Matt's silo
Tuesday, October 9, 2012 at 12:25PM 
freshly completed copper cladding, fall 2011
When I was 36 years old, I relocated from Seattle to Charlottesville, Virginia where I intended to finish my masters degree in architecture. I decided to take a year to work in the field, building houses. I felt very strongly that every architect should. I was hired by a small elite firm whose owners were impressed that I wanted the experience, not to mention the fact that I had decent skills and was willing to work for a low starting wage. They put me with a field project manager named Matt Dwyer, a demanding perfectionist three years my junior, who had left a promising academic career to be a builder. Unlike many project managers, Matt wore his tool belt all day every day, and used it, outperforming almost every worker on his crews. He was tough, moody, extreme, had a twisted sense of humor and immediately earned my respect. We worked together for a memorable year, I learned things my never to be completed masters program would not have taught me, and we became the best of friends. After I left Charlottesville and unexpectedly became the father of twin girls and a son, we stayed in touch, but our friendship was rooted in working together, and we both missed that element.
So in 2007, Matt and my architecture school buddy Ken Thacker, who by then was a senior partner with Charlottesville based VMDO Architects, decided that we would begin a rotation of annual visits to work on each other’s houses, drink beer, eat good food, and behave as coarsely as we pleased. It began on a wintry weekend at Matt’s place in the quiet countryside of Nelson county, Virginia, tearing down a decrepit wing of his and Jane’s old Cape Cod style home. We burned the refuse in a giant bonfire in the big open field in front of the house, and acted like teenagers. Played loud music and sang along. We had a blast.
matt and ken tearing it down
scott, ken, matt. the destroyers. 2007
On a subsequent visit, brainstorming over what to replace it with, one of us suggested an attached tower, which morphed into a cylindrical form, inspired by farm silos. Matt, a fanatically thorough planner, stewed over it for two years. The structural challenges were formidable, given that the silo would have to hold up multi-directional loads at the disrupted gable end of the house, not to mention one existing and one planned staircase. It was a dangerous undertaking, complicated by the fact that Matt, like the superhero Mr. Incredible, works alone. But after sharing his sense of overwhelmed terror with Ken and me during a rock wall building weekend at my house in August of 2010, Matt went home and got started. For the next year and more, it became his obsession.
beefy, complex framing that carries multiple loads, holding up the end of the house
From time to time, Ken or I gave bits of design input. I got to work with Matt a couple of weekends during the project, a privilege I’d earned by being a diligent student in our earlier days of master and apprentice. I was fortunate to be involved in some of the tricky framing, and later helped install the windows.
matt and scott, feeling triumphant
Matt always worked to utter exhaustion, and I returned from those sessions wrung out but energized. He had a huge all night party last October that I missed, but this past weekend I finally got down there to see the occupied and mostly finished addition.
The approach to Matt and Jane’s house is a gravel lane that winds a mile through the woods to open onto a grassy hilltop with a lovely view across the James River. A cluster of small buildings, it nestles against the quiet trees, visually pinned to its site by the silo, which is clad in copper that Matt cut and beat by hand into interlocking shingles. It is at once a modest and stunningly beautiful property. I pulled up in the late afternoon light, shut off my old Saab, and Matt met me with a bear hug as I got out. I handed him one of the two cold six packs I’d picked up at the Howardsville General Store a couple of miles back. We lit up our respective cigarette and pipe, and walked through the gate up to the house.
It is difficult to describe how the space has changed. The silo does not add a lot of floor space – it’s only twelve feet in diameter on two stories, and nearly half of it is inside the original footprint of the house. The portion on the ground floor, opening onto the kitchen, is only big enough for two easy chairs and a small cast iron gas heater, but it opens the room onto views that were previously invisible, drawing the space out and washing it back in like a sighing wave. Everything is assymetrical – its placement on the gable end, the windows, the orientation of the stairs to the second floor – but it is both balanced and full of movement and rhythm. The effect is marvelously without ostentation. Access to the second story of the silo is via the old staircase, through a bedroom and up a curving flight of stairs. Matt’s electric piano sits against a half wall, with a tall, narrow window looking out at the field and river beyond. A vertical ladder ascends to a large pivoting skylight, allowing access to the roofop, which is like a crows nest behind the half height circular parapet. The views from the top are spectacular.
stairs from the second floor bedroom up to the music studio and rooftop lookout
A few beers later, Ken arrived just before dark with his 11 year old son, who had to sit through profanity peppered conversations on art and ideas, albeit over a delicious dinner in the detached screened pavilion. When we all got tired, they headed back up to Crozet and I went up to bed, needing to head home by mid morning to finish a project promised for Monday.
Sunday morning after coffee, Matt had me sit on a little futon in the music studio portion of the silo, and cued up a favorite old Tom Waits song. The acoustics of the small space are extraordinarily good. Afterwards, I listened as he played a melody he’d composed on the keyboards – Matt is a self taught pianist, knows his way around the frets of a guitar, and is quite a good saxophone player. It’s a real pleasure to hear him make music. Afterwards, I walked around in the chilly drizzle and took a few photos. None of my shots really convey the magic of the place.
Too soon it was time for me to head back north. Matt recommended a route that would make it a longer trip, but would take me past some of the silos that inspired him while he was conceiving his project. Over the next several hours, I stopped and did a couple of sketches that are not good enough to share, but I took a few photos that will have to do until I can make the time to retrace my route. Which, I hope, I’ll do again before long. Both for the barns and silos I want to draw, and for the camaraderie of Matt and Jane in their wonderful corner of paradise.
terra cotta tile silo in northern Virginia; one of the inspirations for Matt's silo
Reader Comments (1)
This is a fantastic post - one of your very best. Great photos and a great story. Thanks!