VUE

Sitting atop the gentle curve of a hill, the structure slow- ly begins to reveal itself. A vertical plane engrossed by its own environment, disguised by slightly sharpened and thin- ly sliced planks—a mask. Its habitable identity purposefully withheld. The entrance, unseen by onlookers exists at the end of a long, narrow footbridge. And between the door and the slated overlay rests a staircase, a vanishing point. A passage- way to protection on one side, and on the other, an escape. Inside, there is light. The kind of light that despite all the darkness, still manages to emerge. There is a beauty to it. To the uncolored wood and bleached tile, a vision unimaginable from the outside. It is a house made up of contrast—open yet private, hard but soft, bright yet dim. "A series of thresholds" is how the rooms are described. "Becoming successively more removed from one world and more connected to the next." A kitchen, a bathroom, a living room, a bed—all sanctuaries within themselves, each a divi- sion marking a new boundary. The transition is subtle, nearly unnoticeable in the scheme of the widespread space and yet it's felt. The shift from ordinary to other, from immersion to separation. What appears at first as an act of disruption, rebellion, even, stands in tandem with its surrounding forest—a tribute. An homage to the steep hills and fertile trees, to the darkened sky and forbidden lake. At one time, there was life here. To forget would be easier, but to remember is to live again. V U E N J . C O M 27

• Cover