A stone-gabled cottage and a timber-and-glass villa, sharing a garden and a single warm interior language.
Calm courtyards drawn between wings of clinical certainty.
Light brought into the centre of the plan, then sent down each corridor in turn.
Counter, banquette, window, light, drawn in that order.
A staircase that earns its place at the centre of the plan.
Each ceiling a different conversation; each room held with care.
A simple shed that earns its place beside the hatchery sheds it serves.
A penthouse drawn close around its inhabitants, then opened to the city far below.
A long facade drawn to be read at speed, and then, more slowly, once you stop.
A floor plate held together by light and a single bench of timber.
A house at 116, Sector One, held quietly between brick and shade.
Hard surfaces softened with one decision: a curved ceiling above the waiting room.
Glass by day, lit water and flame by night — one room dressed for a thousand evenings.
Three floors held together by a single, long stairwell of light.
A landscape held together by routes, water, and the long shadow of trees.