The tiny house movement is an answer to a spatio/economic conundrum. How much physical, livable space does a human really need? Is the exorbitant cost of living in urban areas justified by access to high wages and access to culture, mass transit and other urban commodities. These are subjective questions but a growing number of people choose to reduce their footprint with the aim of escaping the often harrowing debt urban living incurs. All philosophical and metaphysical concerns aside, the purely physical, three-dimensional question of the smallest living space that simultaneously meets all the highest and lowest needs of a human being is what interests me. A contortionist could theoretically claim that the smallest possible livable space would be a cube 3 feet across. One could also make the case for vast spaces and high ceilings as the absolute minimum for true civilized beings. As it’s often been demonstrated in studies, the space, the ceiling height, the shapes and colors, levels of natural light, and the ambient sound are incredibly important for the human psyche, especially in the early stages of development. Small spaces, although freeing from an economic perspective, risk inhibiting the inhabitant’s true potential. How many low ceilings are to blame for children’s limited imagination and ambition. It’s not a ridiculous question.
With all these considerations, the question remains: what is the smallest livable space a human needs? Evidently there are as many answers to this question as there are humans on Earth. Therefore, to even come close to answering this question, it becomes clear that the small dwelling must have a high capacity for adaptation. Human-centric design. It must tick a great number of boxes, and ironically break free from the box. If the 1970’s answer to housing everyone at the lowest cost possible were block-houses stacking people in boxes on top of each other with little concern for needs other then the first step in Maslow’s pyramid, the purely physiological needs. Today, large windows bringing in copious amounts of natural light, big volumes, good acoustics, sustainable materials with low VOC and proper ergonomics are imperatives. Furthermore, the current brand of minimalism in modern architecture is reaching it’s limits. True minimalism in architecture is what a haiku is to a poem, it is a purification that aims to keep the essence of the project. It is a counterpoint to the overly ornate architecture of the 19th century. But somewhere along the process, the exercise has lost its meaning, removing the substance rather then the excess.
“Minimalism is about intentionality, not deprivation”
Dejan Stojanovic
The younger generation seeks authenticity beyond simplicity. They seek a sense of adventure in design, even a sense of playfulness. In addition to these shifting priorities the very definition of what constitutes a living space is evolving. Should the dwelling provide water and heat only? Or should it also be able to provide food. Should it’s surfaces harness nature, such as rainwater and solar energy. Should it be able to store energy. Should it have a certain amount of intelligence embedded. Sensors and systems maintaining homeostasis without requiring daily input are the new frontier.