Singular Architecture is architecture aligned with Nature. Nature is holistic, and holistic environments are fabricated places within which we tell a story. Singular Architecture is an instrumental labyrinth of pathways and intersections. Walking through the labyrinth, the story told is one of resonating harmonic connection. When we breathe life into our architecture, our architecture will breathe life into us.

As intervention into artificial environments, it shapes places as medicinal tonics for culture. SA tectonics architecturally engage a continuum of energetic translation between people and place, from the microcosm within our bodies to the macroscope of spiritual space, shifting toward increasing potential energy.

--- Heather Hoeksema, Architect









































































































































































'Stair Cast'

/ Pre-Production Audio Story / Flash Light Book /



'Flash Light Second Edition / 'Stair Cast'

It was a remnant of an old lighthouse, patched and pieced back together over time. Neither tower nor temple, not anything majestic anymore, the spiraling stair cast within stood wrapped in ruins of stone. It had fallen victim to a fire soon after it was fabricated. One night it lit up like a candle, as feverish winds from the northwest blew fiery oil from its lamp, splashing across the wooden frame of astragal bracing turning it to flame. Still it stood tall. She could see the archaic structure from a distance. Her year of travels had gifted her navigation skills she had never before experienced, guiding her to places she never thought could exist. She had learned to sense a diamond in the rough from afar. She stood tall, gazing admiring something so timeless. She left her jeep on a back trail and started walking toward the ocean ridge.

The glass lantern on top shining in the open air oriented her pathway like it once had for the captains of ships. The lens inside curved concave capturing rays of light refracting and reflecting, amplifying the sense of imaginary brightness inside the octagon shaped glass of the lantern encapsulating it. Leaves in the trees brushed past her view frame. Birds flew across the horizon giving context to the scenery north and south. Yet her view of the lantern beaming in the sun light remained unobstructed. The stone enclosure had unfolded from the top, in random organizations, leaving exposure to the elements. Upon closer inspection, the spaces between slightly dissolving rubble of block revealed the staircase spiraling with confidence. Her back pack was heavy and legs tired by the time she arrived at the entrance. No one else was in sight. It was just her and this storical beacon, alone overlooking the sea.

The stone blocks which remained cast around the staircase had been forged from the cliffs. Glimpses of the timber frame supporting the cast of stone, from the inside out, became visible as she circumnavigated the lighthouse one time. Larger than life, the artifact of light must have been a hundred years old, with many lives recorded in the patchwork of mortar and paint. The entrance was one of the few elements still in complete tact. The grand wooden door, rounded across the top had been fitted in the archway with hand crafted precision. It was held together with thick iron straps bolted deep into the planks. Standing in its shadow stretching longer than the lighthouse was tall, she felt a comfortable chill. Her perspective view up the grand seemingly tapered body of the lighthouse resonated with infinite expansion. Up close, she could no longer see the lens at the top, only glass edges of the octagonal lantern containing it. Still, knowing the lens she had witnessed from a distance existed drew her through the doorway. She lifted the heavy metal cross latch of the door with both hands just enough to clear the notch, and pulled hard at the mass of timber. In a breath, she slipped through the opening as her feet found step.

The staircase was fabricated of blackened iron, splaying spiraling steps joined in the center with evenly spaced connections to an axial pole of metal too, pinning from the center point up through the stone surround and grounded in a solid foundation. The interior of the cast of this first floor was painted red, behind the wood frame, on the surface of stone which had originally been ground down and polished into continuity. Her hand touched the red paint. The first step was easy. Her boots had become supple from her travels. As she walked in them upward, they gripped the cagey screen infill of the staggering metal stairs spiraling. Step two, three then four, she engaged her surroundings with curiosity as she could begin to see the expanding curvilinear composition of material wrapping ‘round and ‘round upward.

Steps five, six, then seven gifted a momentum, as her curiosity was absorbed into the atmosphere. The eighth step was actually a landing. Flanked by a couple of windows placed opposite each other, the landing surface was wood clad atop the iron. The wood was warm from the sun coming through the open air window frames, glass long gone, and she unlaced her boots and removed her socks letting the skin across her feet soak in the warm heat.  She undraped her backpack from her shoulders with an inhale and sat down with an exhale, adjacent her soft backpack of artifacts that had become her best friend. She then began to observe the interior space atomically.

