The Design

The architect may not have been looking for worldwide recognition, but the Ball-Eastaway House, a relatively early work and a very significant one, helped develop his reputation internationally. It is his first residential work entirely clad in corrugated iron, a material he would become closely associated with and one that, here, echoes the subtle colours of the surrounding bush. It is also the first of his houses to be sited in unaltered bushland – his earlier houses were either in rural or suburban settings.

The brief was for a home and working environment for two painters – part domestic retreat, part gallery – so the plan supports both everyday living and the making, hanging and viewing of large-scale work.

Murcutt’s response begins with close site-reading: long walks to understand the sandstone ledges, the eucalypt canopy, and the way water moves after rain. The house is placed where the land already offers a logic for settlement – on rock, above natural drainage lines – so it can sit lightly without interrupting the bush’s rhythms.

Cross the threshold and, for a moment, the bush is left firmly behind. Instead, on a long central corridor wall, directly opposite the front door and separating the two bedrooms from the living areas, hangs one of Ball’s immense mural-sized paintings, a powerful abstract he had made at Glenorie, and one in predominantly red tones, in stark contrast to the soft greys and greens of the surrounding bush. This wall, specifically designed to accommodate the artwork, was one of the few requirements Ball made when he and Eastaway first started talking to Murcutt in 1977. (The other was for a studio each, both of which are repurposed agricultural buildings, and lie a few steps from the house.)

At either end of the wall is a nondescript door, both of which lead to a ‘secret’ northwest-facing verandah, a remarkable and unexpected feature of the house. Originally designed as a meditation area, the verandah allows for the most intense experience of the bush possible; gazing outwards almost feels like looking through the aperture of a camera. With the two doors closed, it seems to be quite separate from the house and yet, being covered, offers shelter – Lynne Eastaway has likened the experience of being on it as akin to sitting under one of the nearby rocky overhangs. It’s a space that invites contemplation and reflection but, equally, is one for conversation, or for something as routine as having coffee or lunch.

At this end of the house, too, is the bathroom, which has recently undergone a sympathetic renovation by Downie North. An original skylight floods the room with light at certain times of the day.

Light and shadow are essential and dynamic elements of the house. Lynne Eastaway talks about watching shafts of light moving throughout the day and the play of shadows on the floor and walls – an ever-changing spectacle and one that provides a connection to the natural world in its own way. Light and shadow are there at night as well, as the moon rises over the eastern end of the house, casting moonbeams through the living area. Again, there’s nothing coincidental about the way the house responds to these natural elements – Murcutt likens his buildings to instruments that are best played by their surroundings.

Moving through the house to the kitchen/living/dining area, there’s a similarly rhythmic sense of conceal and reveal – Murcutt believes experiencing a view can be heightened by limiting and carefully framing it. Here, the central corridor wall makes way for a glimpse of bush through the dining area window to the north-west or through the kitchen window on the opposite wall.