Building a home for a poet. Create a home to dream, live and die. A house in which to read, write and think.
We raised high walls to create a box open to the sky, like a bare, metaphysical garden with concrete walls and floor. To create an inner world. We dug in the ground to plant leafy trees.
And floating in the center, a box full of translucent northern light. Three levels have been established. The highest to dream. The garden level for living. The deepest level to sleep.
To dream, we have created a cloud at the highest point. A library built with high walls of light spread through a large translucent glass. With the light of the north to read and write, think and feel.
To live, the garden with the light of the south, the light of the sun. A space that is all about garden, with transparent walls that unite inside and out.
And to sleep, maybe die, the deepest level. The bedrooms below, like in a cave.
Once again, the cave and the cabin.
Dreaming, living, dying. The poet's house.



 
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