the following is the PDF technical report on the m2p2 propulsion system you can skim through this or read through this for more details on what was noted in the article directly above…
“ “ “
.
…
Smokey here;
The motor discussed above is the motor that would be used for how velocity propulsion In planetary orbit for the robot to get from A to B For example when harvesting resources
…
Please hang in there and don't get pissy with me about all these links to the text I figured it was better to include everything than an omit the wrong thing
…
Critical components ...
geographical space in astrological terms (as in what planet what sound what star system what's power of the milky way galaxy).
Chronological terms given x amount of thrust for x amount of mass how much fuel and how long will it take to go from here to there being wherever I am whoever I want to go Earth tomorrow is for example or Earth the office interior for a better example or even better let's go 30,000 light years out to Delta Vega that'd be cool probably take about at least 30,000 step and still wants to get there but we can do it shit We just get ourselves some automated robots to build these vessels on the way from the raw materials and I'm telling you man we be generating like nuts…
And speaking of automated robots let me bring this into the discussion…
RHEA
~Robotic Harvester, Extruder, Assembler~
The objective of this document is to demonstrate the purchasable on the shelf hardware that is available to build a robot either pilot controlled or AI controlled that will harvest directly from the environment. To reproduce itself not only itself but other robots just like him or any other building project you want to apply to his blueprint programming.
.
Disclaimer:
I do not receive any compensation or rewards any kind from any of the product manufacturers on any level for any reason whatsoever I simply list their products because they are readily available to be purchased to build this robot you can pick any hardware products you like I would simply like to see the project get built by somebody..
…
…
Table of contents;
…
Project Overview:
to build a self-replicating robot from off the shelf products.
.
Partial Products List~commercially available as hardware to build self-replicating robot.
~ robotic assembly system
~ robotic Case, Chassis and Track mount
~ automated chemistry system
~ automated metallurgy system
~ metallurgy Extrusion system
wire through conduit
~ 3D graphing printing system
wire through conduit
…
…
Assembly;
part by part presentations with suggested process of assembly.
.
physics science and chemistry of the project .
.
list of supporting documents;
…
Project Overview:
to build a self-replicating robot from off the shelf products.
…
By the efforts of millions of scientists engineers and students alike over decades, toward the objectives of thousands of scientific pursuits and hundreds of products later; we now have the capacity to build something that humanity has never been able to produce before (mechanically).
~ Build a fully autonomous self-replicating robot. (robotic system really).
We can do it from products that we can buy directly from the manufacturer or retailer (off of the shelf, so too speak ), as easy as buying a candy bar …provided of course you know where to look for the products..
It is the objective of this document to demonstrate that you can indeed by the hardware off of the shelf to build a self-replicating robotic system. This system will not only replicate itself but it can build any engineering project that you want to put into is programming software to construct.
this robot will have special dimensions of 3 m x 3 m x 3 m in other words 3 m cubed and a total weight of approximately 300 to 350 kilos depending on whether it’s in service or not.
But I don’t want to overwhelm you we will get into its full capabilities shortly…
…
there have been some fascinating breakthroughs in material science engineering technology both on the academic and on the commercial level lately but without boring you of the details most important of all it should be noted that we will be discussing graphene 3D printing robotic systems in all of this as it applies not only terrestrially towards building projects here on Earth and perhaps elsewhere such as the or Mars but also in space itself in orbit around any planet you might choose..
This robot will be designed to operate in space, somewhere between lower earth orbit and lunar orbit or anywhere out in space frankly but it can also operate terrestrially …
…
The raw materials this robot needs to produce a whole variety of different print materials for manufacturing parts from scratch will be harvested by the robot directly from its environment and will then extrude or roll pressed into the building parts as necessary for the building project. the robot will manufacturer the raw building materials for self repair self-manufacturer or any other engineering project from chemical processing or electromagnetic processing or smelting of the raw materials that it takes in from its natural environment and then extrudes out through either the 3D printer or the metallurgy print Extrusion system.
all of the operations listed above will be done during its normal robotic work day. Processing functions.
for example the carbon collection process ( thanks to those hard-working researchers at MIT) requires no computer programming…
And The 3D printed copper-graphene conduit is something that's already a manufacturer standardization and doesn't require any engineering..
just install and deploy plug and Play so to speak.
to produce 3D parts and thereby replicate itself this robot will harvest carbon from the environment automatically simply by being powered on. There is absolutely no programming involved in the carbon harvesting process at all. Of course there will be programming involved in the carbon chemistry processing but we’ll get to that in a minute. When we get to the 3D printers… but first here's how we're gonna get the carbon.
check this stuff out.
By harvesting carbon silicon and raw iron and raw copper from the environment we can manufacture almost anything with 3D printers check this out
… … … …
….
“ “ “
Technical document assembled by Hill Bowman
RHEA
~Robotic Harvester, Extruder, Assembler~
Partial Products List~commercially available as hardware to build self-replicating robot.
….
Power Supply;
One kilogram deep cycle battery Period period period
Thin film solar panel front and back Divide it like a cape… Three feet of thin film solar panel by three feet for each cave front and back Totaling Six feet by six feet for each cape front and back.
Maximum solar power input ~
Six amps ; 24 volts.
…
~ robotic assembly system
This fully automated dual arm Visual identification robotic system will be the backbone Of The Harvest or extruder robotic system Yeah what identify the products to harvest And it would be synchronized with Central CPU In order to identify what chemistry projects in order to conduct to extrude what materials For the 3D printer Or The Metallurgical extruder.
…
Terrestrial propulsion system…
.
Robotic Chassis and Tack Mount assembly:
~ automated chemistry system
~ automated metallurgy system
Arc Melt Furnace SA-200 is our smallest arc melt furnace and has a 2” (51mm) copper hearth which holds the sample material.
~ metallurgy Extrusion system
wire through conduit
.
The metal Extrusion is the only thing I cannot find off the shelf system for.
…
~ 3D graphing printing system
wire through conduit
The 3D graphene printer and the carbon extraction system or really the heart of the matter without them this project is not possible But with This robot can reproduce itself Not just from Raw building materials you supply it But it can manufacture those raw building materials by itself from raw Natural materials in its environment
…
Mobility:
Mini-Magnetospheric Plasma Propulsion (M2P2)
Investigators
Robert M. Winglee
…
RHEA
~Robotic Harvester, Extruder, Assembler~
The objective of this document is to demonstrate the purchasable on the shelf hardware that is available to build a robot either pilot controlled or AI controlled that will harvest directly from the environment. To reproduce itself not only itself but other robots just like him or any other building project you want to apply to his blueprint programming.
.
Disclaimer:
I do not receive any compensation or rewards any kind from any of the product manufacturers on any level for any reason whatsoever I simply list their products because they are readily available to be purchased to build this robot you can pick any hardware products you like I would simply like to see the project get built by somebody..
…
…
Table of contents;
…
Project Overview:
to build a self-replicating robot from off the shelf products.
.
Partial Products List~commercially available as hardware to build self-replicating robot.
~ robotic assembly system
~ robotic Case, Chassis and Track mount
~ automated chemistry system
~ automated metallurgy system
~ metallurgy Extrusion system
wire through conduit
~ 3D graphing printing system
wire through conduit
…
…
Assembly;
part by part presentations with suggested process of assembly.
.
physics science and chemistry of the project .
.
list of supporting documents;
…
Project Overview:
to build a self-replicating robot from off the shelf products.
…
By the efforts of millions of scientists engineers and students alike over decades, toward the objectives of thousands of scientific pursuits and hundreds of products later; we now have the capacity to build something that humanity has never been able to produce before (mechanically).
~ Build a fully autonomous self-replicating robot. (robotic system really).
We can do it from products that we can buy directly from the manufacturer or retailer (off of the shelf, so too speak ), as easy as buying a candy bar …provided of course you know where to look for the products..
It is the objective of this document to demonstrate that you can indeed by the hardware off of the shelf to build a self-replicating robotic system. This system will not only replicate itself but it can build any engineering project that you want to put into is programming software to construct.
this robot will have special dimensions of 3 m x 3 m x 3 m in other words 3 m cubed and a total weight of approximately 300 to 350 kilos depending on whether it’s in service or not.
But I don’t want to overwhelm you we will get into its full capabilities shortly…
…
there have been some fascinating breakthroughs in material science engineering technology both on the academic and on the commercial level lately but without boring you of the details most important of all it should be noted that we will be discussing graphene 3D printing robotic systems in all of this as it applies not only terrestrially towards building projects here on Earth and perhaps elsewhere such as the or Mars but also in space itself in orbit around any planet you might choose..
This robot will be designed to operate in space, somewhere between lower earth orbit and lunar orbit or anywhere out in space frankly but it can also operate terrestrially …
…
The raw materials this robot needs to produce a whole variety of different print materials for manufacturing parts from scratch will be harvested by the robot directly from its environment and will then extrude or roll pressed into the building parts as necessary for the building project. the robot will manufacturer the raw building materials for self repair self-manufacturer or any other engineering project from chemical processing or electromagnetic processing or smelting of the raw materials that it takes in from its natural environment and then extrudes out through either the 3D printer or the metallurgy print Extrusion system.
all of the operations listed above will be done during its normal robotic work day. Processing functions.
for example the carbon collection process ( thanks to those hard-working researchers at MIT) requires no computer programming…
And The 3D printed copper-graphene conduit is something that's already a manufacturer standardization and doesn't require any engineering..
just install and deploy plug and Play so to speak.
to produce 3D parts and thereby replicate itself this robot will harvest carbon from the environment automatically simply by being powered on. There is absolutely no programming involved in the carbon harvesting process at all. Of course there will be programming involved in the carbon chemistry processing but we’ll get to that in a minute. When we get to the 3D printers… but first here's how we're gonna get the carbon.
check this stuff out.
Above…
an illustration of the carbon capture batteries developed by MIT
.
