If it weren't for the name, you might think the Gimme Shelter story was unfolding at the turn of the last century. When the distance between forest and production was short, and the timber followed a chain spanning just a few kilometres; when the logger knew the sawmill foreman who knew the factory director. Because that is what founder Emelie Holmberg's life looks like – her working methods and logistics are rooted in precisely that logic. From the production facility in Vimmerby it is only a few minutes' drive to both the forest and the sawmill.
“I can basically walk out into the forest and see the trees we then use in production. It's really wonderful. You safeguard quality in a way that's otherwise hard to achieve. It runs deep in your soul, because that's how people used to work. It's a special feeling,” she says.
The idea behind Gimme Shelter is simple: architect-designed modular homes in timber. And the reason Emelie Holmberg came up with it is also relatively simple. From her position as an architect running her own practice, she saw time and again how difficult clients found the process, and that the existing timber catalogue houses weren't sharp enough – whether in terms of sustainability or aesthetics.
“That's where I felt we could do something to make life easier, both for myself and for clients. The big, space-hungry catalogue houses cost more to build and heat than many people need. If you start by building smaller, it doesn't cost as much, and you end up with more considered, smarter solutions. You can also start with a small module and add on if the family grows or finances allow. It's an organic way of looking at a home,” says Emelie Holmberg.
Building homes closer to nature
The result was Gimme Shelter – built to grow in step with life. Under the Attefall rules, a smaller modular home can now be built without planning permission. The day more space is needed, you apply for an extension permit and attach another module, perhaps for a small office or guest cabin. Most of her clients stop at around 120 square metres, however.
“For me, large is around 120, not 300,” says Emelie Holmberg.
Designing in modules is a different kind of work from designing a house from scratch, and Emelie Holmberg is candid about what she has given up and what she has gained.
“There are limits to how special something can become. The constraints of industrial production, price and budget put a stop to both the very time-consuming and the tricky bespoke requests. That total creative freedom an architect who is passionate about the artistic side might want probably isn't as exciting here. I'm more interested in the manufacturing method, in the rational aspects of building, and in how you do it in Sweden. So I've probably ended up more as an entrepreneur than as an architect, actually,” she says.
The compromises have been many, and the early years were defined by one house: the prototype on Väddö, outside Stockholm – her own home. The aim was to develop optimal modules.
“It was a real challenge. We had to work within a certain height and a certain width. The materials and assembly couldn't become too expensive – but it still had to be exciting enough. The whole time you had to step back or push forward,” says Emelie Holmberg.
Development has continued since then, in small steps rather than major overhauls. She follows up on how the houses are holding up and what the people living in them think, while constantly searching for simpler assembly and new, cheaper material choices without compromising on architecture.
“We look at new timber materials all the time: what do they cost, where do we find them, what does it cost to install them? It's usually a big process to work out what a particular material choice actually costs and what it delivers. We've replaced finishes with other types of timber flooring, for example. You look at the whole house, all the time, and whether you can swap something out,” says Emelie Holmberg.
Ninety per cent of the timber comes from the forests around Vimmerby. The façade's spruce cladding is local, chosen for its durability, and is delivered already treated with iron sulphate by the sawmill next to the factory. The ceiling's clear pine panel is manufactured fifty metres away. The birch-veneer walls, which give the houses' interiors their pale figuring, she had to order from the Baltics, however.
“That's where I've compromised. I wanted birch-veneer walls, and they weren't available locally. I look at the supply chain, price, how beautiful it is and whether it's worth it. Then I work out what's best. A budget alternative would be to use a local timber panel instead – easier to install and more attractive precisely because it's local.”
A balance between design and production
Photos of the inished houses reveal a common thread: almost all sit in secluded natural settings, often by water or deep in the forest. Emelie Holmberg describes it as an interplay rather than coincidence.
“Architecture has a life of its own. It speaks to its surroundings, and the surroundings speak back. But one of the houses is on a suburban plot – an extension to another house – and creates a small atrium courtyard. Almost Japanese. You see the building from all sides, and it manages without much surrounding nature. But at the same time, it becomes very beautiful when there's wild nature around too,” she says.
Roughly half the houses become permanent homes, half holiday houses – a boundary that Emelie Holmberg says has blurred since the pandemic.
“People realised they could work from their holiday house, and then it wasn't a holiday house any more. You usually want to build it as a permanent home, even if the environment feels more like a holiday house. You can live a bit further from town and commute a few days a week," she says.
Despite her practice being founded on timber as a material, she remembers her training as surprisingly light on the subject.
“We visited some timber projects during the first year in Lund, but otherwise you didn't learn much that was useful for the actual job during the course. Five years is only enough for basic methods and mindsets. The rest – learning to test, read up, talk to builders – you have to do for real, like when I built the prototype on Väddö. There was no experience to draw on. I had to learn from scratch,” she says.
The reactions from colleagues in the industry have surprised her. Architects are heavily over – represented among the clients who get in touch.
“It's really interesting, because somewhere many of them must share my interest in building rationally. As an architect you know exactly what can go wrong, how the budget can spiral. If you suddenly become the client for your own house, you don't want that to happen. I think most people find rational building – building uniquely yet still rationally – an interesting track.”
Rethinking the future of housing
Beyond the choice of materials, the environmental benefit lies mainly in logistics. A project in the archipelago, where all the material would otherwise have had to be shipped out loose, is the clearest example.
“You can only imagine how many transports you avoid. The material is collected locally from the sawmill, next to Vimmerby, and then the whole house is shipped out in one go. Even the workers gather in the same place – they already live in the area,” she says.
Emelie Holmberg sees modular construction as an inevitable development rather than a niche, even though the industry as a whole moves slowly.
“The housing industry is like a world of dinosaurs – a very old culture and tradition holds sway. But I believe that in the future we'll order a house like a car: you click your choices, and it goes straight into production.”
That development only requires clients to be willing to decide early, she argues. She does, however, take issue with another trend in new-builds: declining quality.
“You can see the joint on the module if you don't want to spend extra money hiding it. It costs a huge amount to build in Sweden anyway, so if it's only about maximum margin I'm not interested at all. Then you have to rethink. How are people even supposed to afford to buy a house? Building sustainably and solidly with Swedish labour is expensive.”
Despite the industrial logic, the standard dimensions and the budget calculations, she is careful to stress that the artistry hasn't vanished – it has simply moved.
“If you like playing with Lego, you probably do it because there's creativity in how you put the pieces together. Every sketch is a new site, a new family, a new composition. And seeing it on site in reality, every time a new house is built, is still very exciting.”
Text: Mattias Boström Photo: James Silverman, Emelie Holmberg
