Tag Archives: Architecture

Lake Como Has a New Resident, and She Floats

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When I first saw images of Lucia floating across the glassy surface of Lake Como, I thought someone had photoshopped a Giorgio Armani showroom onto a boat. The structure is white, impossibly clean, and moves across the water like it belongs there. Which, technically, it does.

Lucia is the brainchild of uau studio, a concept micro-home designed to drift across one of Italy’s most storied lakes. The name, the setting, the whole premise feels almost too cinematic to be real. But the more you look at it, the more you realize this isn’t just a pretty render. It’s a genuine rethinking of what a home can be and where it can go, and it deserves a moment more than the usual scroll-and-double-tap.

Designer: uau studio

The design draws its soul from the batèl, a traditional flat-bottomed fishing vessel that appears in Alessandro Manzoni’s 19th-century novel The Betrothed. For anyone who didn’t have to read it in school, Manzoni’s book is essentially the Italian equivalent of a national literary treasure. That detail alone gives Lucia a kind of cultural weight that most micro-homes simply don’t carry. uau studio isn’t just designing a floating box. They’re threading it into a centuries-old relationship between the people of Lake Como and the water they live beside. That’s a different kind of ambition, and it shows.

The signature feature is a foldable canopy roof that opens and closes depending on how much of the lake you want to let in. Fully open, the interior feels like an extension of the water itself. Closed, it becomes a more private, sheltered space, quieter and more contained. That flexibility matters more than you might think. Living on a lake means negotiating between exposure and enclosure constantly, and Lucia gives you full control over that tension without asking you to compromise on either.

The interior is single-floor, fully accessible, and built around modular, multifunctional furniture that can be reconfigured depending on how you’re using the space. It’s compact by design, not by compromise. uau studio was deliberate about this: nothing is wasted, nothing is redundant, and the materials prioritize reuse over novelty. For a project set against one of the most photographed backdrops in Europe, that kind of restraint is actually a design statement in itself.

Lucia also plugs into what the studio calls Darsena Link, a network of solar-powered docking hubs around the lake that would support the vessel’s movement and keep it charged. The infrastructure isn’t an afterthought. It’s part of the concept. You can wake up anchored at one point on the lake and, by afternoon, quietly motor to another. The house follows you, or you follow it.

I’ll be transparent: Lucia is still a concept, not something you can book or buy today. But I think that’s exactly what makes it worth paying attention to right now. It represents a direction more designers and architects should be exploring. The tiny home movement has largely been a land-based conversation, with the water version mostly limited to houseboats that feel more nautical than architectural. Lucia doesn’t feel like a boat trying to be a house. It feels like a house that happens to float, and that distinction is more meaningful than it sounds.

The project also positions itself as a kind of social connector on the lake, what uau studio calls a “pollinator,” meant to move through different communities, bring people into contact with corners of the lake they might not otherwise reach, and revive its cultural fabric for a younger generation. Whether that vision scales beyond the concept stage or stays beautifully poetic is still an open question. But the intention gives the project a dimension that stretches well beyond aesthetics.

Lake Como already has villas, yachts, and Grand Hotel terraces competing for your attention. Lucia proposes something quieter: a life on the water that is small, considered, and genuinely mobile. Not every home needs to be rooted to the ground. Some of the best ones, apparently, simply drift.

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This House on Lake Memphremagog Was Designed to Disappear

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Most houses on a lake want you to know about it. The Counter-Slope House by Montreal-based yh2 Architecture is the opposite — perched on a steep slope along the southern shore of Lake Memphremagog in Potton, Quebec, it earns your attention precisely because it doesn’t demand it.

Completed in 2024 across 4,530 square feet, the residence sits within one of Canada’s most geographically charged landscapes: a terrain of dense woodland, dramatic gradients, and mountain-cast shadows. The studio, led by founding principals Marie-Claude Hamelin and Loukas Yiacouvakis, approached the site not as something to build upon, but as something to negotiate with. The result is architecture that reads less like an imposition and more like a considered guest.

Designer: yh2 Architecture

The plan breaks into two distinct volumes, each stepping gently into the slope to follow the contours of the land rather than flatten them. Above each volume, a subtly shifting dual-pitched roof reduces the building’s perceived mass while quietly echoing the topography that surrounds it. It’s a move that feels almost camouflaging — the house belonging to the hillside rather than sitting on top of it.

