Philip Murphy is a true artist and lovable creative. A chef by trade, Philip made a somewhat bold decision to hang up his chef’s hat, move to Stanley in Tasmania, take on a luxury holiday retreat and, as if that wasn’t wild enough, build his own home.

 
Philip fell in love with Stanley — also affectionately known as the edge of the world. So much so that he was almost content residing in the rundown character-filled windmill, small timber-clad shed and old duck house that sat on the site. Almost content for many years.

 
The cluster of buildings had a certain charm for sure. Each small building had its own little piece of history wrapped up in it. And for Philip, who explains that this was the first place he had ever lived in that he enjoyed coming home to, he found something magical in both the town and the collection of buildings on the site.

 
For this reason, Philip wanted to retain as much of the bones in the old collection of buildings as he could in the new build. But perhaps without the dash from the bedroom to the kitchen that was unavoidably sprinkled with rainwater on wet days, and with the addition of a covered area to sit and relax in.

 
To work with him on this new home, Philip contacted his best friend and architect, Greg Prentice at karmatecture. And the two came together to bring a dream to fruition that had been many years in the making. Philip’s brief to Greg was fairly simple. He really just wanted to connect his kitchen and bedroom, create a small seating area to relax in and provide a sleeping space for short-term guests. Other things that were also very important to him included recycling and upcycling as much as possible, as well as wanting his home to have a voice. Philip wanted that voice to be playful, encourage interaction with the home and tell a bit of a story of the home’s history. These factors became a driving force in the build, with many, somewhat unorthodox, decisions being made in the name of celebrating history.

 
The duck shed and many timber features including windows and doors were the first to be upcycled. Philip wanted to salvage as much as possible, much to the frustration of the builders who felt the work could have been recreated cheaper, stronger and better from scratch. Philip stuck to his guns as much as he could, though, digging in his heels and hammering home his vision for an upcycled home that carried in its bones a story. Hats off to him for his dedication and for seeing potential in something others would quickly throw away.

 
On only a couple of occasions did this plan not work out for Philip. The windows had to be replaced twice, due to the fact that the old ones simply could not fit. And much to Philip’s dismay, the salvaged timber from the previous shed could not be used as cladding as originally planned.

 
Not defeated, however, Philip — ever resourceful, creative and far from fussy — still made the most of these timbers as artworks in the living space. Taking his creativity a step further, he also laid them as floorboards, on an angle no less, just to reiterate his carefree attitude to traditional building techniques. While the upcycled floorboards aren’t necessarily straight, they are a piece of art and they are intriguing. And, most importantly, they tell a story. Perhaps even more so given their abstract positioning in the home and the fact they couldn’t be used as originally intended.

 
As architect Greg explains, the resulting home does a fine job of crafting an “Alice in Wonderland” experience. It features fun spaces filled with art, colour and an upcycled selection of mishmashed items. It also encourages curiosity and exploration at every turn.

 
The space that achieves this the most is the piggly-wiggly room. Guests must duck to enter and must lie on the bed to enjoy the view. Also, the entry to the home deserves mention. It serves as a seating area with a wardrobe and bookcase and it follows through to Philip’s bedroom. The ceiling lowers and forces a slower pace as you journey through it. And, lastly, the ceiling is lit up with backlit artworks that sit flush with the ceiling.

 
The budget ran out during the build, putting it on hold for some time. This did not stop Philip, though, who explains that there’s no need to rush through anything in life. The work slowed on the project, but soon began to gather moss again at the hand of a few good local handymen, this time as a labour of love, and of course in exchange for the odd meal cooked by the town’s newest chef: Philip.

 
This is a labour-of-love project — a cubby house if you will — built on the passion of joie de vivre and a lust for life. Philip carves his own path, not interested in flashy marble benchtops and squeaky clean bathrooms. He has his feet firmly on the ground, connected to life’s stories, but his head up in the clouds, where he is free to dream.

The post Upcycled Labour of Love: Stanley Windmill appeared first on Completehome.

The tempestuous surf below, the wraparound sky and a hazy valley of textural shadows make for an imposing landscape. Paul Clarke of Studio2 Architects describes the scene like a McMahon painting — all heart-tugging moodiness. After visiting the section north of Auckland and standing on that windswept,
grassy knoll, he drove straight back to the office and made a model of a folded form.

A dramatic perch and a client with a brave eye honed the imaginative shape of the home. Owner Scott Lawrie, a writer for brand marketing, has a background in fine arts. “I wanted to leave some room for exploration and discovery in the brief, so I asked Paul to make me 5 per cent nervous with the design,” he says.

