Maybe it’s a reaction to the years of hypercapitalist excess we’ve all grown accustomed to, or maybe it’s the inevitable result of having had our lives rearranged and our brains rewired by a pandemic, but nature and craft feel more essential than ever when it comes to the way we live.
As the Japanese artist Kazunori Hamana puts it simply, “We humans are a part of nature.” His home, in Isumi, perched 50 meters from the Pacific Ocean, is the perfect example of how the harmony between nature and craft can fill a room with comfort and intrigue. His studio—built solidly in the Japanese wood-frame tradition and filled with the natural clay pots Hamana makes—balances creative expression with sturdy simplicity.
Artist and arborist Ido Yoshimoto’s love for nature was first expressed through building tree forts and rope swings under the local canopies of Northern California—now it comes through in the large-scale wood carvings he makes from the trunks of fallen trees. His open-air workspace was originally built by the legendary artist J.B. Blunk and is full of unique, hand-carved details from decades ago. “I’m sure I subconsciously absorb these shapes and aesthetic sensibility by being in and around them,” Yoshimoto says.
Salmon Creek Farm proposes another way to live in unity with the California redwoods. This old hippie commune has been reimagined by the artist Fritz Haeg as a colony for those in search of a back-to-the-land style of living. Haeg built the kitchen in Cabin #1 Orchard himself. “There’s no conventional kitchen cabinetry,” he says, “no stainless, no drywall, and no pantry of canned goods.”
Maverick builder SunRay Kelley is a legend of the handmade, vernacular architecture scene from which Salmon Creek springs. His rolling homes (in his words: “Gypsy Wagons”) are compressed versions of his fantastical cabin and tree house designs—more Ken Kesey than Winnebago. Kelley wants these psychedelic motor homes, which incorporate solar power and wooden walls, to serve as object lessons for a sustainable path forward. “I have great hopes that we can turn the tide of environmental degradation,” he says.
The late, great George Nakashima also had a vision for sustainable design—and a premonition, back in the ’70s, that nature would be much happier if we stopped extracting its fossil fuels. For his iconic Reception House bathroom on his Pennsylvania estate, he built a creative tub that relied on a wood-burning boiler. Stoking the fire to heat the water could take hours, Mira Nakashima, George’s daughter, says, so long soaks were in order.
Maine-based designer and builder Anthony Esteves knows a thing or two about the importance of staying warm. His scrap sauna, built entirely of salvaged materials, save for the metal chimney, heats to above 160 Fahrenheit. Esteves says, “It’s a place for us to gather with friends and family and create warmth in the cold months.”
These six unique rooms are sanctuaries, designed with nature, history, and craft in mind. Something we can all use more of in our lives.
Mira Nakashima
Location: New Hope, PA
Who designed this room and what was the concept?
My father, George Nakashima, designed the room to feature a Japanese sunken bathtub heated by a wood-burning boiler imported from Japan. He knew it was going to be his last building on the property and wanted to make it the culmination of his architectural and aesthetic ideals. Since in 1975 he was acutely aware that human beings should reduce their consumption of fossil fuels, he went to the trouble of finding, importing, and installing the wood-burning boiler.
What materials were used, and how was it constructed?
The shell was poured of reinforced concrete and coated with Japanese penny-round tiles in colors that Nakashima himself selected. He invited my brother and my four children to write their names in and around the tub, with some of their own special designs from the tiles.
How does this room fit into the overall Nakashima design sensibility, or into your father’s aesthetic vision?
The shape of the tub is remarkably similar to the swimming pool below [the Reception House], which was designed and built in 1960—an amoeba, or a boomerang perhaps, but it has a softly contoured raised ledge so you can easily sit on it before or after entering the hot water. The colors are muted white, grays, and blues, consistent with the other interior colors of the Nakashima palette. The overall effect is quite soothing, relaxing, calming, which the bathing experience should be.
Fritz Haeg
Location: Albion, CA
What was the initial concept for this kitchen?
I designed this addition to a small cabin at Salmon Creek Farm. It was the original communal cabin, and the first of many built on the land in the early ’70s. I built it by myself over the course of 18 months. The long thin spaces of the addition create a courtyard, centered on a beautiful old pear tree. Most of the windows face south, with a wide overhang that shields the high summer sun but lets the low winter sun pour in.
What materials were used, and how was it constructed?
I built it entirely of wood milled up from the land. All of the framing and the 3-inch slab counters are from one large fir tree that was in bad shape and shading our gardens and orchard. The exterior paneling is heartwood-redwood board-and-batt, and the interior paneling is the sapwood left from that milling process—not suitable for exterior use but great for fences or interiors. All of the doors and windows are from a salvage lot just down the ridge from us. And the sink I found abandoned in the meadow just below the cabin.
How does the design of this room fit into your overall design sensibility of aesthetic vision for living?
I wanted a space for cooking and eating that was focused on the garden and orchard just a few steps away. A direct connection to the earth and cultivation is so vital, grabbing herbs, vegetables, and fruits from right out the door.
Ido Yoshimoto
Location: Inverness, CA
How would you describe the purpose of this room and how you use it?