A dense treeline separates the structure from the lake, and YH2 turned this threshold into an architectural tool. Windows are positioned not to frame the water directly, but to catch glimpses of it through the leaves — shimmering and partial, like something discovered rather than displayed. Light enters from the opposite direction, filtering softly through the interior and shifting across the day. The experience of the house becomes tied to time, season, and the slow movement of the natural world outside.

Materials were chosen with the same economy. Weathered cedar wraps the exterior, its tone and texture fading into the surrounding woodland without ceremony. Inside, white oak and an exposed timber structure give the spaces warmth and rhythm. The wood is left unfinished — honest about what it is, and precise in how it performs. Black architectural elements appear selectively throughout, acting as framing devices that sharpen the relationship between interior space and landscape view.

The Counter-Slope House doesn’t try to resolve the tension between architecture and nature. Instead, it holds that tension open, letting both exist on their own terms. For a studio with three decades of critically recognized work behind it, this project feels like a distillation — proof that restraint, when applied with conviction, is its own form of ambition.

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This Bright Yellow Kinetic Sculpture in London Is Meant to Be Walked Through

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There are artworks you look at, and there are artworks you walk through. Jesús Rafael Soto understood the difference better than almost anyone. The Venezuelan kinetic artist spent his career dismantling the passive relationship between viewer and object, and nowhere is that ambition more fully realized than in his ‘Pénétrable’ series — sculptures built not to be observed, but to be entered. ‘Pénétrable BBL Jaune’, originally conceived in 1999, remains the purest expression of that idea.

The work is deceptively simple in form. A white steel frame suspends thousands of yellow PVC tubes — around 4,000 in total — that hang in a dense, luminous field. At a distance, it reads almost like a monolithic block of color, a solid presence that the eye cannot immediately parse. Move closer, and the illusion shifts. Step inside, and it dissolves entirely. The tubes brush against your arms, your shoulders, your face. The sculpture is no longer in front of you — you are inside it, and it is responding to you. That exchange, that collapse of separation between the work and the person experiencing it, was Soto’s lifelong obsession.

Designer: Jesús Rafael Soto

Soto was born in Ciudad Bolívar, Venezuela, in 1923, and spent much of his career in Paris, where he became central to the kinetic and Op Art movements of the 1950s and 60s. He died in 2005, but his estate relaunched ‘Pénétrable BBL Jaune’ in 2023 to mark the centenary of his birth, ensuring the work would find new audiences in new contexts. In 2026, that context became London. The Serpentine Galleries installed the piece outside Serpentine South as part of their summer art programme — the first work by Soto ever shown outdoors in the UK.

Serpentine artistic director Hans Ulrich Obrist, who helped select the work, described Soto’s ‘Pénétrable’ as a genuine invention — a shift from object to relation. “It goes from an object to a relation,” Obrist noted, “and we felt that would be amazing as part of our public art projects.” That framing feels precise. The yellow tubes are not decorative. They are a mechanism for recalibrating how a body moves through space, how a crowd becomes a participant, how color becomes atmosphere rather than surface.

What makes ‘Pénétrable BBL Jaune’ endure is its refusal to age into mere spectacle. In a cultural moment saturated with immersive experiences engineered for the camera, Soto’s work asks something different — not that you photograph it, but that you feel it. The tubes sway. The light shifts. The boundary between you and the artwork, for a moment, disappears entirely.

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The Architects Who Want to Grow Buildings From Bacteria

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Concrete is everywhere. It’s in the walls you’re staring at right now, the floors under your feet, the skyline you pass every morning on your commute. It’s the most widely used construction material in the world, and it’s also one of the most environmentally damaging ones we have. Cement production alone is responsible for roughly 8% of global CO2 emissions, a figure that tends to get quietly buried under louder conversations about cars and plastic straws. That imbalance has always struck me as odd, and worth talking about more.

So when a team of six researchers and designers from the Technion, Israel Institute of Technology, presented CyanoCement to the world, it stopped me mid-scroll. Not because it felt like a minor improvement on what already existed. Because it framed the problem differently. It asked whether a building material could do something more than just cause less harm, whether it could actually participate in solving the problem it had always been part of.

