It was the condors that did it. Gloria Montalva, a salon owner from Santiago, wasn’t necessarily looking for a sign during her second visit to La Invernada, a reserve in the foothills of central Chile. She’d already decided to buy property in this dense forest, located some 150 miles south of the capital. However, when she spotted a pair of condors at the summit of Cerro Pelado, Gloria knew there was no turning back. “It may sound clichéd, but I’m super mystical,” she says. “I’m also impulsive—by my third visit I had signed the papers for the purchase.”

Having secured one of more than 40 five-acre plots sprinkled across a third of the reserve—the remainder is designated as conservation land—Gloria commissioned architect Guillermo Acuña to create a cabin she could escape to on weekends. Her list of requirements was short: a bed, a barbecue, a hot tub, and the ability to see the sky. Beyond that, the architect had free rein.

Acuña chose to tread lightly. “The house should not be a permanent object in the forest,” he says. “It should have the condition of impermanence, just like the trees that surround it.”

“The transparency plays with the idea of impermanence, as the cabin reflects the shadows of the forest and their movements during the day on its skin.”
—Guillermo Acuña, architect

The bare-bones structure, assembled on-site from machine-cut Chilean pine, also plays with the concept of transparency. A single sheet of polycarbonate encloses the timber frame, protecting occupants from the elements while retaining the feeling of being outdoors. Semitransparent mesh membranes cloak the sides like exterior shades.

“The textile layer tints the light gold—the color of the oak leaves in the fall—and acts as a cover during storms, protecting the cabin from branches that could crack the second layer,” Acuña says. Branches also cast patterned shadows onto the facade, turning the retreat into a kind of artwork in the middle of the forest.

To Acuña, the form’s three levels correspond to the parts of a tree. The main level, with its open living, dining, and kitchen area in the front and bedroom in the back, forms the roots. The first mezzanine, where visiting friends and their kids roll out sleeping bags atop custom cushions, is the trunk. And the second mezzanine, a smaller sleeping area tucked just under the structure’s crystal-clear roof, is the canopy of foliage.

Blanca Valdes, an architect who works with Acuña at his Santiago firm, GAAA, enjoyed a glorious night in the uppermost perch. “When the moon comes out, you can see it move from one side of the sky to the other,” she says.

The cabin is erected on a cantilevered, boardwalk-like deck, and viewed from the side, it looks as though it’s been thrust into the forest. “It is located on the limit between two planes—the smooth inclined plane and the more pronounced slope that falls to the river—with the forest push-ing it from behind,” Acuña explains.

While the river isn’t visible, the rush of water cutting through the unruly landscape is audible. Gloria says, “Sleeping with the moon, hearing the water, feeling the trees move—everything gets inside the house.”

Project Credits:

Architect of Record: Guillermo Acuña Arquitectos Asociados / @gaaa.arquitectos

Builder: Luis Miranda

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