At the edge of our yard, nestled among the branches between two strong and steady trees, sits my architectural office—a treehouse built not only from timber and nails, but from purpose and vision. It’s a space suspended above the everyday, and yet deeply rooted in the values that shape both my life and my work.

I chose to build my office in a tree for many reasons, practical and poetic alike. Trees offer shelter. They provide food, fuel, and the very wood we use to construct our homes. But beyond their usefulness, they are symbols of life, growth, and resilience. Their form—ever-reaching, ever-grounded—inspires design that is both functional and meaningful. I’ve long drawn from their quiet beauty, and building among them felt like a natural extension of that inspiration.

To ascend into the treehouse each morning is to step away from the chaos and noise below. It is a literal and figurative act of elevation—a way of setting aside distractions and re-centering my thoughts. From this perch, I feel connected to the natural world, its rhythms and textures, and to something more timeless and essential. Here, creativity doesn’t feel forced; it flows.

The process of building the treehouse was just as meaningful as the space itself. I didn’t outsource it—I shaped it with my own hands, with help from family and friends. We cut, carried, hoisted, and hammered. It was an act of shared creation, of problem-solving and perseverance, and it brought with it a deep sense of reward. The structure stands not only as a workspace, but as a testament to collaboration, craft, and care.

Architecture isn’t only about buildings—it’s about belonging. It’s about creating places that serve, inspire, and endure.

My treehouse is all of those things. It’s my studio, my retreat, and my daily reminder that beauty often begins in the branches. In this small space suspended above the ground, I am reminded every day of why I chose this profession.