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Inspiration

My friend Dave and his wife Susan (and their soft-coated Wheaten Terriers, Tristram and Sally) live on the outskirts of Philadelphia in rural Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I’ve known Dave for about ten years now, and, to date, he’s the only person I know who can outdo me when it comes to general anguish over lack of perfection. I think he may own more chairs than I do, too.

Dave, an architect, has been renovating his house for over a decade now. He’s done so in a way that is not only respectful to the original design of the house, but to the land that surrounds it and to the furnishings within. I asked him if he’d be willing to do a little visual tour, and he generously agreed.

With no further ado, here’s Dave’s long-winded, overwrought narrative (he told me to say that!).

Modern in the Country

Had someone told me it would be almost twelve years to get 1800 sq. ft. and just under 2 acres almost just the way I want it I would have told them they were crazy! Well it is just about as finished as it ever will be so with some friendly persuasion from Anna, I have been convinced to post this progress report for the kind readers of her amazing blog.

I think I can remember the days when we first moved in that I still had about half the energy of Anna and Evan, those were the days when a lot more seemed to get accomplished in a weekend than it does now and the sun setting had little or no affect on your considering stopping a half completed project. Despite this spiraling work slowdown over the years, more than our share of unexpected disasters and the reality of everything taking seven times as long as you intend and costing a minimum of five times as much, here is a tour of the black house in the country.

The house was built in the early 1950’s by New Hope, PA, abstract artist Adolphe Blondheim as his studio and home. Its flat roof, abundance of glass and low-slung profile must have looked quite out of place in such a rural location in the early 1950’s. Originally, the house was designed as a two bedroom, one bath house with a large, 12-foot ceiling, north-facing painting studio. Over the years, and through the work of several subsequent owners, the house has been modified and added to. Unfortunately, from evidence we have uncovered, a majority of the original details have been lost, such as the studio plan, the earliest kitchen layout and most of the steel sash windows. It has through all of its transformations managed to maintain the overall feel and basic character it must have had when it was first built. Like the prior owners, including half of a 1960’s British pop duo, we have completed several updates, all as much as possible in keeping with the character of the original house. Paint color is BM #2135-10 with a custom color for the trim to match the roof coping.

What continues to strike me even after a dozen years in this house is how you are affected by the strength of the relationship between the exterior and the interior and the natural light. What it does do without you thinking about it is put a lot more emphasis on the condition and care of the landscape than you ever had imagined. You spend quite a bit more time tending to the upkeep of the yard and the plantings that are visible and therefore right in your living room year round. As you enter at the front door, the mass of the stacked bond full-wall, inside/outside fireplace anchors the living room and a wall of glass extends the space into the site. By highlighting the planes the walls create with a strong color palette, defining spaces with area rugs and by adding a wall of maple, panelized to mirror the proportions of the six windows opposite we have both given emphasis to the spaces crisp modern edges and warmed up the space. We have been careful with our furnishing selections throughout the house to include a few traditional and antique pieces such as the leather Chesterfield and 18th century oak captain’s box end table to act as counterpoints to emphasize the modern classics like the Chippendale chair by Robert Venturi, four Knoll Hat Trick chairs and a Knoll Face Off table by Frank Gehry. Yellow Bubble club chairs by Philippe Starck and a Frank Gehry Torque table are on the patio.

When we bought this house, we knew immediately there would be a dining room addition sometime in our future. There existed an awkward neither/nor space just barely large enough for a small table and an odd butcher block counter that extended half into the living room. These two areas were the only spaces to entertain or to sit have a meal. When the addition was added, the goal was to blend it as invisibly as we could with the house by using as many existing proportions, materials and elements as possible. We were limited to the size room we could add by the courtyard on the east, the existing kitchen window on the west and by a 60 year old, 20 inch diameter white pine tree on the north that we had no intentions of cutting down. Here we also incorporated glass, maple and strong planes of color to strengthen the visual connection of this space to the rest of the house. The table is a Le Corbusier LC-6 surrounded by six Philippe Starck Costes Chairs. Walls are BM #HC 105 (as is 90% of all of the trim in the house) BM #2131-30 and BM #HC-26.

