Fingerprints on a Mountaintop
(Page 2 of 4)
November/December 1981
by Louise Todd Cope and Don Willcox
And so the house was born. It grew from an idea, from a rumination on the land, and from a rope. No architectural or building plans were used. Decisions were made primarily by putting our two bodies in the proposed spaces and making judgments based on direct physical confrontation rather than theory. It seemed right that the form should grow like a living organism. We were dealing with a form that rejected traditional solutions and ready made materials.
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The footings were dug by hand with shovels. We did not want complex machinery violating our trust over this earth. The shovel is a very exacting tool and does not chomp off an extra foot or two, as a bulldozer or backhoe might do. The meadow grass remained undisturbed throughout construction, growing within one inch of the first tier of blocks. It insured a clean, mud-free working area, and it is now our lawn.
The walls grew in place, not on paper, as we literally tried them out on the given piece of earth. The curved concrete block that we used was originally intended for building farm silos. After construction the blocks were covered on both sides with a "skin" of Surewall, a cement and fiberglass product which can be used instead of mortar. This technique of laying block "dry" (without mortar) was uniquely suited to our style . . . it was like building with Lego blocks or Lincoln Logs. Surewall construction makes it possible for changes to be made without spoiling materials, and we were able to "play" and proceed freely by trial and error. The Surewall concealed the segmented construction and allowed the curved areas to flow without visual interruption.
We employed as many passive, energy-efficient principles as we could. The curved south side of the house is mostly glass wall with three skylights above, allowing sunlight to enter the structure from morning to evening. The northern exposure is protected against wind and heat loss by a built—up earth berm, a means of passive insulation.
From the outset we decided to build three separate structures. Between us we have six grown children. We wanted a self-contained space for guests and children, so they could be free to follow their own schedules and inclinations without feeling bound to the main house and its activities. Space for studio and guests became a mushroom-shaped building . . . another structure, a woodshed/carport. The presence of vehicles on our hilltop seemed a violation of its spirit, so we planned the driveway to end about 300 feet from the house, thus keeping the vehicles from view.
We worked with the assistance of one fulltime helper for 14 months on the main house. We accomplished a great deal through barter: a bathroom sink for a pair of curtains, a countertop for an environment of pillows, electrical wiring for labor. We had access to a potter friend's studio in the evenings. There we wrote poems with iron oxide on stoneware tiles for the walls and floors . . . poems to be read at the sink or in the shower.