Designers: Perla Armaly, Yuval Berger, Lubov Iliassafov, Keren Rosenblau, Yechezkel Kashi, Shany Barath

CyanoCement is a 3D-printable biocement made with cyanobacteria, tiny photosynthetic microbes that have been around for billions of years. They’re among the organisms responsible for producing Earth’s first oxygen-rich atmosphere. That’s not a throwaway fact. These are ancient, extraordinary little things, and the Technion team, Perla Armaly, Yuval Berger, Lubov Iliassafov, Keren Rosenblau, Yechezkel Kashi, and Shany Barath, figured out how to make them a functional part of the construction process.

Here’s the mechanism: the cyanobacteria use photosynthesis to bind minerals and precipitate calcium carbonate, forming a solid material without any of the high-heat, high-emissions processes that traditional cement requires. The part that genuinely surprised me was that the material doesn’t stop capturing CO₂ once production is done. It continues to pull carbon from the air after it’s been formed and installed. Not just a lower-impact alternative to concrete, but a material that actively works against the problem.

The team designed it specifically for non-load-bearing architectural elements, facades, interior panels, decorative structures, which keeps the project grounded and credible. I respect that kind of restraint. The sustainable design space has a well-documented tendency to oversell, to position a concept-stage material as a revolution before the science has caught up. CyanoCement doesn’t do that. It knows what it is right now, and what it is right now is genuinely impressive.

Then there’s the color. The material is green, not because of any coating or pigment, but because of the living organisms inside it. That green is a biological signal, a visual confirmation that the cyanobacteria are alive and active. I’ve seen a lot of sustainable products that ask you to trust the environmental benefit, buried somewhere in a lifecycle assessment document. CyanoCement makes it visible. The building itself tells you it’s working. That’s both smart design and, I’d argue, a kind of integrity.

The project came out of the Disrupt Design Lab at Technion’s Faculty of Architecture and Town Planning, developed in collaboration with the Applied Genomics Lab at the Faculty of Biotechnology and Food Engineering. Architecture and biology don’t typically share a lab, let alone a design philosophy. The fact that this team brought those two disciplines together into something coherent, functional, and visually compelling is its own accomplishment, separate from the material itself.

CyanoCement was recognized by the Green Product Award, which has a strong track record of identifying work that actually moves the needle rather than just speaking well in press releases. The project earned that recognition, not just for good intentions, but for the depth of research behind it and the clarity of its design logic. The more you learn about how it works, the more convinced you become.

We talk a lot about the future of architecture being green, solar panels on rooftops, recycled steel, passive ventilation. All worthwhile. But CyanoCement is asking something a little more radical: what if the walls themselves were alive? What if building something meant contributing to the atmosphere rather than depleting it? That’s the question I can’t stop thinking about. And once you know it’s being asked, I suspect you won’t be able to stop either.

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This 400-Square-Foot Tiny Home Lives Bigger Than Most Apartments

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The Cascade Max didn’t become Tru Form Tiny’s fan favorite by accident. Starting at $198,900, this Craftsman-inspired park model is one of the Oregon-based builder’s most beloved designs, and it earns that reputation in every square foot.

At just under 400 square feet, the Cascade Max measures 38 by 10.5 feet and packs in a level of spatial intelligence that most apartments twice its size fail to achieve. The floor plan is single-level — a deliberate choice that keeps the home grounded, accessible, and surprisingly airy. Eleven-foot vaulted ceilings do the heavy lifting here, pulling the eye upward and creating a sense of volume that reads more loft-apartment than compact dwelling.

Designer: Tru Form Tiny

The living room greets you with large windows and transoms that flood the space with natural light. It’s the kind of light that shifts throughout the day, making the interior feel alive rather than static. The kitchen sits just beyond — fully equipped with quartz countertops, a custom tile backsplash, open shelving, and bar seating that invites casual conversation while someone cooks. It’s a kitchen designed for people who actually use kitchens.

The bedroom is genuinely generous. It accommodates a king-sized bed, dual closets, and a storage headboard complete with built-in shelving and wall sconces — details that speak to a designer who understands the difference between space-saving and space-making. Nothing feels like a compromise.

The bathroom might be the most clever move in the entire plan. A walk-through layout makes it significantly larger and roomier than a standard tiny home bathroom, and it comes outfitted with a freestanding tub, a separate glass-enclosed shower, Delta faucets, and a stacking washer and dryer. Compost toilet included. It’s the kind of bathroom you’d expect in a boutique hotel, not a home on wheels.

