Laying out residential floor plans quaintly resembles doing algebra simultaneously with my left and right hand. My right hand, connected to the rational side of the brain, handles the division. It splits up the house into rooms according to their functional needs, assigning each with dimensions. All the while my left hand would be busy multiplying, and, by means of reconnecting with vistas and pathways, stitching the fragments back together into a cohesive whole.
This is why when we were asked to design a 5-bedroom 4-bathroom and 2-kitchen urban dwelling, we agreed on one condition: let us think about the in-betweens and the not-quites as well. We tossed in the irrational and the imaginary numbers to complicate the math, but that is the only path to meaningful architecture.
Like many other residential projects of ours, Windermere Residence was born out of our attempt to measure spatial efficiency and livability in experiential terms. It is an incommensurable measure with no fixed constant, something that falls between the equation of multiplication and division. But the inhabitant feels it when he or she traverses from one room to another, or sits quietly by the doorstep. Very soon he or she starts to call the house home. And like the Collatz conjecture, whichever number you start, the arithmetic sequence will always be made whole.
In architectural terms, the stitches we have planted are recurring elements that guide our eye and hold our body. Transitional spaces such as stairwells are conceived as hinges at which two disjointed areas are pivoted. Shades of monochromes are used throughout to condition our perception to orientation and depth. Accent colours function as signposts, marking termini and intersections. Trees and birds are brought indoor through large corner windows, whereas through the same orifices our daydreams are projected onto the clouds, building castles in the sky.