COMPILED BY Gina Dionisio PHOTOS Dook; Jan Ras; Paris Brummer; Warren Heath; Greg Cox

From Brutalist masterpieces to modernist marvels, these homes channel the spirit of the past in bold, unexpected ways. Whether it’s sculptural forms, vintage palettes or era-defining details, each space is a celebration of retro design at its most striking.

Linksfield Ridge Home

Polish-born architect Frank Jarrett left a rather eclectic collection of landmarks across the city of Johannesburg, his works ranging from the offices of Chancellor House – the original home of Mandela and Tambo Attorneys – to the slightly less discreet Gold Reef City theme park development. In 1951, Jarrett was commissioned to build a private residence on the Linksfield Ridge for Greek timber merchant Manoussos Broulidakis, who clad the interior of the modern stone, brick and terrazzo home in glowing floor-to-ceiling wood. Thankfully, many of these features remain today. The front door is Burmese teak, the floors are covered in gleaming parquet. But perhaps most breathtaking of all are the richly varnished panels of sandblasted pine that line the eastern wall between the living area and the kitchen, and which enclose a Bond-worthy staircase leading up to the home’s bedrooms.

Read the full story on this Linksfield Ridge Home.

Modernist Home in Bishopscourt

Keurbos manages the clever trick of being both conspicuous and concealed. It stands out in the architectural sense: this Gawie Fagan-designed Modernist bungalow-style home bears no resemblance to the Neo-Georgian squares and contemporary concrete rectangles that occupy Bishopscourt’s streets. And it’s hidden both physically and conceptually: built on a steep slope, Keurbos sits well below street level on a verdant hillside. It’s a discrete structure in a discrete location, accessed via a descending panhandle driveway that requires very specific directional instructions to find. If you know anything about the late architect’s approach, you’ll know that’s all intentional. This giant of South African Modernist architecture had sense of place as one of his key design principles, and his structures all show a sensitivity to the landscape – Keurbos nestles into the hill, rather than dominating it.

Read the full story on this Modernist home in Bishopscourt.

Minimalist Joburg Home

Edoardo Villa’s journey had been a long one: from Italy to South Africa as a prisoner of war, and from classic realism to abstract modernism as an artist. After his release, he chose to stay on in Johannesburg and for a time lived and worked at the home of artist Douglas Portway in Kew, a suburb on the eastern fringe of the city.

Villa soon became a prominent figure in the local art world and in the great surge of creative innovation that lit up the middle of the century. He was able to buy the Portway house in 1959, and in 1968 commissioned Ian McLennan to design a house for him on the same property, giving him no brief and a very small budget.

Read the full story on this minimalist Joburg home.

Fresnaye Family Home

There’s something altogether contrary about designing a Fresnaye house that presides over the Atlantic Seaboard without giving a second thought to the views. But when it comes to this dazzling home, there’s no desire to follow the rules. You’ll find soft curves where you’d expect sharp right angles and, while you’re cleverly protected from onlookers, glass-walled neighbours find themselves exposed.

“They didn’t care a damn for the views,” says architect Robert Silke of Robert Silke & Partners about the homeowners’ brief. “It had to be a functioning family home – that it has views is a bonus.” But take one glance at the bleached-white, three-storey structure that looks a little like an abstract jigsaw puzzle from the outside and you know there’s more to this house than just a family home. Robert insists that “it’s a pragmatic family home, not a showpiece house”, then a moment later gleefully proclaims, “It’s a bit like a spaceship arrived in Fresnaye.” Then again, this architect has quite the contrary reputation, shunning the dominant vernacular for edgy takes on Art Deco and early minimalism that feel at once retro and fresh.

Read the full story on this Fresnaye family home.

Waterkloof House

A few years ago, when a handful of curious architects made a pilgrimage to this spectacular 1970s house in Waterkloof in Pretoria, one described it as a “time capsule”. “We’ve lived here for 48 years,” says its owner. As a result, the architecture and the furniture are perfectly preserved, looking just as she envisioned them nearly five decades ago. Everything has been meticulously maintained, and the house has an almost otherworldly, hallucinogenic quality that leaves you feeling transported in time.

It was designed by architect Petrus Paulus (Piet) van den Berg, a Pretoria architect who, while prolific, hugely versatile and tirelessly experimental over his 50-year career, seems little known outside of local architectural circles. “Piet was a great friend of ours,” says the owner. She and her husband simply wanted “something different” when they engaged him to do the design.

Read the full story on this Waterkloof House.

Art Deco Hotel

You can’t miss Tropicana – at least on paper. As you can see here, the striking hotel is a dreamy piece of confection that you could as much take a bite out of as step inside. Among its mostly monochromatic neighbours, the light-blue-and-pink Tropicana looks like it’s crowned by a permanent rainbow and staffed by My Little Ponies. Except it’s deceptively hard to spot in the flesh.

Rising from a small triangular plot of land where Sea Point’s Kloof Road forks, Tropicana’s pale blue-meets-pastel pink manages a trick of hiding in plain sight. Along with its curves and soft lines, the blue half of its exterior merges with the sea and sky for most of the day, while the pink folds it into the blush of sunset. Robert Silke, founder of Robert Silke & Partners – the architects of the building – describes it as having “an almost holographic appearance, like you’re not sure if it’s pink or blue or silver”. It’s genius… and a fortuitous stroke of luck

Read the full story on Tropicana.

Renovated Waterkloof Home

The five-bedroom house is located within a large garden in Waterkloof, a hilltop suburb to the east of Pretoria with views over the city and the Magaliesberg mountains. Although the property is not listed as a heritage resource by City of Tshwane, and is younger than 60 years so is yet to be protected by the National Heritage Council, it has been recognised for its strong architectural significance.

W design architecture studio worked with heritage consultant Nicholas Clarke to illustrate and justify all aspects of the renovation and allay concerns by local architects and the Pretoria Institute for Architecture who regard the property as being a strong representation of Pretoria Architecture.

