Płyta

Pre-war apartments in Mokotów have a particular quality that newer buildings don't: ceilings high enough to breathe in, floors that have lived a life, proportions that no contemporary developer would approve. This one had been buried under decades of compromise. Stripping it back was less a renovation than an act of recovery. The kitchen became the argument. A full-length island faced entirely in veined Arabescato marble — worktop and cabinet fronts cut from the same slab, the veining continuous across every panel. Against pale grey plaster walls, it reads almost as a piece of furniture rather than architecture. Artworks lean on the counter rather than hanging on walls. Cast iron sits where it belongs. The room is used rather than performed. The rest of the apartment follows the same logic: nothing added that doesn't earn its place, nothing removed that doesn't need to go. The parquet was restored, not replaced. The cornices were left exactly as found. New joinery reads as furniture — standing slightly away from the walls, acknowledging the original fabric rather than competing with it. Płyta is named for the slab. The marble is the project's centre of gravity, and everything else orbits it quietly.