Practical considerations played their part, too. “We were limited by a covenant to a maximum height of 6.5 metres,” says Paul. By manipulating the exterior outline, rather like a skewed A-frame, he created enough volume to contain a mezzanine level while complying with requirements. Paul planned the 148-square-metre home on two axes: a north-south corridor and an east-west intersection. Loosely, they divide the spaces into darker bedroom zones and lighter living spaces. It’s an approach that reinforces the name of the house, The Crossing, a moniker that references the tableland between two hills where cattle used to cross.

This dwelling is a go-away, come-hither seduction in steel. On approach, it’s private and unreadable, the black timber of the rear wall seemingly impenetrable. Once across a concrete bridge and through the entry, the atmosphere changes. A diagonal line of sight is drawn to the light that floods through full-height sliding doors at the front of the home and on the mezzanine.

The material palette of steel, timber and concrete is deliberately spare. “I don’t like clutter and visual ‘noise’,” says Scott. A terne-coated copper skin (a continual fold of roof and exterior walls) becomes a zinc grey shield against the elements. In contrast, the warmth of cedar tongue-and-groove cladding internally tempers all that soaring space to allow the occupants a sense of comfort and enclosure. Concrete floors provide thermal mass, which means Scott has had little need to stoke the revolving fireplace — a classic 1960s design — that is suspended on one side of the living room. “I’ve needed the heating on nine times in 11 months,” he says.

Beyond the windows, the focus is on the faraway Chicken Islands breaking the sea; Paul used their outline to inspire the shape of the dwelling. The references to these islands don’t end there. A hand-crafted kitchen bench, sheathed in blue steel, is a crosssection of this form and the handrail on the stairs plays with the same geometry. “A pencil sketch of the oak banister was printed in 3D then carved in oak,” says Paul. So, while the rakish angles of the ceiling and irregular profiles within may seem random, there’s definite methodology to them. Another case in point is the concrete terrace, the outline of which echoes the shadow that the projected eaves create.

Such touches are an example of craftsmanship and futurism combined to make the everyday extraordinary. Another exceptional fact: this two-bedroom, two-bathroom project was delivered on time and on budget at $786,000.

Scott, who works from an office on the mezzanine, shares his home with Skippy, the Finnish Spitz, a breed originally kept for game hunting. While his hound may be tempted to chase wildlife, the homeowner prefers the beach or the seclusion of his studio. He loves the home’s architectural connection with the landscape, but has little time for gardening and likes the way the building appears to float in its paddock, with the unkempt grass brushing the foundations. If he’s not writing in the mezzanine or being distracted by the view, he has a neverending stream of visitors who come to share their latest vinous finds on the terrace or around the kitchen bench. “I get the best of both worlds with this house — quiet, reflective writing time during the week and a bustling hive of wine-fuelled activity at the weekend courtesy of my friends,” says Scott.

Even when he has waved the last weekender goodbye, he’s never lonely. There’s always something to capture the spirit. “I’ve surrounded myself with things that have enormous meaning for me — including my art collection, which was taken into consideration from day one. Against the black walls, they just resonate day and night.”

When light falls on the angular planes, the interior spaces become as dynamic as the shifting tides. “It’s a house that reveals its secrets slowly. I had tears in my eyes the first night I spent here — it was incredible how much the lighting transformed the house.”

Scott, who lives here full-time, is happy he invested in the best architect and builder he could find. The year-long experience of building was eye-opening and well worth it, as he says, “This is a house designed around a life, not a designer house. In 50 years, it will still be beautiful.”

The post Light and Dark: An Architectural Fusion appeared first on Completehome.

The New kids don’t need to run away and join the circus, because their parents built a giant tent all their own. The brief for this home from its owners Nick and Nicole New revolved around open spaces saturated in natural light, enhanced by high ceilings and good airflow. And a generous amount of glass, with doors and windows that open completely, was also a must.

The home rests within 15 acres of sub-tropical rainforest and bushland, on a gently sloping plot enjoying a north–north-west aspect. “Our idea and focus on life so far and for the foreseeable future is largely around the kitchen, entertaining and the outdoors,” explains Nick. “We love spending weekend mornings out on the deck, and envisaged entertaining on a deck with friends and family.”

A built-in open fireplace also ranked high on the News’ wish list, but the majority of “must have” inclusions revolved around the central kitchen and living spaces, with a retractable roof spanning the entire area plus the main and guest bedrooms.

Dan Sparks from Sparks Architects took on the challenge, despite fiscal restrictions and quirky design specifications. “We knew our budget was tight, so we were open to different ideas, like using building materials that may be cheaper,” says Nicole. “This included repurposing milled timber from the block.”