What makes the Cascade Max resonate beyond its specs is the intentionality behind it. Tru Form offers a fully custom build process, meaning buyers can reconfigure the layout, adjust finishes, and make the home genuinely theirs. Real people live in these full-time — couples who’ve sold their houses, families planting roots on inherited land, individuals choosing freedom over square footage. The Cascade Max doesn’t ask you to sacrifice. It asks you to reconsider what enough actually looks like. For a lot of people, this is the answer.

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The Kanuka Is the Tiny Home That Opens Up Instead of Closing In

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The tiny house movement has long promised a life unburdened by excess — but few models deliver on that promise as quietly and confidently as the Kanuka by Tiny Timber Homes. Named after a native New Zealand tree, the Kanuka is a compact dwelling that earns its place not through spectacle, but through craft, warmth, and a clear design philosophy that puts livability above everything else.

Founded in 2014 by craftsman Phil Edwards, Tiny Timber Homes has spent over a decade refining what it means to build small without building less. The Kanuka is arguably the clearest expression of that ethos — a home that feels considered at every turn, from the choice of materials to the way it engages with the landscape around it.

Designer: Tiny Timber Homes

Sitting on a triple-axle trailer, the Kanuka measures 8.1 meters (26.5 ft) long and 2.6 meters (8.5 ft) wide — compact, but not cramped. Its exterior pairs durable metal cladding with warm timber accents, a combination that manages to feel both modern and rooted in something older. What sets the façade apart is its dual-door design: two glass entry doors open the interior directly to the outside, blurring the line between indoor and outdoor living in a way that larger homes often fail to achieve. Multiple windows reinforce the openness, pulling in natural light and keeping the interior feeling airy despite the tight footprint.

Inside, the Kanuka leans into a Scandi-inspired aesthetic — clean lines, natural materials, warm tones, and a timber-lined ceiling that gives the space genuine coziness rather than the clinical minimalism that plagues so many compact interiors. The layout is a simple one-loft configuration, well-suited to a solo resident or a couple, though a convertible couch in the living area can stretch capacity to four when needed. The kitchen is functional and well-appointed, while the bathroom — accessed through a sliding barn door — keeps things clean with a black-and-white palette and modern fixtures.

Throughout, locally sourced timber does the heavy lifting, lending the Kanuka the warmth of a rustic cabin without sacrificing the precision of modern construction. Tiny Timber Homes has always leaned into sustainable building practices, and the Kanuka reflects that commitment at every level — the materials, the craftsmanship, and the intentional restraint in the design itself.

The Kanuka doesn’t try to be everything. It is a home for people who have already decided what matters — and who want a space that reflects that clarity without apology. In a market increasingly cluttered with over-designed micro-dwellings, that kind of honesty is quietly radical.

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The 60-Ton Blue Whale You Walk Through to Get Home

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If you told most architects to design a residential gate, you’d probably end up with something clean, understated, and entirely forgettable. A nice water feature, maybe. Some carefully shaped hedges. Wutopia Lab looked at the same brief and decided the answer was a whale. A full, mid-leap, cobalt blue whale, placed at the entrance of a residential complex in Shangqiu, Henan, China. It is one of the most confidently strange things built in recent memory, and I mean that as the highest possible compliment.

The project is called Whale Gate, and it serves as the entrance structure for Golden Island, a development by Jinsha Group. The masterplan for the entire site is built around an archipelago concept, with residential buildings that appear to float across a landscape of water and greenery, as if scattered across a private sea. The client’s stated goal was to create the feeling of entering a different world when residents came home. Wutopia Lab took that mandate seriously, perhaps more literally than anyone expected.

Designer: Wutopia Lab (photos from LIU Guowei)

Architect Yu Ting froze the exact moment a whale breaches the ocean surface and translated that image directly into architecture. The result spans 242 square meters and weighs sixty tons, covered in 1,170 double-curved aluminum panels, not one of which is identical. The exterior is that deep, specific cobalt blue that reads instantly as oceanic. The entry point cuts through the belly of the structure as a golden vertical opening, giving the whole composition a two-act quality: the whale from the outside, a golden threshold from within. Perforated white aluminum panels above suggest water spray mid-exhale. It works on every level it is trying to work on, and the total absence of subtlety feels like a feature rather than a flaw. Most architecture of this scale tries to keep its options open. This one doesn’t.

