A daily reunion

On the outskirts of Seville, in a village where orange trees line the sidewalks and whitewashed houses stand firm against the passage of time, a bright house opens its doors, welcoming a familiar scene. This time, two sisters arrive with their daughters to spend a few days together. They do so with the ease of someone returning to a familiar place, one that needs no explanation.

The moment they step through the door, the girls run inside, excited as if the place itself recognizes them. They rush upstairs, eager to wash their hands so they can start playing. Their voices mingle with the sound of footsteps, and everything unfolds in a flurry of movement.

Behind them, their mothers walk calmly, carrying shopping bags, heading to the kitchen, and settling in without ceremony. The spacious, open kitchen is the meeting point from which everything is organized. There are no strict divisions: the dining room, the patio, the pantry, and the central island form a continuous space. The transition between preparing, sharing, and socializing is completely seamless.
Here, every element serves a clear purpose. The island, facing the patio, allows you to prepare meals while keeping an eye on the girls as they play outside. It also offers a generous countertop where several people can work together, and low drawers that keep everything you need within easy reach. Along one side, a row of tall cabinets houses appliances and storage, providing functionality without overwhelming the space. The result is clean, comfortable, and complete.

The scenes unfold effortlessly. One of the sisters arranges fruit, while the other organizes what they've brought from the market. The girls soon approach, curious, and settle at the dining room table with pencils and paper. They draw while plates are set, glasses of water are filled, and plans for the day are discussed. From that kitchen, everything is visible: the dining room, the patio, the tree. There's no need to move around or divide tasks. Everyday life is shared from the same place.
The orange tree, in the center of the patio, gives the house its name and meaning. From the countertop, its silhouette appears as a constant. The house seems to have folded itself around it, as if acknowledging its value. Cooking while looking outwards is not an aesthetic gesture, but a way of integrating the rhythm of the interior with what is happening outside. Opening the kitchen to the patio not only visually expands the space: it allows everything to be connected.

In this house, the kitchen isn't an isolated room or a secluded corner. It's the heart from which life unfolds. Chopping vegetables, preparing recipes, taking a tray out of the oven, cleaning up afterwards… it all happens while someone draws, another sets the table, another returns from the patio with chalk-stained hands.
On an ordinary afternoon, light streams through the windows and the sounds of the outside world drift in through the open doors. Laughter fills the air, conversations overlap, tasks uninterrupted. The kitchen is in use. And although nothing extraordinary is happening, everything is found in this shared routine: the connection, the memories, the pleasure of doing things together, calmly.