By harvesting carbon silicon and raw iron and raw copper from the environment we can manufacture almost anything with 3D printers check this out
Partial Products List~commercially available as hardware to build self-replicating robot.
Power Supply;
One kilogram deep cycle battery Period period period
Thin film solar panel front and back Divide it like a cape… Three feet of thin film solar panel by three feet for each cave front and back Totaling Six feet by six feet for each cape front and back.
Maximum solar power input ~
Six amps ; 24 volts.
~ robotic assembly system
This fully automated dual arm Visual identification robotic system will be the backbone Of The Harvest or extruder robotic system Yeah what identify the products to harvest And it would be synchronized with Central CPU In order to identify what chemistry projects in order to conduct to extrude what materials For the 3D printer Or The Metallurgical extruder.
…
Terrestrial propulsion system…
Robotic Chassis and Tack Mount assembly:
Automated chemistry
~ automated chemistry system
this automated chemistry said is an intermediate step to providing the inkjet printer 3D printer with printing material…
…
~ automated metallurgy system
Arc Melt Furnace SA-200 is our smallest arc melt furnace and has a 2” (51mm) copper hearth which holds the sample material.
~ metallurgy Extrusion system
wire through conduit
The metal Extrusion is the only thing I cannot find off the shelf system for.
…
~ 3D graphing printing system
wire through conduit
The 3D graphene printer and the carbon extraction system or really the heart of the matter without them this project is not possible But with This robot can reproduce itself Not just from Raw building materials you supply it But it can manufacture those raw building materials by itself from raw Natural materials in its environment
…
Mobility:
Mini-Magnetospheric Plasma Propulsion (M2P2)
Investigators
Robert M. Winglee
.
…
Documents;
Material Science recent advancements;
Focus on
Graphene Ceramics, Nano structures such as Nano-diamond chain links Carbon nano-tubes Nano-fibers Etc.
.
Orbital station keeping systems
12 nozzle 12 trajectory Compressed gas Station keeping and orbital Locomotion . system
standard small set orbital pulsion and station keeping.
…
Break
Carbon extraction
“ “ “
MIT 2024
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MIT engineers develop a new way to remove carbon dioxide from air
The process could work on the gas at any concentrations, from power plant emissions to open air.
Watch Video
David Chandler | MIT News Office
Publication Date:
October 24, 2019
Caption:
In this diagram of the new system, air entering from top right passes to one of two chambers (the gray rectangular structures) containing battery electrodes that attract the carbon dioxide. Then the airflow is switched to the other chamber, while the accumulated carbon dioxide in the first chamber is flushed into a separate storage tank (at right). These alternating flows allow for continuous operation of the two-step process.
Credits:
Image courtesy of the researchers
Caption:
A flow of air or flue gas (blue) containing carbon dioxide (red) enters the system from the left. As it passes between the thin battery electrode plates, carbon dioxide attaches to the charged plates while the cleaned airstream passes on through and exits at right.
Credits:
Image courtesy of the researchers
Previous image Next image
A new way of removing carbon dioxide from a stream of air could provide a significant tool in the battle against climate change. The new system can work on the gas at virtually any concentration level, even down to the roughly 400 parts per million currently found in the atmosphere.
Most methods of removing carbon dioxide from a stream of gas require higher concentrations, such as those found in the flue emissions from fossil fuel-based power plants. A few variations have been developed that can work with the low concentrations found in air, but the new method is significantly less energy-intensive and expensive, the researchers say.
The technique, based on passing air through a stack of charged electrochemical plates, is described in a new paper in the journal Energy and Environmental Science, by MIT postdoc Sahag Voskian, who developed the work during his PhD, and T. Alan Hatton, the Ralph Landau Professor of Chemical Engineering.
The device is essentially a large, specialized battery that absorbs carbon dioxide from the air (or other gas stream) passing over its electrodes as it is being charged up, and then releases the gas as it is being discharged. In operation, the device would simply alternate between charging and discharging, with fresh air or feed gas being blown through the system during the charging cycle, and then the pure, concentrated carbon dioxide being blown out during the discharging.
As the battery charges, an electrochemical reaction takes place at the surface of each of a stack of electrodes. These are coated with a compound called polyanthraquinone, which is composited with carbon nanotubes. The electrodes have a natural affinity for carbon dioxide and readily react with its molecules in the airstream or feed gas, even when it is present at very low concentrations. The reverse reaction takes place when the battery is discharged — during which the device can provide part of the power needed for the whole system — and in the process ejects a stream of pure carbon dioxide. The whole system operates at room temperature and normal air pressure.
“The greatest advantage of this technology over most other carbon capture or carbon absorbing technologies is the binary nature of the adsorbent’s affinity to carbon dioxide,” explains Voskian. In other words, the electrode material, by its nature, “has either a high affinity or no affinity whatsoever,” depending on the battery’s state of charging or discharging. Other reactions used for carbon capture require intermediate chemical processing steps or the input of significant energy such as heat, or pressure differences.
“This binary affinity allows capture of carbon dioxide from any concentration, including 400 parts per million, and allows its release into any carrier stream, including 100 percent CO2,” Voskian says. That is, as any gas flows through the stack of these flat electrochemical cells, during the release step the captured carbon dioxide will be carried along with it. For example, if the desired end-product is pure carbon dioxide to be used in the carbonation of beverages, then a stream of the pure gas can be blown through the plates. The captured gas is then released from the plates and joins the stream.
In some soft-drink bottling plants, fossil fuel is burned to generate the carbon dioxide needed to give the drinks their fizz. Similarly, some farmers burn natural gas to produce carbon dioxide to feed their plants in greenhouses. The new system could eliminate that need for fossil fuels in these applications, and in the process actually be taking the greenhouse gas right out of the air, Voskian says. Alternatively, the pure carbon dioxide stream could be compressed and injected underground for long-term disposal, or even made into fuel through a series of chemical and electrochemical processes.
The process this system uses for capturing and releasing carbon dioxide “is revolutionary” he says. “All of this is at ambient conditions — there’s no need for thermal, pressure, or chemical input. It’s just these very thin sheets, with both surfaces active, that can be stacked in a box and connected to a source of electricity.”
“In my laboratories, we have been striving to develop new technologies to tackle a range of environmental issues that avoid the need for thermal energy sources, changes in system pressure, or addition of chemicals to complete the separation and release cycles,” Hatton says. “This carbon dioxide capture technology is a clear demonstration of the power of electrochemical approaches that require only small swings in voltage to drive the separations.”
In a working plant — for example, in a power plant where exhaust gas is being produced continuously — two sets of such stacks of the electrochemical cells could be set up side by side to operate in parallel, with flue gas being directed first at one set for carbon capture, then diverted to the second set while the first set goes into its discharge cycle. By alternating back and forth, the system could always be both capturing and discharging the gas. In the lab, the team has proven the system can withstand at least 7,000 charging-discharging cycles, with a 30 percent loss in efficiency over that time. The researchers estimate that they can readily improve that to 20,000 to 50,000 cycles.
The electrodes themselves can be manufactured by standard chemical processing methods. While today this is done in a laboratory setting, it can be adapted so that ultimately they could be made in large quantities through a roll-to-roll manufacturing process similar to a newspaper printing press, Voskian says. “We have developed very cost-effective techniques,” he says, estimating that it could be produced for something like tens of dollars per square meter of electrode.
Compared to other existing carbon capture technologies, this system is quite energy efficient, using about one gigajoule of energy per ton of carbon dioxide captured, consistently. Other existing methods have energy consumption which vary between 1 to 10 gigajoules per ton, depending on the inlet carbon dioxide concentration, Voskian says.
The researchers have set up a company called Verdox to commercialize the process, and hope to develop a pilot-scale plant within the next few years, he says. And the system is very easy to scale up, he says: “If you want more capacity, you just need to make more electrodes.”
This work was supported by an MIT Energy Initiative Seed Fund grant and by Eni S.p.A.
So they're working hard at MIT on the carbon extraction a system not only to make it functional but also to make it viable to manufacture for the average populace.
the carbon extraction would produce carbon that could be transported to a container for electrical chemical processing.
The results of the electric chemical processing could then be transported to the extrusion unit and extruded as finished building materials or for immediate use
Moving right along to Metal Ore Harvesting
Collection of raw ore from the electron scale up to two centimeters can be smelted down and extruded for usable construction materials… Extrusion process would most likely be pneumatic hydraulic…
3D printer as well as smelter metal Extrusion could range from two micron copper wire up to one inch Graphene-Zirconium tubing for framework.
Arc Furnace
Arc Melt Furnace SA-200 is our smallest arc melt furnace and has a 2” (51mm) copper hearth which holds the sample material. The SA-200 has a single arc and arrives as a complete turn-key system that can reach temperatures above 3500°C instantly. This system is ideal for college or R & D laboratories; it is our lowest cost arc melting furnace with an evacuation/gas system, and 100% duty cycle power source.
The SA-200 is very easy to operate and produces extremely pure melts and reaches high temperatures instantaneously. The SA-200 can be equipped with various options and accessories. Arc melt furnaces are a cost saving alternative to induction or resistance heated furnaces for applications where melt material is conductive.
The SA-200 has a compact design requiring minimal floor space, the system is equipped with casters making it mobile and easy to maneuver.
Download Brochure
Request a Quote
Arc Melt Furnace SA-200
Specifications
• Operating temperature: over 3500°C (6332 F).
• Bottom loading configuration.
• 360° viewing through Pyrex glass between top and bottom brass base.
• Vacuum chamber construction.
• Single copper stinger with tungsten electrode.
• Copper hearth plate 2.0” diameter (51 mm).
• Power supply: 300 Amp @ 60 % Duty Cycle, 12 Kva.
• Water cooled.
• Inert gas system with relief valve.
• Pumping system with roughing pump, vacuum gauge and valve.
