The villa appears almost without warning, when the road lifts gently between the hills of Petacciato. The sea stretches in the distance like the backdrop of an oil painting, against which the house rises as a white, essential monolith set into a landscape that still retains a trace of wilderness. The large square window sees nothing but the endless sea.

The interiors are new, crisp, and shaped by a kind of quiet “feng shui,” faithful to a simple and deliberate order. Split-system cooling, ceiling fans, suspended bathrooms and large glass shower boxes speak a contemporary, practical language, letting empty space carry much of the atmosphere. A first dépendance — with living room and kitchen, double bedroom and bathroom — opens directly onto the sea-facing window, and like all the other rooms, it looks outward. Every space has direct access to the exterior, as if the house refused the idea of closing itself, preferring instead to let the hill enter with its wind and light.

A long corridor, almost a small gallery, leads to the second double bedroom. This one also faces the garden and the sea, and has its own private bathroom. The third bedroom, the master, is located in the section where the building gains height. Here the light feels freer; it enters from above and from the side, and the partially open bathroom blends into the room without breaking its lines. The result is a quiet, almost meditative space, where minimalism becomes a kind of breathing.

The heart of the villa is the large central living area. The pale-stone fireplace stands like an anchor in the middle of the space. Around it, the architecture leaves room for the light to shape the environment and for the volumes to speak on their own. The height, the suspended skylights and the great side window create a scene that asserts itself naturally. The kitchen, hidden within essential cabinetry that looks more like boiserie than storage, reveals a functional island and modern equipment. A kitchen that appears when needed and withdraws when the room itself becomes the protagonist.

Beyond the living area lies the veranda, which in the mild seasons — far more generous here than elsewhere — becomes a natural extension of the interior. From there, the gaze slides toward the line of the sea, and the whole perception of the house shifts.

The land surrounding the villa is wide and still open to many possibilities. The swimming pool is currently under construction, and the rest of the garden awaits the vision of whoever will inhabit it: it could become an essential garden of shadows and stone, a small playground for children, or a simple, quiet monument to the landscape itself.

Taken as a whole, the villa is a clear shape on a hill that looks out over an unobstructed sea. It is unmistakably conceived as a structure that privileges light, space and a direct relationship with the landscape, guided by its own form of “zen.” A place that asks little, except to be lived slowly, because everything here — from the volumes to the great window, from the shadows to the veranda — seems to invite a more patient, present, subjective way of inhabiting the world.