we are murmuur
which all began with 3 friends,
joined later by a staff of 7,
7 people woven from the finest cloth,
carved in the best piece of wood
with senses going beyond common boundaries
they can hear our dreams just like the big friendly giant
warm hearts replacing his big ears
and just as well…as we are not always speaking clearly
we hesitate and we retrace

we thought long and hard about our name
a ‘murmur’ is an onomatopoeia
several sounds can be imagined
a growl, a sigh, a rebellious muttering,…
in a murmur we hear a whisper or a rustle
not necessarily of the human kind nor lingual
like the sound of a forest,
or the sea under a boat
the way buildings would talk,
deeply and slowly and thoughtfully 
like old men, … not about things of the past,
but about things that are meaningful,
spanning time,
not shouted out loud, as they know better

what we hope they speak of 
is the thought with which they were made and imagined
inside and out
their maker’s concern for the world and its people
and their unwavering belief that cold drops can make a difference
on a hot plate 

on the outside
buildings cautiously made to fit in
it will stand here for 100 years after all
plans puzzled with precision between treasured trees
they’ve stood here for 100 years after all
enable plants to creep up the façades 
reach across roofs, as nature knows best,
materials that grow old gracefully and want to relieve their impact on the world,
with thoughtfull consideration of compactness and size, 
no bluffing nor puffing
and whether they will make people feel welcomed and at ease

what we hope you can hear
on the inside as well
is the respect that the maker holds for those who live there
you are what you eat 
you are what you inhabit

comfortable for sure, not too small, not too big,
airy and with pathways to escape,
room for storage, and cupboards and secrets
and stairs with steps running down fluent climbing up easy 
and the right amount of light and warm water in the bath tub
no nuisance of noise through thin walls

but not only that … the house holds you with its maker’s affection
embracing you as you enter with space and plan and movement

but in its details… the house touches its inhabitants with kindness
between the inside and the outside, windowsill and the reveal lean
good-naturedly on those who stand there
between upstairs and down, 
between awake and asleep,
the banister and the balustrade stretching out
like cats seeking to be stroked

in the everyday handling, in the handles of cupboards or drawers, the handle of a door
or a window 
the house reaches with its fingertips for the skin of those who live there
like carpenters wandering by in their workshops sliding their hands across the planks,
turning them into nobel good.
you are what you inhabit  
gestures made a thousand times, contact that disappears into the depths of the day, and yet is somehow still noticed.

pebbles have something in common with planks, they appeal to us, 
make us want to pick them up,
a polished pebble, we weigh it in one hand, throw it casually into the air,
hold onto it as long as we can in a trouser pocket, we check how it fits into the palm
of a hand 
wonderful colours, so many shapes…and thank heavens never perfect
some with worn corners, some bearing the curves from erosion
but mostly a combination of the two, or at least…those are the ones we picked up

the curved edge tending towards a geometric form and fitting into a medallion-shaped cutting and some regularity,
the angled edge can be caught hold of,
escaping capture within the planks.
this was the start of a study made on handles to be inlaid yet still present.
in the detail the maker impacts those living there
with the passion that is poured into his métier 

we hesitate and we retrace and we are by no means finished
sometimes there is more doubt than is pleasant,
and we are, like everybody, under pressure to get things done in time
but we still want to know whether they’ll make people feel welcomed and at ease