Surrounded by lush, densely vegetated green zones, entry to the four-bedroom home is via a winding, bushy driveway. The common kitchen and dining area opens onto a deck, offering easy access to the outdoor laundry and carport.
The amount of special design considerations within this build rivals the number of endearing bush critters roaming the site. For example, the roof required the bespoke design of a retraction mechanism and engineering of specialised roller tracts and unsupported roof span.

Another special design consideration came when addressing the tent. The tensile membrane needed to be cyclone-proof, so 3m-deep concrete pylons hold the fabric firmly in place. Engineered by Fabritecture in Queensland, the fabric for the tent was imported from France, constructed in Manila and erected in the Aussie bush.

With two young children, safety measures were implemented both inside and outside the New home, the most important of which was fire resistance; a high degree of which was required for local planning permission due to the bush location.

Additionally, the tensile membrane roof needed to be cyclone-proof and
energy-efficient. “We did not want to rely on air-conditioning for cooling or heating, and location dictates the reliance on rainwater and septic,” says Nick. “Ultimately, we plan to be entirely off grid with solar and battery power, but this wasn’t achievable initially due to financial constraints.”

The build remained true to architect Dan’s plans, with minor alterations made along the way. These included a less elaborate carport and the incorporation of curved lines inside the home. “Watching them erect the tensile membrane roof was particularly memorable,” Nicole recalls. “The breeze was picking up and gusts were increasing above comfortable levels. Everyone was nervous as even a small defect would have meant a big step backwards given the uniqueness of design and duration of manufacture invested.”

Thankfully, it all went off without a hitch, and while this might be a first for Australian design, we’re certain it isn’t the last we’ll see of retractable roofs and cyclone-proof tents in domestic dwellings.

The post Open Style Living in a Bushland Setting appeared first on Completehome.

Japan is a capsule of two extremes — minimalism versus maximalism. Known for its bright lights, crowded crossings and explosions of colour, the land of the rising sun is also praised for its precision, attention to detail and unmistakable aesthetic. Such was the appeal for owner Steve Minon, who embarked on a quest to bring Yo Shimada’s Japanese architecture to the Brisbane suburb of Hamilton.

Building a house is hard enough, but when you throw cyclone season, a cliff-side location and an architect who lives 7000 kilometres away into the mix, you are setting yourself up for a challenge. After coming across Yo Shimada’s Rokko house on an architecture blog, Steve was instantly captivated by the home and decided to reach out to the acclaimed architect. “The house looked like a Queenslander sitting on a glass box on a hillside,” says Steve. “When I saw this house, I saw how it solved the problem of a steep site through a simple and efficient design, so I emailed the architect to see if he would consider designing a house for me in Brisbane.” Luckily for Steve, architect Yo Shimada was up for the challenge and agreed to design his dream home with the help of Paul Hotston from Australian firm Phorm Architecture + Design.

The brief originally revolved around designing a one-person household, but soon changed to a two-bedroom, two-bathroom residence after Steve met Jonny Ng. The gabled roof house is in the shape of an X and rises high above the street to capture the views and breezes from the nearby river. “The house has four individual and separate covered verandahs on alternate levels,” says Steve. “It is principally galvanised steel supporting a concrete suspended slab with compressed fibre-cement cladding, floor-to-ceiling glass and timber cabinetry.”

 
In line with Japanese simplicity, the first floor is home to the study and the main bedroom and the second features the kitchen, small bedroom and lounge room with “origami ceiling and a seamless transition between inside and out”, says Grand Designs Australia host Peter Maddison. “Yo Shimada has a minimalist style that utilises a raw, stripped-back palette of materials often expressing structural details that are normally hidden.”

 
Thanks to its steep location, the project encountered its fair share of challenges from the get-go. After 20-tonne earthmovers arrived on-site, torrential rain soon swept in and sent half the land running down the street, which led to a redesign of the steel frame. “The site required major earthworks to ensure it was stable, and the lack of access presented many challenges,” says Steve. “For that reason, most of the steel frame was pre-made and craned into site.”

 
Once the steel work went up and the concrete slab was installed, the vision of Yo Shimada came to life, boasting an almost-unfinished look. You can see exactly what the building is made of and how it’s put together, a notion that goes hand-in-hand with the project’s minimalist nature. “There is a lot of honesty in this approach because you see the structure of the building come through in the interiors,” says Steve. “It appeals to the minimalist in me because you only see structure. The form and function of this style of building are the same thing.”

After a 15-month build, the end result stands proud, perched on the cliff. Rethinking the idea of a Queenslander, Yo Shimada has set a new benchmark for the future of construction in Australia. “This building hasn’t been done quite like this before,” says Peter. “It’s taken a different culture to shape up our notion of what a Queenslander is — and it’s significant. It’s going to change the way people think about buildings for this part of the world. I think this little building is well and truly a game changer.”

