This project documents the construction of a small shelter built by hand over the course of a single summer, in a clearing at the edge of a wood. Working without formal plans, I allowed the structure to emerge through a slow conversation with the materials at hand — fallen timber, salvaged boards, stone gathered from a nearby field, lengths of rope, sheets of weathered canvas. The title borrows from a series of nineteenth-century studies in colour and form, and proposes that building, too, is a kind of harmony: a tuning of parts to one another and to the place that holds them.

The shelter is modest. It has a single room, a low doorway, a roof that admits a little rain. It was not designed for permanence. What interested me was the process itself — the daily return to the site, the gradual learning of what each material wanted to do, the rhythm of cutting, lifting, fitting, and adjusting. I kept a notebook throughout, sketching joints and recording the weather. I photographed the structure each evening before leaving.