I Don't Want To Write My Grad School Application, So Here Are Some Pictures of My Dream House

When I was 7 years old, my parents befriended a family during one of our camping trips at El Bolson in Patagonia. The patriarch was an architect named Victor (which is  a perfect architect name, by the way). They lived on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, in this open-plan modernist house with a courtyard and a banana-yellow hammock. They would often invite us to dinner, where we would play with their kids for hours. This house made a significant impression on me for two reasons: 1) it was the place I first saw Yellow Submarine, and 2) it was the first house I ever wanted to move into.   

I haven't seen Victor or his family in ages, but I still find myself thinking about that house and its colorful nooks and cranies. I didn't think I would ever find its equal... and then I stumbled into Paloma Lana's house.

Some context: Paloma Lana is the founder of the creative project Paloma Wool, a project about getting dressed and about space or ideas that are created around the act of getting dressed. Basically, they make really excellent linen outfits, leather shoes, and puffers. Fun! Fact! Paloma Lana translates to Paloma Wool in Spanish! Wooooahhh.

Located in Bar-the-lona, Paloma's house is exactly what Victor's house was to me as a kid: colorful but minimalist, airy but cramped, artistic but minimalist. It's ripe for creative activities, because if there's anything that screams Iberian Creative, it's an aggressively colorful floor tile situation.    

Honestly, I could stand here and tell you all the reasons why I want to wear nothing but Paloma Wool for the rest of my life, but I think that is best left for another post. Instead, here are a few pictures of Paloma's house, which I found on My Scandanavian Home (natch) and promptly saved on my laptop. If there is any justice in the world, I will also end up in a house with half as many rubber plants someday.   

-M