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空之宅丨墨西哥莫雷利亚丨HW STUDIO

2026/04/19 12:41:33

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日本人相信，一所房屋的灵魂不在墙体之中，也不在屋顶之上，而在于其所包容的“空”。正如冈仓天心所写：“空之所以强大，是因为它可以容纳一切。”它让我们得以呼吸、移动、思考与生活。这正是这座房子从一开始最深层的理念：其核心不应是某个实体，而是一种在场的空。

The Japanese believe that the soul of a house does not lie in its walls, nor in its roof, but in the void it contains. “The void is absolutely powerful because it can contain everything,” wrote Kakuzo Okakura. It allows us to breathe, to move, to think, to live. That was, from the beginning, the deepest idea of this house: that its center would not be an object, but rather an empty present.

▼项目概览，overview of the project© Cesar Bejar

▼项目概览，overview of the project© Cesar Bejar

这是我的房子。作为一名习惯为他人梦想赋形的建筑师，在这里面对的是一个更加赤裸的问题：如何建造一种与自己多年所言相一致的生活？

This is my house. The architect’s house—the one accustomed to giving form to other people’s dreams—faces here a much barer question: how to build a life that is coherent with the words one has spoken for years?

▼项目外观，facade of the project© Cesar Bejar

▼项目外观，facade of the project©Gustavo Quiroz

在有限的预算下，决策不再主要是审美上的，而更关乎生存与本质。每一分钱都必须清晰表达意义，每一厘米都必须合理存在。但真正塑造这座房子的，不仅是经济限制，更是我漫长而缓慢走向禅、走向法、走向日本的过程。从外部看，这座房子不过是一个盒子——如同职业生涯中不断建造的那类体量。安静、封闭，仿佛城市景观中的一块石头。然而，当人跨过门槛，便会意识到，这个盒子并非封闭，而是在承载。看似密闭的外壳，其实保护着一种脆弱的存在：一个不被触碰、却触动一切的石庭。

With a limited budget, the decisions were less aesthetic than vital. Every coin had to speak with clarity; every centimeter had to make sense. But beyond economic constraints, it was my long and slow path toward Zen, toward the Dharma, and toward Japan, that truly shaped it. From the outside, the house seems like nothing more than a box—like the ones I’ve been making throughout my career. Quiet. Closed. Like a stone in the urban landscape. However, upon crossing the threshold, one understands that this box does not enclose, but holds. What appears hermetic actually protects something delicate: a stone garden that is not touched, but touches everything.

▼日式中庭，Japanese courtyard© Cesar Bejar

如同京都的寺院一般，这些石头被精心布置，并非为了再现某种具象，而是唤起一种感受——甚至是一种情绪。在灰色砂砾之上，漂浮着两个木质平台，如同那座寺院一般。它们不是地板，而是停顿，是驻足、凝视与存在的空间。庭院并非装饰，而是一种秩序。它成为核心，空间如同围绕静止旋转的卫星般展开。

As in the temples of Kyoto, the stones are carefully arranged, not to represent something, but to evoke a sensation—perhaps even a feeling. Upon this bed of grey gravel float two wooden platforms, as in that temple. They are not floor: they are pause. Spaces for stopping, for looking, for simply being. The garden does not decorate: it organizes. It is the heart around which the spaces are ordered like satellites orbiting stillness.

▼日式中庭，Japanese courtyard©Gustavo Quiroz

一侧是厨房与餐厅，形成通高空间。其上方设置了一个收集火焰烟气的体量，这不仅关乎某种怀旧情绪，也回应着一个现实的可能：或许有一天，城市将不再提供我们所需的一切。另一侧是客厅，一个用于沉思的空间，大块石头如同静谧海面中的岛屿般安放。两个空间之间没有有顶的走廊。如果下雨，从客厅走到餐厅，要么淋雨，要么等待雨停。这里的建筑不再隔绝世界，而是使人重新与之和解。

On one side, the kitchen and dining area, with double height. Above it, a volume that gathers the smoke from the fire, thinking not only of nostalgia, but of the real possibility that, one day, the city may no longer provide what we need. On the other side, the living room: a space for contemplation, where large stones rest like islands in a quiet sea. There is no covered hallway between both spaces. To go from the living room to the dining area—if it’s raining—you get wet… or you wait for the rain to stop. Architecture here does not protect from the world: it reconciles you with it.

