“We had already named the house Matuku Moana, after the white-faced heron that live around here, when our neighbour told us the story of a chick they had saved,” recalls architect Jeremy Brick. “They have a massive macrocarpa tree, which the birds live in, and one day, during a storm, they found a chick that had fallen out. They sheltered it in their woodshed where, every day, its parents would fly down, feed it and fly back up. Amazingly, the chick survived. It’s still here, and when our house was built, they sent us a photo of it sitting on our roof. A grey house with this beautiful grey bird perched on top – it just felt meant to be.”
Jeremy and his wife Anna bought their Pāpāmoa section in 2019. Subdivided from the neighbour’s property, it was a pretty cottage garden of fruit trees, roses and decorative arches that moonlighted as a wedding venue. “New Pāpāmoa is subdivisions and flat sites, whereas this had more of an old Pāpāmoa feeling with trees, a bit of slope and character,” says Jeremy. With no immediate plans to build but great foresight, they sorted earthworks for a future dwelling before shifting a caravan and little cabin onsite as their new home and office for Jeremy’s practice, Studio Brick Architects.
Toying with future home designs in the years that followed, things were fast-tracked slightly after the arrival of their son. “When he started crawling, we knew it was time to get moving,” says Anna. Forging ahead without a formal brief, the design shifted with their needs, always staying within a modest footprint to keep budget and maintenance in check. “When we were younger, Anna often joked that we’d eventually live in a shed or a garage because I’m always hanging out and tinkering,” says Jeremy. “So we made a really tidy, sleek corrugate shed.”
Though the house is simple in shape, anyone who works in architecture, construction or engineering will acknowledge the high level of detail and technical nous required to get here. “It was about distilling it down as much as possible,” Jeremy explains. The rain gutters are hidden within the top grey band of the eave, and the downspouting is in a cavity behind the cladding that diverts water through the basement and out to soakholes. The durable corrugate cladding links back to those agricultural references and emphasises the vertical nature of the house. Propped off the ground and subtly overhanging its concrete foundation, it sits as an object on the land, strong and content.
The house is on a main road, so Jeremy turned its back to the street and used smaller windows across the southern face. “Being in a small town, there’s a lot of talk about new houses, so we wanted to keep the exterior minimal and private,” explains Anna. “I don’t think anyone would expect what’s happening inside.” She’s right. The soft, colourful interior is an inviting contrast. Spread over two levels, with the public spaces below and the sleeping quarters and office upstairs, the home has a clear split – a light, playful feel downstairs, with a moody, textured retreat above. “I own a bakery and spend my days chatting with the people of Pāpāmoa, which I love,” says Anna. “But creating a calm, private retreat was really important.”
The couple weren’t interested in a white-walled home, but landing on the right tones and textures took time. There was a moment of uncertainty when Anna feared they’d skewed too rustic with dark beige walls and timber flooring, but she trusted the process (and her husband), and as the peachy cabinets, onyx splashback, and tiled bathrooms went in, balance was restored. Their art, second-hand finds and decades of collected treasures complete the picture. The downstairs bathroom bench was commandeered from a family shed, glass lampshades had been dragged between flats before settling in this forever home, and the stag head in the stairwell was even drawn into the plans.
“Jeremy and I agreed on 95 percent of the aesthetics, but we’re very stubborn on that last five percent,” says Anna. Having a frosted window in the living room was one standoff (Anna won), and the single shelf across it is still a point of contention. “Only because everyone takes credit for it. Me, my mum, Jeremy, the builders — we all think it was our idea.” Around the corner in the kitchen, sliding glazed doors feed out to the backyard under the cover of a painted aluminium awning. There are remnants of that old cottage garden here, and up high on the terraced section, their relocated cabin is now home to Anna’s mum. The landscaping helps to create division between the homes while retaining that easy connection to her family, vegetable plots and garden. “Jeremy and Mum agree on five percent of the garden, and 95 percent is a standoff,” says Anna.
The home’s stocky concrete base was an unexpected addition, introduced to hike up the original building platform when the council raised the floodplain floor levels. The couple also had to surround the home with a deep swale – a broad channel to treat stormwater runoff. “We planted it out with natives early on, so it will solve those issues but also double as a little forest just below our house,” says Anna. The more you speak with the couple, the more you realise that this level of forethought and detailing is typical in Jeremy’s work. “Don’t let his easygoingness fool you; he won’t compromise on the important things.”
These high standards are imperative when working with a “simple” form and detail, as any imperfection stands out. Upstairs, their builders, Totara Construction, painstakingly arranged the plywood walls and ceilings so the grain and negative detail would line up just so. The small, bathside window features a tricky, chunky trim made from onyx offcuts. “The tiler commented at the time that I was expecting him to cook a five-course Michelin meal on camping equipment,” remembers Jeremy. “But he got it, the whole team got it, and we got a great result.”
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