All of the materials being inducted by the robot and sent to the appropriate chemistry chambers will be processed by the robot on side simultaneously while collecting raw materials …
This robot or I should say these bots are intended to work as a swarm in tandem…
Therefore these robots do not carry a huge collection chamber instead they collect raw materials smelt or electro chemically process the raw materials down and extrude the building materials all on site. Anything left over at the end of the work shift I suppose could past along to robots coming on for the next shift or stored for a latter
…
Electrochemistry:
Reaction glass container capacity 5L
Cooling / heating jacket capacity 2L
Voltage 110V
Speed 0-1200r / min
Motor power (W) 100w
Operating temperature range -60 to 200 °C
Gross Weight 55.5 kg/122.35 lb
Package Size 140x42x58 cm/ 55.11x16.53x22.83 inch
Manual English
Questions and Answers
Q: I am looking for assembly instructions manual?
A: You can refer to the link below.<br/>https://d2v0huudrf11kh.cloudfront.net/vevor-center-goods/FYF5LGPG000000001V1_1687232707348.pdf
by vevor on Jun 18, 2023
Q: What is the diameter of the top and the vessel?
A: The outer diameter of the container is 210mm, and the inner diameter is 165mm.
by vevor on Dec 27, 2022
Q: 1. There is temperatur sensor? 2. It is possible this sensor conect to digital display?
A: It has a temperature sensor, which displays the temperature on the control box, and the sensor is inserted into the kettle body, through a thermometer sleeve, to measure the temperature of the solution.
by vevor on Aug 26, 2022
See all 10 answered questions
Material Self replication
3D Graphene-Zirconium printer
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MULTIPLE PRINT AND EXTRUSION MATERIALS
This 3D printer will have by necessity the ability to print and multiple media such as acrylic or nylon or graphene.
by using carbon extraction system mentioned earlier in this document you can produce graphene or you could also use the carbon with hydrogen and oxygen to make something such as acrylic or nylon.
.
Mobility:
Mini-Magnetospheric Plasma Propulsion (M2P2)
Investigators
Robert M. Winglee
Mini-Magnetospheric Plasma Propulsion (M2P2) is an advanced plasma propulsion system that will enable spacecraft to attain unprecedented speeds, with minimal energy and mass requirements. The high efficiency and specific impulse attained by the system is due to its utilization of ambient energy, in this case the energy from the solar wind, to provide the enhanced thrust. Coupling to the solar wind is produced through a large scale magnetic bubble or mini-magnetosphere generated by the injection of plasma into the magnetic field supported by solenoid coils on the spacecraft. This inflation is driven by electromagnetic processes so that the material and deployment problems associated with conventional solar sails are eliminated.
The M2P2 design mimics nature. The sun creates mini-magnetospheres or `magnetic clouds' during coronal mass ejections, as seen in the figure.
The earth itself has a magnetosphere, produced by the terrestrial magnetic field and plasma resulting from the ionization of the upper layers of the atmosphere.
The M2P2 will parallel these naturally occurring systems by creating an electromagnetic bubble or mini-magnetosphere around the spacecraft.
A schematic of how the M2P2 would interact with the solar wind.
The obstacle or mini-magnetosphere produce by the M2P2 is shown in purple. The solar wind flow (white lines) is deflected around the obstacle and its momentum is picked up by the spacecraft. The contours show the density of the solar wind with red indicating enhanced densities as the solar wind piles up at the obstacle and purple low density where the solar wind no longer has access.
The magnetic field will be supported by solenoid coils on the spacecraft. By injection of plasma, the size of the bubble can be greatly increased from a small size (left) to a large size (right), for which the interaction with the solar wind (arrows) is greatly increased.
The solar wind travels at 300 - 800 km/s (Seattle to Washington, DC in ten seconds or fewer). Like the balloonists traveling the winds of the Earth, the mini-magnetosphere (which is attached to the spacecraft) will be picked up by the solar wind and attain similar speeds.
An early schematic of the device.
Images of the plasma source and magnetic field coils in a plasma tank at the University of Washington.
The making of plasma through radio frequency heating of helium. The waves generated by the antenna (braided copper wire) produce the ionization of the helium which results in the pinkish glow, and the generation of a very dense plasma.
The prototype operating in argon. The device is illuminated from the outside so that the magnets can be seen. A stream of plasma is faintly visible to the right.
As above but with no backlighting. The formation of a plasma loop to the right can be seen, mimicking the loops seen on the Sun.
Want More? See the computer simulations showing the device in operation.
Dept. of Earth and Space Sciences Homepage
0 notes
Kanye West Bought an Architectural Treasure—Then Gave It a Violent Remix
The Malibu house bought by Ye has about four thousand square feet of indoor space.
Four miles to the west, on a grassy bluff overlooking the Pacific, is a forty-two-thousand-square-foot Ando mansion.
The owners are Beyoncé and Jay-Z.
Tony Saxon is a wiry, tattooed man in his early thirties who is proud of what he calls his “Jersey gonzo” work ethic—that is, “I’ve got a guy, or I’ll get a guy.”
His legal surname is Netelkos, but he prefers the one that his father adopted while performing as a lounge singer with an Elvis-inspired act.
The younger Saxon had a sometimes chaotic and druggy youth; he now sustains himself with Red Bull and can talk loudly and without interruption—but still with some charm—for four or five hours.
When we recently met in Boyle Heights, in East Los Angeles, he arrived in a 1963 Ford Thunderbird convertible.
Four years ago, Saxon moved to California from northern New Jersey and sublet an apartment in North Hollywood.
He worked on TV commercials and as a handyman; he played in bands and recorded music.
In September, 2021, a woman who introduced herself as Bianca inquired about his availability for construction work.
He was available.
A few days later, she texted, asking him to come to Malibu immediately.
In a response that eventually led to a lawsuit against Ye, formerly Kanye West—the music and fashion star who in the past two years has become known for his public antisemitism and admiration of Hitler—Saxon said that he’d get his tools.
He drove down to the Santa Monica Pier, then headed northwest on the Pacific Coast Highway.
For about ten miles, the road follows the ocean’s edge: if you live on the beach, you also live next to a four-lane highway.
But just past the Malibu Pier the highway and the ocean separate, and for a few miles the beachfront properties line a calm residential street, Malibu Road, with speed bumps and dog-walkers. Stan Laurel used to live here.
The houses stand shoulder to shoulder, allowing little more than a glimpse of sky between them.
Saxon pulled up to a two-story façade of smooth gray concrete.
On the upper floor, the surface was interrupted only by an arrow-slit window; at street level, there was a wooden garage door, and a front door and a window, both made of milkily opaque glass.
A few months earlier, when the house had had a different owner, a visitor would have entered a little gallery-like space, with concrete walls and gray limestone floor tiles, filled with contemporary art.
The house withholds its big Pacific reveal, and the clouded glass casts the gallery in pale light.
The art here once included photographs of nuclear-weapons-test clouds and a life-size statue of a man, no longer in his youth, with his fists in a boxer’s pose.
The sculpture, cast in aluminum and painted blue, is by the French artist Xavier Veilhan.
It is a likeness of Tadao Ando, the Pritzker Prize-winning Japanese architect.
Ando, who had a brief boxing career, designed the house.
Now eighty-two, he has kept his practice small.
He has one office, in his home city of Osaka, and has never employed more than thirty people.
He works on only a few designs each year.
Some are museums; many are houses; nearly all, including the house on Malibu Road—finished in 2013, for Richard Sachs, a former money manager—are made of concrete, poured on-site, and left unclad and unpainted, indoors and out.
In what has become an Ando signature, the concrete’s velvety surface is marked by evenly spaced holes—small and shallow enough to be plugged by, say, a marshmallow.
The Malibu Road house has about four thousand square feet of indoor space.
Another property of this scale, on this street, might sell for twenty million dollars.
When Sachs put his house on the market, in 2020, he asked for seventy-five million.
Sachs’s price, like his aluminum statue, suggests the extent to which an appreciation of Ando can take the form of veneration.
For very wealthy people who spend some of their wealth on art, no living architect seems more likely to make them feel that they’re buying not just a fine home but the work of a major modern artist.
An Ando house will require expensive and exacting construction; it will have a controlled, sober beauty that photographs well and that plainly communicates contemporary, if not avant-garde, taste.
And it will be rare.
The client will receive personal validation of the most tangible, bombproof kind.
Ando has said that, after being introduced to potential clients, “my decision to accept their projects depends mainly on their personality and aura.”
An American real-estate agent who has had some interactions with Ando recently told the Wall Street Journal that “it was like working with God.”
Saxon was let into the Malibu Road house by Bianca Censori, the woman who had texted him; she was in her twenties.
The house is a box partially embedded in the continent’s last, low step of land.
The structure then stretches over the sand, propped up by four pillars at about the high-tide mark.
(The beach here is narrow.)
Although the house appears from the street to be two stories, the front door is on the middle of three floors—the main floor.
A short corridor leads from the gallery to an open living area where the house delivers its vast, binary view of sky and ocean, through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Censori mentioned that the house, which was empty of furnishings, had a new owner, but she didn’t name him.
A few other people were around; they had ladders and tools.
One or two were identified as co-workers of Censori’s and, like her, were dressed all in black.
Others, like Saxon, had been summoned that day.
Walking around, Saxon registered bathroom walls lined in marble—“gorgeous black-and-white marble, like something in a New York hotel in the nineteen-twenties,” he told me—and custom wooden cabinetry that, he estimated, had cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Downstairs, the ceilings were lower than on the main floor.
Three rooms, each with a little bathroom, had ocean views.
There was also a laundry, and a room where Saxon saw devices that controlled the house’s heating and other systems.
On the upper floor, two extravagantly wide staircases—more suggestive of a college library than of a beach house—descended to the main floor.
One staircase was inside, one was outside: they ran alongside each other, separated by a wall built partly of glass.
At the bottom of the outdoor staircase was a courtyard with a fire pit.