▼餐厅形成通高空间，dining area, with double height©Gustavo Quiroz

▼石头如同静谧海面中的岛屿般安放，large stones rest like islands in a quiet sea©Gustavo Quiroz

▼用于沉思的空间，a space for contemplation©Gustavo Quiroz

▼上方收集火焰烟气的体量，a volume that gathers the smoke from the fire© Cesar Bejar

纸质障子门并非一种审美妥协，而是内外之间真正的过滤界面。光线穿过其间，被柔化直至成为时间本身。白昼并非涌入，而是缓缓停驻。阴影不是光的缺失，而是其最精微的形态。

The shōji doors, made with rice paper, are not an aesthetic concession. They are the true filter between inside and out. Light, as it passes through them, softens until it becomes time. The day doesn’t rush in—it reclines. Shadow is not the absence of light, but its most delicate form.

▼纸质障子门，The shōji doors©Gustavo Quiroz

最终，卧室位于上方，是一个极简而私密的空间。一扇圆形小窗面向庭院中心所种植的树木开启，如同一只凝视的眼睛。

Finally, the bedroom, placed above, is a minimal, intimate space. A single circular window opens to the foliage of a tree planted at the center of the garden. It is an eye that contemplates.

▼极简而私密的卧室，a minimal, intimate bedroom©Gustavo Quiroz

▼极简而私密的卧室，a minimal, intimate bedroom©Cesar Bejar

▼一扇圆形小窗面向庭院，A single circular window opens to the foliage©Gustavo Quiroz

功能极为克制。没有多余的走廊，也没有宏大的姿态。整座房子几乎不使用玻璃。仅有三扇小窗，分别朝向真正值得观看的景物：一座山、一棵邻居的松树，以及庭院中心的那棵树。其余一切都向内收敛——如同一个将自身音乐封存的共鸣箱。

The program is austere. There are no unnecessary hallways or grand gestures. The house is almost entirely devoid of glass. Only three small windows open to what is truly worth seeing: a mountain, a neighboring pine, the tree that lives at the center. Everything else is contained, inward-looking—like a sound box that keeps its own music secret.

▼窗户细部，window detail©Gustavo Quiroz

入口并非向上，而是向下。人们通过下行进入，仿佛对某种神圣之物低头致意。楼梯通向岩石提供稳定支撑的位置，从而避免不必要的基础成本。这同时也是一种精神性的动作：居住于此，需要将某种自负留在门外，以谦卑进入，如同穿越一座无形神社的鸟居。

The entrance, instead of ascending, descends. One enters by going down, like someone bowing before something sacred. The staircase reaches the place where the stone offered stability, avoiding unnecessary costs in foundation. But it is also a spiritual gesture: to inhabit this house, one must leave a certain pride at the door, and enter with humility—like someone passing through the torii of an invisible shrine.

▼面向庭院的圆窗，the circular window facing the courtyard©Gustavo Quiroz

▼楼梯，staircase©Gustavo Quiroz

在日本，被珍视的是不完美、不完整以及转瞬即逝之物。美不在于永恒闪耀，而在于即将消逝。这座房子并非为了令人惊叹而建，而是为了在沉默中持久存在，承载一种诚实生活的轻盈重量。

In Japan, what is valued is the imperfect, the incomplete, the ephemeral. Beauty is not what shines eternally, but what is about to disappear. This house was not made to impress. It was made to endure in silence; to bear the light weight of an honest life.

▼灯光下的住宅，the house under lights© Cesar Bejar