The post Hamilton Meets Yo Shimada appeared first on Completehome.

Following seven moves in six years, Christchurch earthquake refugees Andy Macbeth, his partner Jo Denton and their two daughters Ella and Bydie had had enough of their nomadic lifestyle, yearning for a new, safe home they could finally settle in.

“Since the earthquake, we’ve had a very disruptive life in terms of where we’ve been living,” says Andy. “Clearly, we didn’t want to keep doing that, so that’s why we committed to building in Queenstown — to try to put some stability back into the family.”

The site Andy and Jo chose for their new home comprises 23 acres of paradise that’s right opposite Coronet Peak ski field. The previous owners shared a similar dream of creating a home here for themselves, but it hadn’t worked out for them. Their legacy was a mature Arcadian garden of established trees that included walnuts and chestnuts.

More significantly, from a building point of view, they also left behind substantial foundations of a castle-like structure that had been planned for the site. “We wanted to respect what the previous owners had started, so we decided to keep the stone retaining walls, but put a modern spin on their vision,” says Andy.

The resulting 420-square-metre house, designed by Queenstown-based architects, Kerr Ritchie, sits on top of the existing “stone ruins” — looking not unlike a modern-day castle, with its wedge-shaped form cantilevering out over the existing, crescent-shaped, rock wall foundations.

“Although the site had many great attributes, including aspect and view, the design process was quite intense and took some time to develop,” says project architect, Bronwen Kerr. “The bold stone landscape created by the previous landowner, while being a grand intervention, meant that resolving the access to the proposed building was not straight-forward. We like to integrate each project into the site and give them a strong sense of context. It was a good test for us to manage this together with Andy and Jo’s evolving brief.”

 
Not only is this house highly engineered, it is also built from state-of-the-art materials sourced from around the world, including triple-glazing from Germany, thermally treated ash cladding from Estonia and super-insulated prefabricated SIPs (structurally insulated panels) from America.

 
“I’m a risk-taker and I get bored quickly, so I didn’t want to build a conservative home,” says Andy. “I wanted a challenge. That’s why we chose a technically difficult design, then built it from cutting-edge products from around the world that had hardly been used in this country before,” he adds.

The ash cladding Andy chose has been “cooked” in huge ovens for two days, making it resistant to warping and rot and perfect for extreme climates like those found in Queenstown. It came at a price and cost significantly more than many cladding alternatives, however it is superior when it comes to aesthetics, quality and performance.

 
“Ours was the first home in New Zealand to use this ash cladding, and it came with a unique, invisible fixing system that meant no holes needed to be drilled into the timber, giving the outside of the house a very clean finish,” says Andy. He goes on to say that when his team thermally modelled the German triple-glazing system, it came out at twice the efficiency as the best he could source in New Zealand, and over four times that of the building code.

 
On top of all this, the castle was also built to incorporate fully passive design principles, whereby the entire home is super insulated and sealed, with an HRV (heat-recovery ventilation) system to help the house breathe. This meant limited additional sources of heat are required to keep the home warm during the
winter months.

The required heat comes from simply living in the home — cooking, showers, electrical appliances and body temperature. Despite this, Andy decided to install two wood fireplaces — mainly for ambience — plus an ingenious hydronic heated wall system. The design of the castle called for three large tilt-slab panels (up to 9 tonnes each). But these weren’t standard panels. A network of pipes was integrated within them that allowed hot water to flow through, turning the panels into giant radiators. And the idea didn’t stop there; the polished concrete bench in the kitchen was given the same treatment.

 
Concrete features strongly in both the construction and look of this house, forming the ground-floor garage and two floors above, and also the 70-tonne, 300-millimetre-thick slab that cantilevers out above it.

 
Metal was another predominant raw material used in the interior. Keen to support his home town and his fellow Cantabrians, Andy says he asked one of his closest friends, Neil Gard of Think Steel, to build a 2-tonne sculptural staircase, designed to sit centre stage in his new home.

 
Every aspect of this castle is ambitious — its design, scale and the engineering it took to build it. It’s a huge house on a huge site, but Andy relished being actively involved in its evolution.

 
“It was an incredibly stressful process, but we are delighted with the outcome,” he says. “It’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Partly it’s due to the fact that I was never completely in control of the situation. It was like being on a treadmill that I couldn’t get off — I just had to grit my teeth and carry on.”
Andy admits the budget was stretched significantly, going from $1.5 million to $2.2 million. But he adds it would have been even more stressful for him to have compromised the design or the build quality: “That would have driven me insane.”

The post Castle on the Hill appeared first on Completehome.