Read the full story on this renovated Waterkloof home.

Kenilworth Home

You know, I counted every single brick in this house,” says architect Adèle Naudé Santos, smiling, as she stands looking around the main bedroom of the first house she ever designed – a solid Modernist four-bedroomer completed in 1967 and situated in a narrow, leafy avenue in Cape Town’s Kenilworth.

She may not actually be joking. Their modular layout, visible through the unplastered whitewashed walls, means you could conceivably measure the dimensions of the house brick by brick. US-based Adèle may now be a world-renowned architect, but back then she was just starting her career, and this was her first-ever build. And as if the stakes weren’t high enough, the client was her father, the late architect Hugo Naudé.

Read the full story on this Kenilworth home.

Forest Town House

The Colemans are not your average suburbanites – although chatting to the humble Audrey Coleman, now 90, you wouldn’t guess it. She and her late husband, Max, were active human-rights advocates during the apartheid years, both working for the Detainees’ Parents Support Committee, with Audrey also a long-standing and celebrated member of the legendary human- rights organisation, Black Sash.

House Coleman has major cred too. Built in the early 1980s, it’s a masterpiece of clean lines and geometric shapes and, though tailor-made to be its owners’ retirement home, it’s also a piece of South African design history. “Our son Colin was a student at Wits University and insisted that Pancho Guedes was the only person for the job,” says Audrey of their choice of architect.

Read the full story on this Forest Town house.

Pinelands Home

There’s a certain witchiness to Robert Silke‘s new family home in the Cape Town suburb of Pinelands. A darkly dramatic front gate framed by a brick archway reading Caverswall opens onto a narrow garden path, which leads you to a house that’s equal parts imposing and intriguing, with a steeply pitched, clay-tiled roof, spiral chimneys and brickwork finish – all in the same burnt-honey shade. “It’s basically a gingerbread house, right?” says Robert, taking in the facade of the 1938 Arts and Crafts Revival structure he shares with partner Gideon and their one-year-old daughter Lilith.

“Pinelands was established in the 1920s, when there was a big push around the world for an approximation of English country living,” says Robert. “There was a planner in the UK called Ebenezer Howard, who invented the suburb, which he originally called a garden city. The idea gained global traction in reaction to the Spanish flu – people felt that the way they lived in cities wasn’t healthy. Pinelands was actually the third garden city in the world.”

Read the full story on this Pinelands home.

Johannesburg House

What Toni Twidale wanted even more than a house was to live among the trees. “I wanted to see green all the time,” says Toni, who owns this home with her partner Graeme. “I wanted the outside in.” And so they decided to build a house that would, more than anything, be about the site.

The couple enlisted the help of architect Gregory Katz, known locally for his creative, experimental and often unconventional approach. Toni wanted to keep all the indigenous trees; Gregory’s brief, therefore, became something of a mathematical puzzle around fitting the dimensions of a house between the trees. In the end, he settled on two long, slim “bars”, with alternating strips of open space on either side and between them for the driveway, central courtyard and swimming pool. The two wings are connected by what Gregory calls an “umbilical cord” – a glazed corridor that steps down slightly with the slope of the site. The branches of the trees reach up and over a flat concrete roof, which is planted with wavy grass, essentially lifting what would have been on the ground up a level, and adding to the greenery.

Read the full story on this Johannesburg house.

Modernist Durban Home

On first encounter, House Shaw is brutally simple: a series of three-dimensional boxes, positioned beside and on top of one another on a long, triangular site cut into one of the steep slopes that characterise Durban’s forested university suburb. It is made of face brick, concrete, louvre windows, shutters and a bit of aluminium; no need for paint, wallpaper, air conditioning – not even curtains.

The house belongs to Colleen Wygers, who lived here with her late husband, fellow architect Paul Wygers. Sadly, Paul passed away shortly after we photographed the house; with Colleen’s permission, we’ve included his observations from that interview.

Paul liked to describe the home as Modernism morphing the heritage Durban veranda home – and, when it went onto the market in 2013, the couple bought it within hours of their first viewing. Designed by Hallen and Dibb Architects in the 1960s, it had been commissioned by legal luminary Douglas Shaw. “Douglas Shaw was sitting in an Eames chair in the lounge,” recalled Paul. “We chatted briefly about art and architecture. I don’t think he wanted to leave.”

Read the full story on this Modernist Durban home.

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The post 12 Retro Gems That Celebrate the Best of Mid-Century Cool appeared first on Visi.

WORDS Martin Jacobs PHOTOS Daniel Dorsa, Graham Dunn and Open Space 

Californian architect Samantha Mink attributes her interest in architecture to poetry. “I’d put words together to capture a spirit and to create a place,” she says of her youthful passion for the written word. “I later realized that you can put whole worlds together physically, too.” 

Her family home is one such world, a passion project that is a poetic nod to both spirit and place – an allegorical space imbued with fantasy, playfulness and a sense of escape. Located in the small Southern Californian town of Ojai, in a valley between the Topatopa Mountains and the Los Padres National Forest, the positioning itself seems otherworldly. “Ojai is a place of extremes, characterised by fires and floods, and distinguished by its impressive, centuries-old oak and sycamore trees,” Samantha explains. “It is a town with a history of wellness, healing and spirituality; a place where the air is crisp, the skies glow pink, and citrus trees thrive.” 

It’s little wonder, then, that the heart of Samantha’s home is a cocooning space – one that is inherently about reconnection. A concrete tower with a waterfall that cascades from its top is the only part of the home visible upon entering the property – and not one that presents as immediately cocooning. At its base, 4.5 metres below ground level, is what the Pratt Institute School of Architecture graduate calls “the sanctuary”. “I was warned by many that the sanctuary would be unpleasant – ‘cold’, ‘moist’, ‘echo-ey’, they told me,” she says. “But that was exactly what I was after: a completely different place; a secret that can only be accessed by wading through the pool channel beneath the waterfall.” It’s here, nine metres below the tower’s oculus that opens to the skies, that Samantha has built a hot tub – and it’s this that she considers to be the heart (and heartbeat) of her home. 