The rouge colored paint surface started at the ground plane and continued up the ground floor into the well lit landing, blending with the light entering, becoming a little gold in the mix with yellow sun.  She gazed across the wall, standing to inspect it closer. The paint started to fade half way up the window frame openings blurring to a horizon line above the height of her heart horizon. There were cracks and chips in the paint from water dripping down the lintels and resting in the seams between timber and rock. As she gave the red texture a closer look a butterfly caught her eye outside the east window opening. She stepped to look out the window frame completely. In the distance she saw a rabbit hopping across a field of grass.

Her eyes followed the tuft of white as it became invisible, down a hole toward the edge of the cliff side. She then turned toward her backpack, digging deep down then pulling out a hairpin. She unfolded the hairpin and pricked her left index finger. Blood drawn, she began to fill in the cracked paint with meticulous manner. Her fingerprints then brushed the eroding mineral walls, blending her own molecular medium with the fading paint. For a time, she circled the space leaning across the railing and standing on tip toes, until the horizon line of red across the windows was crisp and voids in the red paint no longer existed. Manhandling her backpack and boots, she continued vertically toward the ocular lens in the sky.

Two steps three, four, five to six. Then stepping seven, the stairs seemed to be getting closer together. The radius of the stair case physically titrated inward, ever so slightly with elevation from gravity, matching the perceptual foreshortening of the outside of the light house. The second landing was similar to the first, two windows face to face. An air space was growing between the edge of steps and interior stone surface cast surround as the circles of stairs became smaller. She stepped up to the wood planks on this second landing. Back pack then unloaded in the corner, the view out the two windows was painted with more sky as the horizon line declined ever so slightly in her view frame. These walls were painted white with faint colors of reddish stone showing through, gifting an orange hue. The twist of the stair case cast continued spiraling. The paint had faded around the lintels of the framed openings now facing north and south. In the distance, the white rabbit propped its head out of the hole.

Reaching into her pack, she dug deep and found seeds she had saved from her fruitful meals days prior. She placed the seeds on the sills of each window. As a draft blew through the sliver of the open door below and up the shaft spaces around the stairs, the seeds floated from their resting place and landed in the grass down below. In the distance some lingering clouds parted reflecting a sun lit glow across the surface of the sea. She tied the laces of her boots around her backpack straps, lifting the weight of the pack through each arm onto her shoulders... and continued her walk up the stairs.

Breath upon breath, she arrived at the third landing. The sun was shining brighter reflecting throughout the interiors of the lightened house. The windows had shifted location again, rotating along with the cast iron stair another complete ninety degrees. They now faced east and west. Through the framed stone openings, she could see the golden fields in the distance. The fall rain would soon refresh the fields, inbetween the continuous sun light within this equatorial climate. The golden fields would turn green.

In the distance, the white rabbit was hopping hither and there, and jumped south into the invisible pathways of soil. Digging down into her pack, she extracted a handful of sand. With these grains, she painted a figure eight on the wooden planks in front of each window. Her feet had grown tired from her journeys. As she gazed out the window to the east, she began to dance. The grains of sand luffed the dead skin from her heels as it threaded between her ten toes dancing. The sun shined brighter. She turned toward the westerly window, still sifting in the sand. Then propping herself up onto the sill of this window opening she gazed at the horizon. It had declined further in her gaze, shifting with saturation as the line across the sea blended with the edge of the cliff.

Steadying her frame of mind, as she balanced in the window frame opening, she then jumped down to the wooden planks. She gathered the grains of sand placing them back into her pack. Lifting her bag of artifacts with renewed energy, she continued up the spiraling stairs. One step two, three, four. As the radius of the stairs decreased she stepped closer to the structural axis extending through the center. Four, three, two, one she reached the landing. She took a deep breath fueling the depths of her cellular composition with fresh oxygen. The steps had become narrow and shallow and the depth of oxygen resonating all the way down through her feet compensated for the tension resulting from the tenuous stepping up the cast stair case spiraling. She gazed out the next pair of windows, facing face to face again, this time to the north and south.

