Step into the small, high-ceilinged home of the architectural firm ONO, off a narrow nondescript alley in San Francisco’s South of Market district, and the largest enclosed workspace holds such tools as a table saw, planer, and belt sander. The practice is well-accustomed to producing building models—not 3D simulacra, but the old-school wooden and foam ones assembled by hand. “We have two full-time model-makers,” says Max Obata, 39, who started the firm with Tyler Noblin, 41, in 2020. “Everything these days is keyed to AI and computer renderings, but we see so much value in analog thinking.”

The room and its function embody the approach of the firm and its founders, who met at the San Francisco office of Snøhetta in 2014 and gradually realized that they both wanted to be “architects at a holistic level,” in Obata’s words—mastering every aspect of the craft, its discourse, and even such mundane necessities as invoices and billing. This set the stage for a healthy portfolio of modestly sized projects, from office interior remodels and bespoke backyard cottages to an unexpectedly elegant fishing hut below California’s Mount Shasta.

The work is rooted and tactile, sharing a composed confident air and, in Noblin’s words, “a sense of restraint where the overall forms are calm and things reveal themselves over time.” What enlivens them are the unexpected touches that feel right amid their surroundings, such as in a recently completed house near Lake Tahoe with a uniform line of small square windows on its upper floor—except a single larger square one that, aligned to the inner staircase, drops down to showcase a view of the statuesque Douglas fir just outside.

“Simplicity alone isn’t enough. Restraint can be boring,” says Obata, whose father is late HOK cofounder Gyo Obata. “Small moves can shake things up, and add to the experience.”

ONO opened its doors at an inauspicious moment: January 2020, two months before the pandemic arrived in force. Early work came through references from friends, or trusting family members. The fishing hut was built for the uncle of one partner’s wife; in essence, it’s a wooden cloak around two shipping containers where the fishers can store such necessities as hip waders and landing nets, on concrete footings set slightly above ground to allow water to flow underneath during heavy rains. But the cloak is redwood timber, and the thick platform was enlarged to allow room for a long bench facing the river, underneath the generous beamed canopy. The containers are masked by angled slats (also redwood) that add an artisanal touch to the rustic scene.

As word-of-mouth has spread, ONO has grown to include 16 designers. But the original ethos remains—so much so that the founders gathered their team this spring for a lunchtime reading of “On Slowness,” the 1999 essay by Tod Williams and Billie Tsien.

“We share a desire to get a conversation going in the office,” Noblin says. “To get everyone thinking about where we came from, rather than just embracing the newest technology.”