This is the indoor/outdoor workspace where I do most of my sculpting and woodwork. It also acts as storage for materials. It’s basically three walls and a roof with a lot of ventilation, and one open side where a truck can back in and large pieces can be moved in and out easily.
Did you build this room?
The room was built by the artist J.B. Blunk, who was my godfather. He used it as his workspace as well. It was built with salvaged materials. Redwood from old chicken barns in Petaluma, sections of old telephone poles as posts, corrugated steel and spun fiberglass for the roof. The fiberglass panels let in diffused light, which is really nice.
What’s unique about this room that suits your particular design sensibility or aesthetic vision for living?
I think that the history in this room is what makes it so inspiring and enjoyable to work in. My father was J.B.’s assistant, friend, and collaborator, so I have memories of the space as a small child. It is full of hand-carved details in the door latches, shelves, bits of leftover material from decades ago. I’m sure I subconsciously absorb these shapes and aesthetic sensibility by being in and around them. I am happy to see it unintentionally coming through in my work.
As both an arborist and an artist, what draws you to working with wood?
What I learned about tree growth and health as an arborist deepened my understanding of wood. It was also exciting to climb tall trees, trimming, or rigging massive sections. I enjoyed using all the saws, gear, and heavy equipment. The progression came naturally when I began to bring chunks of wood home to be milled or stashed to cure. Slowly my interest and practice evolved into what it is now, creating sculptural and functional pieces out of the wood.
SunRay Kelley
Location: Sedro-Woolley, WA
What was your initial idea for these rolling homes?
My concept was to show the world that you can take a house down the road on sunlight because I really believe that we need to move to a solar economy. I want to promote this as a salvation to humanity. We were put on this planet to be gardeners of Eden. Until we return to our true nature as caretakers of this planet, we will not know the true happiness, the true joy, the true peace that we’re meant to experience.
What attracts you to building living spaces on vehicles?
I’m kind of a turtle and I like carrying my house on my back—wherever I’m gonna travel, I’m home. My house is there, my coffee pot is there, my shower is there, everything I need. I’ve always been fascinated by the automobile, by kinetic sculptures. I make a lot of waterfalls and windmills, and even my buildings—I want to make them so that they don’t let your eye fall asleep or get bored.
How does this project fit into your overall design sensibility or the aesthetic vision you have for living?
It’s all about the enlightenment of humanity, the conscious growth of humanity, the awakening of humanity. So that your heart rings with the bell of truth. I love working with wood too. If you put a human next to these different materials that we build with, wood gives the most comforting, secure feeling. I have wood because I live on forest land and I’ve been building from that land my whole life.
Kazunori Hamana
Location: Isumi, Japan
Where is this room located?
This room is located on the second floor of my house by the sea. My house is located on the Bōsō peninsula, facing the Pacific Ocean. This is the living-and-dining-room–slash–workplace. I always work forming clay and letting them dry on the dining table, as you see. These vessels in this room are unfired—I use this room for the basic process of ceramics making before firing. The small vessels on the floor are antiques from my collection.
Who designed or built this room? What materials were used, and when was it built?
I did the architectural and construction designs myself. A local architect and carpenters physically built the house. Construction started in 2000, and in the following year I began living here. I decided to use the Japanese traditional method of construction: a wooden framework and Japanese red pine trees to build beams or joists.
How does this room fit into your overall design sensibility or your aesthetic vision for living?
The location of my house and its wide windows help me to feel close to nature. I feel like I’m camping at home! It’s beneficial to experience the soundscape and landscape of the sea, listen to the sounds of insects and birds, or see the sparkling ocean surface and sunlight while one is engaged with creative activities including ceramics making or cooking. Nature and creation are key parts of my life.
Anthony Esteves
Location: Spruce Head, ME
What was the initial concept for the sauna?
The sauna began as an idea years before we actually built it. There was an old bare-timber frame tucked into the woods by the house on top of an outcrop of granite bedrock. The frame was made of wood salvaged from a 19th-century home nearby and reassembled here many years ago and used as a simple animal shed. Turning that bare frame into a sauna was a pandemic project. School and much of life were on hold, and we were here with time and lots of scrap materials.
What materials did you use, and how was it constructed?
The materials at hand were scraps left over from building our house: hemlock, white cedar, spruce. Random lengths and quantities I would reshuffle and stack yearly to cull the rotten and ant eaten. All but the new metal chimney were remnants of old projects. Even the stove, an early Michigan-built Nippa, is from a Finnish log cabin I dismantled in Kingfield, Maine.
How do you use it?
This sauna is wood fired with a stove that is built with a wide top to hold stones. When the stones are hot, we pour water on them to create steam. The steam feels as if it cleans the air and raises the temperature of the room above 160 Fahrenheit. We keep soaked towels on our heads and a cold plunge outside.
How does this project fit into your overall design sensibility or aesthetic vision you have for living?
Having a sauna in this climate is important to us. We use it weekly in the fall, winter, and spring. It’s a place for us to gather with friends and family and create warmth in the cold months. Aesthetically, the project combines different materials and techniques in a loose hand-built style that strikes a balance between rustic and refined.
A version of this story originally appeared in the October 2022 issue of GQ with the title “Natural Rooms”
