Bressen

The existing house is what one would expect from an old house. There are many rooms, each with its own function. Upstairs for sleeping, downstairs for practical things. Beneath the house there’s a basement and on top there’s an attic. It’s a good house, like the many identical houses in the street. At the back there are some extra rooms. They must have been added later on, we notice they are the remainders of a kitchen and a bathroom. There’s a small window and a narrow door. Through the little window we can see the big garden. The extra rooms behave like the garden is just a sideshow; it’s only the unbuilt space, the leftover of the plot of land, there’s really not much to see there. The house would rather look inwards for now. The house is not yet inhabited, one or more things have got to be done first.

The extension blocks -quite literally- modern life. Strained in-between house and garden it doesn’t allow any light in the house and no view towards the garden. It’s a completely jammed bottleneck. The middle room suffers. She’s stuck and dark, and at the moment only functions as a passage to the extension. Some things are being demolished. The extension is gone and the middle room sees the light for the first time in a long while. The renewed house learns from the past. A big hole in the roof all the way down to the floor allows sun, wind and rain in-between house and garden. A big hole in the wall all the way up to the staircase allows people in the living rooms. The middle room can breathe again, with its borders perforated. This time we build using holes, because holes leave out any unwanted mass. A renewed house, with holes smacking breaches in-between different conditions, with holes for the sun and for the people.