Laundry Set Into the Wall

Almost everything in this house is white — flat plaster, glossy pale tile, downlights set flush into the ceiling, and a textured white tile above the counter. A structural column stands in the middle of the pantry area, and at the far end of the room the ceiling rakes down. Neither could be moved, so the woodwork had to go around the one and be cut to follow the other.

Ours in this house are the pantry run with its island, assembled in the room; the panelled wall with the washer and dryer set into it; a long dark-glass cabinet run in another room; and full-height cabinets that turn the corner. The stone worktop and the textured tile above it are another trade's work. The laundry recess was left to the machines the owner already had, and the top of the run is cut on the diagonal to follow the raking ceiling, so it finishes tight against it rather than stopping short to be filled in later.

What holds the rooms together is the way the boards line up. The panelling and the cabinet fronts are the same width and continue in one run, so the doors disappear into the wall and it takes a second look to find what opens. Every glazed door in the house is dark glass in the same frame, and no metal pull breaks the face of the teak anywhere. Rooms at opposite ends of the house still read as one hand.

The pantry and the laundry corner are where wood meets the most moisture in the house — steam off the cooking, splashes at the machines, and a drum spinning inside the wall itself. Flush fronts like these ask for timber that has stopped moving, because a millimetre shows immediately in the reveal between the doors. That is the work reclaimed teak is put to here, and as the years pass the colour deepens until those lines sit quieter against the wall than they did on the day they went in.