The Yurt

Obsessions

The yurt visitor does not knock on the door: she is always welcome; the yurt visitor does not step on the threshold: to do that is to tread on the neck of the host; and the yurt visitor asks four questions-to which the answer is always 'yes'. I fell in love and became obsessed with yurts on my fiftieth birthday this year. Always drawn to tents, discovering yurts was a moment of pure recognition.

Descended from generations often in flight, two of my biggest interests - land and nomadic structures - finally found co-existence and clarity. I believe my yurt to be the nearest yurt in the world to an underground transport system. I wake to the sound of squirrels curiously eyeing the smoke curling from the wood stove chimney, glance at the ancient oak tree through the foor foot perspex roof dome and in twenty five minutes stand in Leicester Square. 

Yurts are one of the oldest housing structures in the world: the shape echoes the silhouette of the ancient mound at Silbury, the domes of sacred temples, the ice houses of the Arctic north. Yurts stay upright in storms, yet can be moved to the courtyard of Eden Grove in an hour. They can be seductive bedroom, meeting place, thinking place and eating space. My yurt can transform itself into an ancient dining hall, or a modern restaurant. We can serve a family, wine a board meeting and dine a pair of illict lovers. For each, we can transform the decor as a magician by sleight of hand. And in the morning, the yurt can disappear, so the courtyard can re-function as car park, or garden or simply the entrance to our office. (KK)