History And Criteria
Structure Back to the Future: Oda – ArchiCAD
Picture yourself in 18th–19th century western Georgia, standing before a wooden house whose floor plan feels so rational, so precise, you’d think it had been drafted in a modern-day ArchiCAD program. This is the Oda, a dwelling that wrapped the vision of the future into a seemingly simple frame. Its layout is rectangular, almost minimalist, reminding one of modernist sketches. But the real wonder lies in its flexibility, the Oda was as mobile as a giant Lego set. Each beam, partition, and plank was calculated so meticulously that the house could be completely dismantled, moved, and reassembled in a new place
without losing its shape or strength. Each relocation was like a rebirth, the same house, yet with a new life. Inside, the Oda was just as versatile. Wooden partitions between rooms could be folded away, transforming the interior into one open space, like the 19th-century version of a convertible loft. Even the front wall could be opened, dissolving the line between indoors and outdoors, so that the balcony and the house merged into one. It was a clever trick: without sacrificing comfort, guests could suddenly find themselves “moved” into nature. This adaptability wasn’t just an architectural flourish; it was
practical. During rituals, feasts, or mourning ceremonies, families needed larger communal areas, and the Oda could shift accordingly. In this sense, it became the forerunner of mobile architecture, a home that could reinvent itself in seconds, carrying both heritage and innovation under the same roof.
The Fireplace – Prometheus’ Fire for All
No Oda could exist without fire. Before a single wall was laid, the fireplace was raised first. Around its flame the house would take shape, as though life itself began from that spark. In Georgian tradition, the family was bound to the hearth, ‘Kera’ the sacred fire at the center of daily life. Within the Oda, this ancient hearth was reborn as the fireplace. It gave warmth and prepared food, yet it also became a piece of art. Stonemasons sought out rare stones, shaped them with patience, and adorned them with
ornaments, symbols, and the figures of birds and animals. The fireplace was revered, for in ancient belief it carried the meaning of eternal life. And still, the essence of the hearth remained unchanged: it
was the place where family gathered, where unity and harmony were kindled. Yet in the Oda the fire found a new gift. Built into the corner of the room, the fireplace opened into two, sometimes more, chambers. A flame lit in the main hall spread its warmth softly, evenly, into every adjoining space, through the whole house. Unlike the one-room houses of old, where closeness was bound by necessity, the Oda gave a choice: to gather in fellowship by the flame, or if desired, to retreat in solitude. For the fire once stolen by Prometheus now reached every corner, every hidden nook, touching each life within.
View from the Balcony with 3D glasses
The Oda balcony is an edge, a liminal place where the ordinary world brushes against infinity. In its earliest days it served only as a humble shelter from the rain. Yet over time, it transformed into a stage where the great drama of the world was played out. Its crowning glory lies in the lace carvings etched into living timber. Every balcony carries its own unique series of ornaments, signs of the sky – sun, stars, and moon; symbols of water — waves and tides; the realms of birds and animals; vegetal motifs; and, at
the heart of Georgian identity, the three eternal marks: the Borjgali, the vine, and the cross. These
carvings are shaped with such mastery that they often pulse with the rhythms of the cosmos in motion, for instance, depicting the sun’s journey across the firmament. Such kinetic ornaments usually appear
above the balcony, suspended between the pillars on the delicately woven “wooden curtains.” At times, this moving beat is replaced by stillness, a quiet, frozen ornaments carved into the railing. From the
Oda’s balcony, the world opens like a vision seen through a pair of 3D glasses, shifting from tangible
space into timelessness, observing celestial bodies, changing seasons, and the pulse of nature. In time, the Oda balcony became so refined that it started resemble a miniature model of the universe. Its railings are set low, its arches spaced wide, its veils of wood lace scattering sunlight into shimmering fragments. The whole house seems to hover in air. And yet its wooden beams and stone foundations are rooted so firmly into the soil, this weightlessness is anchored, and held in balance. Thus, the elders often believed that the Oda balcony was a meeting point of three realms: the earth’s solidity, the heaven’s
breath, and the fleeting, visible life in between. Here, grandmothers wove colorful fabrics, children
played their first games, tables were set and feasts unfolded, songs soared, verses were born, and sometimes even theater took shape. In those moments, the balcony floor ceased to be just wood and changed into a grand stage of the living world.
Brotherhood of the Living Wood
Behind the carved balconies and archways of the Oda stand figures half-veiled by time. Their names
rarely appear in chronicles, yet their work has endured the only true test — the trial of time. They are the anonymous carpenters of the Oda houses. When the renaissance of Oda architecture swept through western Georgia, it seemed as if these craftsmen emerged from nowhere, men whose hands, minds, and hearts carried within them the distilled knowledge of millennia rooted in this land. They translated
the philosophy of wood into the language of daily life, shaping it into dwellings where every mortal
might brush against that philosophy simply by living within its embrace. The finest masters came from the mountains of Racha and the valleys of Lazeti. They formed brotherhoods, wandering bands of artisans who shouldered their satchels and cloaks and set out from ridge to ridge, plain to plain, raising
new homes for new families. Wherever they went, they sought their own materials in the local forests, choosing wood not as resource but as living companion. Oak, chestnut, elm, and Yew were never mere timber. Each carried spirit. Oak was held as the tree of life; Yew, the tree of a holy angel, invoked for fertility and happiness. When elm or chestnut bore ornamented carvings, it was said the wood itself continued to speak, chirping like a bird through the lines and patterns etched into its surface. Legend
tells that a true master never severed the bond with his creation. Years later, grown old, he would return to stand at a distance, gazing at the house he had once raised. His name might not be carved anywhere, but his spirit lingered. The Oda itself stood in his stead — hearth lit, voices echoing life unfolding within, bridging earth and sky in its quiet, enduring grace.