To the north the blue water was a hue of light crystal ice. To the south, the golden fields shaped waves as the wind feathered through them. Letting go of her baggage placing it carefully in the corner the girl grasped the iron axial pole stretching through the center of the stair, with both hands. Spinning in a circle, the ocean water to the north began to blur with the fields to the south. Dizzy with light, she fumbled naturally drunk to the corner and sat with her backpack and boots. Staring up the light house interior she realized she had a ways to go. She inspected her feet, grains of sand still locked under her toenails. As she looked up from her own personal sphere, she saw the white rabbit through the south window opening running across the field. She reached in her pack and pulled out her butterfly knife.

The stacked stone encasing the stairs had grown thick with vine, and the consistent sun reaching the fourth landing had generated a thickness in the green vine capturing a harsh heat well insulated. Heat was rising. The girl was tired, starting to sweat from the weight of her baggage, and the heat of this late summer sun radiating from the layer of natural growth. She took a stand, breathing deeply. Knife in hand, she began chopping at the vine with steady meditative strokes. Square foot by foot she exposed the artifactual nature of the stone wall, paint and wood and all. One branch at a time she reduced the snaking growth down to bits and pieces tossing them out the window openings. The timber structure had eroded under the vine, needing room to breathe. The heat began to lift even more from this fourth landing. The leafy branches fell floors down to the ground through the window openings landing amongst the seeds which had already began to sprout. A gust of wind brushed the golden fields in the distance. Two dogs barked from the south, canines the girl had yet to see. She took this as a sign to keep moving. She put her knife in her right boot dangling by laces from her pack, and ventured to landing five.

Step by step with acute awareness, she walked the ladder of stairs. Eight, seven, six and so on she stepped.... 'til she reached the one step onto the landing. Looking back through the north facing window below, the cyan horizon was a glow of ribbons of pulsing waves as the sun brightened across the line where the ocean met the sky, waves beginning to rise. The stair case had begun to expand a shy before reaching landing five. Its narrowing radius below had made the steps unmanageable. The surroundings of the fifth level were a vision. The previous light house keeper had clad the walls with old wood like the planks stretching across the landing floor and up the walls. The fifth floor was multi-dimensional, a maze of sorts. The girl had relied upon her contrarian gravitational instinct to foster the energy to climb through the light house interior spiraling, which now also assisted her in navigating around this multi-dimensional fifth floor maze.

As the floors matched the walls around her, she assessed the situation. The view of the horizon had declined even further through the window frames, as the distance between her self and the ground plain had vertically increased. The windows now faced east and west, another ninety degree turn taken. Still the sun shone through the framed opening. She threw her back pack in the corner. She then began inspecting every nail holding the clad wood surfacing to the interior face of the stone surround inside the fifth floor landing space. The timber framing and iron edging was still visible. The girl was tired, but there was work to be done.

It was almost high noon. She was hungry from the climb having used up most of her protein stores painting the first floor walls smooth. In a side pocket of her backpack she had carefully wrapped in salt, some left over fish and an apple. The apple was overly ripe, so she threw it out the east facing window. Yet the fish had been well preserved for eating. She gnawed at the neck and worked her way down to the tail. She'd already torn away the skin during her last meal. It was her fish, caught with care days prior with a hand made fly rod, in a ritualistic way. She could do whatever she wanted with it. She had learned from the verses of her travels about fish. She had learned that when the fish are no longer healthy enough to sustain life, that the beginning of the end is near. She looked up to the fish. She thought about fish and butterflies.

As her meal came to an end, she threw the bones out the west window opening where the sun would soon begin to dissipate across stone blocks. The bones met the ground where the minerals would later help the vine grow. Then with renewed energy she began her work. She grabbed her hammer from her pack, and began to pull at the nails embedded in the antiquated wood covering the stair case cast. She ripped nail by nail from the surface. Gripping the hammer with fortitude she pried the wood planks from the walls neatly stacking each piece atop the other one in the center of the landing. As the stone became more and more exposed, the sun shined brighter. Phase one came to completion. She navigated the circumference of the surround once again.

