Text & Textile — 9
I hear a car coming up the gravel hill. My fiancé and I go out to meet the architect, whom I spoke to briefly on the phone a few weeks earlier. A woodpecker is busy on the snag near his car. The usual greetings are confused, we hesitate to reach out to him, our mask in our back pocket. We are in September 2020.
I spontaneously turn to face the house, as if to present it to him. After all, he came to see it. The day is magnificent, the windows shine and the reddened tops of the maple trees envelop the house, giving it a royal air. We linger outside, the architect talks to us about volumes, asks about the firm that designed our “little slice” in the forest, as he calls it. We finally invite him in, he calmly replies “awesome” and heaves a contented sigh as he places his feet on the radiant floor.
This sewing workshop project really came to life in contact with the architect. I suspect he had the idea of extending the house on the north side from this very first visit that day. He involved me in all phases of creation thereafter, from exploratory volumes to the last sketches. All issues related to the use of space were raised one by one during the process, each detail carefully noted in his black notebook. I consider us lucky to have crossed his path. There are people who mark you for life, and the architect certainly marked ours.