“My house is my refuge – an emotional piece of architecture, not a cold piece of convenience,” wrote Mexican architect Luis Barragán in 1948. I first read these words at university and, following graduation, they stuck with me as I set out to create a home. I’ve now spent the better part of a decade trying to inject some of myself – my own emotions – into the various residences I’ve called home.

These places have been furnished with the colourful painting of an eagle that my partner and I picked up at a street-facing gallery in Amsterdam, a Renzo Piano sketch of the Centre Pompidou gifted to me while I was reporting on his work and Zig Zag chairs of questionable provenance purchased from a quirky Dutchman in Surrey. The stories attached to each of these pieces elicit strong emotions: feelings of love, pride in one’s work and a sense of adventure, respectively. But in reporting for Monocle’s November design-special magazine, I realised that I’d missed Barragán’s tip: the idea that the architecture should be emotive and not just the furniture and objects within it.

It’s something I’ve since addressed – or rather researched – through our reportage. In a world where we seem to be trending towards aesthetic sameness (visit any new development from Stockholm to Sydney and you’ll see the same colourfully-clad, mid-rise, mixed-use buildings), picking a home that is bold in its ambition seems to be key. Whether it’s a city-centre apartment that’s light-filled despite its compact footprint or a sprawling country estate that’s positioned to frame views of rolling landscapes, living in architecture that seeks to uplift and enhance one’s way of life can improve our wellbeing and nurture personal growth. Architecture of such ambition should be protected and celebrated.

Take the residents of the Mar Vista Tract (see ‘The Project’ below, and the full story in Monocle’s November issue). Inspired by their compact houses and united by a shared appreciation for how the architecture encourages a lifestyle built around community, these neighbours have banded together to form heritage-protection groups. Such is the love for their four walls that the Mar Vista crew won’t even sell, despite gargantuan offers. It’s proof, if proof were needed, that architecture does not simply provide a vehicle for living. For when architecture connects with its inhabitant's ambitions, it can elicit powerful emotions, such as pride, happiness and a fulfilment.

Nic Monisse is Monocle’s design editor. For more insights into the world of design, check out Monocle’s November issue, available online or on newsstands.

The Mar Vista Tract in Los Angeles is a grouping of 52 houses completed in 1948 that runs three streets deep. This modernist enclave is the work of Gregory Ain, the child of a socialist Polish émigré who partially grew up on a commune – an experience that is reflected in the Mar Vista Tract’s community-minded nature. The architect developed compact houses that maximise space and flexibility using sliding doors and an open kitchen. Landscape architect Garrett Eckbo drew up fenceless, communal gardens and planted backyards with loquat, mulberry, plum and guava trees to encourage fruit trading and socialising between neighbours. It’s a quality that is still present in the community today – something that its residents actively look to maintain. Here, we meet three of the development’s homeowners.

Bonnie Jones & Anni Michaelsen
“We moved in 54 years ago, six months apart,” says Bonnie Jones, who has lived on the tract since 1970, with Anni Michaelsen across the street. “We both had children and became friends. In most houses at the time, the kitchen was in the back and you looked out through a tiny window. Here everything is open. We have never wanted to change our homes. The architect knew what he was doing.”

Takashi Yanai
“I made an offer on a house here 20 years ago and didn’t get it but I always thought that someday I would live in one of them,” says Takashi Yanai, whose vision became a reality when he bought a tract house in 2023. “I want to make it possible for more people to experience this architecture. I’ve hosted dance performances and art exhibitions.”

Ruth Handel & Lloyd Scott
“I’m working on a book about life in the tract and have been gathering stories and photos from previous residents,” says Ruth Handel, who has called the place home since 1999. “In one stack of photos I received, the first image was of someone sitting in exactly the same spot I was in. It was a strange moment. You realise that you’re just passing through.”

For more on the Mar Vista Tract, pick up a copy of Monocle’s November issue, which is available online and on newsstands now.

Tubular-steel furniture is so ubiquitous in homes today that it might seem unnecessary to make more. But for every Marcel Breuer Cesca dining chair there is a long-forgotten gem from the Bauhaus era. Take this streamlined chaise longue, designed by architect brothers Hans and Wassili Luckhardt in 1931. The LS22 lounger consists of a continuous, curving metal frame, with weather-resistant canvas stretched across it.

The LS22 was manufactured by Desta (an acronym for Deutsche Stahlmöbel), a short-lived furniture company established in the late 1920s in Berlin. Desta was eventually taken over by Thonet and the LS22 fell out of production. Were this weightlessly elegant lounger still available today, there’s little doubt that it would make it into the living rooms of many modernist homes.

Carlo Scarpa, written by architect Robert McCarter and published by Phaidon, is a substantive text. Across nearly 300 pages, the author goes into meticulous detail about the works of the prolific Italian modernist. Every chapter begins with a conceptual idea that interested Scarpa and explores the effects it had on his practice. The result is an expansive and philosophical book that covers everything from nature and the human spirit to how emotions can be influenced by space.

Scarpa’s own influences are evaluated too and the glossy imagery draws inevitable comparison to the likes of Paul Klee and Frank Lloyd Wright. Those familiar with the architect will recognise his most famous works, such as the Venezuelan Pavilion in Venice’s Giardini della Biennale, which is explored here alongside its original sketches, and the unique beauty of the Brion Tomb near Treviso in Italy, which takes cues from early-modern brutalism. But those who want to explore Scarpa’s oeuvre further would be hard-pressed to find a better place to start.
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