Asked which idea came first – the monolithic tower or the home’s long, horizontal structure with its contemporary reimagining of Mid-century Modern principles – Samantha says it was the latter. Referencing Where the Wild Things Are and Alice in Wonderland, she regards the required stepping down from street level to enter her home as a crossing of a threshold into another world. “But the intersection of two things is always the beginning of something, and so there had to be a disruption of the continuity of the horizontal,” she explains of the tower. 

Water was integral to her design, most noticeably in the form of a pool that not only runs the entire length of the front of the house, but abuts it too. Inspired by the nostalgia of a swim-up bar at a hotel often visited with her family when she was a child, the pool doesn’t adjoin the house for aesthetic reasons alone, nor is it just about the cooling it offers in the summer months. “The pool surrounding the house makes the space feel completely ethereal,” she says. “To enter, you descend from a dry Californian meadow into the ground, and open a heavy concrete door, its weight indicating that you are entering another world. You pass through a concrete vestibule before the house finally opens up. The light, the warmth, the pool and its reflections, the landscape beyond… It’s an immersive experience.” 

This idea of immersion extends to the design of the house within the landscape as well as to specific areas in the home. In the open-plan entertainment space, a sunken lounge – much like the similarly sunken sitting nook in another room – brings your eye to water level. In rooms on either side of the waterfall, wooden wall panels slide upwards, allowing access to the water and inviting its poetic sounds indoors. 

It’s inside the low-slung living spaces that Samantha’s restrained use of two materials – concrete and timber – and her minimalist aesthetic for decorating nod to, and put an entirely playful spin on, desert modernism. And while she appreciates the practicality of her materials (concrete’s thermal retention; the honesty of wood), they’re ultimately in service to the unusual rooms they create. “I’m interested in the creative and unexpected use of space,” she says. “Architecture should be fun.” | samanthamink.com 

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WORDS Juliet Kavishe PHOTOS SUPPLIED

It may have often been overlooked in global discussions of architectural Modernism, but African Modernism represents a fascinating intersection of international design principles with indigenous sensibilities and post-colonial aspirations.

Post-independence nation-building

For newly independent African nations, architecture became a powerful tool of nation-building. Leaders such as Ghana’s Kwame Nkrumah, Senegal’s Léopold Sédar Senghor and Tanzania’s Julius Nyerere understood that the built environment could embody their political vision and symbolise a break from the colonial past. Nkrumah, for example, believed in a “New Africa”, free from imperialism, drawing strength from both modern science and traditional African beliefs. He envisioned a modernised Africa, but one that preserved its cultural identity, and he captured the dual ambition of this architectural movement – to be both resolutely forward-looking and authentically African.

Ghana gained independence in 1957, and the government immediately commissioned modern civic buildings, universities and monuments that would reflect the young nation’s aspirations. With its clean lines and monumental presence, the Independence Arch in Accra exemplified the way in which modernist architecture could symbolise national pride and freedom. This period represented both opportunity and challenge: reclaiming cultural narratives through the built environment while navigating the complex inheritance of colonial design practices. The tension between adopting international Modernism and expressing indigenous values characterised much of the architectural production of this era.

The key architects and visionaries

A diverse group of architects, African and international, shaped its development, sharing a vision for architecture that responded to local conditions while embracing modern principles. Maxwell Fry and Jane Drew were British architects who worked extensively in West Africa, developing an approach that adapted modernist principles to tropical climates. Their designs for the University of Ibadan in Nigeria featured brise-soleil (sun-breakers), cross-ventilation, and elevated structures that responded intelligently to the hot, humid climate.

Demas Nwoko of Nigeria, recipient of the 2023 Golden Lion for Lifetime Achievement at the Biennale Architettura, and Pierre Goudiaby Atepa of Senegal represent African architects who successfully blended modernist principles with indigenous spatial concepts and decorative elements. Nwoko’s first commission, a chapel for the Dominican Institute in Ibadan, Nigeria, incorporates traditional Yoruba architectural elements within a modern framework.

It was made of locally sourced materials, and its roof corner pinnacles referenced Hausa architecture, which embodies the notion of “respectable design” that recognises and honours indigenous knowledge systems. These architects constantly engaged in “design sovereignty” – reclaiming the right to determine how their built environments would represent their cultural values and social needs, rather than those imposed during colonisation.

Pan-African ideals and regional adaptations

The Pan-African movement, emphasising continental unity, profoundly influenced African architectural expression. Buildings became vessels for expressing cultural identity and political ideology. Yet this vision manifested differently across regions. In East Africa, particularly in Tanzania under Nyerere’s leadership, modernist buildings often incorporated socialist principles, with an emphasis on public space and community facilities. In West Africa, especially in Senegal under Senghor, there was a greater emphasis on what Senghor called “Négritude” – the celebration of African cultural values. The regional adaptations created a rich tapestry of modernist expression across the continent. The FIDAK Exhibition Center in Dakar (now the Centre International du Commerce Extérieur du Sénégal) exemplifies the Senegalese approach, with its monumental form including references to traditional African sculpture.

These variations are not seen as deviations from a purist Modernism, but as necessary adaptations reflecting distinct cultural contexts and needs. Pluriversality recognises that design solutions must emerge from multiple cultural centres rather than a single dominant tradition – precisely what the regional modernisms accomplished.

The landmark projects

Certain buildings stand as iconic examples of African Modernism’s ambition and creative vision. The National Theatre of Ghana in Accra, designed by Chinese architects as a gift from China, features a dramatic concrete “canopy” inspired by traditional African headwear.

