The late architect Jeff Harnar melded contemporary materials with an appreciation of the natural world
By nancy zimmerman | Photos by Robert Reck
contemporary structures with the landscape).
The dominant conversation in Santa Fe’s architecture circles continues to be the debate over preservation versus progress in our local aesthetic. Amid the chatter, one visionary stands out: native New Mexican Jeff Harnar, who in the years before his death in June 2006 at age 52 strove to honor indigenous architectural forms while moving beyond their stereotypes, in the process formulating a distinct vernacular style. While Harnar’s time on this planet was lamentably short, he produced a variety of architectural creations that signaled a bold departure from the region’s ancient adobe tradition.
Like many of his peers, Harnar found Santa Fe’s rigid design regulations stultifying and unrealistic, noting that they originated as a tool to lure tourists by freezing architecture at some arbitrary point in time. “If the original adobe builders were alive today,” he told writer Michael J. Crosbie in an interview in Architecture in 1991, “they probably wouldn’t be building with adobe. They’d be trying out new materials and techniques.”
A tunnel leading to Harnar’s own residence is all but hidden by the hillside into which it’s carved (opposite top). Also embraced by the surrounding hillside, the adjacent guesthouse (above) is well insulated in winter and summer. The angular fireplace, which can be enjoyed from both the living space and the bedroom, breaks up the exterior facade to create intriguing angles. A sculpturelike garage (opposite bottom) was custom color-tinted to mimic the moss on the rocks of the mountainside, minimizing the visibility of the structure when viewed from afar. The steel-laminated door has a unique organic patina that the homeowner created using materials from his garden. The sculptural piece at the entrance to the stairs is structural steel with a solar-screen backing.
For a couple who cooks and entertains frequently, Harnar created a floating wall that divides the kitchen and dining room and contrasts with the clean lines of the whitewashed cherry cabinetry and floor-to-ceiling windows (above). The large, sail-shaped island allows the homeowners to mingle with guests while working in the kitchen; its curves are echoed by the skylights overhead. In another Harnar home (opposite), angles unite in the hallway to make efficient but artistic use of limited square footage. A vertical bookshelf serves as functional art, creating storage in an otherwise tight space. Ceiling and walls are made from the same industrial steel used to create bridges and skyscrapers. The chocolate-brown patina adds warmth, contrasting with the polished concrete floor, maple wall, and fiber-cement paneling.
This he chose to do himself, making use of steel, glass, and concrete to fashion asymmetrical spaces that conform to the landscape rather than imposing on it. While these materials dictate an inherently modern aesthetic, Harnar employed them in accordance with ancient priorities, siting his buildings to harmonize with the movement of the sun and stars, and with the cycles of the solstices and equinoxes. By thoroughly researching the physical environment of each building site, he was able to create an abstracted form of the themes he discovered there—trees, arroyos, the swell of the earth, the sweep of the sky. He also incorporated the views and existing vegetation into his designs, moving walls and even entire structures when necessary to avoid unduly disturbing the landscape. This attention to the natural world accounts for his projects’ relative invisibility: Molded into the earth and tucked discreetly amid trees and rocks, his homes seem to merge organically with the land, their contemporary contours and striking silhouettes notwithstanding.
“Jeff’s mission was to take care of the environment,” says his widow, Lori, “and he believed in constructing homes that required minimal maintenance.” Their own home, still a work in progress at the time of his death, is built of steel, concrete, and fiber cement made of recycled materials formed into 5′ x 10′ sheets; no drywall, paint, or tile was used. “Jeff always said that the house had to work with the land,” Lori continues, “and he used his exceptional vision to make that happen. He had a talent for drawing, and he drew all the time—designing furniture, a cupboard, entire houses. He’d draw the plans first by hand, then put them into the computer. His ideas were never solely artistic; they were always practical, too. He streamlined all the interior surfaces to eliminate lips or anything that would catch dust, so they’d be easy to clean. And he wanted to have low or no utility bills, so the house is bermed into the hillside for natural insulation. It’s as ‘off the grid’ as it gets in the city.”
Harnar also used natural light as one of his materials, adjusting the building’s design to accommodate the path of the sun. His use of space tended toward unexpected juxtapositions of stairways and walls to create new perspectives. This blend of practicality, artistry, and reverence for the spirit of the land informs his considerable legacy: contemporary homes that seem to hold their occupants in a warm embrace—not unlike their adobe counterparts of old.
A west-facing glass wall suffuses this dining area with dramatic light. The floating wall that separates the dining space from the kitchen adds a gentle contour to the otherwise rectilinear space. “People ask me why I don’t hang art on it,” says the homeowner, “but it is art!” Her husband, a hydrogeologist, “wanted to bring the sinuous feeling of water into the house,” so he worked with Harnar to create a water feature in the floating wall. After much trial and error and quite a bit of fishing line, they created a system that sends delicate streams of water cascading between the two rooms.
This well-defined outdoor space can be accessed from every room in the house, and all the decks connect (above). The raised fireplace (opposite) with a slate hearth adds warmth to chilly evenings as well as visual interest. The square cutouts in the wall bordering the stairs and the curve of the roof overhang create a geometrical tableau, illustrating Harnar’s skillful manipulation of shapes, angles, and asymmetry.
For this solar-heated home (above) sited on steep terrain, Harnar created a design requiring a minimum of building materials—an important consideration since everything had to be ferried up the mountainside either by hand or via a handmade tram. Industrial steel panels with an earthy, organic patina form the ceiling and back wall. Floor-to-ceiling glass in the front of the house takes advantage of solar gain. An entry foyer (opposite) mimics the coiling of a nautilus shell, the spiral getting wider and taller as it opens. At its narrowest point is a six-foot-wide, opaque-glass front door designed by Barry Brukoff of Sausalito, California. The cabinetry and cantilevered bench, also designed by Brukoff, appear to float in space.
Harnar described this house as all angles and forms (above). It comprises a series of square boxes set against a 13-foot-high curving wall, creating a hidden oasis. The patios feature a koi pond and spectacular views of Santa Fe below. Harnar designed the striking wraparound corner windows of mitered glass. A frameless, laminated-glass pocket door (opposite) seems to disappear into the wall of the gently sweeping hallway. The carefully placed skylight casts a warm glow over the Richard Hogan work that hangs above
a 1967 rosewood cabinet from Zurich.
A masterpiece of efficiency, this kitchen’s washer, dryer, dishwasher, and oven are tucked into the lower cabinetry, while small appliances and the stove are hidden in cabinets atop the concrete counter (above). Amazonian feathered headdresses adorn the fiber-cement wall that backs up to the tunnel leading to Harnar’s nearby residence; original 1970s chairs add a splash of color to the minimalist space. Another minimalist room features a contoured fireplace (opposite) whose sculptural design evokes trails of smoke rising from the fire below, a spot of warmth amid cool concrete walls.
From the Fall 2006 / Winter 2007 issue
