23/09/2026
The most important decision in these photographs is one you cannot see.
La Voûte is a vaulted cellar in our home in Goudargues. The left of every frame is how it was. The right is this June.
What people notice is on the right: the lime, the travertine, the old door, the courtyard. None of it is the work.
The work is under the floor.
This house has no foundations. The wall simply carries on below ground, standing partly on rock and partly on sand, and that buried part of it stays damp.
That sounds like a fault. It is how the building holds itself up.
A wall bedded in lime is not rigid. It moves a little, season after season, and when it moves the lime cracks. The part most people never hear: moisture dissolves free lime inside the wall and carries it into those cracks, where it crystallises. The wall repairs itself, and has done for centuries.
So a cellar like this is humid, and meant to be. The job is not to stop the water but to give it somewhere to go, so it drains instead of pooling under the walls.
Which is why we did not pour a concrete slab. Concrete is not permeable. It doesn't remove the water, it channels. Water that can't go evaporate through a concrete slab goes sideways into the walls, and comes back as damp and salt inside the room.
We dug out 40 cm and rebuilt the ground in layers: sand, a hérisson of loose stone, rolled stone, geotextile, perforated pipes, to create a ventilated limecrete slab. Fourteen tonnes moved by hand. The floor drains, and it breathes. enough, but no too much, the way it should.
Two smaller decisions, same logic. We rendered the vault by hand rather than flat, three months, longer than smoothing it would have been. And raising one stone door head is what made the layout possible: the structure decides the plan, not the other way round.
Anyone can lay a floor. Knowing which floor a building can survive is a different job.