DAY 6 - AND THEN, WATER WON
- Feb 28
- 2 min read
In my delusions, I wanted a tropical modernist house in Maraú. Flat roof, sharp lines, glass everywhere, perfectly calculated brise-soleils. That clean Pinterest aesthetic — tropical modernist house goals.
It felt entirely possible. Until the climate joined the conversation.
Here it rains vertically, horizontally, and — at times — metaphysically.
Yes, we could have done it. But it wasn’t worth the emotional cost of trusting a heroic gutter system. Against water, we have very little power — especially when building on the coast of Bahia, where humidity is constant and salt air quietly corrodes everything.
The reference was the Brillhart House in Miami — a cult icon of tropical modernism. A house pierced by landscape, light, transparency. Ultimate coastal house inspiration. Or, in plain Portuguese: a very beautiful beach house.
But keeping glass pristine by the ocean? That’s a weekly stress ritual. Google “salt corrosion beach house” and cry with me.
That’s how we arrived at Brazilian vernacular architecture. It seemed obvious. People had warned me. I just took my time accepting it. Go ahead, play a dramatic confession soundtrack and cringe with me.
We discovered articulated wooden louvers: permanent cross-ventilation, controlled light, organic blackout, zero structural glass, and maintenance that actually makes sense in a humid climate. The first small victory of the Brazilian construction worker over imported fantasy.
Of course, wood demands maintenance too. And budget. And the gap between expectation and reality will be tested over time.
But from modernism we kept the essence: a house integrated into the landscape — almost one large veranda — open to wind and light.
Except… remember we also needed to live and work here?
That’s when the real decisions began. And the frustrations. Another commandment of construction (I’ve lost count of which one we’re on).
Between cuts and adaptations, a smarter territorial solution emerged: two modules.
One social module — which also houses our bedroom, closet, and a generously sized bathroom. The kind that might look like a 1970s architectural regression to some, but feels like major progress for two adults who want to brush their teeth simultaneously and gossip in the shower.
And a second module — dedicated to work and hosting — respecting both the rhythm of the house and the logic of an artist residency.
The full layout deserves its own post.
For now, we had only solved part of it.
All that remained… was everything else.
(laughing, nervously)
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