exterior of a modern house - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The house was new. Very new. It looked like it had been finished last week. It looked almost too new in some strange way. It was as if it had rolled off a production line, but they had forgotten to apply the mandatory layer of color to it. The windows were huge and seemingly inspired by something truly alien. Anyone could see into the house from an uncomfortable distance. From here, she could see surfaces of white, glossy plastic that iced over the kitchen, granite enforced the walls in their straight, uninspired monotony. There wasn't a single square meter of organic material in sight. Not even a comforting wallpaper that imitated warmth in some way. Not even a plank of wood. The house, it seems, was a livable, modern mausoleum.
Modern house architecture had gone full circle, right back to mud huts. Earth and straw were the new building materials, beautiful smooth curving walls of mud with wooden shingle roofs. They were so cheap and easy to build that the teens often learnt construction by making their own in the backyard. They were warm and as light as the builder wanted, able to take any size window at all.
The house looked like a cut out from Architects Today magazine. It was beautiful. but not in the olde-worlde quaint kind of way I was usually drawn to. Everything was geometric, which I guess you could say about almost any pitched roof abode with square windows, but on this house you couldn't help but notice it. The roof was flat for a start and the door as wide as it was tall. The windows took up entire walls with only polished steel beams to break them into yet more rectangles. The look would have been entirely metallic, like a mini down-town skyscraper had it not been for the cedar beams of the external porch and the matching raised plant beds that contained only white blooms.
On the hill, windswept as it was, had been build a house from such alien materials that local kids rumoured it to be a secret government base. Sometimes when out riding they would beg to pass it and then file past looking out of the corners of their eyes, not wanting to actually turn their heads and gawp. It was both something and nothing like a cow barn. Sure it was just as big, but it wasn't made of corrugated iron. The sides were polished concrete and the door a slab of shiny stainless steel. The windows were taller than a man and more reflective somehow, like if you went right up to them and pressed your face to the glass you still wouldn't see a thing. Around the house was more polished concrete making paths, patios and planters. And day or night the high-beams would go on as they passed, accompanied by the gentle whir of focusing cameras. They speculated that the roof had a helipad and in the garage was an armoured Bentley; if such a thing existed, it would be here.
The house was a series of rectangles constructed of steel and glass. It was unapologetically modern. It stood amidst the manicures lawn as if beamed there rather than constructed. The roof was flat and there was no visible chimney. The front door was metallic and opened with both a key pad and biometric scanner. Inside was minimalist. The walls were fashionable shades of white and the floor polished concrete. There was no sentimentality for chintz but on the walls were the most astonishing black and white family photographs. There was no clutter of shoes or jackets, no clutter of any kind. The only organic matter in sight were white orchids on the dark cherry coffee table. The kitchen was large enough for an army of chefs, there were two ovens and acres of brown flecked white granite on which to prepare food. But in the cupboards there were no pots or pans, no spatulas or sieves. Upstairs every room was en-suite with a plasma screen, a king sized bed and a walk in wardrobe.
All the newest features were built into the house with no sentimentality for the old ways. The windows were large to let in maximum light, but fashioned so well that the home stayed warm in the winter time. Every line was clean and straight, the colour scheme brown and silver. The roof line didn't peak in the centre as was the fashion in the previous decade, but instead sloped to the left. peaking a couple of meters from the edge. Inside was largely open plan, a floating stairway leading to the upper floor, and every floor was smooth polished concrete.
No modern house was built without an exterior designer. To have the same look as anyone in the neighbourhood was akin to wearing the same dress to a high society ball. Each one was a unique combination of curves and geometric shapes, always in natural colours, never garish. The landscaping was part of the look and immediately contracted to professionals for installation and upkeep.
Modern house plans were once shared and repurposed, who cared if a house in Delaware was the same as one in New Hampshire? Not anymore, it was an era of designers. Every house had something of the personality of the owners in it, a hint of the people behind the design. Home of gardeners might appear to grow organically, whilst engineers chose regular shapes and pastors chose designs with many doors, none of them ever locked.
Modern house pictures littered the old coffee table. Dan sank back in his beaten leather chair. The house was coming down, that much was certain, but choosing a new design eluded him. He didn't want to echo the neighbourhood; he wanted lots of light but privacy too. He sat forwards once more. It had been Elsa's idea to print them, to make them more real than just pixels, but it wasn't helping a great deal.
Images of modern houses flicked passed Dan's retinas, all shapes, all sizes and none of them looked like home. He wanted everything modern on the inside for sure, but the exterior had be be a blend. He wanted an echo of years gone by with a modern twist, something he felt could carry him into his future in comfort, some place he'd feel at home.