@Michael van Leur/The Globe and Mail
You’d think a reddish-orange house would stand out. You’d think that, if the reddish-orange objects cladding said house were handmade clay tile, one would really pause and drink it all in as he or she walked up the driveway in search of the front door.
Not so. As architect Martin Kohn dismounted from his bicycle and called out to me, I dumbly walked over and barely noticed the rich texture, the slight variation in colour, and the shiplap-like quality of the installation of this Danish product by Petersen Tegl. I greeted him and allowed him to show me how the door has been placed in a scooped-out wedge behind the façade. And then I stepped inside what Kohn Shnier Architects have billed “Tile House” to meet the owners, Roy Kapoor and Michele Sommerard.
Huh.
My embarrassing oversight might be due to the fact that Mr. Kohn and architect Tristan van Leur have done such a masterful job in fitting this domestic tagine into the streetscape that it might as well have been clad in gold bars.
And in the Summerhill neighbourhood of Toronto, scale matters: “The eaves of the neighbouring homes on Farnham strike a very similar datum,” Mr. van Leur says. “We decided we wanted to borrow that form, strip it down to its bare elements – eaves datum and roof slope, two second-storey windows and a first-storey bay window – and then play with those to create something that is simultaneously familiar and unique.”
“We didn’t want it to look like it landed,” Mr. Kohn adds. “The slope facing the street is typical; if you counted 10 houses here, eight of them are like that.”
@Michael van Leur/The Globe and Mail
1 of 10
Something else this house manages to do quite expertly is present itself to neighbours as a 2 1/2-storey structure while secretly delivering four full floors to its occupants – and with generous ceiling heights, wide stairs and expansive corridors, to boot.
“That was one of the things we talked about,” Mr. Kapoor says. “We want to feel a sense of volume, and that no individual space is cramped, including the stairway. Everything was done in a way that, you know, it doesn’t feel like you have to scooch around.”
Nope, no scooching, only ogling, and right from the point at which I entered through one of the largest glass front doors I’ve ever seen. Facing the visitor is a delicate, white-painted metal screen that encloses the stair. A light-as-a-feather, geometric doily of a screen. And because it employs a secret system that anchors the stair treads in place, they appear as if they are floating, effortlessly, in space.
Because this is a floor plan that keeps the eye (and brain) stimulated, one must travel a little to see what comes next. Spin on one’s heel and a private library with a view of the street is revealed. Go towards the back of the house and one passes a wet bar before coming upon a cozy living room with a fireplace covered in a spidery, greenish-grey marble that could pass for a “Cy Twombly painting,” Ms. Sommerard says.
But, wait. Where’s the kitchen?
“Look down here,” Mr. Kohn says. Just past the stair is an opening, lit gloriously by a long window, that looks down onto the couple’s finely crafted Bulthaup kitchen.
“The most radical thing about the house is the separation of the kitchen and dining from the living room space,” he continues. “It is an unusual arrangement but, for this site, it makes sense. You get this up in the air feeling of being in the trees … but then downstairs you can just walk outside.”
He’s right. Up in the living room, it’s a tree house. Down in the dining room, one is compelled to get up from one’s rosewood chair to interact with the garden or wave to someone barbecuing over the fence.
Upstairs, it’s a whole other ballgame. A front bedroom sports the most darling little enclosed balcony (which calls to mind Dubbeldam’s “Skygarden House” but on a much smaller scale) where one can examine the sparkly, mica-infused stucco, or snuggle up with a good book during a thunderstorm. Another open bedroom on the very top floor (Mr. Kohn says at one point the drawings had it down as a gym) leads to a massive, cedar-clad deck that’s been “carved” out of the roof.
“This is fantastic,” says Mr. Kohn, raising his usually soft voice. “You’re in the middle of the city and it’s completely private.”
“I spend a lot of time here,” says Mr. Kapoor, flashing a big smile.
And because very good architects designed this outdoor space, the sense of shelter prevents one from feeling vulnerable. It’s human-scaled, delicate and breathtaking. Both men say that the builder, Samaryn Homes, deserves a lot of the credit for the blissful feelings I’m experiencing.
Bliss can be found in many other places: the curved wall of one of the home’s five bathrooms; the juxtaposition of the ornate dining room chandelier between the girthy I-beams that make up the moment frame; the orange mailbox beside the front door; or the powder room pod near the front door.
Kohn Shnier’s Tile House may have a countenance of chunky tile, but between its walls are surprises, bits of trompe l’oeil, secret spaces, sexy finishes and drywall edges crisp enough to cause a paper cut. Demure enough to tuck into the streetscape, it flexes its architectural muscles where needed. At $600 a square foot, it didn’t come cheap, but fine art never does.
“I think we ended up with something that we love,” Mr. Kapoor finishes. “It’s really very nice.”
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