What gets me about Whale Gate isn’t the strangeness of it, though that’s certainly part of the appeal. It’s the clarity of conviction behind it. The design doesn’t hedge. There’s no half-measure where it almost looks like a whale but could also be read as a biomorphic abstraction. Wutopia Lab made an animal, and they committed. The studio has been explicit that symbolism is a function, that arriving home deserves the kind of architecture willing to acknowledge what that moment actually means to people.

That position is worth sitting with. So much of what gets labeled “landmark architecture” in residential design is really just scale. Big things that feel important because they are big. Whale Gate earns its presence differently. The structure runs on a six-layer construction system with nearly 4,000 individual components, and every steel and aluminum member was custom-fabricated to account for varying curvatures and torsions across the form. The engineering involved in making a sixty-ton whale look like it’s mid-leap is genuinely extraordinary. But the engineering serves the story, which is the right order of operations.

There’s also a viewing platform at the top, accessible exclusively to residents via a golden staircase that climbs through the whale’s head. From up there, the entire compound unfolds below: water, cypress trees, buildings still under construction. The platform transforms the gate into something more than a threshold. It’s a place that belongs specifically to the people who live there, a reward for the commute home, a brief moment of elevation and perspective. One that quietly asks you to look at where you live and actually feel something about it.

I know biomorphic architecture has a complicated history of landing closer to spectacle than to substance. Plenty of “iconic” gateway designs end up aging like novelty; the initial wow gives way to “why, though?” within a decade. Whale Gate sidesteps that trap because the symbolism isn’t arbitrary. The whale connects to the water, the water connects to the archipelago layout, and the archipelago connects to the mythological idea of arriving at an island realm. The logic holds all the way down.

Whether or not you’d want to drive through a whale every morning is a fair question. But few people would argue it’s worse than a security booth and a speed bump.

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Tetro Arquitetura’s Xingu House Turns a Complex Brazilian Hillside Into Something Extraordinary

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Perched above ancient stone walls in Nova Lima, Minas Gerais, the Xingu House reads less like a building and more like a geological event. Designed by Belo Horizonte–based studio Tetro Arquitetura — led by principal architects Carlos Maia, Débora Mendes, and Igor Macedo — the residence occupies an 8,000-square-meter plot that arrives with its own history, its own landscape, and its own set of demands.

The site is layered in a way that most architects only dream about. Stone walls left over from a previous structure carve through the terrain, native forests press in from the edges, grassy plateaus open to sweeping mountain views, and somewhere beneath it all, a cave sits waiting — earmarked as the home’s future winery and cheese cellar. Tetro didn’t try to simplify any of it. The shape of the house is a direct answer to every peculiarity the land threw at the team.

Designer: Tetro Arquitetura

The studio’s starting point was straightforward: find the best view and push the residents toward nature at every opportunity. That intent shaped everything. The main volume of the house lifts six meters above the natural ground level, floating over the old stone walls and giving the two primary suites an uninterrupted panorama of the surrounding mountains. What makes this possible are the thick, irregularly-shaped concrete pillars rising from below — structural forms that pull double duty by housing bathrooms, the staircase, an elevator, and service areas within their mass.

The program is divided across three distinct sectors, referred to internally as “tips.” The elevated main volume holds the primary suites; the other two tips extend outward and settle onto the plateau created by the old stone walls, containing the guest accommodation. The result is a home that doesn’t sit on its land so much as reach across it — arms extended, each pointed toward a different fragment of the terrain.

The relationship between structure and nature becomes even more deliberate at the spa. Rather than attach it to the main house, Tetro designed it as an entirely separate volume — one that threads itself between existing trees rather than displacing them. Inside, a sauna, changing rooms, a resting area, and a gym make up the program, all sheltered within a shape that responds to the forest rather than imposing on it.

At 1,500 square meters, the Xingu House carries the kind of complexity that can easily become noise. Tetro keeps it quiet — letting raw concrete, native landscape, and a clear sense of purpose do the talking.