At the top was a concrete hot tub.
The top floor was mostly terrace, with the primary bedroom opening onto it.
Sachs once kept a sculpture of the Incredible Hulk, by Jeff Koons, midway up the indoor staircase.
In this area, Saxon noticed, Censori’s black-clad colleagues were doing something involving large blocks of foam.
He remembered being told that they were turning the stairs into a slide.
Later—as the house’s interior was dismantled—Saxon would spend nights here, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by Clif Bars and Red Bulls, and bothered by seagulls.
Later still, Censori would become a fixture of the paparazzi-oriented media, as the romantic partner of the house’s owner: Ye.
For nearly a year, Censori, who is Australian and had studied architecture at the University of Melbourne, had been working for him on various design projects, alongside other young architects.
Saxon saved her number on his phone under “Bianca architect.”
(Censori did not respond to requests for comment.)
In the fall of 2021, Ye was forty-four, and his wealth was estimated to be nearly two billion dollars, thanks in part to fashion deals with Adidas and the Gap.
That February, his wife, Kim Kardashian, had filed for divorce.
Saxon, who’s unimpressed by most music recorded after 1969, now takes some pride in having been oblivious of whom Censori meant when she referred to “the owner,” and why there was some hubbub in the street and a security guard posted outside.
People paying closer attention to Ye’s life might have read a TMZ story, published a few days before Saxon’s visit, headlined “Kanye West Drops A Whopping $57.3 Million for Malibu Home/Sculpture.”
Censori asked Saxon to paint over the shelves, cabinets, and closets—along with the bathroom marble—in a shade that would disguise the boundaries between these surfaces and the untreated concrete of the walls.
She said of the owner, “He doesn’t want any of the wood to show.”
Saxon had a moment’s pause: the paint would look bad (and soon peel off).
But he likes to contrast his pluck with what he perceives to be uniform lassitude among Californians, and he didn’t protest.
He gave Censori a quote and drove off to buy paint samples.
That afternoon, Saxon did some test-painting on sections of wood.
Censori sent photographs of these to the owner.
They waited.
Censori then told Saxon to remove all the wood; she allowed him to call a friend to help.
That day, Saxon recalled, he and his colleague “ripped the cabinets out, we ripped the entire laundry-room wood out.”
They worked all night, filling the garage with splintered pieces.
Saxon eventually went home to sleep.
A few hours later, Censori woke him with a call:
“Do you think you could come help me get the foam off the stairs?”
She meant now.
“And he wants to meet you,” she added.
In 2001, Tom Ford, the fashion designer and filmmaker, bought twenty-two thousand acres of land in northern New Mexico.
He asked his preferred architect, Ron Radziner, of the L.A. firm Marmol Radziner, to design some buildings for the new property.
But, as Radziner recently recalled, Ford also requested permission to stray, architecturally:
“Tom said, ‘I’m not going to do this if you really don’t want me to. But how would you feel if I hired Tadao Ando to do the horse facility?’ ”
Radziner, who admires Ando—it’s always “Mr. Ando,” in his telling—approved, and offered to become Ando’s local “executive architect” (in charge of permits and planning) and general contractor.
To secure Ando’s blessing, Radziner flew to Japan.
Ando’s career had been founded, in the nineteen-seventies and eighties, on ingenious single-family homes, often on tight city lots in Osaka.
After Ando won the Pritzker, in 1995, his practice became increasingly international.
Kulapat Yantrasast, a Thai-born architect, joined Ando’s firm in 1996, and came to spend much of his time overseas, frequently on projects for fashion-world figures.
In France, he worked on a house, never built, for Karl Lagerfeld. In Italy, he oversaw the construction of a theatre in Milan for Giorgio Armani.
Yantrasast, who now has his own practice, told me that such clients often have feelings of awe, touched with envy, for the rooted solidity of an Ando building.
The work “is mysterious, it’s anchored, it has such a quiet presence,” Yantrasast said. “Whereas fashion and music are about dynamics and movement and change.”
Ando once wrote that it would be hard for him to build a house in America, because he wasn’t “familiar with Americans.”
But by the time Radziner visited Osaka, in 2001, things had changed.
Ando had designed a house in Chicago for Fred Eychaner, a media entrepreneur, and two institutional buildings: the Pulitzer Arts Foundation, in St. Louis, and the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, where a reflecting pool generates a mirrored double of the concrete-and-glass façade.
“Well, if it’s anything like the last million years, I think we have a lot to look forward to.”
Ando’s Osaka studio is about the size of a large town house, and is organized around an atrium.
Alex Iida, an American architect who joined Ando’s staff in 2010, has described the studio as “five stories up, two stories down, and one big void in the middle,” adding, “So, pretty much, we can hear everything that’s going on.”
Radziner recalled that, during his visit, he witnessed an impromptu staff meeting.
Ando’s usual workstation, at the bottom of the void, put him right by the office’s only phones.
That day, Ando had overheard a staff member’s phone conversation that didn’t sit right with him, and he had called the meeting to say so.
He stood at the bottom, making his complaint to employees arranged above.
That scene of staff supervision, or surveillance, has an analogue in the way an Ando work is meant to be experienced.
With a client’s assent, an Ando house makes unignorable decisions about how people, and light, should behave in it.
Ando has stressed the importance of a “coexistence” between humans and nature, and his designs often try to thwart a too sharp division between indoor and outdoor life, to the extent that a client’s art collection allows.
A famous early house in Osaka was unheated, and obliged its inhabitants to cross a courtyard to reach the bathroom.
Ando has said that when the client “came to me and asked me what he would do when it became too cold in the house, I told him to wear a sweater. When he asked me what would happen if it got even colder, I told him to wear many sweaters.”
Some contemporary architects foreground the idea of a building’s future flexibility.
Ando isn’t one of them.
Yantrasast, in explaining his decision to leave Ando’s studio, in 2003, told me that he wanted to explore a less “controlling” architecture.
He said that he’d once shared with Ellsworth Kelly, the artist, a worry that people might dismiss his post-Ando designs, which have often used concrete, as mere offsprings.
Kelly, reassuring him, contrasted what he described as the prescribed severity of Ando’s spaces with the more “open-minded” aesthetic of Yantrasast’s.
Ando’s method for casting a concrete wall on-site is unremarkable in its fundamentals.
A contractor fashions a narrow rectangular mold from plywood sheets.
One way of helping the mold withstand the weight of wet concrete is to pass metal rods, known as form ties, horizontally through the width of the box.
Each tie has two nuts on it that are tightened against the plywood mold’s interior.
The concrete is then poured in, typically over a forest of vertical rebar.
After the concrete dries, the contractor removes the wood, the ends of the ties, and the nuts—leaving little holes, which can be filled in or not.
Ando requires contractors to do all this with unusual precision, and he carefully manages the effect of the lines where one sheet of plywood meets another, and the pattern of the tie holes.
But, as Radziner came to realize when he visited numerous Ando projects in Japan, the result isn’t immaculate.
“They’re striving for perfection, but it’s not about actual perfection,” he said.
The concrete may dip a little around the tie holes, like around the button of a mattress; it will have tiny cracks and variations in color.
“And that’s what makes concrete concrete,” Radziner said. “You feel the nature of it, the strength of it.”
He has wondered whether some of Ando’s international clients miss the point when they decide to use white cement in the concrete mix:
“You think, Oh, that could be plaster.”
Radziner is confident that Ando’s preference is for uncolored concrete, whose hue of gray is determined, in part, by local materials.
Radziner began work on the Tom Ford project.
Ando’s designs came to include a low house and a reflecting pool.
(Ford dropped the idea of building a mausoleum for the future remains of himself, his husband, and their fox terriers.)
Construction wasn’t quite done when, in 2007, Radziner first heard from Richard Sachs, who had retired in his forties after working at such firms as Bear Stearns and Salomon Brothers.
Ando had agreed to design him a house in Malibu, and had recommended Radziner as executive architect.
Ando, outside his studio, in Osaka, Japan.
He has stressed the importance of a “coexistence” between humans and nature, and his designs often try to thwart a too sharp division between indoor and outdoor life, to the extent that a client’s art collection allows.
At Radziner’s office, in West L.A., he showed me photographs of the Sachs House under construction.
The process required many times as much concrete as a more ordinary American house of the same size.
The walls and floors were made of thick concrete.
Twelve concrete caissons were built, reaching sixty feet beneath the dirt—or the sand, on the ocean side.
“You do it at low tide,” Radziner explained. “But you’re still pumping water out as the concrete’s dropping in.”
Underground, the caissons are cylindrical, but, where they are visible, holding the house about fifteen feet above the beach, they’re square in section.
That’s a pain to do.
But such effort “is all about the look,” Radziner told me.
During construction, which began in 2009, technical drawings, sometimes annotated by Ando, were in constant transmission between Osaka and L.A. An Ando lieutenant visited Malibu Road every few months; Ando himself made perhaps half a dozen visits.
“Mr. Ando is brilliant in an almost cinematic way,” Radziner told me.
Ando stages an interior like a director:
“As you turn, you experience another view. Maybe the ceiling is a little low—you feel the weight of that—and then you move through, and, suddenly, the ceiling pops up, and there’s this expansive space.”
We looked at images of the wide staircases.
“To do that on a small site in Malibu is a bold move,” Radziner said, adding that it’s unusual to find a client who will value “the experience of space more than how much quote-unquote usable floor space he has.”
(Asked about how accepting Sachs was of the wabi-sabi flaws in the concrete, Radziner smiled, then said, “Pretty good.”)
The house was finished in 2013.
From the kitchen, which had stainless-steel surfaces, one could survey the ocean over a glass-topped dining table with blue-cushioned chairs.
Above the table, Sachs hung a painting of a nude figure by the New York-based artist George Condo.
(While the house was under construction, Condo painted five alternative covers for Ye’s 2010 album, “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.”)
