The house had been finished for a year when we were called in. Stone, timber, a long garden running behind it — all of it at ease by day, all of it gone by nine in the evening. The owners asked for no chandeliers and no row of downlights. They wanted the rooms to keep the weight they carried in daylight, and the garden to stay part of the house after dark.

Inside: gold, low and off-axis

We worked with the Golden Lights for the interiors. A Moonrise sits on the ceiling of the main room, its leaf-lined face turned away, so the light travels up and comes back as a wash instead of a source. Beside the stair a Moonlit W holds a small circle of warmth on the wall, at the height of a passing shoulder. Over the dining table the Nacre pendants hang low in copper and gold, keeping a tight pool of warm light on the wood and leaving the corners of the room in shadow. Nothing in the house shines at you.

Outside, the PostCrissi pieces do the opposite work. Their shades are hand-pleated fibreglass, never quite regular, so what comes through is fringed and faintly moving — ribbed shadows on the garden wall that shift when the planting shifts. We set them along the path and at the terrace steps, low and spaced far apart. Enough to walk by. The rest of the garden keeps its depth, and the far boundary stays unreadable, which is what makes the ground feel large.

Two families of light: one for the rooms, one for the earth outside. Both hand-finished, both warm. After dusk the house settles rather than switches off. That was the whole brief.