ISSUE NO. 64

A November Issue

We start life constructing a self like scaffolding—identity, achievements, preferences, the whole curated museum of “me.” That phase is training wheels. You need a strong sense of self to even have something to interrogate.

But once the ego is fully built, you see the seams. You notice how every trait you thought was uniquely yours is borrowed—from culture, from memory, from environment. The “somebody” you fought to become dissolves into a wider field of being.

ARCHITECTURALLY CURIOUS

APPROACHING

There’s a quiet thrill in seeing a structure lean into its landscape instead of fighting it. Here, angled timber braces lift the home above a flood-prone valley, echoing the surrounding tree trunks both in posture and purpose.

The stone walls feel older than memory, yet the raised deck and slender structural rhythm give the building an unexpected lightness—almost as if it’s pausing mid-stride. This is architecture choosing to adapt rather than impose, and the result feels both ancient and forward-thinking.

WITHIN THE STONE

Inside, the stone towers thicken the air with a calm, cave-like gravity while rammed-earth walls warm the space with their terracotta undertones.

The bathtub, carved from a single dark mass, sits beneath a deep window that frames the valley like a living mural. Here, the material honesty is almost disarming—nothing is disguised, softened, or polished beyond recognition.

You feel the land’s fingerprints in every surface, as if the valley itself insisted on being part of the room.

UNDER THE LIVING BRIDGE

In the glazed main level—the entire home shifts from shelter to observation deck. Untreated larch beams run overhead, and the long dining table anchors the room like a communal spine, inviting slow meals and slower conversations.

Light slips through wall-to-wall glass, touching stone, wood, and iron with equal respect, making the space feel both humble and monumental. It’s a reminder that architecture can be a bridge—between old and new, craft and experiment, earth and air—and that the best stories often begin exactly where those worlds meet.

GLOBAL GLIMPSE

A Glimpse At Material Interplay

This space feels like walking into a quiet dialogue between stone, wood, and restraint. The green-veined marble baseboard and the deep burgundy stone counter set the tone—grounded, tactile, and impossibly calm.

Even the rattan dining chairs feel intentional, their warm texture balancing against the cool, misty sheen of the tiled bar. It’s a reminder that openness isn’t just about knocking down walls; it’s about giving materials room to breathe.

In A Deepened Motion

The kitchen pulls us deeper, where the black-stained ceiling plane hovers like a protective canopy. The staircase bends in a clean sculptural line, its matte plaster face meeting thick wooden steps that look hand-cut rather than factory-perfect.

Even the cat tucked beneath the landing feels like part of the design—softening the sharp geometry with a lived-in rhythm. This is where function turns almost ceremonial, revealing how daily rituals shape the flow of a home.

To Be Felt

Here we trade hard stone for the plush weight of a charcoal velvet sofa that almost sinks into the floor. The plaster walls keep everything hushed, while the low wood-and-stone table anchors the space like a quiet altar. A single floral arrangement—pine needles, pink anthuriums, small blossoms—brings the wilderness indoors with an elegance that feels nearly meditative. Solitude as a design choice, shaping a room that feels equal parts refuge and reflection.

VISUAL COMFORT

Sculpture, Structure, and the Space Between

Looking at the Adri Chair, you feel the entire Slash Objects philosophy distilled into a single silhouette: cold, mirror-bright steel holding a sling of warm, organic hide. The contrast doesn’t fight—it hums, like two notes vibrating against each other.

This is where the studio’s idea of “coexistence” becomes literal: industrial precision meeting something animal, textured, and imperfect. It’s a small object, but it teaches you quickly that tension can be a kind of harmony. You start wondering what other contradictions the studio might turn into balance.

The Coexist Credenza and Bench extend this dialogue, using aluminum and green onyx to create pieces that look carved from both earth and machinery. The credenza floats on a glowing block of stone, its cloudy veins catching light like a frozen storm, while the steel bench stretches across the room as quietly as a horizon line.

Even in stillness, these pieces feel engineered for movement—light shifting across metal, shadows pooling under stone. Slash Objects uses geometry as a kind of storytelling, proving that strength and softness can share the same frame without canceling each other out. You’re left with the sense that these works aren’t just furniture—they’re studies in balance, waiting for someone to sit, touch, and complete the conversation.

MUSICAL INTERLUDE

What I'm Listening to in November

The paradox is that you can only reach that dissolution by first committing to the illusion. You build the self so you can transcend it. Individuation is the doorway; recognition of shared essence is what’s on the other side. —I’ll see you next week, my friend.

Warmly,
/shane