Paros gives you two things in excess: light and wind. This villa sits on the cliff edge above the Aegean, white volumes stacked against the sea, and the brief reached us in one line — keep the daylight honest, and let the night stay as quiet as the stone. Nothing in the house was meant to announce itself.

Light held close to the wall

By day the rooms carry almost no fixtures. After dusk we stayed low and horizontal: Ledram discs pressed flat to the plaster, each throwing a soft round halo that you see first as a shape on the wall and only later as a lamp. Along the stairwell and the corridor, Golden Lights do the same work in brass, their warm metal catching what is left of the sun on the stone.

The living room and the terrace asked for more body. Wireform spheres took that on — Sunray on the low tables, a Sunray chandelier hung over the dining table — holding their light inside hand-woven aluminium, so the glow arrives filtered and patterned, shifting a little when the sea air moves through the weave. Outside, where the wind never quite stops, a Wanderer stands on its iron stem at the edge of the terrace and gives the garden its only light. In the bedrooms Stella Moon keeps to a low crescent: enough to read by, little more.

Bright all day, dim all night. That is the whole of the plan.