The La Pyramide building in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, designed by Italian architect Rinaldo Olivieri, rises as a stepped ziggurat, its unusual form effectively controlling the climate while creating a distinctive landmark; and Moshe Mayer’s design of the Hotel Ivoire (also in Abidjan) represents luxury and cosmopolitanism with its sweeping forms and innovative construction. In Uganda, the Makerere University campus showcases how modernist principles were adapted to create environments that are conducive to education in a tropical setting. These landmark projects reveal design’s “ontological politics” – how architectural choices reflect the fundamental questions about whose ways of being and knowing are valued. Although these buildings employed international modernist techniques, many sought to centre African ontologies through spatial arrangements and symbolic forms.

Materiality and construction innovations

African Modernism is distinguished by its innovative approach to materials and climate response. Concrete – versatile, durable and relatively inexpensive – became the signature material, often left exposed to express a structural honesty that’s in alignment with modernist principles.

Yet the movement was not defined by concrete alone. Architects experimented with a variety of local materials and construction techniques, from laterite (iron-rich soil) in Mali to volcanic stone in Rwanda. Climate-responsive elements such as deep overhangs, perforated screens, courtyards and elevated structures created comfortable interiors while minimising energy consumption.

The CNPS (Caisse Nationale de Prévoyance Sociale) Tower in Yaoundé, Cameroon, exemplifies this materiality: its expressed concrete frame and integrated sun-shading devices give the facade depth and character while responding to local climate conditions, thus respecting the relationship between people, their natural environment and the designed world.

Criticism and re-evaluation

Elitist, expensive and disconnected from everyday life, is how critics often described African Modernism. Some saw the buildings as a foreign aesthetic, representing continued cultural dependence even after political independence. However, contemporary scholars have begun to re-evaluate this architectural heritage through a lens that acknowledges its achievements and contradictions, recognising its unique synthesis of international Modernism with local sensibilities. What was once dismissed as derivative is now studied as an essential chapter in global architectural history that offers valuable lessons in climate adaptation and cultural expression.

Decline, legacy – and resurgence

By the 1980s, economic challenges, changing political circumstances and the global shift towards Postmodernism led to a decline in African modernist construction. Many iconic buildings fell into disrepair because of maintenance challenges and changing priorities. Yet the legacy of African Modernism remains powerful. These buildings continue to shape urban landscapes across the continent, serving as reminders of the optimism and ambition of the independence era. Their innovative approaches to climate, materials and cultural identity still influence contemporary African architecture.

Recent years have seen growing appreciation for African modernist architecture, and projects such as Manuel Herz’s African Modernism: The Architecture of Independence (2015) are working to catalogue and preserve this heritage. Contemporary African architects are revisiting modernist principles, finding renewed relevance in their climate, identity and community. Firms like Mariam Issoufou Architects, founded by Mariam Kamara in Niger, demonstrate how modernist sensibilities can be reinterpreted through respectful design practices to address contemporary challenges of sustainability and local relevance.

As Africa continues to urbanise rapidly, the lessons of African Modernism – its climatic wisdom, cultural sensitivity and bold vision – offer guidance for globally connected architecture that’s deeply rooted in place. These buildings and their contemporary interpretations represent ongoing efforts to decolonise design by creating built environments that truly reflect African values, needs and aspirations.

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WORDS Graham Wood PHOTOS Paris Brummer PRODUCTION Annemarie Meintjies

A few years ago, when a handful of curious architects made a pilgrimage to this spectacular 1970s house in Waterkloof in Pretoria, one described it as a “time capsule”. “We’ve lived here for 48 years,” says its owner. As a result, the architecture and the furniture are perfectly preserved, looking just as she envisioned them nearly five decades ago. Everything has been meticulously maintained, and the house has an almost otherworldly, hallucinogenic quality that leaves you feeling transported in time.

It was designed by architect Petrus Paulus (Piet) van den Berg, a Pretoria architect who, while prolific, hugely versatile and tirelessly experimental over his 50-year career, seems little known outside of local architectural circles. “Piet was a great friend of ours,” says the owner. She and her husband simply wanted “something different” when they engaged him to do the design.

And they certainly got it. Unassuming from the street, the house is on a steep slope. On arrival, visitors drive onto a concrete slab – essentially a rooftop motor court – which wraps around the building, leading to a separate exit. Distinctively shaped fibreglass canopies draw the eye to sweeping views of the city. Brutalist-style columns and heavy wooden doors with ceramic handles hint at the wonders beyond. A concrete spiral staircase descends through a triple-volume atrium filled with a waterfall, a koi pond and a tropical indoor jungle, where palm trees tickle the roof. The ground level features a small aviary built into the columns, and coffered ceilings are a reminder of the raw materiality of the structure. “As you go down, it gets cooler and cooler,” the owner notes.

Rooms float into the atrium on various levels. Light filters down from above, while expansive double-storey windows open to panoramic city views on one side, and a cycad and clivia garden on the other, blurring the line between indoors and out. At the base of the atrium, railway sleepers pave the floor, extending into the hardscaping outside. The owner explains that, originally, the atrium was designed to preserve existing thorn trees on the site, but over time, these were replaced with plants better suited to an indoor environment, including delicious monsters, philodendrons and bamboo palms.

Peter Howard – Piet’s son and a town planner who worked in Piet’s studio for many years – recalls visiting the site prior to construction. He highlights some of Piet’s other Pretoria buildings, including the Yorkcor Park building on Watermeyer Street (with its built-in planters for cycads), Hotel 244 in Arcadia, and Hantra (now Hantra Student Accommodation) and the Totem West apartment building in Sunnyside. The owner also remembers visiting Piet’s Pyramids Motel in Van Reenen.

Peter adds that some of Piet’s formative early work was at the campus of the University of Zululand and the University of Limpopo (then Turfloop). In the University of Zululand’s architecture, he combined Brazilian-inspired Brutalism with local vernacular elements. One of his later projects there – a multipurpose hall “big enough to host a tennis match”, Peter says – features a 70-metre-tall geodesic dome that combines cutting-edge engineering with the influence of traditional grass huts.

Brise-soleils – used for sun protection as well as ventilation – became a signature feature of Piet’s designs. He didn’t exactly mimic Brazilian aesthetics; rather, he incorporated locally influenced patterns drawn from Zulu basketry and beadwork into the brickwork.

