Splijten III

The houses in the street were all built at once; you can see it in the façades. Behind the front gardens runs a repeating composition: white lintels, a familiar rhythm of windows, and the characteristically asymmetric niche framing each front door. Sturdily built, they’re still going strong. But they’re not without flaws: compact, technically outdated, often low and a little dark. The pickaxe makes its way through, and the volume splits open three times.

The first split is at the rear. A new garden room rises upward, drawing in the light through a rooflight and a fully glazed back wall. The beams run from inside to outside, changing colour and gaining detail along the way. The rear façade does what the front one always did: evoke character with a limited palette. A new kitchen fits snugly in, nestling against the wall, tapering as it nears the glazing. An asymmetrical shard becomes a kitchen island.

The second split is the stairwell. It’s narrow and dark. There’s no access yet to the attic we want to use. The entire floor plate is removed. The stairwell grows taller, reaching up to a skylight. In the newly opened void, a staircase pirouettes with intent. It must twist with precision, starting and stopping at just the right moments to reach the floor above, while keeping the corridor below unobstructed. It twirls around a pole that descends all the way to the ground floor.

The third is a dormer. Always a thrilling moment where the sloping roof stops descending and turns to rise again. Because the house is unusually wide for a terrace, something rare happens: a sideways view. The dormer is large, but not oversized, and steps back just far enough from the plot boundary to allow for a window along its length. It must be triangular, cutting into the pitch of the roof. Together with the rear window, the corner folds open towards the evening sun and the treetops in the distance.