This Hidden London Home Lives Behind a Garden Wall – And It’s Pure Genius

Just past the southeast corner of Cleaver Square in Kennington, south London, sits a weathered brick wall with a painted timber gate. From the street, it looks like nothing more than a garden boundary — unremarkable, quiet, entirely in keeping with the 18th-century square around it. Step through the gate and the story changes completely.

Behind it is the Walled Courtyard house, a single-storey, two-bedroom home designed by London-based architecture studio Inglis Badrashi Loddo (IBLA). It is the first new house built on Cleaver Square in over 175 years — and it was designed to be invisible.

Designer: IBLA

The site, a modest 63 square metres, was formerly a car park. It once formed part of the walled garden of the Grade-II listed Georgian townhouse that sits adjacent to it. The owners of that townhouse commissioned IBLA to design a separate, accessible dwelling on the land — compact, light-filled, and historically sensitive.

IBLA didn’t fight the enclosure. They embraced it. The boundary walls were reconstructed using a combination of salvaged and new London stock brick, deliberately left without windows so the exterior reads as one continuous garden wall. Inside, those same walls are washed in lime-mortar paint, pulling light inward and immediately shifting the atmosphere. “The site is very compact, completely enclosed and inward-looking — our main goal was to create a bright and light-filled home that felt expansive and generous, despite the constraints,” said IBLA director Kim Loddo.

The layout unfolds around a central courtyard garden, with every main room connected to it through full-height sliding glass doors. The main bedroom and ensuite occupy the western end, with long sightlines running through to the kitchen and dining area at the centre. There, custom plywood cabinetry sits beneath a skylight that keeps the space bathed in natural light through the day. To the east, an adaptable room serves either as a second bedroom or a reading snug. The main bathroom, tucked into the curved corner of the site, is lit from above by a circular skylight.

A neutral palette runs throughout — white walls, whitewashed exposed timber roof joists, and grey porcelain flooring — with pocket doors that slide cleanly into wall recesses to keep sightlines open. The joists, as Loddo notes, do real structural work while lending the ceilings an honest rhythm.

For sustainability, the home relies on an air-source heat pump, underfloor heating, high-performance insulation, and a sedum roof that quietly completes its environmental credentials. What IBLA has built here is a masterclass in restraint. A home that holds its history close, hides from the street entirely, and reveals itself only to those who pass through the gate.

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Tucked Between Two Ancient Stumps, This House Barely Touches the Ground — And That’s Exactly the Point

Some buildings earn their names. The Floating House by Vancouver-based SMStudio — completed in 2023 on the western ridge of Bowen Island, British Columbia — is one of them. Bowen Island sits just 20 minutes by ferry from Vancouver’s Horseshoe Bay, close enough for a commute, far enough to feel like another world.

SMStudio founder Simon Montgomery found a site on a rocky ridge where two ancient, burnt-out old-growth stumps stand like sentinels over the land. Rather than clear them or work around them, he positioned the house directly between them. The building wasn’t placed on the land so much as fitted into it.

Designer: SMStudio

The name earns its keep. A cantilever lifts the structure fractionally off the bedrock, leaving a deliberate shadow gap at the base — a move that is at once structural and philosophical. The house appears to hover, weightless above the ground it occupies. It’s a gesture borrowed from Japanese spatial thinking, where the relationship between a building and its site is considered with almost ceremonial care.

The exterior reads as elemental: a steeply pitched gable roof clad in steel standing-seam panels, cedar walls left to weather naturally into the forest palette, and a form so spare it borders on sculptural. There is no decorative noise here. Every decision is load-bearing, aesthetically speaking. The plan is simple and asymmetrical, its two wings arranged to navigate the site’s dual elevations — a higher forested platform and an open field below that drops away to reveal sky and distant treeline.

Inside, Douglas fir surfaces carry the warmth that the cedar exterior withholds. Natural light is controlled and considered, the forest pressing in from every side without ever feeling intrusive. It is the kind of interior where you notice the quality of light before you notice the furniture.

What makes the Floating House significant isn’t scale or spectacle — it’s discipline. Montgomery resisted the temptation to over-design a site that was already extraordinary. The result is a house that amplifies its surroundings rather than competing with them. In an era when architecture often mistakes loudness for confidence, that kind of restraint is genuinely rare. The Floating House is currently listed for $2.1 million through West Coast Modern.

