Here’s a nice story. Not long after purchasing their section at Ōakura, a delightful small settlement on the coast north of Whangārei, Polly Chapple and David Thurlow bought a subscription to Here.
Seeking inspiration, they came along to one of our Open Home events, at the Anawhata home of designer Paul Davidson and his wife Julia. They loved the details of the house, the thoughtful use of timber and the clever use of space. Something felt right. They were the last ones to leave, and as they did, Davidson asked, casually, if they’d thought of who might design a house for their site.
He recalls: “They said, ‘We’ve got this site. It’s quite small. It’s got some views. It’s got beautiful old pōhutukawa trees.’ And immediately I was hooked.” Kudos for the hustle: they didn’t consider anyone else. Two weeks later, camped over the hill at Whangaruru, they began the first concept. Their site is lovely. It’s elevated, with views of Motutara Island and the ocean, and it has two enormous pōhutukawa thought to be several hundred years old.
Two decades after it was subdivided, no one had ever managed to build on it, since half the section is down the slope, past the trees. As part of their due diligence, Polly and David commissioned a feasibility study, which presented a 70-square-metre platform on which to build. Tight, but not impossible, and definitely small, which suited this couple just fine. Their budget? An ambitious $500,000 for everything, or less than many spend on a fairly standard kind of renovation.
There’s an inevitability to the house: the form arrived in a delightfully logical way, with some unusual consequences. Davidson wasn’t daunted by any of this. His own house in the Waitākere ranges shares something of the form of this house, and some of its approach. He knew where to save, and where to spend: what would have an impact, and what was best left alone.
The parameters were obvious, and established by the feasibility study. The house would have to sit well away from the root systems of the trees, and it would have to go up to get a view and to put some polite distance between itself and the neighbours – floating in the trees, rather than sitting on the ground. “I knew it would have to be a singular, simple form,” Davidson says. “It had to be pretty straightforward. The trick was to start with that simple form and then make a few subtle moves to give it movement and depth, so it doesn’t just feel like a box.”
So, along the northern face of that simple box, he created a facade that dances in and out, with a series of bays around the windows, insetting the sliding units 600 millimetres. Banks of glass louvres sit on the exterior, creating a series of screens that filter sun, wind and views. The louvres also act as a balustrade, allowing you to open the large sliding windows completely. “You get this nice depth between the louvres and the glazing line,” says Davidson, “which gives the space back to the interior.”
By design, they’re also installed upside down. “It’s about obscuring the view of the roofs below and framing the view up to the hills,” says Davidson. And, instead of standard gutters, the house features elongated aluminium units that extend past the edge of the house. It’s a subtle, but elegant detail that provides texture and depth.
In plan, it’s deadly simple. The back of the house sits at ground level on the sloping site. The living areas sit up on piles creating a carport where the land drops away below. The piles are partially wrapped in timber, enclosing a workshop and storage area. To protect the pōhutukawa, the outdoor staircase and part of the rear elevation are cantilevered out over the roots. On arrival, you come around the side of the house, up the stairs and inside. Social areas are to the right – a lofty space with a compact kitchen-dining area, and a sunken living room with built-in seating. To the left are two bedrooms, which are just as big as they need to be.
Along the south side, there’s a narrow bathroom that leads to the outdoor shower – the only shower. In his own house, Davidson’s shower opens directly outside through a door. Here, he went one step further. This one is under the roofline, but open to the elements, with a stainless-steel tray, glossy green tiles, and a curtain, if you feel like you need some privacy. It’s romantic, but there’s a logic to this too. They agreed that an outdoor shower was essential – but the same couldn’t be said for an indoor one.
Early concepts had what can only be described as a much more luxurious interior – brass fittings, timber linings, and full-height solid sliding doors that allowed the space to open up completely. When the pricing came in, such touches went out the window. It saved them something like $100,000 and, if you ask me, made an interior that feels more bach-like: it feels good. There’s ply cabinetry, subtle pink plasterboard, and raked ceilings. There’s loads of storage too, thanks to cabinetry that sits between the window bays. “The facade cuts in and out to create that depth,” says Davidson. “and we used that space to create niches for art, lighting and storage.”
Both clients and architects held true to the big idea. Says Thurlow: “Paul and Polly stuck true to the design the whole time. There were some tough calls to be made, but they stayed true.” In doing so, they hung onto special touches – like the over-sized aluminium gutters, which extend past the building line, while being sensible in others. It was a collaborative process: builder Mike Bassett-Allen came up with many ways to make things easier and save a few dollars here and there; Chapple chose colours, tiles and fabrics; Thurlow painted the interior and installed the cabinetry.
The funny thing is, although it’s a bach, the house sits up above the land. There’s a beautiful area around a firepit at ground level under the trees. Eventually, landscaping will bring the lower area closer to the house. But in effect, with the windows pulled open on the north and east sides, the whole house feels like it’s outside. “At first, lifting the house off the ground seemed counter-intuitive to me,” says Davidson, “because a strong connection to the land is so important. But this just made the most sense – sitting up there, in the trees.”
