As guests we stand on the threshold, waiting to be welcomed by the nature in the room of our existence. Threshold is an imaginary architecture built as a musical counterpoint, a monotonous and intermittent solo. Like a Morse code or a piece of serial music, a rhythm scans a sequence of spaces, held together by a continuous roof line. Solid volumes made of rammed earth are muted rooms where an unspecified life takes place. The open parts are breaches where humans get the opportunity to communicate with the wild nature that awaits outside, populated by fierce animals and untamed realities.  

 

Threshold is a pause bar between the wild and the human. Its space is not convex, nor concave. The horizontal line of the tectonic gesture, blends the architecture with the birch forest outside in a quiet and peaceful cadence. The roof stitches together, creating a threshold, a virtually infinite permeable border. Not an act of division, not a containment, not an edge and not a wall. Threshold is a volumetric brink, a thin slice, an asyndetic line that aims to interrogate once again our relationship with nature.

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“No one thing shows the greatness and power of the human intellect or the loftiness and nobility of man more than his ability to know and to understand fully and feel strongly his own smallness. When, in considering the multiplicity of worlds, he feels himself to be an infinitesimal part of a globe which itself is a negligible part of one of the infinite number of systems that go to make up the world, and in considering this is astonished by his own smallness, and in feeling it deeply and regarding it intently, virtually blends into nothing, and it is as if he loses himself in the immensity of things, and finds himself as though lost in the incomprehensible vastness of existence, with this single act of thought he gives the greatest possible proof of the nobility and immense capability of his own mind, which, enclosed in such a small and negligible being, has nonetheless managed to know and understand things so superior to his own nature, and to embrace and contain this same intensity of existence and things in his thought.”

― Giacomo Leopardi, Zibaldone di pensieri

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