As a rule, we do not do single-family houses. First of all, it’s unsustainable. Secondly, perhaps crucially, because we are not adept at navigating emotions and privacy that usually accompany building for ourselves. And I can’t remember why we did otherwise.
On a beautiful plot of land on the edge of the Lower Silesian countryside, we found a two-storey barn. The building had been adapted and functionally divided into two parts: residential and farm. While looking for a form that could bear the task of expansion, we very carefully researched all configurations that set up relations between the old and the new, with a catalysing contact in between. We were fascinated to observe the ubiquitous additions and extensions in this undulating landscape. A kind of unplanned, peculiar morphology, building a new, post-war identity in this once orderly biotope. We decided to follow this path and search for form by applying successive layers and shapes. At the end of the process, we unified the whole by systematising the slopes, the rhythm of the windows and the shingles – the monomaterial of the new mass.
The result is a hybrid of two worlds functioning in symbiosis with the surrounding semi-wild landscape. The natural, rather quickly patinated shingles merged in colour with the weathered clinker bricks, creating new values. Inside, the aerated volume of the new collided with the old gable, with its distinctive vents. At the junction of the roofs, another hub grew up – a skylight brightening up the central part of the living room. Looking for a holistic whole, the walls were made with strawbale technology, where the structure was filled with compressed straw cubes. In this way, we tried to formally overwrite the typology of a charming, forgotten Lower Silesian village.