Piet’s own 1960s Pretoria home in Lynnwood, built around the same time as the university campuses, was internationally published and is one of the better-known examples of his work. In that instance, he refined the floating brise-soleil panels and Tropical Modernist ideas with greater elegance and luxury. More than a decade later, this Waterkloof house revisited those ideas, emphasising the New Brutalist influence and a tropical influence quite possibly inspired by the visits Piet and the owners made to Mauritius and the Seychelles, and combining sculptural concrete forms with a new kind of extravagance and whimsy.

The house includes a squash court inside and a tennis court outside. “We were very keen on sports,” the owner says. The swimming pool features a mosaic-topped swim-up braai area with submerged barstools – another quirk of tropical island resort architecture.

Inside, many of the furnishings are integrated, including a circular bed in the main suite. Elsewhere, the architecture almost mimics the landscape: on the ground level, lounges and dining areas are defined by changes in floor height. Steps morph into seating, and seats transition into counters. The owner personally selected all furnishings. “I knew exactly what I liked,” she says.

A final whimsical touch is hidden in the hollow columns: brick relief sculptures of monkeys, representing “hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil”. The owner says that they were designed to conceal pipes and services; Peter thinks they may have also been intended as a blessing on the house. Recollections may differ, but the truth is, all the walls of this house are a blessing. What a magical experience it must be to have lived here for half a century…

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Weaving together Surrealism, Modernism, bathing and the iconic Nakagin Capsule Tower, architect Robert Silke tells the story of a trip to Tokyo for our new series called VISI Voices.

Our first trip to Japan is now a surreal and dreamlike memory, a frail and ephemeral record of events, subtly evermore corrupted by fantasy each time I should dream of Tokyo.

Our brain is a far-from-reliable storage medium, and studies indicate that we are constantly rewriting our own memories, compressing multiple characters into one, and casting ourselves as heroes in our own narratives. Six years on, our Japanese trip seems to have been a dreamworld of ¥7 000 outsized cherries, petting cafés stocked with Valium- drugged cats, iris-enlarging contact lenses, and spindly, futuristic micro-towers with only one fire escape.

Out of a haze of cherry-blossom and matcha ice-cream cones, flickering neon lights, and obsessively gridded bathroom wall tiles, my most abiding memories are the onsen (traditional hot-water-spring baths), super-sento (theme park baths), and my personal pilgrimage to the condemned Nakagin Capsule Tower building – where I was able to get inside a time capsule micro-apartment.

As a modern architect, I wanted to go to Japan because it seems to be the most modern place in the world, and also the most ancient. To understand Tokyo – and to understand Modernism – is to understand cleanliness. Modernism (white with “clean lines”) is all about hygiene. Before Modernism, buildings barely had bathrooms or kitchens. Today, it seems they only have bathrooms and kitchens. In addition to its memorable robo-douche commode, our 15m2 Shinjuku hotel room had a bath and a separate shower – because, to the Japanese, bathing without showering first is filthy and savage, while showering without bathing is joyless and savage.

The 10m2 capsules of Nakagin Tower didn’t even have kitchens, but of course had both showers and baths – at least on paper. A Metabolist building wears its innards on the outside (like the hi- tech Lloyd’s of London), but Nakagin’s Metabolism was running still. By the time we’d made it to Kisho Kurokawa’s 1972 tower of Babel, the hot-water reticulation had collapsed and the remaining residents were queuing in their dressing gowns for the porta-shower that was erected by the body corporate on the sidewalk outside.

But the Japanese (like the ancient Romans) are okay with bathing in front of others – public bathhouses are a backbone of social cohesion. Men young and old (and, separately, women young and old) use the bathhouse as a social condenser. With no clothes or jewellery, all men are equal; even tattoos are strictly forbidden. While the tattoo ban is often attributed to a fear of the underworld, there is a more fundamental issue: tattoos undermine the anonymity and egalitarianism of the bathhouse. The young are there to reassure the old of continuity; the old are there as a memento mori to the young. There is no status in the bathhouse, and a man in a bathhouse is no more naked than a bison subsumed into the herd.

The Japanese bathhouse is all about the ritual of cleanliness. You are issued with fresh slippers, used solely for the purpose of walking to the lavatory without contaminating your feet or (more importantly) the baths themselves. And they keep close track of where you go in those slippers. (Contrast that with the river of filth through which you wade barefoot to get to and from the showers of your average local gym.) But bathhouse culture is now said to be a dying pastime even in Japan (something attributed to the declining population), and the Nakagin Capsule Tower was demolished – or disassembled, rather – in April 2022. The Japanese seem to have no sentimentality for the built environment; most buildings are regarded as disposable.

It is said that the great earthquake cities – those located on tectonic fault lines, such as San Francisco and Tokyo – are imbued with a sense of ephemerality and impending doom: cities on the precipice of deadly renewal. When we finally get back to Japan, we may well find nothing of what we remember. | robertsilke.com

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The clean lines, functional form and luxurious natural wood of OKHA Design Studio’s newest addition, the COSMO armchair, pay homage to the raw beauty of Tropical Modernism.

The distinct mid-20th century architectural and design style made famous by Brazilian architects like Oscar Niemeyer and Lúcio Costa informed the robust character of OKHA Design Studio‘s new armchair. The juxtaposition of the raw geometry and direct beauty of Tropical Modernism in the COSMO armchair make it a truly intriguing piece of furniture.

Like all OKHA Design Studio’s pieces, the COSMO armchair has a clearly defined character and attitude. The striking relationship between the slopped, upholstered seat and its three supporting legs is the central focus of the chair’s design. With an intentionally rough seat and base in contrasting materials, the strong proportions and grounded profile of the chair make for a unique, supportive, functional piece.

