Essay 07— Rooms With Purpose

As I approach the home I notice the chosen exterior color. It’s earthy, restrained, and on the darker side. It’s a solid choice. 

Upon entering, I walk through a few bedrooms towards the front of the home, and  a bathroom or two. All nicely done. The rooms are modest,  but that’s to be expected on a plot in this part of town. Prices are steep. 

Walking through the narrow hallway, I enter the living area and the space unfolds. 

Truth be told it was a pretty good exercise in compression and expansion. 

It's the kitchen, it’s the living, it’s the dining... it’s everything.

The back wall is a large glass multi-slide that opens you up to the neat but compact back yard. The grand fireplace fascia extends down from the ceiling and below it, a low slung hearth transforms into a low bench that terminates into the wall fifteen feet away. The wall is composed of concrete blocks, bringing texture into the space.

I like the choice.

The smoothness of fire with the roughness of concrete. A great pairing. 

A dining table sits adjacent to the kitchen, tucked away in another  bay of windows.

The kitchen sits at the back, overlooking everything like a parent that’s never quite impressed enough with their child.

An interesting chord struck in me.

It wasn't a disappointment per se, but it was closer to a, “...this is it?” feeling.

I was expecting to feel something. I expected to be moved.

Instead, I just experienced a really big room. 

And please, hear me out, this isn’t an attack on open concept homes.

They absolutely have their place, and are often a smart design direction. 

As with everything in life, there’s an ebb and a flow. Architecture is no different. One generation walls everything off, the next opens it all up.

It’s a rebellion against the forces which ruled our early lives. Against the way we were taught how to do things. 

Neither is wrong, they’re just reacting to their lived experiences. But perhaps we’ve swung a touch too far. 

I’ve started noticing that when every room is for everything, how do we expect it to really do anything? 

The kitchen is the office, the office is the dining room, the living room is the media room. The dining room barely exists. 

The result feels like having  20 tabs open in your brain at once. 

One messy countertop suddenly creates three messy spaces.

It feels like homes have ballooned in scale throughout our lifetimes, but they haven’t necessarily gotten any more functional. How is it that a home can be 6,500 square feet and still feel like it only has one real room?

Over the last few decades, we’ve lost rooms with purpose.

A music room. Now that is a room. What a luxury it is to have a single space dedicated to enjoying your music. A place to bring you back to some long-lost memory.

How about a library? A beautifully designed room for all your favorite bits of information and fantastical stories that shaped who you are. It’s a testament to your personality. To how you got here. 

And a morning room? A place to start your day, get some vitamin D, sip your coffee, and start slowly. 

I recently heard a story about a young man whose roommate moved out. He had a brilliant idea for his newfound empty room. 

The Cheetah Room. 

It now boasts a painting of a cheetah on the wall, and a singular chair facing the art piece. 

He’s also attached rules to the space. So much so, that it’s become a special event at parties.

One person at a time. No phones. No pictures.

And the list of rules is growing. 

This is not an extravagant living space. It's a small apartment. 

What makes places like these special is the intention. They know what they’re asking of you. Each room calls you to do one specific thing. Whether that’s to listen, to disappear, to learn, or to unwind. 

We talk a lot about rituals at Pif. This is related, of course. These types of rooms contain them. They also encourage them. They protect them. 

On occasion, a space can even create them.  

We’ve all experienced moments in life where it feels as though we just need the extra nudge of permission to do something we’ve been wanting to do for a long time. These rooms can be that for us. 

Ultimately, it’s really about asking what kind of life this home is trying to support. Design should remove friction, not create it. 

Sometimes that means opening spaces. And at other times, it means defining them. 

Personally, I've grown tired of rooms asking me to be everywhere all at once.