Tiny and Transparent

Part 1 of 4

By Eve Kushner

In his book, Gentle Architecture, architect Malcolm Wells considered the majesty of a wind-twisted tree growing from a crack in a rock. Then he imagined this tree grouped with its peers in a nursery, the whole dull crowd failing to arouse curiosity. By thriving in a difficult setting, the first tree moves us, he said, concluding that restrictions create vitality, especially in architecture. "Our cities and suburbs look no more interesting than the tree-rows in the nursery," wrote Wells. "Freedom of expression under really tight restrictions will give our cities character again."

Space restrictions have indeed produced masterful buildings by Kensington architect Bart Jones. On a 20-foot-wide lot inside a hairpin turn, he designed a house just 7 feet across at its entryway, where the structure wraps around a tree. The densely planted site had long served as a Kensington "green pocket," so Jones threaded the house through the trees, preserving them all. The steeply sloped site might have caused problems, but he stepped the house down the hill, creating an 1,800-square-foot, three-level "terraced treehouse," as he calls it, with decks, bay views and a garage.

Building small is one thing; making the space feel larger is something else altogether. To achieve this, Jones uses transparency. In his opinion, bringing natural light into a small room doubles the perceived size.

That's particularly true of his entryway, where transparency makes the staircase area highly appealing. He omitted riser boards for maximum openness, and the floating treads convey great airiness. A balustrade would have introduced a visual barrier, so instead a glass partition extends to the ceiling, providing necessary protection. Beneath this stairway, another one descends to the first floor. Jones viewed the entire stairwell as a way to illuminate the lowest level, which is built into a hill.

A Kensington office building by Jones is even more transparent. Psychologists and other professionals (including Jones) use the long, skinny structure, which lies on a pie-shaped lot (roughly 100 feet by 39 feet) where Ardmore Road meets Arlington Avenue. Full-height windows on the western side make the offices feel spacious. On the less-private, eastern side, windows are smaller and scarcer. Nevertheless, from across the street to the east, "You can see right through the thing," says Jones.

Transparency needn't mean a loss of privacy. Jones's long, narrow office runs along the western side, and a travel agent uses the adjacent, eastern space. The wall dividing their offices rises two-thirds of the way toward the 11-foot ceiling, with a glass partition completing the division. Western light spills into the eastern office, but both spaces feel private.

Jones also illuminates tiny buildings with skylights. "I tend to use a lot," he says. "They're inexpensive, and you get so much out of them." As you enter another small Kensington home he designed, abundant skylights draw your eye up, affording views of trees. The ceiling therefore seems higher. Deep skylight wells enhance the feeling of spaciousness, says Jones.

Skylights pair nicely with his penchant for high ceilings. In remodels, he often tears out low ceilings, incorporating attic space to increase the sense of roominess. Jones creates two-story spaces wherever possible, even when this means reducing potential square footage in tiny buildings. In the aforementioned house with skylights, he designed the living room to have a soaring ceiling, rather than an extra room above. In other words, he favored the illusion of spaciousness over the creation of usable space.

It's not that he has dogmatic beliefs about the size of homes. Jones has designed enormous houses. And he says of his three Kensington structures, "I wasn't searching out small lots. They just fell into my lap."

Then again, he finds itty-bitty spaces "irresistible," from narrow European streets, to a Mendocino hotel, where tall, fluffy beds fill the room, making guests feel child-sized. In Muslim countries, he has seen enormous stone walls with comparatively tiny doors. "That's beautiful. And we relate to it," says Jones. He notes that kids love crawling into little spaces, as this lets them relate to their own scale. But, he says, "I think all humans relate to this scale. It's innate in all of us. We all kind of like the idea."

Codes and practicality do limit how small things can be, he says, acknowledging that it's hard to design small, neat spaces well. "But I've found that when you're constrained by your lot or whatever, you come up with better design. You can really come up with pretty neat stuff."

February 2007 Builder Architect Edition Issue

| Permalink