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This 1910 Melbourne Corner Shop Is Now a Three-Story Home With a Garden as Its Front Door

For over a century, a modest corner shop at the intersection of Murray and York streets in Melbourne’s Prahran suburb sold milk, bread, and the kind of everyday essentials that knit neighborhoods together. It closed in 2016, briefly reopened as a café, and then sat waiting. Kister Architects founder Ilana Kister saw something in it — and then decided to move in.

The project, aptly named The Corner Shop, is Kister’s own home, designed for herself and her daughters. It is a three-story residence carved out of the original 287-square-metre plot, expanded by an adjacent 90-square-metre lot that became available during construction and was immediately absorbed into the design as a garden. That garden is not a feature — it is the entire logic of the building.

Designer: Kister Architects

“Making the entry a courtyard was the single most important decision in the project,” Kister told Dezeen. “Entering through the original milk bar door, you land in the garden, not a hallway or foyer. By the time you reach the interior, you’ve already been outside — that sequence sets the tone for the whole house.”

The original shopfront façade has been preserved in full, bottle-green tiles and all. Street-facing windows were replaced with glass bricks — a move that keeps the building reading as a corner shop from the outside while flooding the interior with diffused, dappled light. The external palette layers grey and black render against silvertop ash timber cladding, with climbing vegetation threading through the surface and rooftop planting crowning the upper levels. Wherever you look, something is growing.

Inside, a white perforated steel staircase rises through all three floors, lit from above by a sequence of triangular skylights. Oak covers the floors, walls, and ceilings, anchoring the interior in warmth. On the second floor, three bedrooms, a family bathroom, and a living space are dressed in timber panelling and mossy-green carpet, with floor-to-ceiling windows drawing the outside in. The colour palette is deliberately restrained — natural materials do the work.

The third floor opens everything up. An open-plan kitchen, dining, and living space spills onto a silvertop ash deck with treetop views and sightlines to Melbourne’s city skyline. Below, the back garden holds a swimming pool, outdoor seating, and the kind of quiet that inner-city addresses rarely afford.

Green roofs, vertical gardens, and planted internal screens mean that no matter where you stand in the house, you can see something alive. That is not incidental — it is the brief. Kister built a home where nature is the architecture, and the century-old corner shop is simply its best possible frame.

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This House on Lake Memphremagog Was Designed to Disappear

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

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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Young Projects’ Cut Out House Proves Subtraction Is the Most Powerful Tool in Architecture

Most mountain houses try too hard. Cut Out House, designed by New York-based studio Young Projects, does the opposite — it sits in the foothills of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, tucked into a low-density development where the land does most of the talking.

The project was conceived as a family vacation home, and it wears that intention openly. Rather than asserting itself against the landscape, the house responds to it — balancing intimate spaces oriented toward the dense surrounding woodland with communal areas that open dramatically toward the mountains. That duality is the architecture. Everything else follows from it.

Designer: Young Projects

The defining move is the butterfly roof, which Young Projects uses not just as a formal gesture but as a tool for orchestrating experience. The angled planes slope in opposite directions, directing views outward from within while reflecting the terrain’s gradient from outside. Where the roofline climbs, communal living spaces claim the panoramic views. Where tree density compresses the sightlines, private bedrooms pull back into quieter, more sheltered corners of the plan. The roof, in a sense, is the planner.

The “cut out” in the name refers to a series of subtractions carved from the building’s overall volume — openings and recesses that give the house its sculptural character without overworking it. This is a form shaped as much by removal as by addition. The result reads as something confidently simple, which is the harder thing to achieve. Most houses at altitude either defer too much to the landscape or compete with it. Cut Out House does neither.

Gray Accoya wood clads the exterior, a material choice that ages gracefully and lends the structure a tonal continuity with the rock and timber of the surrounding terrain. It doesn’t announce itself. From across a nearby body of water, the butterfly roofline is the first thing you read — a dynamic silhouette that shifts with the light and suggests movement even when the house is still.

Bryan Young founded Young Projects in New York in 2010, and the studio has built a reputation for work that thinks carefully about the relationship between built form and context. Cut Out House extends that sensibility into alpine territory, where the stakes of getting that relationship wrong are immediately visible in every window. The house doesn’t compete with the Rockies. It leans into them, shapes itself around them, and in doing so becomes something more interesting than a retreat — it becomes a calibrated act of looking.

