Quiet Minimal 
Seen from above at dusk, Maison Aube reads as something settled deeply into the land — a gravel drive curling toward a low stone mass, warm dots of path lighting scattered among autumn trees, a dark pool sitting calmly to the side. There is no drama in the arrival. The house does not announce itself; it simply exists, as it has for a long time.
Up close, the picture clarifies. Rough fieldstone walls rise under a slate roof, the kind of construction that belongs to a particular stretch of the Quebec countryside where materials came from the ground nearby and buildings were made to last without argument. This is Maison Aube.
The Project
Maison Aube is the careful renovation and expansion of a heritage fieldstone farmhouse in Quebec. The design intent was clear from the outset: do not mask what the building already is. The existing rubble stone walls, timber roof structure, original fireplaces, and small deep-set windows were treated as the primary material of the project rather than obstacles to be smoothed over. Where new work was added — a low black steel and glass connector volume linking the old house to an outbuilding, and a fully updated kitchen wing — it was designed to read as unmistakably contemporary, so that no one would confuse old with new or new with old.
The result is a home that holds two very different architectural sensibilities in the same breath. The stone house remains dim, tactile, and weighted with age. The addition is precise, dark-framed, and transparent. Together they create a composition that reads as honestly as the gravel and the slate: nothing is pretending to be something it is not.
The Spaces
The Glass Connector
The joint between old and new is made visible rather than hidden. A slim black steel and glass volume sits low against the fieldstone gable, its floor-to-ceiling glazing reflecting the garden back at itself. The contrast between the ancient irregular stone and the flat, shadowless geometry of the steel frame is the whole argument of the project stated in a single detail: two eras in direct, unbothered contact. The surrounding planting — low shrubs, a few late-season pink flowers at the base — softens the ground plane without blurring the architectural line.
The Entry Passage
Walking through the connector is a deliberate decompression sequence. The passage is framed on both sides by the exposed stone of the original exterior wall — you are, in effect, walking through the thickness of the old building — with a dark steel ceiling overhead and a stone-inset concrete floor below. At the far end, a warm oak door stands slightly open, offering a first glimpse of the interior: more warm wood, a small painting, a hint of stone continuing inside. The dappled shadow of tree branches plays across the floor. It is a short walk, but it does a great deal of work.
The Kitchen and Dining Room
The kitchen and dining space occupies what is clearly a newer, larger volume grafted onto the old house, though the original fieldstone walls remain on two sides, making the room feel anchored in the same geology as everything else. The cabinetry is floor-to-ceiling white oak — flat-fronted, grain-matched panels that read almost as a single continuous surface — with a long linear pendant hung directly in front of a mirrored splashback that doubles the depth of the run. The dining table is also oak, broad and low, surrounded by wishbone-style chairs with dark upholstered seats. A painted tongue-and-groove ceiling in off-white sits cleanly above the scene, its horizontal lines contrasting the vertical grain of the cabinetry. The whole room is one material conversation: oak on oak on stone.
The Sitting Room
Adjacent to the kitchen, the sitting room is where the original house asserts itself most fully. The stone walls here are rough and unpointed, the ceiling is knotty pine boarding over heavy timber beams, and the fireplace is a deep original masonry opening set directly into the rubble. Two low upholstered armchairs in muted linen sit either side of a small round coffee table. A sheepskin rug covers the worn stone hearth. Afternoon light comes through the small original window in a single shaft, and a folk-art painting hangs between that window and the french doors that open toward the garden. The room has not been decorated so much as carefully inhabited.
The Upper Stone Wall Detail
Moving toward the upper floor, the stair landing opens to a close view of the stone construction at its most unadorned. The wall here is thick, irregular, and deeply textured — stones of wildly varying size packed with sand-colored mortar, the whole surface reading almost like a topographic map. A single deep-set window opening cuts through at mid-height, its stone reveal thick enough to sit in. The pitched pine-board ceiling runs above at a steep angle, its pale blond tone set against the dark warmth of the rock. No decoration, no art. The material is sufficient.
