and gives objects a quiet place within the composition. Together, the skylight, mirror and long sightline make a relatively restrained room feel much deeper than its physical dimensions suggest.

There’s a quiet tension here between structure and comfort: dark timber shelves cut cleanly through warm plaster walls, while a low, overstuffed sofa seems almost too relaxed for the precision around it. The dark timber ceiling above creates another horizontal plane, visually lowering the room and making it feel more intimate. Even the furniture plays with that contrast—the sofa is loose and slouching, while the small three-legged stool and dining chairs have harder, more graphic silhouettes. Nothing is fighting for attention, but the differences in weight, texture and proportion keep the neutral room from becoming anonymous.

Walls, ceiling and flush cabinet fronts are treated as one continuous field, leaving only the fine door joints and tiny hardware to reveal the hidden storage. Against it, the warm timber portal reads almost like a frame cut into the wall, while the worn leather chair introduces something aged and imperfect. It’s a reminder that a monochromatic room doesn’t have to feel flat when matte plaster, timber, linen and patinated leather each absorb light differently.

The oak-plank ceiling might be the most important surface in the room—it runs overhead like a continuous canopy, bringing warmth to otherwise pale walls and floors. Below it, the fireplace is reduced to a dark horizontal cut in the plaster, while full-height linen curtains soften the tall glazing without hiding its scale.

The round dining table and curved chair backs quietly counter all those long horizontal lines, making the furniture feel deliberately placed rather than simply filling the room. It’s restraint with enough friction to stay interesting: smooth against grain, pale against dark, and rigid lines against softer forms.

Ariana Goitía’s paintings place the body at the center, often surrounded by animals, plants, furniture, and other figures that make each scene feel inhabited rather than staged. Her figures are elongated and loosely rendered, moving between exposed pencil-like lines and broad areas of earthy color. There is a noticeable interest in hair, clothing, posture, and domestic objects as ways of giving each person character without relying on realism. The work feels personal and slightly strange, as though we’ve entered a room where a story was already happening.

Perhaps certainty is not discovered through measurement, but created by it—l’ll see you next week my friends.

Warmly,
/shane