The paint had dissolved behind the wood from the moisture of the rain, entering the exposed fifth window openings. Much of the wood had rotted, but a healthy handful of salvageable planks remained. With these, she began to reshape the fifth floor... to make sense of it all. Beginning with the window frames, she shaped the openings specifically through the inside edges accenting the views from the inside out. Out the east window, she saw the white rabbit jump in and out of ground plain. As she finished the eighth edge of the second window, she reassessed the space. From the view point of the center axis, she looked to the east then west. In a desire to expand her perspective, she fabricated a sequence of free standing frames inside to out sequentially growing in scale. The sun began to reach past high noon, shade accenting the east window frame now to her left. A crisp line of laser light began to radiate around the west window opening. Task complete, she packed up her things. With her baggage, she adventured to the sixth landing.

Sensing the lens atop the light house propelled her steps upward. Five, six, seven, eight her bare feet met the sixth landing. Dragging her baggage to the corner she took a rest. As soft indigo light traced into the north window frame, she reached for a crystal sphere which had been gifted to her by an elderly woman. Nestled amongst her sweaters folded neatly, her hands found its smooth surface. She lifted it from the dark into the light. Holding it high as she stood in front of the north window, the sun bent through the spherical shape diffracting a rainbow of color across the planks of the landing. Through this lens, the horizon expanded with depth in many colors. She could see the holographic horizon in a panorama resonating in cyan still.

Waves crashed against the rocks of the cliff, as a swell began to take shape across the water. Clouds shape shifted in the distance. Then a double rainbow appeared where sun light penetrated the cloud cover. She blinked once and then twice, then the rainbow disappeared. She turned with the ball in hand and walked toward the window facing to the east. Out of the corner of her eye the rabbit ran across the edge of the cliff. She heard the dogs barking in turns. She sat with crossed legs in front of the window, setting the crystal clear shape upon the stone sill. A humming bird appeared, hovering on the other side of the globe. She gazed closer into the crystal, as the cyan horizon expanded a shy above the center of it. She saw dolphins jumping in and out of the water in the distance. The golden fields still resonating, an elephant drank from a pond and exhaled a shower of fresh conducting water across its body vibrating invisibly. She shifted and lay on her back as she pondered the views, looking up through the center of the light house. She then caught a glimpse of the lens at the top, through the exposed astragal bracing that had once supported the lightened dome which had caught each weary eye of ship captains navigating home.

The clouds began to thicken. Taking a dizzy stand, she gathered her senses. A couple more flights and she would be at the top. With a deep breath in, she gathered her things and continued to climb. Reaching the seventh landing, she simultaneously reached into her backpack. The girl found petals of heath gathered from a field only days before. She examined the petals, some willowing and some still fresh. She placed them all in the corner of the west facing window frame sill. Digging further down, she found her canteen of water. Unscrewing the top, she watered the petals as if they were a delicacy. As the water trickled from the flowers down the walls of the stone casting the light house, hue of violet turning light expanded in the distance as the sun began to decline. The clouds thickened even more. The petals lifted from the ledge of the west window floating swirling down around the light house like a spring, landing amongst the vine and seed enticing the seeds to sprout even more. The wind caught the petals resting in the east window lifting them upwards in a natural vacuum. Inwards and upwards, the flowers swirled through the roof top opening. She followed.

One, two, three, four... lift in time with the silver floor. The stair case expanded as she stepped, meeting the stone walls of the stair cast as they had in the beginning surround of floor one. With rhythmic frequency she worked her way from the forces of gravity getting stronger as the distance from the ground of golden fields grew. As she followed the petals, the petals followed her. She stepped in a colorful field of violet turning white, as the clouds continued to thicken. Her lift through the vertical threshold between the seventh and eighth floors of the light house was... well, enlightening naturally. She caught the same draft of the wind as had the flowers blending with the atomic resonance of the atmosphere. She looked through the ocular opening up to the eighth level as she continued to step.