We currently have the house arranged as two bedrooms and the third bedroom being used as a television room and den. The original painting studio was renovated by the previous owners to be a master bedroom with addition of a master bath and a large walk-in closet. The 12 ft. ceiling give enough space for both monumental pieces of art as well as making room for hanging art stacked. The large amount of glass makes the placement of pieces a real challenge. As a result, large blank wall in the walk in closet has even been pressed into duty as a place to put a collection of smaller special pieces. The 12 ft tall built-in shelves also created a challenge but in the end make for a great place for my larger-than-it-should-be collection of character toys. The high windows eliminate the need for any window treatments and since they are north facing maximizes the light they provide. We are fortunate to live near a well-known auction gallery that twice a year features a outstanding mid-century modern auction and have acquired several pieces there over the years. The travertine-topped walnut dresser and bed stands are Paul McCobb and were purchased there. The bent wood chairs, four in all, were also found at a local auction and all four were a mere $14! Nowhere near the deals Anna regularly gets but not bad! Wall color is BM #OC-57.

We currently use what was originally the second bedroom as a den/TV room although you will not see a black box! I really dislike a television taking over a room (a TV mounted over a fireplace especially sends me to the mat with apologies in advance to anyone reading this that may have such an arrangement!) and we were fortunate enough to have millwork to hide one already in this room. This room has natural cedar wainscoting that has become an art ledge of a series of block print cards from an artist friend of ours that we have been fortunate enough to receive each Christmas for the past 15 or so years. The Knoll Power Play chair and ottoman are by Frank Gehry. The walls are BM #1585.

All photographs are © Matt Wargo. Please do not reproduce without permission.

Thanks, Dave!

I’m not sure how I missed this story when it first ran in the New York Times, but today I happened to stumble onto it while reading the comments on this post (thanks, Madeline, whoever you are!).

Sandra Foster and her husband, Todd, bought a piece of land in Delhi, NY, with a hunting cabin and a trailer on it for $46,000 and spent $3,000 renovating and decorating the 125 square foot cabin until it resembled a magical Victorian gingerbread house. Sandra did virtually ALL of the work herself. I am super-impressed.

There are a bunch of additional photos (and a great article!!) on the NY Times website. So inspiring.

All photos by Trevor Tondro for The New York Times.


Looking one way…


…and looking the other way.

Our hallways are long and skinny. Our whole house is kind of skinny, actually—20 feet wide—typical for late-1800s row houses. We’ve managed to make this work in the downstairs entry hallway (that’s it in the first photo here) by balancing the staircase with an extra-long credenza that doesn’t interfere with passage to the dining room, but upstairs is a different story.

Here’s a floor plan to give you an idea of the space I’m working with (upstairs is on the right, and the new closet what’s behind the “attic door”—that’s the open door in the above photo). It’s really not wide enough for a shelf of any real dimension, much less furniture. There are doors all over the place. Someday we’d like to have a few light tubes installed, but for now it’s kinda dark, since there are no windows.


Clipper Street Residence, envelopeA+D

This is kind of the aspirational gold standard for me. Our house doesn’t have as many fancy details, but it is from the same time period and roughly the same Victorian style. I could see adding a chair rail (and maybe a picture rail, too) in our hallway, and hanging Julia Rothman’s beautiful “Pieces” wallpaper from Hygge & West (I am ashamed to say that I have been hoarding two rolls of it for about a year now—I’ve gotta use it at some point!).


From Livingetc

I keep coming back to this hallway, too. It’s pretty much the same size as ours, but it’s looks SO much more open. Part of that is because of the white floor (sigh) and the super-strength lighting (which I don’t think is natural, so it’s probably as dark as ours in reality), but also because we have the aforementioned closet down at the end where they have that little railing. Sometimes I think walls full of frames can look a little contrived, but this is really nicely done. I feel a little bit of vertigo coming on at the thought of having to rig up the necessary scaffolding in order to hang stuff that high up over the stairs. Yeesh.

