Featured essay
Designing for the second winter
Anyone can love a new house in June. We judge our work by how it feels after the novelty has gone and the days are short.
Every autumn we go back to the homes we finished the year before. We don't go to photograph them. We go to ask what the families have stopped noticing, what they work around and which room they gravitate to after dark. The answers are rarely about the things that appeared in the planning drawings.
Low sun is the real client
In December the sun barely clears the neighbouring roofs. A window that floods a room with light in summer can leave it grey for months. That is why we model the winter solstice first: if the kitchen table gets an hour of direct sun at lunchtime in midwinter, the rest of the year looks after itself.
Warm edges, not just warm rooms
People don't sit in the middle of rooms; they sit at the edges, next to windows and walls. So we spend time on the places where bodies meet the building: a deep window seat with insulation behind it, a timber sill instead of cold stone, a radiator placed where you actually stand to talk. These are cheap decisions that change how a house feels every single evening.
Somewhere for the wet coats
The most requested change in our return visits is never glamorous. It is a better place to drop boots, dry coats and park a pram. Now every Oriel house starts with a generous, ventilated entrance zone — and nobody has asked us to change one since.
If you are planning a project, try this: describe your worst winter evening in the current house. It is the most useful brief you can give an architect.