A Considered
Approach to Home

In 2020, I knew. After years working in design — looking at rooms, sourcing for them, falling slowly in love with the way good interiors come together — something settled. The way I wanted to spend my work was on a few projects at a time, with people I could really know, in homes I could really listen to.

I came to interiors the long way. I painted first, and I still do. Music shaped me as much as architecture did. What those years gave me was less a vocabulary than an ear — for the way a room sounds at four in the afternoon when the light is low and the house is empty, for the way one color holds another, for the difference between a room that has been decorated and a room that has been listened to.

I started the studio because I kept coming back to one idea: connection. To the people who live in a house. To the architecture and the landscape it sits in. To the antique we found six months before the painters arrived. The work I’m most drawn to is the kind that meets the new world through the care and elegance of the old — heirloom textiles beside fresh plaster, a 1920s tile next to a built-in banquette, the layered, livable kind of beauty a home grows into over decades.

I am also a mother, and a stepmother. I have learned that a home is not a backdrop. It is the room your children remember the smell of. It is the kitchen where the table got scratched. The studio’s interest in atmosphere is not theoretical — it is the work of someone who has spent her life noticing what a house does to the people inside it.

We’re a small studio in Los Angeles, working across California and beyond. We take on a few projects each year. We believe a home should reflect the people who live in it while working in harmony with its architecture and landscape — and that the best rooms are warm, characterful, a little whimsical, and full of stories you have to be told.

If you’ve found your way here through a friend, an editor, or by chance: I’m glad you did.