The COSMO’s standout feature is its broad-planed legs. The two at the side with a single leg in the middle at the back expressed in walnut or ash, create a trilateral cradle of support for the seat. “The extreme proportions and surface area of the legs are intended to pull the viewer’s eye to the nature of the wood and give practical presence to the luxury of that material,” says Adam Court, OKHA Creative Director. | okha.com

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Reprising lessons from local and international Modernist masterpieces, this home creates a unique sense of place in the winelands sun.

A family affair is how architect Bettina Woodward describes the design of this Stellenbosch house. And it quite literally is. Bettina is the principal architect at her practice Open City, and she designed the house for (and with) her brother Roland Andrag, sister-in-law Juandi and their family.

Roland and Bettina grew up in a modernist home. Their German-immigrant grandparents had a house full of original Mid-century design and, says Bettina, “My parents were very interested in modern and abstract art. My mother always pushed radical ideas.” Bettina has subsequently restored a spectacular 1970s modernist home in Cape Town, and is fascinated with the rich vein of regional Modernism in and around Stellenbosch, created by the likes of architects Pius Pahl (who studied at the Bauhaus), Gawie Fagan and Revel Fox.

Roland and Juandi lived in a “typical Mid-century Modern house” in Stellenbosch before building this one. Add to this their love of pioneering US Mid-century architect Richard Neutra – they once went on a road trip visiting some of his iconic houses in California – and it was inevitable that what would emerge from this family affair would be an homage to Modernism. Roland and Juandi had found this site in their neighbourhood a few years prior – chosen for the views more than anything else. “We have a clear view of Table Mountain and of the Stellenbosch Mountain to one side,” says Juandi.

Of course, when it came to designing their house, they made sure not just to frame those views, but also to orient the house in a way that would help manage the sun, and provide passive heating and cooling. Its clean-lined, horizontal form faces north. The upper level is lifted on columns – “pilotis” in modernist parlance – to catch the views while letting the outside flow in underneath, especially when the sliding doors are open. Deep overhangs and pergolas (and some strategically planted trees), particularly to the west, are precisely proportioned to keep the direct sun out in summer and let it in during winter.

In the Neutra tradition, the distinction between landscape and architecture is blurred; in some instances, the garden is quite literally invited in with built- in planters, notably in the entrance hall and on the terraces. Bettina says the home is designed to “embed itself ” in its setting. “It’s not a small house,” she adds, “but I wanted to move away from the current situation where many new homes are over-scaled.” There’s a cosiness and modesty in the proportions of even the grandest modernist buildings.“What I love about Modernism is how everything is ergonomically the correct size.”

She strove to recapture that sense of human scale and comfort here. The living area may be large and open-plan, but there are opportunities to be “apart together”. Built-in furnishings – from the breakfast nook in the kitchen to the benches, window seats, bookshelves and desks – not only reprise a classic feature of Mid-century design, but also deftly balance togetherness and privacy. Some other “typical Neutra tricks”, as Bettina calls them, include his trademark “displaced corners” – or, as she explains, the “idea of taking the structure from the inside through to the outside”. In the family room upstairs there’s a beam that starts inside and continues out onto the terrace, simultaneously framing the garden. In the same way, the fascia in the main bedroom extends beyond the edge of the overhang, leading the eye outwards to the view.

The interiors have a Mid-century flavour, with a twist. There’s lots of beautiful timber detailing, bespoke cabinetry by Wolfgang Kretschmer of Blackbird Interiors, and terrazzo floors (another favourite of the era), but in this instance with quartz and mother-of-pearl in the aggregate, so that they shimmer.“Much of the colour palette was drawn from the sunsets, which range from pink, light orange and purple to all the darker shades,” says Juandi.

Neutra was influenced by Japanese architecture, and Roland and Juandi travelled to Japan for inspiration, too. (The kimonos exhibited outside her studio are among her mementoes; Juandi is a fashion designer and her label, Mantua Silkwear, has a dedicated wing in the house.) The distinctive green is something they picked up there. “I tried to repeat that colour scheme in the garden,” says Juandi, “making use of various orange and purple plants, with grey plants in between.” She worked with landscape architect Vikki Crawley of Verdigris Consulting on the design of the garden.“We didn’t want the garden to be too formal,” she says. “We wanted it to hold the house loosely.”

Despite its strong Mid-century influences and its joyful homage to the likes of Neutra, this house remains highly personal. At the same time, it’s very much about conjuring a spirit of its place, doing what this kind of architecture does best: connecting people and place harmoniously, uniquely and with a sense of serenity | opencity.co.za.

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An ode to tropical Modernism and hidden in a lush garden, this villa in the south of Portugal allows its owners and guests to unwind in the shade of a pine forest.

Ask about Portugal’s best beaches, and most point to the southeastern tip of the Iberian Peninsula. They are, of course, talking about the famous Algarve – but if you’re ever in the area, it’s the region just above it that’s really worth a visit. It’s known as Alentejo and, far from the Algarve’s tourist

swarms, life in this land of wheatfields, cork-oak forests, wildflower meadows and white-washed villages is lived at an altogether slower pace. It’s one of the least-developed and least-populated regions in western Europe, with 100 kilometres of coastline protected by the Southwest Alentejo and Vicentine Coast Natural Park – and it’s here that the owner of this home chose to build. “It only took us three days to completely fall in love, buy a vacant sloping site with a sea view, and embark on a five-year adventure to build our dream house,” she says.

Two plots (“shaped like pizza slices”, she says) open up like a funnel onto the slope of a hill. The parcel of land allowed architect Pedro Reis to design a villa with the buildings and terraces as the high point, overlooking the pool and the sea in the distance. Two bankrupt builders later, his vision of sleek minimalism slowly took shape.

The brief was to re-create a Brazilian-inspired Mid-century Modern villa – an ode to Tropical Modernism – with a large main house and an adjacent smaller house for visiting friends. The idea was a property that could accommodate 18 people in total, allowing for both a degree of independence as well as a communal gathering space at the pool and in the lush landscaped garden outlined by a pine forest.

