Mystery, memory, poetry and light. Reinvigorating a tired, post World War II structure which was worn and forgotten. The existing was rich with stories, its walls layered with past impressions of formwork and family dinners. Separating, and then joyously recombining materials to impart them with new life. Scratched boards become a textured backdrop defining new functions, while the remaining structure is dismantled into flooring, concealing beds and lounges beneath. Reclaimed pine, a discarded basin, and a century-old stove introduce the memories of others: a remix of the familiar and the novel, the past and the future.
The garage aims to make design mysterious. Making mundane tasks of our lives into opportunities that create beauty through joyful interaction. Providing a canvas that allows imagination to make new old and old new. The new becoming a theatre to watch the old gradually fade away. This space wasn't about ordinary... it was about touching on boundaries of what is ordinary.
The following poem rests upon the front door, creating the first impression:
R O B E R T C R E E L E Y (1926-2005) From Pictures
1 This distance between pane of glass, eye’s sight– the far waving green edge
of tree, sun’s reflection, light yellow–and sky there too light blue.
2 I will sit here till breeze, ambient, enfolds me and I lift away. I will
sit here as sun warms my hands, my body eases, and sounds grow soft and intimate
in my ears. I will sit here and the back of the house behind me will at last disappear. I will sit here.
9 Wet water warm fire.
Rough wood cold stone.
Hot coals shining star.
Physical hill still my will. Mind’s ambience alters all.