By 2013, Ando had executed fewer than ten commissions in the U.S.
So it’s an odd coincidence that, while the Sachs House was being built, another team was putting up another Ando house in Malibu, just four miles west.
As Radziner phrased it, “We were working on the Little Ando, and that was the Big Ando.”
The Big Ando was designed for Maria and Bill Bell, whose wealth derives, in part, from TV soap operas created by Bill’s parents, including “The Young and the Restless.”
These clients had first shown Yantrasast their site in early 2003: eight acres on a bluff overlooking the Pacific.
In Yantrasast’s favorable description, an Ando museum can have the air of a home that has expanded to accept institutional duties.
Ando was now increasingly being asked to flip that equation, and design homes built on a museum-like scale for members of what Yantrasast calls the “art-collecting communities.”
Ando designed more than thirty thousand square feet of space for the Bells, including a gallery that could comfortably display a ten-foot-high Koons sculpture, on a plinth, representing piled-up lumps of Play-Doh.
Yantrasast calls the Big Ando, finished in 2015, “one of the best houses in America.”
Radziner agrees that it’s remarkable.
But, he noted, “it’s white concrete. That’s all about perfection.”
The Little Ando, he said, was more special.
“I love this house,” he said. “It’s the classic gray. So I think that Mr. Ando really loves it, too.”
In 2007, several years after Ye’s career had taken off—first, as a producer for Jay-Z and other hip-hop stars, then with his own albums—Ye started a blog largely about art, design, and architecture.
As a child, in Chicago, Ye would read Architectural Digest in a local Barnes & Noble;
he was briefly enrolled at Chicago’s American Academy of Art.
On the blog, he added approving captions to images found online; they showed work by, among others, the architects Moshe Safdie, Rem Koolhaas, and Ando.
Beneath a photograph of a cable-railway station in Austria designed by Zaha Hadid, he wrote, “I want my future now!”
Ye, who declined to participate in this article, sometimes relaxed into a Martha Stewart-like idiom.
A photograph of three dozen rounded gray cushions piled on a floor, like a rock slide, was captioned with a warning that the visual impact of such an arrangement would be diminished by, say, “a 6 year old Ikea coffee table with a stack of 30 magazines and some hard back books with the old paper covers still on em which, sidebar, should have been removed.”
In the three years that Ye maintained the blog, images of architectural spectacle—a tree house resembling an eyeball, the world’s largest swimming pool—increasingly shared space with examples of residential minimalism in Scandinavia and Japan.
Ye and Kim Kardashian began a romantic relationship in 2012.
Ye seems to have often taken the design lead in the partnership—a scene in “Keeping Up with the Kardashians” from that year shows him gently urging her to toss out much of her wardrobe.
They worked together on readying a house for themselves, in Bel Air, that was neither futuristic nor minimalist.
Its terra-cotta-tiled roof and ochre outer walls suggested Portofino (or “Curb Your Enthusiasm”).
Oana Stănescu, the Romanian architect, was speaking as a Ye design adviser when she told W magazine that the Bel Air mansion was “so bad, seriously—it couldn’t be any worse.”
The same article, from 2013, describes Ye working on new songs while Googling modernist legends.
(“How do you spell Mies van der Rohe?”)
That fall, he visited the Harvard Graduate School of Design, at the invitation of students.
“The world can be saved through design,” he told them. “And everything needs to actually be architected.”
Stănescu helped strip away the ornamentation on the Bel Air house, giving it an oddly denuded, shaved-cat silhouette.
Kardashian and Ye didn’t stay long.
In 2014, the year of their wedding, they bought a much larger house in Hidden Hills, a gated community northwest of L.A., which posed similar design challenges: the listing called it a “French Country pièce de résistance”;
Ye has called it a McMansion.
With this house, Ye, whose music career was founded on an unmatched ability to make something beguiling and new out of music recorded years earlier, undertook what could be thought of as an attempt to test the limits of remodelling.
Could some version of minimalism be jammed into a suburban mansion with such farm-housey details as shutters and exposed beams?
The makeover was executed by Stănescu and Axel Vervoordt, the Belgian interior designer, among others.
Ye aptly characterized the resulting look as “futuristic Belgian monastery.”
A client drawn equally to spareness and to architectural bravura ended up with a sprawling interior so relentlessly off-white that judging distances must have been a challenge.
It’s minimalism, but it’s also a lot.
In 2018, Kardashian, who at that point had three children with Ye—their fourth was born the following year—spoke to Architectural Digest about living with them in a house furnished largely with pale blobs:
“I run around the house with towels. You do have to just take a deep breath and say, ‘Okay, it’s going to happen.’ ”
“Soon, she was apologizing for apologizing . . . and then she reflexively apologized for that!”
That year, Ye invited “architects and industrial designers who want to make the world better” to work with him on a new venture, Yeezy Home.
An Instagram post by one of his designers indicated that the mission would include making affordable housing with precast concrete.
By then, Ye had built a spectacularly successful mass-market fashion career, in partnership with Adidas.
(He’d also aligned himself with President Donald Trump and suggested that slavery in the U.S. had been consensual.)
The progress of Yeezy Home, which lacked a multinational corporate partner like Adidas, was hard to discern;
it had to be inferred, in part, from drone photographs of experimental domed structures that Ye had erected in Calabasas, California, and in Cody, Wyoming.
But the consistent suggestion was that Ye’s reach in music and fashion could be replicated in the built environment.
“I’m going to be one of the biggest real-estate developers of all time,” he said.
One evident influence was James Turrell, best known for his monumental and still unfinished land-art project at Roden Crater, in Arizona.
For decades, Turrell has moved hundreds of thousands of tons of earth at the site, building chambers, connected by tunnels, that frame views of sky.
Ye once told GQ that, the first time he and Turrell spoke, on the phone, “I was literally screaming at the top of my lungs about how important it was for us to work together.”
(This conversation likely occurred after the summer of 2015, when Drake—with whom Ye developed a long beef—shot the video for his hit “Hotline Bling” inside an uncredited imitation of Turrell’s work.)
Turrell, now in his eighties, has kept people away from his crater during its remodelling, but he has made exceptions for potential donors to the project.
In 2018, he gave Ye what he recently remembered as a “full day and night tour.”
To Turrell’s surprise, Ye later made good on an offer to contribute ten million dollars.
On Ye’s birthday the next year, Turrell gave him a sketched design of a house.
By this point, Ye had publicly discussed a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.
Documentary footage shot in 2018 and 2019, leaked online but never released as a film, shows behavior that one could reasonably connect to that diagnosis.
In one sequence, Ye, wearing a maga hat, forces a political seminar on captive employees at a private-jet terminal in Chicago, shortly before flying off for an Oval Office meeting with Trump.
(Later that day, in D.C., Ye is seen telling Jared Kushner by phone that he’ll keep his appointment at the White House only if he can enter the building “the exact way that a foreign dignitary would.”)
The footage also shows Ye urging employees to build what he calls a “Turrell space” in four months, and enthusing about a proposed foam object that could be “a toilet and a bathtub and a shower and a couch.”
He inspects a prototype dome, with a hole in the roof, and says that it could equally serve as a homeless shelter or an orphanage.
Ye appears to have been working toward a space in which he and his family could live—in one scene from the documentary, Kardashian advises him that her closet area should include a bathroom—as well as a larger community around him, and a housing template that could satisfy millions.
On a monitor, a fly-through animation reveals various enormous Turrell-like structures while a narrator describes “a community of the future . . . a new way of life for the entire universe.”
The camera catches the moment when the minimalist architect Claudio Silvestrin, who had once renovated a SoHo apartment for Ye, first sees an architectural drawing of the imagined community.
The scale dawns on Silvestrin: there are dozens of circles on the page, each representing a separate structure.
“I didn’t realize it was so big,” he says.
Then, collecting himself, “O.K. So you would like a proposal.”
(Ye and various collaborators, including the Swiss architect Valerio Olgiati, have spoken of building a city in the Middle East or an underground campus in Wyoming.)
The documentary underlines an obvious point: it’s hard to do architecture in bursts of enthusiasm and grandiosity.
Ye is serious about buildings—we see him flicking through a book about Archigram, the experimental British architectural group of the nineteen-sixties and seventies—and he has unusual reserves of creative insight and energy, as he has at times himself observed. (“I am Warhol. . . . I am Shakespeare in the flesh.”)
His urgency can be attractive; as he once said, in a conversation with a design publication, “I don’t want to be dead when the world starts getting good.”
When Olgiati worked with him, he praised Ye’s radicalism and called him “probably the most interesting client that an architect can have.”
But the path from an idea to a built thing is long, expensive, collaborative, and difficult to reverse.
You can’t prototype a dozen city blocks, as you can a dozen sneakers or songs, and then pick the one that works best.
And it’s hard not to think that, with Turrell, Ye started in the wrong place.
Ye once tweeted, “We all will live in Turrell spaces.”
More accurately: we won’t.
Turrell’s hallmark Skyspace installations, of which there are more than eighty around the world, are exposed to the elements.
Their acoustics can be challenging.
There’s certainly nowhere to cook or wash.
These are places that allow people to reset their sense of space and time—an eclipse-like experience, without the eclipse.
Yet, even in the world’s most benign climates, they don’t point to a new paradigm of shelter.
The documentary shows that, in what appears to be less than two years, Ye met, separately, with several of the world’s best-known architects, including David Adjaye, Toyo Ito, and Jacques Herzog, of the firm Herzog & de Meuron.
(As Ye clarified, with a laugh, in his 2018 track “Kids See Ghosts,” “Herzog and de Meuron, in an office out in Basel / No, not Miami—Switzerland.”)
And, on a trip to Japan, Ye and Kardashian visited the island of Naoshima, where the Chichu Art Museum, a largely underground structure designed by Ando, includes a Turrell Skyspace.
(Ye has rapped about being “in Japan with Tadao Ando.”)