Paying homage to the principal force behind the Tropical Modernist aesthetic, Sri Lankan architect Geoffrey Bawa, Pedro used appropriate materials in the construction of his design – concrete, bagged brick, terrazzo, and a dark natural wood known as kambala, native to the west coast of Africa. The latter has been used throughout the home in the bespoke built-in fittings.

It’s a baton picked up by interior designer Marta Mantero, who also used the wood in the wall panelling and dividers, along with rattan and other muted natural fibres. Bespoke soft fabrics and furniture, and unique pieces by contemporary designers are complemented by vintage armchairs that were sourced by Marta and the owners.

Known as Casa Fibi, it may not be a truly seaside home – the coast is part of the natural park, so no private residences are permitted – but the tranquillity this region affords more than makes up for it. Besides, a morning spent on one of the beautiful crowd-free beaches is just a short drive away.

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COMPILED BY Jo Buitenbach

Glam metallics, neon, ultra-fun graphic prints, a floral-pattern bonanza – the 1980s had it all in excess. Sure, the era garnered a bad reputation because of this more-is-more maximalism, but its many devotees agree that its revolutionary architecture and design have had a long-lasting influence, inspiring culture, art and design today. So tease up your hair and pop in those shoulder pads – it’s time to explore this polarising period and its radical impact.

Walking in Memphis

Memphis Milano is probably the most emblematic design movement of the 1980s. Characterised by strong geometric shapes, bright colours, zany patterns and generally abstract design, some might argue that it’s a little kitsch – but it has a cult-like following. Established in 1980 by the Memphis Group – a collective of designers and architects under the guidance of Italian architect Ettore Sottsass – it was named after a Bob Dylan song, “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues”.

Its first collection, comprising 55 products, was presented in Milan in September 1981, and introduced the world to a ground-breaking design movement that threw off the shackles of a clean, measured aesthetic and embraced something playful. Most of the pieces were named after luxury hotels, including Ettore Sottsass’s Carlton bookcase.

Another founding member of the group was Nathalie du Pasquier, a French designer and artist based in Milan. While she designed furniture, it’s her striking textiles – including Burundi, Cerchio and Mali – that really catch the eye.

A Postmodern Mishmash

Emerging in the late 1970s, and finding its stride over the next decade, the prevailing architectural style
of the ’80s was Postmodernism. Its eclectic mixture was a drastic reaction to the formality of Modernism and what was seen as its elitist principles. Characteristics of the movement included bright colours (from pastels to neon), eye-catching and playful flourishes, the use of varied materials, and taking inspiration from historic and classic styles of architecture but modernising them.

A leading proponent of the movement was American architect and designer Michael Graves, who designed the 15-storey Portland Building, located in downtown Portland, Oregon. Opened in 1982, the building stood in strong contrast to other offices of the time with its vivid colours, detailed decorations and small windows. It soon became a Postmodern marvel. Graves was also a member of the Memphis Group, and the creator of the totally over-the-top Plaza toilet/vanity in the original Memphis Milano collection.

Another embodiment of Postmodern ’80s architecture is PPG Place in Pittsburgh. Often called the crown jewel in the city’s skyline, it consists of multiple buildings on three city blocks. Designed by Philip Johnson and John Burgee for PPG Industries (who manufacture architectural glass) and opened in 1984, it is a melange of Postmodernism and Neo-gothic style. The main building, constructed from thousands of pieces of reflective glass, is a 40-storey office tower with 231 glass spires, taking its cues from gothic structures and Art Deco skyscrapers.

Shine Bright like a Diamond

Looking closer to home, we have 11 Diagonal Street in the Johannesburg inner city. Better known as the Diamond Building, it was designed to look like a multifaceted diamond by German-American architect Helmut Jahn. Its then-owners, Anglo American Properties, named it “Johannesburg’s premier symbol of achievement” when it was opened in 1984. Its blue-glass surface is striking, reflecting the surrounding cityscape. Perhaps less successfully, the reflection of heat and light has been a vexation to motorists driving past on the M1 highway, as well as to the occupants of the surrounding buildings.

Countryside Craze

In sharp contrast to Postmodernism and Memphis, the ’80s also saw a rise in popularity of a romanticised English countryside style. Another rejection of slicked-back minimalism, it was characterised by floral motifs in a variety of hues, antique brass furniture, and highly patterned wallpapers and linens. Internationally, British brand Laura Ashley ruled the rural roost with its prairie-fied floral dresses and floral chintz decor, while in South Africa, Biggie Best, started by Pru Pfuhl in Cape Town in 1987, was the queen of a dusty-rose quilted realm. The brand’s riot of matching linen, wallpaper, lampshades and tissue-box covers was madly popular.

I want my MTV

On 1 August 1981, MTV debuted with its first music video – “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles.
But the TV channel didn’t just dish out music content that changed music and youth culture – its logo, designed by Manhattan Design, soon became iconic too. Originally yellow, blue and red, the colours and design of MTV’s branding were continuously played around with, and were often influenced by the colour palette, graphics and patterns of the Memphis movement.

1980s Replay

In homage to the decade’s aesthetic, VISI compiled a list of contemporary artists, designers and brands who will quench your thirst for OTT ’80s design.