The Main Fireplace Alcove
The principal fireplace in the main living space is the oldest-feeling object in the house. Its surround is entirely of fieldstone, the mantel a flat slab of dark gray stone, and the firebox is fitted with a brass or bronze chain-mail curtain that catches what little light reaches it. A small ceramic vase with dried flowers sits on the mantel — the only object, and the right number. To the right, a set of original paneled wood doors in rich dark walnut tones leads deeper into the house. A low leather-upholstered chaise sits at the edge of the frame, pulling the room back toward the present tense.
The Fireplace Wall, Close
A close reading of the fireplace wall reveals exactly how the project team approached the existing fabric. The stone has not been repointed to look new — the mortar is chunky and varied, some sections reading almost sandy, others darker where water or smoke has touched them over the decades. A thin dark steel shelf is fitted directly into the stone at waist height, holding a small ceramic figurine and a turned wooden object. Below it, the chain-mail fireguard hangs from a simple rod. The decision to leave the stone exactly as it was, and to introduce only the most minimal contemporary hardware, is characteristic of the whole project.
The Roof Structure Detail
Somewhere above the main living volume, the original roof framing is exposed to view: a king-post truss assembly in dark weathered timber, its joints pinned and wedged in the traditional manner, sits against a background of new pale pine sarking boards. A thin black electrical track runs along the bottom chord — the only concession to contemporary living visible here, and handled with the same light touch as everything else. The contrast between the silver-gray patina of the old beam and the blond freshness of the new boarding is not disguised; it is the detail.
The Attic Loft
The uppermost level of the stone house is given over to a multi-use loft under the full pitch of the roof. The timber truss structure here is entirely visible and entirely the room: rafters, collar ties, king posts, and purlins in varying tones of blond and gray pine fill the entire ceiling plane. The floor is dark-stained wide-plank hardwood. At one end, a low black desk with a monitor and task chair is tucked under a small stone window. The rest of the floor is occupied by large floor cushions in faded rose and sage velvet tones — a casual, almost meditative use of what could have been a difficult attic space. No built-ins, no fuss.
The Kitchen from the Hallway
Viewed from the transition point between the old stone house and the new kitchen wing, the relationship between the two parts of the project is at its clearest. An irregular stone wall — original, unaltered — curves into the frame on the left, a small framed painting hung directly onto it without ceremony. Two steps lead up to the kitchen level. To the right, the oak island and tall cabinetry take over, the warm honey tone of the wood reading almost luminous against the cool grey of the stone. The white tongue-and-groove ceiling continues above everything, holding the composition together. The shift in floor level makes the transition physical and felt, not just visual.
What you might carry home
The clearest lesson from Maison Aube is about the difference between restoration and erasure. The team chose to keep every scar, every irregular joint, every patch of discolored mortar — and the house is richer for it. If you have an older home with original details that feel rough or imperfect, the instinct to smooth them over is worth questioning. A wall that has been lived against for a hundred years carries information that no new finish can replicate. Cleaning it, stabilizing it, and then leaving it alone is often the braver and more interesting choice.
The contrast principle here is also worth taking seriously. Rather than blending the new kitchen cabinetry with the stone walls through color-matching or distressing, the designers made the oak read as absolutely, unapologetically new. The result is that neither element undermines the other — the stone looks older, the oak looks more considered. If you are adding something contemporary to an older space, committing fully to the new material rather than hedging toward a false harmony can produce a more coherent room.
The attic loft at Maison Aube is a small argument for restraint in difficult volumes. The pitched ceiling and exposed structure are left to do all the work; the furnishings are intentionally low and minimal — floor cushions rather than sofas, a simple desk rather than built-ins. In an awkward upper room where the ceiling pitch makes conventional furniture feel crowded, going lower and softer is a practical solution that also happens to feel deliberate.
Finally, look at the entry passage. The compressed, cave-like transition through the stone wall before arriving at the warm interior is the kind of move that costs almost nothing to think about but changes how a home feels to enter. In your own house, the threshold between outside and inside — or between one zone and another — deserves a moment of considered pause. A change of material underfoot, a slight lowering of a ceiling, a door that requires you to stop before opening: small rituals of arrival matter more than most renovations do.
Maison Aube is a house that makes a case for patience — with old materials, with imperfection, with the slow work of understanding what a building already wants to be before deciding what to add. The stone was always this good. It just needed someone willing to stop and look at it properly.
Save this tour to Pinterest
The slate roof that needs no drama