Ye’s interactions with famous architects in this period—echoing his tendency to enlist a multitude of collaborators to contribute to an album—included reaching out to at least one other major international figure. In a recent conversation, this architect, who requested anonymity, told me that some of his senior partners met with Ye in L.A.
(The architect couldn’t join.)
Ye insisted on flying everyone, that evening, to Roden Crater, where he acted as a guide.
“My guys came back to me with more questions than answers,” the architect said, dryly.
He added, “My understanding is that he’ll ask one architect, and then another, and they would not know that the other was working on the same thing.”
In the Arizona desert, Ye had been “full of visions,” but “the feeling was that there is something about architecture that requires a little bit of contemplation. And, maybe, a little bit of patience.”
Ye has described Ando as the world’s “greatest living architect” and “the Ye of all the architects.”
He and Kardashian often visited the Big Ando in Malibu.
In 2019, the year before Ye ran for President, Kardashian bought some land in La Quinta, California, southeast of Palm Springs.
Later, after the couple separated, she applied for permits to build a house on this land, designed by Ando.
In 2023, Kardashian posted photographs of herself in the Osaka studio, sitting with Ando and his colleague Alex Iida at a desk on which were strewn renderings of the house.
Designs posted online show a form that, from above, resembles a guitar pick with a hole at its center.
“Met with the master himself,” Kardashian wrote. “So deeply honored and incredibly humbled to have the opportunity to work with him.”
(The house reportedly will have a footprint exceeding half an acre.)
In June, 2021, Ye and the model Irina Shayk, whom he was said to be dating, visited Château La Coste, an estate in southern France that is dotted with sculptural and architectural works by Frank Gehry, Jean Nouvel, Renzo Piano, Richard Rogers, and others.
He was photographed walking next to a concrete Ando wall that runs alongside a little lake into which an Ando pavilion juts.
The next month, Ye gave a concert at the Mercedes-Benz Stadium, in Atlanta, to preview likely tracks on an impending album, “Donda.”
Then he stayed.
For several weeks, at a reported cost of a million dollars a day, he lived and recorded in the stadium.
His accommodations were both minimal and imperial: he slept in a narrow bed in the corner of a small, windowless, harshly lit room of painted cinder blocks, in a building that seats seventy thousand people, with a roof that can open to form a circle against the sky.
Saxon, in the Ando house.
He noted, “It’s funny—and not funny, in a way—to say, ‘I’m the man who single-handedly destroyed this architectural masterpiece.’ But I pretty much did.”
Later that summer, after a second concert in Atlanta and one in Chicago—where the centerpiece of the staging was a replica of the sixteen-hundred-square-foot house in which he’d spent much of his childhood—Ye released “Donda.” (The album was named for his late mother.)
He also bought the Sachs House.
His intention, always, was to reimagine it.
Up to then, Ye’s architectural achievements had been mixed.
Despite his design literacy, his access to half of the world’s best architects, and his almost limitless funds, he had never built an enduring, finished structure from the ground up.
(And in September, 2019, he demolished the prototype domes in Calabasas after the Los Angeles County Department of Public Works started asking about permits.)
But he was pleased with what he’d been able to do in Hidden Hills.
There, playing the role of producer, or curator, he’d shaped “an iconic home that informs a lot of other people’s homes,” as he put it in 2020.
(That’s fair: Kardashian has three hundred and sixty-two million Instagram followers.)
Ye admired Ando, and wanted an Ando, for reasons that at the time may have included spousal competitiveness, but he didn’t love this Ando.
Kulapat Yantrasast, who later discussed the matter with Ye, told me, “To be honest, he did not like the house—he did not like the interior.”
Soon after Ye bought the house, someone representing him called Ron Radziner.
Ye wanted to meet on Malibu Road the next day.
Radziner was unavailable, so he dispatched two colleagues.
The house they saw that morning was just as they’d left it, eight years earlier.
Ye welcomed them and introduced them to James Turrell, who has a long white beard.
According to the visitors, Turrell, describing the house as a work of art, said, “There’s nothing for me to do here.”
But Ye detailed improvements that he wanted Radziner’s firm to make.
These included removing the cabinetry and replacing the stairs with ramps.
Radziner told me that, when he heard of these directives, he said to himself, “This is crazy. If someone wants everything different, just go build something else.”
Radziner knew Turrell a little and e-mailed him.
Turrell called right back.
Radziner recalled Turrell saying, “Kanye’s capable of doing good work. But I think what you have to do is just put it to him: ‘These are the things we’re willing to do. And these are the things we’re not.’ ”
Radziner told Ye that his firm would happily take out the cabinetry but was unable to do much more.
Ye didn’t reply.
When Censori summoned Saxon back to the house, a few hours after he’d left it, he was exhausted.
“I stink, I haven’t showered for two days,” he recalled. “I’m a lunatic.”
He drove back to Malibu, arriving in the early afternoon.
Ye was at the house; it had been a few weeks since his rebuff by Radziner.
According to Saxon, Ye told him, “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re like a hurricane! I like you. I like your style.”
As they walked through the stripped rooms, Ye kept asking, “You got this out? You did this?”
He began to describe his plans for the house.
Saxon asked, “Are you telling me this hypothetically, or do you want me to do it?”
Ye wanted him to do it.
As Saxon saw it, “He was so sick of everyone around him.”
Saxon demurred; he didn’t have a company or a license.
He was just a dude with a minivan and some stamina.
“But he goes, ‘You can do it! Don’t give me that. You can do this! Don’t say no!’”
Recalling this, Saxon laughed. “Some inspiring shit!”
Saxon warmed to Ye, and not just because of the flattery.
“I’m not in any way familiar with his music,” he told me. “But I kind of got him. We are very similar in a lot of ways.”
Saxon had been given his own bipolar diagnosis and detected in Ye some similar behaviors.
Later, after they got to know each other a little, Saxon brought this up. “I’m, like, ‘Are you on medication for it? I just started taking it a couple of months ago, and it fucking helped me.’ ”
Ye suggested that Saxon wear black and told him to be discreet: there were no permits for work on the house.
Saxon’s storytelling, like Ye’s, can digress, and his experience on Malibu Road, which lasted about six weeks, is now the subject of his lawsuit, which centers on alleged underpayment and a back injury.
But the outline of events is clear, and many of the details are confirmed by photographs and messages archived on Saxon’s phone.
Within a few days of that first meeting, Saxon had become something much closer to a project leader than to a day laborer.
He helped assemble a small crew by enlisting people he knew and a few outside contractors who’d been working at the house when he showed up.
Starting on the day he met Ye, Saxon didn’t go home for several weeks.
He found a mattress at the house; a friend later brought him some clothing in a trash bag, and his guitar.
Saxon began taking the house apart.
A coffee-table survey of Ando’s houses, to which Ando supplied a foreword, has the Sachs House on its cover.
The photograph was taken at the top of the wide outdoor staircase.
The photographer, facing the sea, was perhaps standing in the concrete hot tub.
Below, on the house’s main level, is the little courtyard.
To the left, two cylindrical stainless-steel chimney pipes, serving an indoor fireplace, run up the side of the house, rising several feet above the upper terrace.
The chimneys seem to quote a similar crowning gesture at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation.
Saxon’s videos include one in which he’s helping topple one of the chimneys.
Another shows someone swinging a hammer at a bathroom’s black-and-white marble walls.
A third demonstrates how a handsome glass balustrade, the kind you’re almost bound to find in a modern museum, shatters into windshield fragments when you tap its corner with a sledgehammer.
In a fourth, Saxon and another man are demolishing the hot tub with two jackhammers.
“There was so much rebar in the concrete,” Saxon told me. “It was absolutely brutal.”
Saxon had been hired to carve an oceanside Turrell out of an angular fifty-seven-million-dollar Ando.
Ye revealed to Saxon—although not all at once—that he wanted no kitchen, bathrooms, A.C., windows, light fixtures, or heating.
He was intent on cutting off the water and the power (and removing the house’s cable and wiring, which ran through the concrete in plastic tubes).
He talked of clarity, simplicity, and a kind of self-reliance.
“He wanted everything to be his own doing,” Saxon told me.
In one cheerful text from Ye to Saxon, in response to a report of the day’s demolition, he wrote, “Let’s gooooo . . . Simple fresh and cleeeeeean.”
Saxon says that he negotiated a fee of twenty thousand dollars a week and agreed to disburse additional funds to pay colleagues and buy materials. Initially, he slept in a corner of the main floor, beneath where the Condo once hung. The glass on the staircase side was gone, but the big ocean-facing windows were still intact, and the weather was mild. The spot gave him a view of the front door. Saxon felt exposed to possible intruders. Once, he had to chase out a couple of young Ye fans, who appeared to be live-streaming.
On Instagram, Saxon posted giddy, look-at-my-life content. In one such video, he sits on the wide indoor staircase, accompanying himself on the guitar in a resonant rendition of Smiley Lewis’s 1955 hit, “I Hear You Knocking.”
A caption reads, “Acoustics are too good at my new friend’s house.”
Another video is captioned, “I take rich people showers now.”
His impulse to amass half-ironic selfies, taken against a preposterous backdrop of ocean and concrete, is understandable, and it’s one that he shared with the occupants of the Big Ando nearby.
(Maria Bell, posting on Instagram around the same time: “Another album cover . . . My solo is entitled ‘Girl Brush your Hair.’ ”)
At first, Saxon saw a fair amount of Ye.
One morning, before dawn, Ye drove Saxon and another worker to Home Depot, and then to McDonald’s, in a Lamborghini S.U.V.
Some hours later, Ye announced that he was offended by how Saxon looked and smelled after a long day of labor, and took him to the Nobu hotel, in Malibu, where he had a room.
He gave Saxon some clothes and ran a bath for him.
“My jaw is, like, on the floor,” Saxon recalled. “He’s drawing the water. He goes, ‘You will never forget this moment.’ I said, ‘Damn right I will not.’ We were cracking up.”
