Stealth modernism

RALEIGH -- One important tenet of modernism, never quite fulfilled, was to make good design affordable.

When Jeremy and Donna Ficca moved from Boston to Raleigh, they looked at buying land inside the Beltline. Donna is a licensed Massachusetts architect and Jeremy had accepted a teaching position in the School of Architecture at N.C. State University. Having lived in an urban environment, they wanted to live as close to downtown Raleigh as possible. Unfortunately, land costs inside the Beltline meant that building their own modernist dream home from the ground up didn't fit their budget.

For the Ficcas, modernism on a budget means stealth modernism. Drive down Frank Street, west of Mordecai and north of Oakwood, and you'll see rows of Craftsman bungalows, a type of house common in Raleigh since the 1920s. One of these bungalows hides a modernist interior.

"Working here, in a neighborhood that's not historically sanctioned such as Oakwood [is], we had more flexibility to tweak the house. If you were to drive by, you'd never know what was on the inside of this house," said Ficca.

The house, built in 1935, had been carved into a rental duplex. The Ficcas were able to stay close to their renovation budget of $23,000 thanks to Jeremy's father, Frank, a contractor in the Greensboro area. With the exception of some electrical, heating and air conditioning, and plumbing work, the Ficcas and Jeremy's father did all of the renovation themselves, working on weekends while the Ficcas lived in a rented apartment.

In converting the duplex back to a single-family home, they gutted the interior. "One interest we had was trying to open it up and bring more light into the house, to try to cater more toward the type of lifestyle we are interested in -- less division between fixed spaces, more loftlike or studiolike."

The home now has an open feel, but it also harks back to the house's original style. The office and bedrooms are separated from the living room and kitchen not by traditional walls, but by a line of built-in cabinets and shelves.

"We tried to tap into the tradition of the Craftsman bungalow and the built-in. With this style of house from the '20s and '30s, being very small, the role of the built-in as a piece of furniture was important," Ficca said.

Constructed of Finnish and Baltic plywood, the built-ins are sturdy and elegant, yet relatively inexpensive. They hold everything from architecture books to the couple's 2-year-old daughter's toys.

The built-ins separate the private and public spaces of the house, although not completely: Between the master bedroom and the kitchen is a "porthole."

In deciding where rooms should be, the Ficcas paid attention to natural light sources.

Said Jeremy Ficca: "It made sense for us to put the bedrooms and bathroom on the eastern side, so in the morning you get good natural light. Then we put the public spaces on the western side of the house where they get afternoon light."

Even though the Ficcas enjoy the challenge of living in a smaller space, they recognize that they might one day outgrow this house. "We also tried to address issues of marketability: How can we resell a house like this?," Jeremy Ficca said. "For many people I'm sure that it's quite stark and bold, but we tried to be reserved, to make something that would appeal to an audience broader than just ourselves. When the time comes to resell it, [the design] won't be as much of an issue."

"A lot of people come in and go 'wow' at how sparse it is. We lived in very small apartments in the Boston area and one of the things we feel strongly about is the ability to be able to live in compact spaces. Having lived in a city, you realize you can actually get away with living in small spaces.

"It doesn't have to be oppressive. It can actually force you to reconsider what you collect and what it represents. It's about having fewer things and valuing them more; allowing the space itself to be the foreground rather than just the background that is filled with lots of things."