So, I guess I’m pretty handy (at least when I have the energy to be handy, that is), but I’m super impressed and inspired by people who make super cool stuff out of found materials or repurposed wares.

Case in point? THIS DESK. Holy mackerel, right? Dan over at Manhattan Nest (which is a rad blog you should all be reading, by the way) made it out of a beat-up nightstand he found on the street, some knobs, a couple of sheets of MDF, legs from IKEA, some knobs, and a little paint:

Total cost? EIGHTY-THREE SMACKERS. He rented the tools and did this in an NYC apartment, too (let’s hear it for spray-painting on the fire escape!), so I don’t want to hear any crying about how you “don’t have space” to build stuff. Check out Dan’s blog for more details on the construction process.

Example #2 of making-cool-stuff-out-of-other-stuff is this amazing shelving unit from Daniel and Valeria at the always-inspiring Hindsvik blog (they have a great vintage Etsy store, too). Inspired by the Brick House (in turn inspired by the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs), they put this together using standard metal plumbing pipes and reclaimed barn wood:

There are more photos on the Hindsvik blog (yes, the cabinet opens!). Don’t you suddenly feel the need to build one of these units in your house? Somewhere? Anywhere? All I know is I’m keeping my eyes peeled for the perfect pile of discarded wood.

And all I did tonight was make popsicles (out of all-new materials, FYI).

It has been one year since Michael Jackson died.

Looking back at the post I wrote 365 days ago, it’s clear to me that I really did not fully understand on that day just how much of an impact he had on my life, or how greatly his death would affect me.

I remember much of that afternoon quite clearly. The panic as I was leaving work, the text messages and phone calls from my friend Pam. The confusion and the confirmation. The feeling of the ground dropping out from under me as I walked to Grand Central to take a train home. Evan was working late, and my mother drove me home from the ferry. I sat in her car and forced myself to not cry because I knew that kind of reaction would be irrational. But why?

The death of a celebrity is a strange thing. Everything about celebrity is strange, actually. We know them but we don’t know them, and they don’t know us at all—or at least not as individuals. It’s nearly as one-sided a relationship as possible, but the extent and depth of emotion we’re capable of feeling for these strangers should not be underestimated.

There are a hundred reasons why Michael Jackson’s death has affected me so deeply, and none of them are unimportant. I feel what I feel, and I stopped apologizing for it a long time ago. (Though I suppose the need to even say that is, in itself, a kind of apology. Oh well.)

It’s been a strange year. On one hand, it’s a relief to see documentation of certain things (yes, even the autopsy confirms vitiligo; no, the extensive FBI files weren’t hiding any sordid tales; yes, he really was extorted, multiple times; yes, the media did completely mislead the public for 16 years; no, there isn’t anyone who knew him with anything bad to say; yes, his three children are beautiful and amazing and they love him very much; yes, that fire on the Pepsi set was way more horrible than any of us realized; yes, he really did give away that much money; yes, a lot of people took horrible advantage of this man with a big, big heart; …and yes, he just might have been the nicest person ever), it’s very frustrating and sad for a lifetime fan who has spent many hours over many years reading a great number of legal documents and court transcripts to not be able to say, “I told you so”.

I just wish all of the voices speaking out on Michael’s behalf now would have done so years ago.

But enough about that.

