What Concrete Remembers
Introduction
There are projects that confirm what you already believe, and projects that change the way you think entirely. The Hara House, completed in 2021 on a steep coastal site in southern Portugal, was the latter. It arrived at a point in our practice when we had grown comfortable with a particular approach — restrained, considered, deliberately quiet. The site had other ideas.
The plot was difficult by almost any measure. A twenty-two degree slope falling toward the Atlantic. Bedrock close to the surface. A prevailing wind that made conventional orientation impractical. Many practices would have flattened the problem — cut into the slope, pour a platform, begin from neutral ground. We chose instead to let the site dictate the form.
FOllowing the fall
The building follows the gradient in three stepped volumes, each one a half-level below the last, connected by a central circulation spine that doubles as a thermal flue. The slope that first appeared to be the project's greatest constraint became its defining characteristic. Rooms that might have been arranged horizontally instead cascade — living above, sleeping below, studio at the base, each level opening to a different view of the water.
This kind of formal decision is only possible when you resist the urge to normalise a site too early. The instinct to create a flat datum is understandable — it simplifies structure, reduces cost, and produces familiar room relationships. But it also erases what makes a place specific.
Cutting Costs Without Cutting Corners
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The material decision
Concrete was not our first instinct for this project. The clients had come to us drawn to our timber work — they imagined something warm, tactile, domestic in a conventional sense. We spent three months in conversation about material before arriving at board-formed concrete for the primary structure, with thick timber linings inserted into every room.
The result is a building that is simultaneously heavy and warm. The concrete registers the texture of the formwork, the grain of the boards pressed into it during casting. It holds the memory of its own making. Over time, as the timber linings silver and the concrete weathers to a lighter tone, the two materials will converge — the building ageing toward its landscape rather than away from it.
Light as the third material
On a site with this much sun exposure, light is not incidental — it is structural. We treated it as a third material alongside concrete and timber. Deep overhangs on the western facade protect the interior from direct afternoon sun while allowing diffuse light to enter. A long north-facing clerestory runs the length of the central spine, washing the circulation space in even, shadowless light throughout the day.
The clients told us after moving in that the quality of light was the first thing visitors commented on. Not the concrete, not the views — the light. That is exactly the response a building like this should produce. The most deliberate decisions should feel like the most natural ones.
