The location Yogo-ri, in Cheongdo-myeon, Miryang, was once part of Cheongdo-gun in Gyeongbuk before being reincorporated into Miryang, Gyeongnam. Hearing that a village’s administrative soul has shifted evokes a poignant feeling—like hearing the story of a child left behind after the family has moved away.

The village ascends to the near-by mountain at a gentle incline. Near the top, a reservoir rests upon the hill, and just above it sits a small temple where two bhikkhuni (Buddhist nuns) reside. Even the Buddha would have set aside the world’s worries, silently gazing at the scenery. The landscape is quiet and secluded, like a thin coat of watercolor laid upon a sheet of paper.

If you go further down, a village where people have lived for a long time unfolds. At its boundary stands a single shrine, with a slender pine tree rising at the entrance like a Jangseung, a village totem pole. We always think we should go inside someday, but for some reason never have been able to make the time.

The plot for the house appears just at the point where the road, climbing up along the mountainside, lets you straighten your back for a moment. It sits roughly halfway up the sloping road. The client who commissioned this house lives in Changwon. After purchasing the land, she divided off the lower portion, and gave the lot to her older sister to settle first. She said she planned to build her own house just above that and gradually move her household there. To the east, a hidden valley is folded into the mountains, and to the south, distant ridgelines stand watching this land with their arms layered one over another. Or perhaps they seem to half-close their eyes, gazing at it obliquely as if lost in deep thought.

The client requested a home of simple scale and atmosphere. Her vision for life was equally modest. Building a "simple house" is perhaps the most difficult task of all. It is like cooking a dish without any spices or seasonings, or expressing an idea with only a few essential lines on a blank page. In a way, it is like abstraction of life itself.

Architecture is formed through relationships. Just as light needs darkness to stand out and red needs green to become vivid, the relationships between spaces and family members are paramount. In this house, these relationships are abstracted and simplified. There is a space for the wife, a space for the husband, and a space for them to share.

The house is composed in a 'U' shape (ㄷ-shape) that embraces the courtyard. From the front, the private realm (bedrooms) is on the left, the public realm (kitchen and Numaru—an elevated wooden porch) is on the right, and the living room—the heart of the home—is placed in the center. The client mentioned wanting to turn the entire house into a comfortable space for enjoying tea. Instead of a dining table, they installed a traditional raised floor (pyeongsang) for floor-seating. Other than that, there is little furniture to speak of.

The room at the northern end of the left wing is a traditional Korean room with an Ondol (underfloor heating) system. It opens to a Toet-maru (narrow veranda) on the outside and features Bulbalgi (folding paper doors) that connect to the living room, allowing the space to expand effortlessly. Fundamentally, this room embodies the concept of the 'Mun-bang' (文房).

The Mun-bang was a space for scholars to contemplate—a place of total restraint where no colors are allowed except pure white. It is a space of Yeobaek (void or emptiness). There are two space of emptiness at the northwest and southeast corners of the house, the Mun-bang and the Numaru, representing the northern and southern traditional housing typologies, respectively.

The 'U'-shaped composition embraces the courtyard, sometimes gazing at the distant mountains and sometimes folding its wings to rest within them. We named the house —taking inspiration from Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching—with the wish that the inhabitants live peacefully and transcendently.

“Heaviness is the root of lightness, and calm is the lord of haste. Thus, when the sage travels all day long, he does not move away from his baggage cart; even if glory and splendor await him, he remains detached. How could a lord of ten thousand chariots conduct himself lightly before all under heaven? If he behaves lightly, he loses his root; if he grows impatient, he forfeits his station.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 26