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Europe’s Largest 3D-Printed Apartment Building Just Changed Everything

Something significant happened in Bezannes, France — and the construction industry should be paying close attention. ViliaSprint², Europe’s largest 3D-printed apartment building, has been completed, and it arrives less as a proof of concept and more as a genuine blueprint for what housing could look like moving forward. Developed by Plurial Novilia, designed by HOBO Architecture, and printed by PERI 3D Construction using a COBOD BOD2 printer, this is the kind of project that makes you reconsider what a building even is.

The numbers are striking. Twelve social housing apartments across three floors, 800 square meters of living space — all printed on-site in just 34 days, down from an originally planned 50. That alone would be a headline. But what makes ViliaSprint² genuinely remarkable is that it’s the first building in France where both the load-bearing structure and every wall were printed directly on-site, with 100% of all loads transferred through the 3D-printed walls. No hybrid workarounds. No conventional skeleton hiding beneath the surface. The printer did the heavy lifting, quite literally.

Designer: Plurial Novilia & HOBO Architecture

HOBO Architecture’s design leans into the honesty of the medium. The building’s rounded geometry — fluid curves that would cost a fortune to achieve through conventional formwork — is made possible precisely because a machine, not a tradesperson, is doing the forming. It’s design that could only exist with this technology, which is a rarer claim than it sounds. Timber balcony structures offset the weight of the concrete shell, adding warmth to a building that could otherwise read as cold and industrial.

Sustainability is baked into the structure rather than retrofitted onto it. The optimized curved form saved roughly 10% of concrete volume. Holcim supplied the printable concrete using its TectorPrint technology within the CO₂-reduced ECOPact range, reinforced with synthetic macro fibres. Perlite insulation, 500 square meters of photovoltaic panels, and a hybrid gas-heat pump system by Atlantic Systèmes push the building to around 60% energy self-sufficiency — fully compliant with France’s RE2020 2025 green building targets.

The building sits directly beside a conventionally constructed twin, built by the same developer simultaneously, as a live comparison. The 3D-printed version finished three months ahead. It also required only three workers to erect the walls, compared to six for the conventional build — a meaningful detail as the construction industry faces deepening skilled labor shortages.

Plurial Novilia is already planning the next move: roughly 40 apartments, two printers running simultaneously, with a target to cut print time by a factor of four. ViliaSprint² isn’t the destination. It’s the proof that the destination is real.

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This Carbon-Negative Neighborhood in the Netherlands Is Rethinking Affordable Housing

Architecture has long been one of the planet’s most significant contributors to carbon emissions. ORGA, a Dutch studio, is challenging that reality head-on with a carbon-negative neighborhood prototype built in the village of Marknesse, Netherlands — and the results are worth paying attention to.

Commissioned by housing association Mercatus, the project consists of 12 affordable rental homes designed specifically for first-time buyers and low-income households. From the outset, the goal was to minimize environmental impact at every stage — not as an afterthought, but as the foundation of every design decision made.

Designer: ORGA

Marknesse sits in a region historically defined by its ‘Delft Red’ aesthetic: red clay bricks and orange-red roof tiles. Rather than abandon that visual identity, ORGA reinterpreted it through a modern lens, swapping out high-carbon materials for natural, renewable alternatives. The result is something rare in contemporary construction — a structure that stores more carbon than it produces. The architects also wove local ecology into the design, incorporating wooden chimneys that double as nesting sites for bats.

The numbers behind the project are striking. The prototype achieves a 76% share of bio-based and circular raw materials. Nearly everything is sourced from renewable materials, with the exception of the concrete foundation and essential components like windows and fasteners. It’s an approach that echoes projects like the 3D-printed Lib Earth House Model B in Japan, which similarly replaces cement with soil-based mixtures to reduce material impact.

Construction efficiency was also a priority. The homes are built using prefabricated timber elements manufactured off-site and assembled on-site, a method that dramatically cuts construction time while reducing local disruption. This mirrors what’s been seen in mass timber projects like the 230 Royal York tower in Toronto, where prefabrication trimmed months off the build schedule.

Inside, the timber framing is insulated with wood fiber and other natural materials, enabling a completely foil-free, vapor-permeable construction. There are no synthetic plastic wrapping layers. Instead, the wall system is breathable — designed to passively regulate moisture and temperature without air conditioning or mechanical intervention. The building essentially manages its own climate.

To close the loop on long-term sustainability, each home was cataloged using the Madaster Material Passport, an online dossier that tracks all materials and their applications. Residents also received user manuals to help them maintain and eventually repurpose components of the home. What ORGA has built in Marknesse is more than a prototype. It’s a proof of concept that bio-based, affordable, and carbon-negative architecture can coexist — and that meaningful ecological design doesn’t have to come at the cost of accessibility.

