Living Large by Building Small

Not long ago, a potential client called architect Deborah Berke in New York. Berke's elegantly spare contemporary houses have attracted a devoted high-end clientele, and the caller had been searching for an architect when he saw one of her houses featured in a glossy magazine. As they discussed what he found appealing about the house, Berke mentioned it was about 550 square meters in size. "Oh, no!" said the man. "That's too big." He'd never build a house larger than 375 square meters, he explained—not because of cost but because it would be unseemly in these tough economic times.

In the same spirit as a Wall Street trader who wants to keep his bonus under wraps, a certain discretion is infiltrating high-end designer houses. The downward spiral of the economy has already led to the downsizing of mass-market housing, shrinking the average new single-family home in the U.S. from a high of 244 square meters to 218. Now the trend may trickle up: luxury architecture these days is not so much about building large as building well. "There is an emerging sense of being less ostentatious and more friendly to the planet," says London architect Seth Stein, who has designed vacation houses in the Caribbean and in Cornwall, England.

Some wealthy ecoconscious clients are already asking their architects for smaller, simpler dwellings. Others are moving more slowly and cautiously with their plans— or building in stages. Many are embracing local materials rather than exotic imports and seeking designs that are sensitive to the location of their dream houses. If they are economizing, it's not at the expense of quality. A well-designed house, by virtue of being customized, may actually reduce waste. "You could argue that a bespoke suit uses less fabric than one off the rack," says New York–based architect Steven Harris, "and something fitted to the way you live can be more precise and efficient." Often clients can get the best at bargain rates, striking deals with top builders who are struggling to keep their businesses afloat.

In fact, it's a good time to start a house—if you have the money. As the construction industry slows, prices are dropping. "Even with a signed contract, clients are asking to renegotiate with contractors," says Harris, who has designed houses in Mexico, South Africa and Croatia as well as New York. He has seen construction costs decline as much as 20 percent—and the best craftsmen are often those most eager to make a deal. "A year ago, the difference in cost between a good contractor and one who specialized in very fancy, esoteric finishes might have been double," says Harris. "Now the high-end contractor is only 20 to 30 percent more—and the greatest value, ironically, may be using that contractor who does absolutely perfect work for less than usual."

Some clients are slowing down the design-and-build process, asking their architects to spread the work over a longer period—say, 24 months rather than 12. That allows them to take stock of the economy and defer some of the costs. Other patrons are taking advantage of house designs that can be built in phases. Ken Crosson, an architect in Auckland, New Zealand, who has clients in Australia and the U.K. as well, has introduced phasing to a client building a beach house in Whangapoua, on the North Island of New Zealand. A small one-story glass-and-wood structure is finished, furnished and ready to be enjoyed; later, Crosson will add a second floor and an extension in the back. Similarly, Manhattan-based Toshiko Mori has designed an elaborate weekend house in upstate New York as a series of pavilions, each with its own function—living, cooking, exercise, media, guest house and so on. Yet the small living pavilion will be self-sufficient—it will include a simple kitchen—and could be built first.

Harris has approached phasing in a different way, in the redesign of vintage New York townhouses. If, after demolition and replacement of interior walls, windows and basic systems, the client feels pinched, Harris recommends stopping short of the desired finishes—for the moment. "It's better to put in a painted subfloor," he says, "than a second-rate finish that they don't want to live with forever."

Yet saving on the cost of materials and craftsmen is sometimes tough to achieve, especially in the places where the rich go to play. For a client with beachfront property on a small island in the Turks and Caicos, Stein avoided the ubiquitous and pretentious neocolonial style of the Caribbean in favor of an unobtrusive series of low-lying pavilions with gently curved roofs that "sit softly in the landscape," as he puts it. "The structures are humble and beautiful"—yet the remoteness of the island site meant materials and workers had to be imported. "Transportation is one reason why the costs are very expensive," he says. In a house he designed overlooking the coast in Cornwall, Stein was able to use locally sourced slate and timber—saving delivery costs and creating a house that nestles naturally into its dramatic setting.