On another day, Kardashian visited Malibu Road, with some of the children, or perhaps all four—Saxon isn’t sure.
He recalled helping the kids find foam blocks, from the ramp project, to play with.
He also said that one of his colleagues, arriving at the house, glanced at Kardashian and said, distractedly, “Oh, hello, Bianca.”
(There is a resemblance.)
After the family had left, Ye put his forehead on Saxon’s shoulder and groaned, “Why would your boy say that? She’s the most famous woman on earth!”
Saxon, apologizing, said of his friend, “He’s old.” (A few weeks later, Kardashian hosted “Saturday Night Live,” which led to a relationship with the cast member Pete Davidson. Ye later threatened Davidson with violence.)
Over the next weeks, even as Saxon’s experience rewarded him with moments of exhilaration, as well as a considerable income, his sense that he could handle anything was increasingly tested.
Before long, there was no kitchen in the house and nowhere else to keep food.
Dust got into everything.
Saxon and his colleagues knocked out all five bathrooms.
Nighttime temperatures dropped.
He had to placate the neighbors, who, he was relieved to learn, were rarely at home during the week, and he tried to remain invisible to city authorities: he couldn’t have a dumpster out front, and when the bathrooms were gone he had to hide a porta-potty.
As Censori once patiently explained to Ye, in a group text where he’d shown impatience, “No permitting increases caution.”
Saxon told me, “I was functioning like the sick-raccoon rock-and-roller that I am—just living off of Ensure and Red Bull.”
(He contends that Ye insisted he stay at the house; others say that it was his choice.)
Saxon felt trapped by his night-watchman role and slept poorly.
A big wave would crash, he recalled, “and I’d think somebody was breaking into the house.”
A seagull pecked at him.
He recalled once waking to Ye standing over him and saying, “I thought you’d be working.”
A worker at the beach house destroys a glass balustrade. Video courtesy Tony Saxon
By the end of October, demolition was largely complete.
The process had been interrupted by only occasional moments of confusion.
Once, Saxon thought that he was following Ye’s instructions by smashing up the fire pit in the courtyard.
He sent Ye a photograph of the pit reduced to a circular stump.
“This is not a good job brother,” Ye texted.
He’d wanted Saxon to take out the living-room fireplace instead.
It hardly mattered: all of it had to go.
The project was now starting to focus on additions and enhancements.
Saxon found this phase more fraught; it required engineering—and some planning.
What did Ye want?
Writing to Censori, Saxon observed how odd it was that, “no matter how tight we are with Ye,” they remained unsure of his intentions.
He added, “It’s always an adventure.”
Censori replied, “LMAOOO I know isn’t it crazy.”
Saxon developed a solidarity with Censori born of these conditions.
He encouraged Ye to have her take on a larger role at Malibu Road; in turn, she helped Saxon compose texts to Ye, who had complained of verbiage.
(“I don’t read long text,” he texted.)
Saxon and Censori once had a jokey exchange about marrying, to allow her to stay in the U.S. legally.
Censori: “I’ll get the best wedding dress.”
She added a bride emoji. Saxon: “Fine but we need to have an Elvis impersonator.”
Censori: “Obviously!!!!”
Ye could become distracted.
On the visit to Home Depot to buy tools, he’d spent an age trying to learn who had lined up plant pots in an appealing way.
A sales assistant shrugged.
“Well, I want their number,” Ye said, according to Saxon.
“That’s how I want my plants to look.”
(They didn’t buy any tools.)
While the Sachs House was being transformed, Ye was busy: making post-release changes to “Donda”; running a fashion empire; preparing to open a private school, the Donda Academy, west of L.A.; and reviving his Sunday Service concerts, built around a gospel choir, which he’d begun a few years earlier.
On October 28th, the Friday before the first of these concerts, which was to be held at a downtown warehouse that had been rented for Ye’s Gap business, Censori texted Saxon, “Wowwww so I’m on a 17 hour car ride from Portugal to Paris with Ye.”
(Ye has said that he couldn’t fly directly to Paris that week because he’d received only one covid vaccination shot.)
The road trip was “slightly torture,” she said, but she was grateful to have been included.
She asked Saxon whether he knew anyone who could procure a “giant sphere.”
A new text: “By Sunday.”
She meant for the L.A. concert.
She then sent a photograph of “Unseen Seen,” by James Turrell, installed in a museum in Tasmania.
It’s a sphere that accommodates two people at a time: after signing a waiver, they lie on their backs and are bombarded by colored light.
That weekend’s Sunday Service—attended by, among others, Marilyn Manson, Justin Bieber, and Tony Saxon—appears to have been held without a sphere.
A few weeks earlier, Saxon had shown Ye a part of the Malibu Road house that he’d never seen before.
In the garage, Saxon opened a hatch in the floor, then led Ye down a ladder into a space that, although on the same level as the laundry and the lower-floor bedrooms, couldn’t be accessed from there, and was basement-like in its lack of natural light.
As Saxon recalled it, he explained to Ye, “Look, there’s your water purifier. There’s your A.C. systems, there’s your boiler, there’s your water softener. You know, this is the guts of the house.” Ye, looking around, replied, “This is going to be my bomb shelter. This is going to be my Batcave.”
Ye’s hopes for the house, at least at this moment, call to mind the Atlanta stadium setup.
There’d be a cell-like capsule to provide for some basic human needs, from which one could emerge into a big, semipublic space that was open to the sky.
This was a vision less of a home than of a refuge within a striking concrete art work.
One of the people on the project had discussions with disaster-proofing specialists.
Ye sent Saxon various drawings showing an arrangement of amenities within a small space.
One image contained spherical and ovoid objects—“cooker,” “pump,” “fridge”—but no mattress.
Another included three crates, a “flat pack shower,” and a “robot platform.”
Ye wrote, “Let’s make this in real life.”
Saxon texted, “I love this—it’s genius,” but he had no idea what he was meant to do.
There were similarly desultory exchanges about recycling rainwater and cutting a hole in the floor to make a toilet.
Ye remained adamant about disconnecting the house from the grid; he also opposed installing solar panels.
In Saxon’s view, it would be unpleasant (and loudly indiscreet) to operate tools like concrete mixers using gas or diesel generators.
Ye was unsympathetic.
His usual boosterish tone—“What’s up, brother? Good morning. I love you. Let’s get this shit done,” in Saxon’s summary—gave way to peevishness: “Why is there still power here?”
By the start of November, no work had begun on the ramps, or slides, that had always been a part of Ye’s conception.
Although Ye had been open to the idea that paint could blur the difference between concrete and wood, Saxon recalled him recognizing that the foam had looked shoddy on the stairs.
Saxon had then asked an acquaintance to design a ramp scheme.
A rendering, which Saxon forwarded to Ye, featured new walls and a slide made of stainless steel, like in a playground.
Ye didn’t like it.
On November 5th, Censori sent, in a chat, three renderings of a concrete ramp with Ando-style tie holes.
Ye, in another chat, wrote, “When will this be done? I’ve been asking for this for over a month.”
He had bought a house designed by an architect with a history of staircase panache.
The Big Ando has a dazzling, thirty-six-foot-wide outdoor staircase on which you could reënact “Battleship Potemkin.”
But, in 2023, a lawsuit brought by former teachers at the Donda Academy, which shut down soon after it opened, claimed that Ye had discouraged the use of the second floor—because he was “afraid of stairs.”
That may not be true, but he certainly had no regard for stairs.
On what may be the only occasion when Ye has publicly mentioned events at Malibu Road, he told a pair of podcasters that he was “really big on outlawing stairs,” adding, “Everything should be designed like an old folks’ home.”
The ramps that Ye proposed for Malibu Road appeared to be at least four times as steep as any allowed by the Americans with Disabilities Act, and they would have ended not far from the edge of a terrace that, during the demolition process, lost its balustrade.
Someone descending the ramp from the primary bedroom on, say, a skateboard, could expect to shoot off the edge and land some thirty feet below, on the beach.
Another rendering, sent along with the concrete-ramp images, showed a room turned into an unambiguously Turrell-like space, with a large hole cut into its ceiling.
By this point, Saxon was feeling unwell and unhappy: he says that his payments had stopped arriving and that his co-workers were maneuvering to sideline him.
It seems possible that Ye had come to recognize that Saxon, for all his virtues, was unqualified to run an ill-defined project in experimental engineering.
On November 5th, Saxon shared with Ye a link to a 1958 recording of “When I’ve Done My Best,” by the Harmonizing Four.
Not long after, Saxon drove to meet Ye at the Gap building downtown.
(Ye would later be sued for changes he’d allegedly made to this rental: according to the suit, bathrooms had been removed, and a ramp and a tunnel added.)
Ye and Saxon had a fight—about money, electricity, and Saxon’s apparent reluctance to take out the ocean-facing windows in the living room.
In Saxon’s memory, Ye said, “If you don’t do what I asked you to do, I’m not going to be your friend anymore. You’re not going to work for me anymore. And you’re only going to see me on TV.”
Saxon told Ye that he didn’t watch TV.
“And then I walked the fuck out.”
When Ye’s fifth studio album, “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy,” was released, in 2010, it was almost universally received as a masterpiece.
A few years later, Ye gave an interview to BBC Radio 1. “‘Dark Fantasy’ could be considered to be perfect,” he said. “I know how to make perfect, but that’s not what I’m here to do. I’m here to crack the pavement and make new grounds sonically and in society—culturally.”
If Ye’s decision-making on Malibu Road shows evidence of incomplete thinking about, among other things, certificates of occupancy, toilets, and the challenge of being a global celebrity in a windowless house on a public beach, it also doesn’t look like a project of heedless destruction.
One can allow that not every aesthetic rebellion yields art of value, and also recognize that a jackass is sometimes just a jackass—to borrow President Obama’s appraisal of Ye—and not an iconoclast.