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This House in Rural India Is Actually a Bridge — and It’s Covered in Scales

Most architects would see a seven-metre-deep gorge cutting through a site and call it a problem. Vinu Daniel and his studio, Wallmakers, looked at it and saw the house. The Bridge House in Karjat, Maharashtra, is exactly what its name promises — a weekend home that spans a 30-metre-wide spillway, with enough clearance below for diggers to pass through. Completed in 2025, the 4,500-square-foot structure sits across two parcels of land separated by two streams, and it does so with a quiet, almost organic confidence.

The structural logic is deceptively simple. Four hyperbolic parabolas form the spine of the suspension bridge, held together by minimal steel pipe and tendons working in tension. Over that skeleton, a grid of steel cables was laid out in a twisting hyperbolic paraboloid surface, then coated in a layer of mud — the same material Wallmakers has long treated as a primary architectural medium. The mud isn’t decorative. It provides the compressive strength that stabilises the entire bridge and acts as a barrier against the pests that typically undermine thatched construction.

Designer: Wallmakers

And then there’s the skin. The outer layer is local grass thatch, applied in overlapping scales that give the structure a texture closer to a living creature than a building. The resemblance to a pangolin is intentional. “Thatched roof construction, even though sustainable and thermally efficient, has been on the decline due to problems like pest invasion, lack of skilled labour, deforestation, and the hassle of constant reapplication,” Daniel noted. The mud-thatch composite here attempts to address exactly those failures — rethinking the material from the inside out rather than simply reviving a tradition.

Getting materials to the site was its own challenge. The remote location in Karjat pushed the team toward using what was available locally, which ultimately shaped the entire material palette. The result is a building that feels pulled from the landscape rather than dropped into it. Translucent screens and raw mud surfaces define the interiors, keeping the atmosphere spare and tactile. The design team — Preksha Shah and Ramika Gupta — worked within tight constraints that only tightened the design thinking.

Bridge House is the kind of project that makes the site’s difficulties readable in the finished form. The gorge isn’t hidden; it’s the reason the house exists at all. That honesty — structural, material, spatial — is what makes Wallmakers’ work consistently worth paying attention to.

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This Traditional Japanese Home Was Brought Back to Life by Opening It Up to Everything Around It

Returning home is a deeply intentional process. Not just to a place, but to a life — one shaped by memory, family, and the particular quality of light that falls through a familiar window. That is precisely the spirit YNAS brought to House in Miyakonojo, a renovation and extension of a traditional timber home in southern Japan that quietly redefines what it means to belong somewhere.

The project began with a couple who, after raising their children and shifting careers, chose to return to the wife’s ancestral home in Miyakonojo to live alongside her father. The house carried history in its bones — a traditional layout of rooms partitioned by sliding screens, arranged off a dark, L-shaped corridor that kept the living area, kitchen, dining room, and bedroom firmly separated from one another. It was a home that had turned inward, closing itself off from both the people inside and the landscape beyond its walls.

Designer: YNAS

YNAS dismantled that introversion entirely. The studio opened up the cramped internal layout, dissolving the rigid partitions to let space breathe and flow the way a home shared between generations should. The transformation is not just structural — it’s philosophical. The design rejects the idea that privacy requires enclosure, leaning instead into a more generous, paradoxical logic: that openness itself can become a form of protection.

That thinking is most visible in the corrugated metal canopies YNAS added to the exterior. Timber-framed and industrial in material, they extend the home outward, creating covered outdoor spaces that blur the threshold between inside and out. An outdoor kitchen and a wood-fired bath become part of daily life, not luxuries tucked away from it. Neighbors might catch a distant glimpse of the family gathered outside, or notice smoke rising from the stove — and that, the studio argues, is the point.

“The house once again becomes a part of the landscape through the ‘signs of life’ it emits,” YNAS noted of the project. It’s a rare architectural position — one that treats visibility not as exposure but as community, as a soft signal that a home is lived in and loved.

The result is a house that honors its past without being imprisoned by it. The ancestral bones remain, but the rooms now open to each other, to the garden, to the sky. Corrugated metal and old timber sit side by side without apology. Three generations share space under a roof that has finally learned how to exhale. In Miyakonojo, YNAS has done something quietly radical: they’ve made a home feel, again, as it belongs to the world around it.

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