A 20-tonne digger exposed the seams of schist that decided where the house would sit, and the courtyard gardens went into the plan alongside the two pavilions.
It would be drawing a long bow to align the spice-laden floriferous gardens of Granada with the sparse, skeletal aridness of the Gibbston Valley, but forays to foreign lands invariably heighten the senses and sensibilities, and inspiration often follows close behind. A visit to a grand historic estate on an Andalusian holiday made an indelible impression on Lauren Christie and Joseph Coutts: walking through the grounds, they immediately understood the importance of the spaces in between. For their own new-build back in Tāhuna/Queenstown, they would not construct their house and then plant out around it — the planning needed to wrap up into a far more holistic experience.
Lauren, who has spent 10 years helping to shape the physical environment and powerhouse brand that is the Ayrburn hospitality precinct, is well-versed in what it takes to drive a project forward and keep it cohesive. Her own design and development business, Saben Group, brings this skillset to a domestic level. Joseph is a builder, with a like-minded spirit. “We both have an artistic streak; we’re both musicians. We work well together,” he says.
Getting to know this site on the Peregrine Ridge more intimately was the first task. Joseph hired a 20-tonne digger and set about exposing the seams of schist that had been overlain with glacial and alluvial deposits across the decades. “Geology drove the vision of where the house was going to be positioned on the land,” he says.
The couple, who both grew up locally, wanted to craft a haven for their children and agreed to steer clear of the prevalent schist-and-cedar vernacular. Plotting out the floorplan themselves, first they built a guest house and garage, the children accommodated in a dorm-like loft, so they could live and breathe the day-to-day on-site. Beyond this, the main home: two centrally connected pavilions, one in creamy bagged brick, the other in pale vertical timber. The twin gables that are the backbone of the H-shaped plan may be a familiar architectural trope in these parts, but the light-toned cladding less so. “It looks rural, agricultural, but with a softness to it,” says Lauren. “And it picks up on a Mediterranean vibe.”
An entry and kitchen occupy the link, but the manicured courtyard gardens that run in and around the forms, turning this into an edge-to-boundary-edge enclave, is doing just as much work. It feels at once generous and comforting, a place of refuge amidst the daunting scenery. “We saw the arrival sequence as a transition space taking you from whatever your day has entailed, passing through the beautiful external, then internal, courtyard and leaving that all behind,” explains Lauren.
The wide paved pathway crosses into the entry hall and, beyond, the kitchen has a low, darkened timber ceiling. It’s an intense, intimate mood that gives way to a chapel-like expansion in the living volumes. These were deliberate moves: playing with spatial limits, encouraging the raw materials to shine.
Finer points were equally exacting. Lauren negotiated with the cabinetmaker for no toe-kicks and a negative detail between the cupboards and benchtops. Joseph’s attention was focused on the structural side, such as when the extremes of temperature and wind, rain and frost caused the framework to dry and twist ever so slightly, “We straightened them up three times before we locked it all in.”
Another passion: seeking out special materials that turn up the design volume and those salt-of-the-earth types that keep the construction industry interesting. The earthy bricks that slice from outside to in were specially made in Christchurch, planks of giant sequoia that texturise the kitchen ceiling are from an independent mill in Motueka, and recycled rimu beams from Northland became a winning feature of the main bedroom.
“They support the timber floor of the mezzanine above. I used them as joists and made herringbone bracing from the offcuts,” explains Joseph.
Plastered walls in this private retreat, alongside biscuit-coloured flooring and wall tiles in the ensuite, carry the Mediterranean theme through, yet seated in the spa pool that’s a few good strides away and disguised behind swathes of native grasses, it’s difficult to feel anywhere but in the adventurous heart of Aotearoa. The swimming pool, tucked into a natural depression in the landscape, also takes a good wee hike, involving a dash past the olive grove and across the lawn.
The environment has been mindfully planned to hold moments that may be overlooked in the living, but will be fondly remembered in hindsight. Oriented towards Rock Peak and long, sweeping views down the valley at sunset, the living room captures a sense of awesomeness. Yet, says Lauren, it’s the planted garden that integrates with their lifestyle completely. “It has that Granadan formality, the multiple layers,” she says.
Sedums and spikes of purple catmint inject colour. Tulips in the gravel court are a short-lived show. Hebe, matagouri and red tussock transition into the rest of the land.
Lauren believes home is more than a place to eat dinner and lay your head. It should be somewhere that nourishes and replenishes.
At bedtime, when the busyness is at its end, watching the sunlight move through a ravine in the middle distance, it really feels this way. “Who’d have thought that an average schist gully could be so beautiful?” she says. The vision may have been strong from the outset but it’s surprises such as these that keep the magic going.
Words Claire McCall
Photography Rosa Veale Woods
The post A Gibbston Valley home where the garden was planned before the building appeared first on Homestyle.
