Adam Haddow lives here

Having grown up in the bush, Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees made complete sense to me – everything was connected. If one thing suffered then so did everything else; with balance, things thrived. Wohlleben posits that there is a reciprocal environment existing between trees, a complex network of support at play.

The nature of nature is what kept me sane as a child. I could escape into the bush and be ‘lost’ for hours. You’d notice the ecology change simply by walking over the crest of a hill – the north-facing slopes were arid and sparse, the southern ones wetter and denser. We didn’t think much about it really, we grew to ‘know’ it, finding our way to enjoy the bush: to find the soft grass at the edge of the clearing that enjoyed the afternoon sun – the spot where you could always find kangaroos resting, or the coolness that provided reprieve in the middle of a summer adventure. The interconnectedness and complexity of the bush still enthrals me.

The health of a city relies not only on the people that inhabit it, but also on the diversity and interconnectedness of the urban form.

I see the city similarly, it’s just a different type of bush! The health of a city relies not only on the people that inhabit it, but also on the diversity and interconnectedness of the urban form. Thriving cities require diversity and respect. Too much of a good thing can be as detrimental as too little, which is perhaps why I’m not a supporter of suburban sprawl, nor of single-use financial districts!

Our desire for a small house was spurred by the housing crisis and the insatiable sprawl that is engulfing the bush that I loved as a child. Our act of smallness is both personal and political. We believe that we can live a better life with less and that perhaps by showing how it can happen, a discussion about ‘bigger not being better’ might ensue.

When it came to making our home, we understood our 30-square-metre plot as part of an interconnected organism rather than as an island state.

When it came to making our home, we understood our 30-square-metre plot as part of an interconnected organism rather than as an island state. With this freedom in mind, our house didn’t need to be excessive – our lives would be lived within the broader city network. We love the smallness of the house and the way that it changes consumerist habits. We love that having a large group of friends for dinner means booking a table at our local and that music practice is done in the city’s rehearsal studios. We also love that the spaces are specific and rich – that the painting above the lounge imagines what was here before and that the shower is connected to the sky.

We live on the western slope of the hill and enjoy the spotlight of sun that skims past surrounding taller buildings. Our neighbours are offices, houses, gyms, restaurants, warehouses and apartment buildings. We invested in artwork that engages with the street, with the intent that our gate would become part of the hidden network of public art punctuating Surry Hills, lending the place we call home individuality and idiosyncrasy that you won’t find anywhere else. The Australian bush is unique and our cities should be too. If we see the city as a network, we need less because we share more – this notion excites me. 19 Waterloo Street is a statement about joy and delight and is a new part of the fabric of the city, a thread in the tapestry of Surry Hills, its history and its future.