Five, six, seven, eight... you're almost there, at the gate. She could see the lens in full bloom now, the sun light peaking through the clouds refracting through its curved surface. The astragal bracing continuing around the spiral stair case was the only thing left holding it in place, suspended in the light. The one axis became two axes connecting the bracing, resonating with gyroscopic frequencies. Her head reached through the eighth landing opening and she could see the perimeter of the sky all around resonating too. The swell in the distance was expanding almost exponentially over the sea waters as the sun slipped through intermittent openings.

Stepping onto landing eight, the planks shook. Exposure to the sun and rain over the years had weakened their tread and skewed the shaping through the grain patterning. So she tread lightly, leaning her backpack against the polar axes extending through the center point of the now exposed spiraling stair cast. She circumnavigated the perimeter, without railing nor fear. From the perimeter she could see a complete view of her surroundings. Circling and circling physically and perceptually simultaneously she recorded the circumference in her molecular fabric, then stood still in the center next to her baggage recording the sounding vibrations. Waves crashing, birds flying, the reeds and bows of the golden fields below shifting across each other resonating everything came together in one atmosphere. She heard the two dogs bark almost five times. The violet flowers twisting becoming colorless, turned into invisible butterflies taking flight into the storm. Sounding silencing sounding with their wings unfolding infolding unfolding, they flew in a field across the sky.

She visually accessed the ground plain, recording her view meticulously. All the colors becoming only a background she saw the white rabbit in the distance. Hopping hither and there, the rabbit was care free. It tested the edge of the cliff side without thought. It dodged snakes hiding in the grass, unrecognizing of their ability to bring endings. It lost itself down dirt holes, resurfacing only to continue its quest into nowhere. The girl felt empathy for the rabbit, while simultaneously envious of its care free nature. Still, her pack was emptied and there was no food left. So instead of reaching inside, she began untying the leather straps lacing her bow and arrow to the outside, these ribbons having held it justly in place during her travels. Last one unlaced, she calibrated her hunting instrument and snatched a feather ended arrow from the side pocket.

Circumnavigating the top floor again, she traced the movement of the rabbit precisely. Its white fur left a staggered halo behind each of its hops. She watched its movement methodically as ritualistic meditation as the soft bundle failed to recognize it was even recognized at all. Circling with her steps the girl circled the ground cover it covered in random memory paths, as she gambled with the leather grip of her bow. Then the rabbit found a patch of green amongst the golden fields, and stopped to eat.

The girl waited, feeling like a slow kill was an unfair kill. She let the rabbit experience its last bit of satisfaction as she gaged the distance of the space between hunter and hunted. As the rabbit worked away at the fresh patch of green, its hesitation to run suggested it began to sense it was in fact not alone. The girl took one step forward and the wooden planks creaked. The tuft of white looked up with ears back, and then up further as it sensed the girl at the top of the light house. Its ears then perked high.

She raised her bow and balanced her arrow adjusted in precise angling relative to the barometric horizon. Almost face to face with her next meal, she lifted her head into the vertical of the sky in a thank you to nature. Eyes wide open she had no need to blink as the drying wind had taken ownership the insides of her iris... still she had taken ownership of the wind, from the inside out. The wooden planks creaked again. Although she wanted the rabbit to run, it didn't. It stood enveloped in stillness, as if it knew its time had come. Then it looked up even higher than before. She was now face to face with her kill, invited as such. She pondered, she calibrated her bow some more. She retracted the arrow left handed. Then she let go.

She nailed the rabbit right between the eyes. White turned red. Green turned red. She set her bow down and continued climbing. The free floating last twirl of stairs lingered amongst the astral bracing, awaiting her bare foot steps. She placed her bow on the planks. Her steps were light. She had left her baggage behind. The steps radiated from the metal axes in the center, without railings. But that didn't matter. Her balance was amplified after her fresh kill, and her steps were firm. She reached the top of the light house. The curved lens lifted high, and now she was eye to eye with its refracting glass. As she looked through it, the returning sun light cast her shadow down the stair case and over the edge of the light house surround. Through the lens, she saw children laughing. She saw fresh water flowing through rivers untainted. She saw fields of abundance tended to with care, flowering fruit everywhere. She walked to the north edge of this landing, storm having taken shape completely now over the sea. She lifted her hands high and felt the day's last bit of sun sink into her skin... and the angels stopped dancing. The angels stopped dancing.