‘To build a house for a poet. To make a house for dreaming, living and dying. A house in which to read, to write and to think.
We raised white walls to create a box open to the sky, like a nude, metaphysical garden. To create an interior world we plant leafy trees.
And floating in the centre, with a box with three levels. The highest for dreaming. The garden level for living. The deepest level for sleeping.
For dreaming, we created a cloud at the highest point. A library constructed with double height. With northern light for reading and writing, thinking and feeling.
For living, the garden with southern light, sunlight. A space that is all garden, with transparent walls that bring together inside and outside.
And for sleeping, perhaps dying, the deepest level. The bedrooms below, as if in a cave.
Once again, the cave and the cabin.
Dreaming, living, dying. The house of the poet.’