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The Berenstein Bear Is a Log-Clad Tiny Home That Lives Bigger Than Its Footprint Suggests

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Rolling Bear Tiny Homes has been building some of the most character-rich tiny homes in British Columbia, and the Berenstein Bear is the one that puts them on the map. Built by the Richmond-based builder that has been crafting handcrafted, log cabin-style tiny homes since 2018, the Berenstein is the next evolution of the brand’s beloved Black Bear model, refined with better craftsmanship, more thoughtful upgrades, and a layout that genuinely lives large.

Sitting on a footprint of 33 feet long by 11 feet wide, the Berenstein packs approximately 450 square feet of living space into a frame that includes a loft, a main-floor bedroom, and even a roof deck. That’s not a studio workaround — it’s a proper two-bedroom home. The downstairs offers a queen-size bedroom, while the loft sleeps a king, giving couples, families, or remote workers real options without the usual tiny-home trade-offs.

Designer: Rolling Bear Tiny Homes

The exterior sets the tone immediately. Pine log siding finished in two stain options wraps the structure in warmth, while a 26-gauge standing-seam metal roof promises lifetime durability. It’s the kind of build that looks rooted to a property even when it’s sitting on wheels — specifically, a Canadian-made Rainbow triple-axle trailer rated at 21,000 GVW, which is included in the base price.

Inside, the kitchen earns its square footage. A farmhouse-style sink, induction cooktop, full oven, and fridge-freezer make it a space you’d actually want to cook in — not a galley you squeeze past. The bathroom downstairs brings the same level of intention, with a tile-surrounded tub and shower combo enclosed in glass sliding doors, a vanity, a mirrored medicine cabinet, and proper shelving for towels and toiletries. It’s the kind of bathroom that belongs in a boutique hotel, not just a tiny home.

The living area benefits from double French doors that open to a potential deck, blurring the line between indoor comfort and outdoor living. Add a home office nook into the mix and the Berenstein starts to feel less like a lifestyle experiment and more like a genuinely livable full-time residence — one that also works beautifully as a weekend retreat or short-term rental.

The Berenstein made its debut at a soft launch in Langley, BC, drawing over 400 visitors including residential home builders and generating coverage across more than five local publications. The response was telling. This isn’t just a well-built tiny home — it’s a signal that compact living is growing up. Base pricing starts at US$121,000, with the Rainbow trailer included.

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This Tiny House Spreads Out Like an Apartment and Lives Like One Too

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Most tiny houses try to be everything at once. The Miami, the latest park model from Phoenix Building Solutions, gets that. Rather than stacking lofts and squeezing in storage tricks, it spreads out — single-floor, open plan, and unapologetically apartment-like. At 400 square feet, it’s one of the more generously proportioned models in its class, and it wears that space well.

Built on a quad-axle trailer and measuring 11 feet 8 inches wide by 40 feet 3 inches long, the Miami sits closer to the wider end of park model specs. That extra width changes everything. It’s what separates a home that feels borrowed from one that actually feels lived in. The exterior keeps it tight — board-and-batten engineered wood siding, warm timber accents, a clean metal roof, and a monoslope roofline that cuts a sharp silhouette against any backdrop.

Designer: Phoenix Building Solutions

Step inside and the single-level layout does the heavy lifting. The kitchen is the kind of setup most apartment renters would envy — dual-basin stainless steel sink, oven and cooktop, microwave, dishwasher, and a full fridge/freezer. It’s a proper kitchen, not a kitchenette dressed up with good lighting. The living area flows naturally from it, and the large windows pull in enough natural light to make the 400 square feet feel considerably more generous than the number suggests.

The bedroom is where the Miami earns its keep as a two-person dwelling. A double bed sits alongside two built-in wardrobes and a small chair — practical without being sparse. There are no loft ladders to navigate in the dark, no tucked-away sleeping nooks. The single-floor commitment means everything is accessible, which matters more than most people realize until they’re actually living in a small space long-term.

Phoenix Building Solutions, based in Greenville, Alabama, manufactures from a 75,000-square-foot facility certified to ANSI A119.5 standards — a detail that speaks to build quality rather than just curb appeal. The Miami isn’t a concept or a render. It’s a production model from a company with over 130 years of combined industry experience, built for people who want something that lasts.

What makes the Miami genuinely interesting isn’t any single feature — it’s the restraint. Phoenix didn’t overcomplicate it. They took a straightforward idea — comfortable, modern, single-floor tiny living — and executed it cleanly. In a market full of houses competing to cram in one more clever feature, that kind of discipline is harder to pull off than it looks.

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