Steven Harris and Lucien Rees Roberts

The 15th-century stone compound has substantial masonry construction and generous proportions, but the rooms are human-scaled — a 1,500-square-foot shell with modest ceiling heights, not palatial volumes.

Exposed rough-cut stone walls, ancient timber ceiling beams, terracotta roof tiles, handmade Tuscan terra-cotta floor tiles, linen textiles, and Mediterranean plantings of rosemary and lavender create an entirely tactile, natural material palette.

The interiors are remarkably spare — the living room holds a single suspended fireplace, two chairs, and little else; the bedroom is just a bed against stone walls; the strategy was deliberate restraint to let the ancient shell speak.

The 15th-century stone structure was preserved with its original walls, ceiling timbers, and carved stone sink intact, with the deliberate introduction of Modernist furniture (Pierre Paulin Ribbon chair, Jorge Zalszupin rosewood armchairs) as a conscious contrast rather than an anachronism.

The building itself carries genuine 500-year-old patina — original stone walls, weathered timber, the carved stone sink — and the article notes they purposely cultivated a sense of authenticity, stripping paneling back to expose original surfaces rather than refinishing them.

This is a personal retreat on a remote Dalmatian island reached by 156 hand-carried steps with no road access — the article describes it as a place born from seeking solitude, with a small 1,500-square-foot interior designed for the couple, not entertaining.

Despite the pedigreed Modernist furniture, the worn stone floors, outdoor dining terrace with simple folding chairs, and open French doors to the garden create a relaxed Mediterranean informality where you'd walk barefoot.

Two prominent New York design professionals (an architect and an interior/landscape designer) carefully selected pedigreed Modernist pieces — Paulin's Ribbon chair, Zalszupin's Brazilian rosewood armchairs — as deliberate sculptural counterpoints to the ancient shell, a highly composed editorial strategy.

The designer furniture is recognizable to insiders but the overall gesture is one of restraint and understatement — wealth expressed through what was removed rather than what was added, on a remote island with no audience to perform for.