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In the sleeping loft, floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the fir canopy of the surrounding forest. "The house faces east, so the sun and moon rise and reflect on the water," Hoover says. "The moon rising with the fire crackling is a delight. And on sunny summer mornings, the sunbeams magically shimmer off the Puget Sound and reflect onto the ceiling of the bedroom, we could never have planned this."

Cost-effective hot-rolled steel—steel being an Olson Kunding signature—covers the treads on the staircase leading to the sleeping loft.

Hoover's favorite aspect of the house is its calm mood and "the quietude and solace I experience while inside," she says. "I am also very content with the decision to heat from a wood stove, it makes the modern structure feel that much homier."

The kitchen and living area occupies the ground level of the double-height interior while a sleeping loft is above. Hoover salvaged the kitchen cabinets from a project her contractor, Schuchart/Dow, was demolishing. The floor is masonite, the ceilings are plywood, and the walls are drywall. Polycarbonate panels usher light in from the clerestory windows.

The cantilevered sleeping loft posed a structural challenge. "The structure is simple, however we explored a number of options for supporting the cantilevered loft," Eerkes says. "But after comparing costs for large trusses versus a big glulam beam—including labor costs for construction of each—the simplicity of a two-foot glulam beam won out. The steel rod cross bracing provided lateral stability in the longitudinal direction."

Anna Hoover, founder of the non-profit First Light Alaska, sought a "thought refuge, a room with a view to sit and contemplate future projects and reflect on recent travels and interactions, plenty of ‘headspace’—tall ceilings—and the ability to host other artists for studio time," she says. A longtime resident of the Pacific Northwest, Hoover was familiar with the work of Olson Kundig and contacted the Seattle-based firm to design her abode.

Inspired by the small scale of Japanese residences—in particular, Makoto Masuzawa’s 1952 Minimum House—architect Andrew Simpson designed his own economical 538-square-foot home set into a wooded site in Island Bay, a coastal suburb outside Wellington, New Zealand.

The exterior features vertical, untreated cedar panels. “We tried to use materials that are beautiful in their natural state without excessive treatment or finishing,” Pavonetti says.

The Lai family—Mayuko, baby Shota on her lap, David, Maya, and Yumi sitting on a cushion on the deck—relaxes in their indoor-outdoor living space, made by opening the glass sliding doors to connect the living room and engawa deck.

A series of long stairs leads to Maison Amtrak, which is set below street level. The entranceway demonstrates Cohen’s love of Japanese design with a geometric simplicity matched only by the formal elegance of the stained Douglas fir two-by-fours.

From the outside, an unassuming 1942 cottage overlooking Vancouver’s harbor is an unexpected place to find Omer Arbel, a designer known for his experimental, amorphous creations for the Canadian furniture and design company Bocci. But inside the 2,600-square-foot home he shares with his girlfriend, musician Aileen Bryant, and a collection of exotic pets, Arbel’s rich imagination and exuberant love of objects are on display. Here, he takes us on a personal tour.

The rusting steel is an important part of the house’s patina, Campbell says. “We appreciate materials in the raw,” he adds. “The tables aren’t stained; the steel isn’t painted. The materials are what they are.”

Ample windows cut into the north elevation of the Valentine House, behind which live the architects. The openings reveal lofty double-height spaces inside. The ground-floor garage often serves as a shop for architectural model-making.