Canopy Studio
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Credits
From Bert Nash
This 190-square-foot backyard studio is a quiet response to its setting, shaded by towering oaks. Built on an existing concrete pad, it layers exposed wood framing, a translucent polycarbonate roof, and a trellis that filters light like the trees above. The design embraces peril and refuge, offering protection while keeping nature’s presence visible. Lit mostly by daylight, the space sits within a gravel “forest floor,” blending practicality and economy with its environment. Working with a tight budget, the studio is a humble exploration of how a small workspace can foster connection to place and season.
DEEP CONNECTION TO PLACE
The layered roof is the heart of the design: an exposed wood structure supports a translucent polycarbonate canopy--protected by a delicate trellis above. This trellis does not seek to imitate the trees but rather to emulate their most essential gift—the shifting, dappled light that transforms throughout the day and across the seasons. In the sweltering summers of the South Carolina Midlands, the oak canopy offers deep shade; in winter, the leaves fall away, welcoming warmth and light. The architecture embraces the natural cycles of the site. It doesn't work without the trees.
At its core, the studio embodies the biophilic principle of peril and refuge—the idea that nature is inherently unpredictable, and part of our connection to it is the balance between safety and risk. The towering trees above hold both beauty and danger; their presence is awe-inspiring, yet they shed limbs without warning. The trellis mediates this relationship, offering protection while keeping the raw power of nature in full view. Within the studio, one is always aware of the living system beyond its walls—the shifting shadows, the wind moving through branches, the filtered light that marks the passage of time.
RETHINKING THE NATURE OF WORK
The backyard studio is a meditation and response on the evolving nature of work and the spaces we inhabit. Designed in the wake of the pandemic, it offers a response to the question: What do we truly need from the places where we spend our days?
For a designer couple, the studio is not just an extension of their home but an extension of their practice—a space for focus, making, and reflection. The massing responds to the existing concrete pad, grounding the structure in the site’s history. More than a room, the studio is a threshold—between work and home, between solitude and connection.
The space is primarily daylit, requiring little artificial light during working hours. It sits lightly within a modest garden, its perimeter defined by a gravel "forest floor" where traditional plantings struggle under the dense summer canopy. All views out of the space frame different experiences of their urban natural environment. The picture windows frame the ivy growing on the property wall, the roof showcases the trees, and the larger windows and door reveal the garden.
A PERSONAL EXPERIMENT IN PRACTICE
This project was both deeply personal and entirely hands-on—designed, built, and lived with by the designers themselves. It became a kind of laboratory: a place where ideas about space, climate, material, and making could be tested not only in theory but in daily use. Working with a tight budget, the designers sought to elevate off-the-shelf materials through careful detailing and layered assemblies. The studio is both a finished product and a working prototype—one that invites ongoing evaluation.
Among the questions explored was the balance between inspiration and upkeep. The layered roof system invites light and openness but also demands care. Maintenance was embraced as part of the design logic: a telescoping broom and ladder is essential to the space. Here, maintenance isn’t viewed as a burden but as a rhythm—an act of stewardship that deepens the connection between the designers and the space they’ve created. The studio is a reminder that architecture, when lived in closely, is never truly finished—it grows, weathers, and teaches over time.