Before the three massive beams were welded onto steel columns; before the 11 steel boots were welded to the I-beam; before the 33 tapered rafters were slipped into the boots, stretched upward like the wings of a butterfly, connected to the high beams, and tensioned by the steel cables; before any of this, there was a homeowner who simply wanted a nicer place to live.

What happened in the intervening years was not so simple. Countless discussions, drawings, and calculations were hashed out to identify how to achieve a functional, comfortable space within a uniquely dramatic structure as cost-effectively as possible. Demolition and framing began on some parts of the house even as rough schematics were fleshed out on others. Tiny models were made, studied, and rebuilt differently. Big models were built too, including a full-size mock-up of the 35-foot truss that stretched across the architect's office and was later foam-mounted and hung in a gallery.

The process was at times frustrating, always collaborative, and finally satisfying in its stunning conclusion. “You never know what you will learn from trying something new,” says remodeler Will Alphin of Alphin Design Build, Raleigh, N.C. “I gained technical knowledge from working with new products and materials, organizational knowledge from coordinating with many people,” and, he says, “a deeper appreciation of the role of the architect.” As difficult as the process sometimes was, Alphin says he never lost sight of the fact that Cannon Architects, also of Raleigh, “had a beautiful and bold vision that we all believed in.”

View image gallery. Photos by JWest Productions; Rob Allen

The house stands out in architecturally traditional Raleigh not so much for its façade, but for its rear elevation. Situated on a U-shaped street where the streetcars used to turn around, the 1920 Craftsman bungalow appears at first glance to be more or less true to its humble roots, despite its new covered porch and large gabled dormer over the front door.

Peer around back, however, and you're in a sculpture garden. An inverted-pitch, or butterfly, roof soars to 30 feet at its highest point and provides a generous canopy over the L-shaped deck. The roof's asymmetrical spans are supported by an exposed truss system made of Douglas fir, painted steel struts, and stainless steel cables. The lines of the truss continue inside, revealed through high windows, and downward, via Douglas fir columns and a slender steel chimney.

Inside, although the addition consists of less than 900 square feet, it feels larger thanks to the scale of the new rooms, the reconfiguration of some existing rooms, the choice of materials, and the abundance of natural light. The old galley kitchen, for instance, was made slightly narrower yet extended and opened at the back to create a visual and physical flow to the new family room. Both bedrooms on the main floor have been expanded and given private baths. The master suite is both secluded and sunny, thanks to discretely placed windows and four interior clerestory windows it shares with the family room.

The floor of the family room is two steps lower than the kitchen area, and its height is further accentuated by the high windows and truss. The room also features built-in cabinetry, a site-built fireplace with cantilevered concrete hearth, and a built-in bench made of African ribbon mahogany. Another feature is the uninterrupted view to the wooded lot through huge windows and almost invisible cable rails on the deck.

With its high ceilings and expanse of glass, the addition contains what some remodelers might call expensive air. But the project was budget-driven, and Alphin, who has a degree in architecture, took the lead in devising creative ways to build it without compromising the intent of the design or the quality of the construction. The budget started at $350,000 and ended in the “high 400s,” he says, due to “the combination of the scope increasing and the difference between what was allowed for in the schematic design and the final design.”

At one point, Alphin walked through the house with architect Susan Cannon. “They had fleshed out the design of the cabinetry,” he says, “and it was much more involved than the original schematics and therefore over the original budget.” He recalls Cannon making a comment to the effect that budget sometimes improves design because it forces you to simplify. “That was a process that was repeated over and over,” Alphin says.

For instance, where the original plan called for built-in cabinets made mainly of mahogany, “we pared it down to mostly Sheetrock openings with mahogany counters above white lacquer cabinets,” Alphin says. “The cabinets are still very functional, and the effect is still stunning, perhaps better.”