Nothing suggested that such a dwelling could ever emerge in this remote suburb of Paris. Near the Canal de l’Ourcq, at the entrance to the Parc de la Bergère in Bobigny, lies a small clearing surrounded by tall cedars, maples, and weeping willows. Shielded from the city’s disturbances - particularly its many railway lines - a rather singular house stands its ground. Yet it is only when one reaches the highest point of this clearing that its presence gradually reveals itself. Its discreet roof follows the curve of the hillside. A suspended walkway spans an empty space around the house, where a contemporary moat encircles and protects it. This house seems to choose its visitors with meticulous care. It is inhabited by someone who suffers from an acute obsession with cleanliness and order. This man stands out by his excessive need for hygiene, and he lives in an almost empty space. He rarely accepts social contact and refuses any intrusion into his home. His dwelling contains only the most essential objects - the ones that are the purest in his eyes. Overwhelmed by his fears, his home is his refuge. Once through the entrance antechamber, the living spaces unfold like a natural topography, where each area communicates with the others without the separation of doors or partitions - thus abolishing the unsettling mystery of what escapes sight and control. Only the bathroom is isolated within the technical core that gathers all potentially “suspicious” fluids. The curved roof mirrors the polished concrete floor, and both meet at the sensitive point of friction and balance within the house: its entrance - the sole point of contact with the outside world. Perfectly bright thanks to its large bay windows, the house remains nonetheless resolutely closed, as none of these windows can be opened. An air filtration system regulates this impenetrable microcosm’s breathing. The exterior roller shutters complete this man’s choice to cut himself off from the world - should he so desire.