Pirajean Lees’ Formentera retreat is designed for barefoot living

Designers Clémence Pirajean and James Lees had been visiting Formentera for 20 years before deciding to put down roots. Accessible only by boat from neighbouring Ibiza, the smallest and most southerly of Spain’s Balearic Islands is loved for its crystal-clear waters and peaceful, unhurried pace of life. Property on the tiny island is scarce, so when the opportunity arose two years ago to buy a family home there, the couple jumped at it.

Set between a protected natural park and a sleepy residential area, the house’s interlocking volumes rise from the surrounding greenery. The architecture offers a modernist interpretation of the traditional Spanish finca, with terracotta roof tiles, exposed timber beams and shaded pergolas.

Originally built in the 1960s, the house had served first as a family holiday home and later as a low-cost rental. Although in need of some care, its bones were good: the rooms were generously proportioned, the structure was sound and there was remarkably little damage from the island’s notoriously aggressive salt air and strong winds.

‘The first thing we did when we got the keys was sit in the house, in each empty room,’ recalls Pirajean. ‘There was almost nothing there, just a couple of chairs, but we wanted to experience the volumes and spaces before deciding anything; to imagine ourselves within them. In a way, it’s easier when it’s your own house, because you already know how you live, who might come to stay and how the family moves through a space day to day. That instinct – understanding a space through inhabiting it before imposing anything upon it – is actually at the heart of how we approach every project.'

Since founding Pirajean Lees in 2017, the couple have become known for creating atmospheric hospitality interiors, including a recent redesign of one of Hong Kong's most iconic nightclubs and a Japanese restaurant at the top of the revamped Old War Office building on Whitehall. Describing themselves as ‘narrative designers’, they begin each project with extensive research, constructing a story that grows from the history, character and context of a place.

‘That narrative is what anchors the design,’ explains Lees. ‘It means we’re not following trends; we’re creating something specific enough to a place and a story that it can withstand the test of time. And, in a strange way, once the narrative is in place, we’re not really the designers any more.’

A Formentera retreat shaped by its environment

In Formentera, that investigation led them to the sabina tree, a sculptural, salt-resistant species native to the Balearics, whose wind-twisted trunks seemed to embody the spirit of the house: shaped by its environment, resistant to outside forces and deeply rooted in place. This idea of something natural and evolving in response to its surroundings informed every decision, from the reclaimed local dry stone and sabina timber used in the architecture to the oak joinery and bespoke furniture made by artisans with whom the studio has worked for many years.

The project became an exercise in repairing what had been neglected rather than pursuing a wholesale transformation – an approach also shaped by the island’s strict planning laws, which the couple embraced as a creative prompt rather than a limitation.

The most significant intervention was the reorganisation of the ground floor. Previously divided into three disconnected rooms, the kitchen, living room and dining room were opened up to create a sequence of interconnected spaces and a continuous circuit through the ground floor.

The vaulted kitchen ceiling was retained, the fireplaces reopened and restored, and the original dark floor tiles replaced with hand-polished concrete punctuated by terracotta inserts. Corridors were reduced to make room for an en suite bathroom for every bedroom, while narrow doorways were softened into arches that now recur throughout the house.

The palette is deliberately quiet, allowing the vivid blue sky and surrounding greenery to take precedence. Natural materials and local craftsmanship form the backdrop, with colour introduced sparingly through furniture, textiles and objects.

In the long, narrow living room, a curved sofa designed by the studio specifically for the space creates a focal point that feels intimate with two people yet generous enough for a crowd. Upholstered in a golden yellow hue, it provides one of the house’s strongest notes of colour and is Pirajean's favourite spot. An adze-carved oak sideboard in the dining room offers a more tactile counterpoint; both designs have since joined the studio’s Editions collection of artisan-made furniture.

A summer house designed for togetherness

Pirajean and Lees’ experience of hospitality design is equally evident in the way the house accommodates groups. Its spaces had to work for a large, multigenerational family, whether occupied by two people or 12. The kitchen forms its social heart, flowing into the living and dining rooms, while outside, a dining terrace, pool lounge and shaded patio provide different settings in which to gather. These communal areas are balanced by quieter corners, inside and out, where family members can retreat.

Designer and client

Yet behind the apparent ease of the finished house, the designers confess that applying their established process to their own home was more complicated than anticipated. ‘Being objective about something this personal is much harder than it sounds,’ admits Pirajean. ‘When it’s a client, we start by analysing the brief, researching the location and building the narrative from the outside in. We tried to hold ourselves to the same process here, even though it was our own home. But that distance is much harder to find when it’s personal: you’re playing both sides, being the client and the designer at once, and that makes it far harder to be decisive.’

Some decisions nevertheless came instinctively. Opening up the principal living spaces suited the way the family already lived, while the couple never considered correcting the house’s wonky walls, irregular windows and other idiosyncrasies. More unexpectedly, they agonised over the driveway, carefully choreographing when the house would appear and disappear from view on the approach. Even identifying the entrance proved difficult. ‘Because every single room in the house opens onto the garden, deciding which one should actually be the front door wasn’t at all obvious,’ explains Lees. ‘In the end, we chose not to have a front door.’

Instead, decks and pathways create an informal circulation route around the house, allowing its occupants to move barefoot between indoors and out. The absence of a formal entrance reinforces the sense that the house belongs as much to the landscape as it does to its architecture. ‘It sounds like a small thing, but it really emphasises that connection between indoors and outdoors, and keeps you grounded in the landscape rather than separate from it,’ says Pirajean.

Although designed around the freedoms of summer, the house is not solely a fair-weather retreat. The couple particularly enjoy visiting during the island’s quieter autumn and winter months, and ensuring that the indoor and outdoor living spaces remained inviting as the days grew cooler and shorter was central to their approach.

From the outset, the couple thought of the house as a workshop: not a static composition – somewhere that could evolve with their family. 'We didn't need to get every decision right immediately, because we'd built in the flexibility to adapt,' explains Pirajean. Designing it has also renewed their understanding of what they ask of their clients. ‘It’s a first-hand reminder of what it means to hand over control of a deeply personal project and trust the process,’ adds Lees. ‘A home also needs flexibility. It can keep evolving to reflect the people who live there and the layers they bring with them.’

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