3 Comments so far:

Thanks for the thought-provoking post.

No house is a home until bodies are present. So I can just imagine the pop of color from the palest of skin as she enters the room, the flash of blue jeans, the olive green of a concert t-shirt, the red gingham of Matt's crisply pressed Oxford shirts. All appear more organic and rounded, if I may be so simplistic, and vibrant against the precision of these digs.

The monasticism appeals to me. I could relax in such an environment. With two young boys, I don't know if my perspective would hold. Nevertheless, the off-angle geometries of the ceiling and roof planes coupled with the smoothness of surfaces I find delightful, especially since they are punctuated ever so subtly with form anchor holes or subtle reliefs at various openings or a playful bump as patio meets grass -- even the grass gains greater life in that it can't be manicured enough. But, the shadows relate the story of the design effortlessly. I like that construct; that would contribute immensely to making this dwelling a home for me.

What I wish I could see is how the house embraces its surroundings, particularly the valley below. Few of the pictures actually capture this. Maybe that paucity of texture takes on new meaning in the landscape directing those who inhabit the space.

 Nicolas,

I think what separates f house from the other cases of japanese minimalism you've presented is the way in which it deals with natural aesthetic [which I'll take to mean 'the aesthetic nature of nature,' whether or not that is what it really means].  Rather than introducing natural elements as units of design within the home, as does house in tokiwa, f house focuses its energy pointedly outward. It derives very little of its form from its surrounding environment, which I think functions to do two things that I will mention in a second.

A while back, you directed me to Myoung Ho Lee's work in recontextualizing nature, a feat in showcasing individual aesthetic items through contextual isolation.  Dropping gigantic blank canvases behind barren trees, pruned trees, wilted trees and et cetera, Lee forces his audience to consider the individual tree as abstracted from its environment, an object of contemplation in its own right.  We no longer think of the tree as 'forest item' or 'biological item,' but 'aesthetic item' of lines and arcs and angles. 

In much the same way that Lee's blank canvas serves to dissociate the individual aesthetic item from its context, I believe f house's rigid minimalism functions to highlight the conceptual contrast between 'the natural' and 'the man-made,' and, through contextual isolation, frame the natural as an 'object of aesthetic contemplation.'  When Trent mentioned above that he'd like to explore the way the home embraces its surroundings, it struck me: The way in which f house rejects the natural design influence of its surroundings is the exact reason for our engagement with those surroundings.

Featuring the only case of polychrome color in the entire home, the living space's gigantic picture window acts as a definite focal point of the household.  The long-reaching lines of the breakfast bar, the thin planes of the hallway, the constriction of the sleeping quaters; they all work to channel our attention back into the wide, open space before the picture window.  It doesn't seem that f house is concerned with its own identity as much as it's concerned with muting those distractions which hinder our ability to 'become one with our object of perception' [As, erm, Shopenhauer would put it] and engaging our attention in the natural aesthetic beyond the home.

As Lee's backdrops isolate individual items from their contextual environment for our aesthetic consideration, KAA's f house isolates its inhabitants from their own contextual environments, projecting them into a more explicit, involved aesthetic experience with the landscape before them.  Because f house directs us to neglect our immediate surroundings for a more intimate relationship with 'that art behind the frame,' I believe f house isn't a quite a 'home', but a gallery space used to exhibit the gracefulness of its natural surroundings.

On a lighter note.  To me, everything about f house screams minimalist martini lounge.  The 'bed-room' beneath the balcony isn't as much a place for dreaming as it is a momentary respite spot for the lounge's singular, angular mixologist.  The sleeping quarters are designed as such--confining, almost punitive--in a very intentional way; it's the proprietor's little finger-poke-in-the-rib so his charge stays on task.  'Back to work, barkeep.  Your sentence isn't up yet.'  The picture window's made for people-watching, or in this case nature-musing, and its opposing wall is empty enough for a great big tacky piece of abstract art.  Filter in nu-electronica from a few disguised speakers, and we have ourselves a business venture.

But I agree with you, Nic.  In this mode of documentation, f house feels like anything but a home.  (but still pretty.)

What it reminds me of most is the original Amazon Kindle eBook reader. Sterile white, weird angles with awkward placement of things and a 2-bit color palette.

 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amazon_Kindle