“People talk about 360-degree views like it’s a cliché, but this lot has them,” Jameson Neuhoff says. “You can stand in the backyard in 75-degree sun and see snow on the mountain. That juxtaposition is rare.”
While the principal of Palm Canyon Development waxes poetic about the views, the Desert Palisades posed significant construction challenges. The property sits on a boulder-strewn alluvial fan. Many expressed doubts about building there. “They said it felt like Mars, that no one would want to build here,” Neuhoff recalls. “But I knew someone would be drawn to this.” He assembled a team ready for the task.
Architect Jill Lewis approached the site with sensitivity. Based in Palm Springs and San Francisco, she has worked internationally for years — one reason Neuhoff selected her. She recognized the elemental power of terrain that feels ancient in its scale. “Modernism just makes sense in the desert,” she says. “The clean lines, flat planes, and deep overhangs are not even stylistic moves — they’re responses to the environment.”
Walls of glass disappear to frame the valley like a cinematic projection, with furnishings kept low and neutral so the mountain remains the focal point.
Lewis began her design of the Wabi Sabi House by analyzing the sun’s arc, prevailing winds, and three arroyos that run through the land. Instead of rerouting the waterways, she shaped the architecture around them. The result is a boomerang-like structure balanced on three concrete pedestals, bridging the arroyos and lifting the living spaces into the air.
The gesture is both rational and poetic. Restraint guides every decision. With cliffs, boulders, and dynamic sunlight dominating the landscape, the architecture needed to complement rather than compete. Lewis crafted a dialogue with land and light, while John Hreno, associate principal of Hoerr Schaudt Landscape Architects, worked to integrate the ground, including retaining rainwater for plants and wildlife.
A polished boulder anchors the threshold between desert and dwelling. Its rough exterior and mirror-smooth interior mark the transition from the profane to the sacred — a moment that reveals the home’s entire philosophy.
Hreno joined early in the project. What began as Neuhoff’s idea for a small Japanese-inspired garden grew into a complete rethinking of the site. Hands-on and ambitious, Neuhoff aimed to create a “moment” in the lower-level entry. “I’m a big thinker. I’m a big dreamer,” he says. “If the task isn’t difficult enough, I’ll make it more complicated.” When he became stuck, he sought Hreno.
Having lived and worked across the West, Hreno understood the desert’s ecological fragility and the opportunity to tell its story through design. For him, the landscape had to feel inevitable, organic, and driven by the site. “Let’s celebrate these requirements,” he says. “Like Jill’s architecture, let’s be honest with the materials, forms, spaces, and experiences.” The small entry moment became a guiding concept for the entire property.
Within Desert Palisades, the home stands apart for its discipline. Many neighbors strive to integrate with the land, but this project achieves it through synthesis, not mimicry. Architecture and landscape are inseparable; the site itself is the protagonist. The home does not sit on the land — it is of the land.
Inside, the design follows the same ethos. Lewis pared the palette to essentials: creamy plaster walls, pale oak cabinetry, matte stone, and darkened metal recalling veins of ore in surrounding rock. Surfaces are soft, never glossy. Sliding glass walls disappear, forming an open pavilion that catches the desert breeze. Spaces are scaled for living, not spectacle; luxury arises from silence and thoughtful consideration. Bedrooms serve as intimate sanctuaries with floor-to-ceiling views. Bathrooms are stone-clad and open to the sky, shaped by the light that changes hour to hour.
A monumental fireplace anchors the glass-walled living room, its scale balancing the vast views beyond.
“The house borrows its spaciousness from the views outside,” Lewis says. “It doesn’t need to be enormous. It just needs to be right.”
The primary bedroom collects sunsets over the mountains, its corner glass framing the rocky garden and distant horizon. Neuhoff recalls discussing a television in the room: “I said, ‘There is no TV in the primary bedroom, because look at this view — this is the entertainment.’ Going to sleep or waking up to this is what this house is all about.”
Impact comes not from square footage or finishes but from how the home listens to its site. In a desert long celebrated for architectural prowess, this project chooses humility.
A minimalist dining table and linear chandelier maintain the visual stillness, allowing the focus to remain on the long horizon framed by the architecture’s subtle, sheltering overhang.
A sculpted stone island extends into the open plan, grounding the kitchen in material honesty. Pale oak cabinetry and integrated hardware keep the palette minimal and quiet.
“The house borrows its spaciousness from the views outside. It doesn’t need to be enormous. It just needs to be right.”
Positioned for the perfect alignment with Mount San Jacinto, the bedroom revels in silence, as the absence of technology heightens the sensory connection.
“We’re participating in this evolving language and creating homes that feel very modern, rooted in restraint and clarity and connected to the place,” Lewis says. “For architects like me, architecture and landscape are not separate.”
Outdoor experiences mirror the clarity of the architecture. A gravel arroyo guides visitors past sculptural desert plants to a yucca grove that seems to explode upward. The backyard becomes a sanctuary: A black-lined pool reflects the shifting sky, meandering concrete steps echo traditional garden paths, and terraces planted with cactuses appear timeless.
“Jill designed staggered steps that float above the ground — those are the first steps from the back of the house,” Hreno says. “We continued this language throughout the property as a single spine pathway. You have no regular paving or straight lines anywhere in a Japanese garden.”
A sleek, sculptural tub sits in quiet contrast to the weight of the stone vanity, its thick slab appearing carved from the mountain itself.
At the far end of the house, the roofline descends to wrap the TV room in shade while exposing the unique desert floor panorama.
Neuhoff and Hreno discovered a lava rock that captured the property’s essence. After excavating it, Neuhoff says, “We polished and honed the interior, bringing out this incredible black basalt lava.” That rock sits at the threshold, rough outside, polished inside — symbolic of crossing from profane to sacred.
The Wabi Sabi House embraces imperfection and transience. It floats lightly over arroyos, honors desert modernism, and remains quietly radical: a home that belongs to its site as much as it does to its owners, collaborating with wind, light, stone, and water. In the end, its greatest luxury is belonging.