But Malibu Road was at least an attempt at radical design.
In 2021, Ye had a core architectural team of three people—Censori, Tanil Raif, and Abe Salman—all of whom were still in their twenties.
Ye spent much of his time with them, travelled with them, and talked with them about developing an architecture of “primitive futurism” or “neo-primitivism.”
He was a student among recent students.
Ye’s circumstances were, of course, weird: other architectural apprentices experiment with 3-D-modelling software; he did his experimenting on a three-story Ando.
Yet his public remarks, as well as his actions, have the strengths, and weaknesses, of a spirited young designer.
“I’m very into architecture, but I’m not into the class system,” Ye said in 2021.
Housing, he observed, was just another form of control; the idea of being “homeless on purpose” interested him.
Speaking to the podcasters in 2022, Ye said that he’d wanted to “look at the bones” of the Sachs House—to strip away “compromises” that he supposed had been forced on Ando by his client.
“To get this house, and be able to just take everything out—it was, you know, extremely therapeutic.”
He once told Saxon, “Ando would love this. I can’t wait to show him everything we did. He would love this.”
(A representative of Ando’s recently told me that Ando “does not like to talk much about the House in Malibu” and declined further comment.)
A few months after Saxon left, Ye met with Kulapat Yantrasast, the former Ando architect, and took him to Malibu Road.
Work had continued for a while after Saxon left—Ye persuaded someone to remove the big windows—but then everything had stopped.
(The City of Malibu recently acknowledged that, on December 21st, it issued the first of three stop-work orders on the house, because construction had been done without permits.)
Yantrasast approved of what he saw.
Or, at least, he didn’t mourn what had been lost.
“The classics cannot stay stable for too long—they become complacent,” he told me.
Ye soon became a client of Yantrasast’s.
In the following months, they talked of other projects, and Ye expressed interest in buying the Big Ando.
Yantrasast and Ye returned to Malibu Road several times.
“He wanted to understand how this concrete structure could be enhanced,” Yantrasast said. “Not brought back to how it was, but become completely different, in a way that was very raw.”
Ye and Bianca Censori, his wife. An Australian, Censori studied architecture at the University of Melbourne.
He went on, “I have to say, I really admire what Ye was trying to do.”
As Yantrasast saw it, Ye had used Ando “as a base to build his own language of architecture.”
Inside the Hidden Hills house, Ye had worked to “reduce and reduce and reduce,” and had then understood “that the next step is to really go to the primal rawness.”
Yantrasast said that he’d been reminded of the end of Robert Altman’s film “Prêt-à-Porter,” when a fashion designer sends naked models out on the runway.
Toward the end of 2022, Ye made the antisemitic and pro-Nazi remarks that destroyed his business empire.
Adidas dropped him, describing his comments as “unacceptable, hateful and dangerous.”
(Ye eventually released a general statement of apology, in Hebrew.)
According to estimates made by Forbes, his net worth fell from two billion dollars to four hundred million.
He could no longer afford the Big Ando.
In December, 2022, Ye posted on Instagram a song called “Censori Overload.”
(It included a sample from an interview he’d just given to Alex Jones, of Infowars, in which he’d praised Hitler.)
The next month, Ye and Censori were photographed out together, as an apparent couple.
It was later reported that they had already married.
Censori has since become known to tabloids in part for a wardrobe whose near-nude minimalism also brings to mind Altman’s concluding scene.
Last year, she and Ye were seen with Turrell, waiting for valet parking outside a lobster restaurant in Santa Monica.
They were also photographed at Ando’s Chichu Art Museum, on Naoshima.
In May, 2023, the Bells sold the Big Ando to Beyoncé and Jay-Z, for a hundred and ninety million dollars—the most ever paid for a house in California.
A Ye-oriented Reddit thread introduced that news by quoting from “Big Brother,” Ye’s 2007 track about the mixture of rivalry and respect in his relationship with Jay-Z:
“I told Jay I did a song with Coldplay / Next thing I know he got a song with Coldplay.”
Architectural fame doesn’t guarantee respect.
Americans have demolished houses by Frank Lloyd Wright and Marcel Breuer.
Last year, Chris Pratt, the actor, and his wife, Katherine Schwarzenegger, a self-help writer, bought a house in the Brentwood area of Los Angeles designed by Craig Ellwood, an admired mid-century architect.
They knocked it down and began building something five times as large.
In the nineties, a Pacific Palisades house designed by Charles Eames and Eero Saarinen—working together, as part of the now celebrated mid-century Case Study experiment in residential architecture—was sold to a man who built a mansion inches from its face.
The Case Study house lost its wide view of the ocean, becoming an annex joined to its blocky new neighbor by a corridor.
It’s hard, however, to think of another esteemed house that’s been left exposed to the elements, and to the public’s gaze, after being jackhammered halfway to ruins.
Saxon told me, “It’s funny—and not funny, in a way—to say, ‘I’m the man who single-handedly destroyed this architectural masterpiece.’ But I pretty much did.”
Ron Radziner recalled the first time he saw photographs of the changes made to the Sachs House.
“We were all devastated,” he said. “It was this beautiful piece of architecture, and it’s really destroyed.”
Toward the end of last year, he heard again from Ye’s office.
In Radziner’s recollection, he was asked “to put it all back together.” He expressed interest. He told me, “I’d be thrilled to have the opportunity to bring it all the way back.”
Radziner gave Ye an estimate. (He declined to share the figure with me, beyond acknowledging that it exceeded ten million dollars.) As before, Ye didn’t reply. “The next thing we heard is the house was on the market.”
In December, the news broke that the Malibu Road house was being listed by the Oppenheim Group, which is both a real-estate brokerage and the setting of the hit reality show “Selling Sunset,” on Netflix. The Oppenheim Group listing used the same photographs that Sachs had used when selling it: balustrades, sun loungers, windows. Ye’s asking price was fifty-three million dollars.
In February, I spoke to Jason Oppenheim, who runs the company with his twin brother, Brett. Jason gamely tried to close the gap between that imagery and the cavernous reality. Stress-testing real-estate rhetoric, he argued that an Ando structure is “ninety per cent concrete” and that what has been lost on Malibu Road is “just, really, finish work,” which was already a decade old and ripe for replacement. “So you’re going to be getting, essentially, a brand-new Ando.”
As he noted, Ando is in his eighties, and one can’t just call him up to ask for a design. The house was a “collectible”—all the more so because of the Ye connection. A buyer would be inheriting from two cultural giants. “I don’t know if there’s a more interesting story behind a house,” Oppenheim said. “It’s exciting that you get to be the third iteration. You’re following Ando and West, and then you’re getting to put your stamp on it.”
Oppenheim conceded that it’s hard to think of plumbing, power, and windows as “finish.” There were plans, he said, to do some work on the house if it didn’t sell quickly. “I do think that windows and doors will allow it to be received better,” he said. He estimated that a full renovation, making the house habitable, might take eighteen to twenty-four months and cost “plus-or-minus five million.” (He later said that it was definitely plus.) When I asked Oppenheim about the stainless-steel chimneys, whose demolition had altered the silhouette of the house, he seemed surprised: “I don’t recall any chimney being removed.”
It was a sluggish time in the “ultra-lux” market, Oppenheim said. He did not rule out the idea that Ye’s torn-up house might appear on “Selling Sunset.”
A few days later, I walked along the beach in Malibu. It was around high tide, when you’re forced to pass right by the pillars that support the houses looming over you; you’re close enough to read sour, threatening little signs urging you to go away. Waves occasionally reached beneath Ye’s house. On a narrow staircase that leads down to the sand, the bottom six or seven steps were wet.
Up on Malibu Road, it looked as though someone had attempted to force open the freestanding concrete mailbox in front of the house, near where Saxon had once tried to hide a porta-potty. But the street-facing side of the house was otherwise in unaltered condition and delivered the usual Ando contrast of high precision—holes and lines—and the subtle disorder of the concrete’s shading, with bruises of dark gray, or yellowish gray, set against paler gray.
On the Pacific side of the beach house, where there were once windows and glass balustrades, safety barriers have been installed. They’ve quickly rusted, and the floor beneath them—made of concrete, Ando’s signature material—is now stained red.Photograph by Spencer Lowell for The New Yorker
Inside, I was surprised by the loudness of the surf—even in the dim vestibule where the aluminum Ando statue used to stand. In an empty house with no windows, the sound of the ocean filled every room. Underfoot, the original tiles had been hammered out, and so had the cables and pipes that were once embedded beneath. The floor was now rough concrete, covered in cavities and trenches, like a road that had been chewed up by a milling machine ahead of a resurfacing.
I looked around for half an hour. The seagulls kept their distance. The sun shone. Oppenheim was not quite wrong: the house was still here, in a way that another architect’s work might not be, given Ye’s thoroughness and more than two years of salt and rain. But the fireplace was now a hole between the living room and the courtyard; the concrete hot tub was just a scar. The staircases were as pitted as the floors. It was a scene of violence, even if you could still identify the spot where Sachs once hung a Cindy Sherman. The walls often showed where someone had aimed a blow at a closet or a sheet of marble but instead hit smooth concrete, contributing a rogue mark to Ando’s tie-hole pattern. At some point, on the beach side of the house, where there were once windows and glass balustrades, safety barriers were installed. They quickly rusted, and the concrete beneath them was stained red.
Downstairs, an internal concrete wall, which once stood between a bedroom and its bathroom, lay on the floor in fragments, with rebar poking out of it—I saw this against a backdrop of perfectly blue sky, suggesting an Anselm Kiefer sculpture on vacation. I walked through the former laundry into the control room. Almost no daylight reached this corner, and there was no cross-breeze to dry it out. I was splashing through an inch or two of standing water that looked gray in the dim light. Ye’s Batcave was on the other side of the wall in front of me.
In mid-April, he reduced the price to thirty-nine million dollars. ♦
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