The Memphis Milano brand is still going strong, and its work is available in unlimited series as a result of the ethos that “design should be a means of communication, not an elitist art”. So whether you’d like a few metres of a beautiful fabric, a 1981 D’Antibes cabinet by George J Sowden or Peter Shire’s Bel Air armchair, they are only a click away. | memphis-milano.com

Architect Michael Graves may have been responsible for some major buildings, but it’s his iconic Alessi kettle that will go down as his magnum opus. The Whistling Bird teakettle (or 9093 kettle) was launched in 1985, and has been the Italian brand’s number-one seller for 30 years. In keeping with the playfulness of ’80s design, the bird atop the spout sings when the water boils. | spilhaus.co.za

If you’d like to line your walls with striking, ’80s-style art, look no further than Camille Walala. This French artist is known for her huge, colourful geometric public interventions, which often take the form of murals and immersive 3D installations. Her work is inspired by both the Memphis movement and Ndebele art, and her limited- edition prints are available online. | camillewalala.com

American potter and designer Jonathan Adler is known for smart luxury products that don’t take themselves too seriously. So much of his work has an irreverent ’80s feel that he’s been labelled Neo-Memphis, along with a new set of artists creating in the style. His Globo collection – specifically the Globo console – is an overt nod to the Memphis movement. jonathanadler.com | skins.co.za

Swiss watchmaker Swatch isn’t afraid of a trend, or of bright colours or nostalgia, for that matter. Founded in 1983, the company recently introduced its new NEON range – a popping collection inspired by the neon colours of the 1980s and ’90s. And the brand’s Jean-Michel Basquiat collab celebrates the work of the late American artist, who rose to success in the 1980s as part of the Neo-expressionist movement. | swatch.com

Tom Dixon’s S chair is a true icon of ’80s style. This important piece of 20th-century design can be found in the permanent design collection at MoMA in New York and V&A Museum in London – and being produced by Cappellini in Italy (and available from Créma) in an array of colours and materials. | cremadesign.co.za

Swedish lighting company Swedish Ninja is all about colour, shape and multifunction, creating work that adds a fun, modern-day Memphis feel to any home. The Candy collection features wall lights in what Swedish Ninja calls “PickNmix”, encouraging you to choose from 10 different colours and endless variations, and put them together yourself. The OH MY mini sculptures will add a playful touch to your tchotchke collection. | swedishninja.com

If an overtly glam look is more up your alley, and living on the set of legendary ’80s soap opera Dynasty sounds appealing, the Angel View server by local bespoke design company NOWA is for you. Come worship at the altar of glam! | nowa.co.za

Thanks to a host of TikTok influencers, cottage core – an aesthetic inspired by countryside living – is big. And if you want to fill your home with a maximalist garden of sweet prints, then you’re in for a treat. The Laura Ashley brand is celebrating 70 years in the business, and has reached back into its impressive archive to create a limited-edition collection that focuses on historic prints, including the Wood Violet wallpaper in Ochre Yellow, which was first introduced in 1981. | lauraashleyusa.com

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Built for twin sisters – each with different tastes – this home in Monaghan Farm eco-estate explores how a fusion of art and architecture makes a home’s connection with its setting more profound and meaningful than simply providing a pleasant view.

For Gillian Holl, owner of the award-winning Veld Architects, this must have been one of the more unusual briefs to receive from a client – or, in this case, clients. It was for twin sisters Ansi and Renette Buitendag who, after spending most of their adult lives apart, decided to build a home together. Not only would each have a wing to herself, converging on a shared kitchen, dining and living area, but each had distinct architectural tastes. Renette preferred a Modernist approach – a building with a “connection to the landscape”; while Ansi favoured a style that was “bold, strong and minimalist”.

The location they had selected was on the Monaghan Farm eco-estate in Lanseria – a sunken, tranquil spot below the road, overlooking the Jukskei River. It was a location that demanded further specific considerations too. Only three percent of the land on Monaghan Farm will be developed, so the natural setting will be preserved for posterity. The beautiful landscape of rolling hills, grasslands and rivers poses the question to all architects who build here: what sort of relationship to create between nature and architecture? How best to connect with this landscape? What makes us feel at home here? Both sisters are art lovers, bringing with them substantial collections of art, so the relationship between art and life was also thrown into the mix.

Gillian’s response, in the end, hinged on an old Frank Lloyd Wright quote: “The mother art is architecture.” She would weave Ansi and Renette’s love of art into the very fabric of the building, and through a complex layering of bespoke and collaborative efforts with local artisans, artists and crafters create a home-as-monument that would celebrate life and art. It would be strong and sheltering and, rather than simply delivering pleasing views, mediate a more complex relationship with its setting.

To accommodate Renette’s more Modernist approach, Gillian designed a series of pavilions that open up to their surroundings via large windows and screens, with colonnades and pergolas that seem to extend out into the landscape and scoop it in. Although she chose a material palette in which pure concrete and steel predominate, Gillian points out that there is a level of delicacy and detail in this design that softens it and gives it a feminine character.

For Ansi, Gillian created a series of distinct “sculptural elements in the landscape”: three interconnected buildings – one concrete, one rusted Corten steel, and one clad in metal sheeting reminiscent of barns or agricultural buildings. This part of the house represents an unashamedly robust and object-forming approach to architecture, with distinct, simplified forms.

Marrying the two sections is a central living space, which blends the light and the solid, the robust and the delicate, the bold and the intricate. This more social or communal area is defined by a light roof that floats above a solid base. Clerestory windows allow natural light to wash softly in; a timber latticed ceiling offsets the raw concrete and steel below; and large, laser-cut steel canopies blur the distinction between outside and in. At the entrance, you’re greeted by gabion walls stacked with slate, the stone grounding the building with its “natural” and “authentic” qualities. Its colours also resolve the separate elements, harmonising with the other materials and bringing them together.

Throughout the house, Gillian invited collaborations with a wide range of artists and artisans, crafters and makers. Everywhere you look are unique, beautiful, handcrafted elements: stained-glass windows by The Cutting Edge; custom glass lighting by Glass Forming Academy; and incredible breeze-blocks for which Gillian brought together Wolkberg Casting Studios and Down To The Wire, who create jewellery from poachers’ snares. Much of the cabinetry was designed in collaboration with Veld Architects.

In meeting the challenge of designing a home that would fit in with and add to its beautiful natural setting, Gillian and the owners have responded with a rich, imaginative tapestry of solutions drawn from creative and cultural resources. The house – its robustness, strength and resilience – and its intended longevity are justified as a shelter for humanity’s ongoing and ever-renewable attempts to foster a connection with a place. That celebration makes a home not only for art, but for the inhabitants, too. They’ve dubbed it “Amani”, which means peace in Swahili.

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