The client and I searched for a site. Moving slightly away from the bustle of the city, we climbed a steep hill to reach a quiet residential area atop a mountain, where the client and their family chose to make their home. The plot, located at a corner, offered a good view but was somewhat smaller compared to the surrounding lots. Since the previous house, including its garage and retaining walls, had been demolished, an unnatural embankment remained on the site. The north-facing embankment, despite being a slope, received ample sunlight, and wild grasses and flowers flourished—likely brought in by birds from a nearby copse. This field, brimming with life, captivated us, despite being the kind of site that might typically be avoided.

At this point, the site was no longer just a foundation for construction or a mere material to be shaped by architecture. It existed as an environment to live with. That is why I saw the purpose of architecture as creating a world rich in stimulation and creativity—one in which the residents, through their daily lives, continuously engage in dialogue with their surroundings, discovering new relationships with the environment over time.

In snowy and cold regions, houses are generally enclosed by walls, floors, and roofs with insulation. Additionally, on a relatively small plot like this one, considerations for snowfall and snowmelt mean that eaves and overhangs cannot be carelessly added. Therefore, I approached the architecture as a composition of volumetric forms—boxes—and considered their relationship with the site, believing that this approach could create a distinctive and beautiful way of living unique to this land.

The site's appeal lies in its three-dimensional environment, shaped by retaining walls and embankments that manage the terrain's elevation differences, as well as the field that extends across it. Since rain flows through this field and snow accumulates significantly, the central living space of the house should be a place where one can gaze outside without being directly affected by these elements. To achieve this, I designed a volume that floats like a bridge. As a result, the field gained both shelter from rain and shaded areas, making it possible to remain in the field for extended periods. This "bridge girder," which enhances the site's environmental qualities, serves as the anchor point that ties together everything beyond it—the field, the sky, the staircase, and the interconnected spaces—on an equal footing.