The word “icon” gets tossed around an awful lot, but it’s impossible to overuse when talking about Michael Jackson. Everything the man wore became instantly identifiable as an extension of who he was an artist. Of course the first thing most people think of is the single, glittering glove, but that’s just the tip of the MJ fashion iceberg. Beyond the glove, we have the cropped pants, the white socks, the loafers, the fedora, the zippered red jacket, the red jeans, the military-style jacket, the white-taped fingers, the sequined cardigan, the Mickey Mouse shirt, the aviator-style Ray Bans, the armband, the surgical mask, the red button-down, the umbrella, the arm brace, the shinguards, the bow tie, the gold pants…and so on. From just a few photos and some film shot last spring, it’s now impossible to see a peaked-shoulder Balmain jacket or a pair of bright orange Dior Homme jeans without thinking of Michael. Anything he chose to wear became his. How amazing is that? And I’m just talking about fashion here—I haven’t even touched on the music and the dance!

The fact is that Michael Jackson had something that no one else has ever had or ever will have. He was and continues to be utterly compelling to watch and listen to because every aspect of his being as an entertainer was in perfect harmony. Nothing was done by mistake or without reason, but the overall effect is one of total effortlessness. His movements, his voice, his appearance: Like breathing.

It’s hard for me to write this. I could keep going and going and never finish, becoming more and more disjointed with my thoughts and failing miserably at paying any kind of real tribute. Ultimately, the best way to honor Michael is by listening to his music. I learned that last August 29th, when I stood in Prospect Park with 20,000 other Michael Jackson fans, singing and dancing and weeping and remembering how much joy this man has brought us over the years. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an outpouring of love for strangers in one place before in my life. But as always, Michael loved us more.

Photographs from Arno Bani, MJJ Pictures, Todd Gray, and Jeffrey Scales. Video for “This Is It” directed by Spike Lee.

Please, just this once, skip this post and don’t comment if you aren’t interested or don’t understand why I feel the way that I do. I don’t need to convince anyone of anything. This is for me and for others who are commemorating the anniversary of a loss that did matter to a lot of people. Thank you.

Isn’t the term “master bedroom” kind of funny? It’s not a name I ever heard growing up (along with “patio”, “family room”, and “window treatment”—we had a porch, a living room, and curtains), but I’ve adopted it recently to distinguish between the guest bedroom and the bedroom that Evan and I sleep in. What else can it be called? The big bedroom? I guess I’ll just stick with master bedroom, even if that does conjure images of elaborate, four-poster canopy beds, gilded chaises, and off-room bidets.

What was I talking about? Oh yes, the master bedroom. Where Evan and I (okay, and Bruno and Fritz—and yes, they’re allowed under the covers) sleep. It’s a mess. It’s not quite as bad as it was last year, but beyond the above photo, there’s not really anything in there worth showing right now. We keep putting off really doing something with it, probably because it’s part of the house that visitors don’t usually see or spend time in. Isn’t that sad?

I need inspiration…

Yes, I’m aware that this is not a bedroom. It’s Victoria’s new dining room, and I love it. We actually considered painting our bedroom very dark gray or black when we first bought the house, but since we weren’t sure exactly what we were doing with all of the various rooms in the house, we opted to paint everything white until we knew what was what.

Photo by Frédéric Vasseur. I love this bedding and the low-hanging pendant lamps. Also, yellow!

Photo by Per Magnus Persson. I know I’ve posted this photo before, but I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Photo from LivingEtc. Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s Jenna Lyons AGAIN. But come on, it’s SO fabulous. This also makes me wonder if maybe I should paint the moldings the same color as the walls. Hmmm.

Photos from The Brick House. I really need to find a great blanket like that. Also, this reminds me that I STILL haven’t painted that old dresser I bought at a flea market three (gulp!) years ago.

Time to get cracking.

Leah / The Full Nilson.

Sara / Lost Bird Found.

Tamera / Verhext.

My favorite blogs are almost always the ones with a strong, personal voice behind them. Yes, there are a few exceptional blogs that are so well-curated and edited that they can get away with “showing me other people’s stuff” (Remodelista, Emma’s Designblogg and Hoping for Happy Accidents immediately come to mind), but they are few and far between. I like to feel like there’s a personal connection, even if it’s one-sided.

I’ve been blogging for more than a decade now (going back to before normal people called it “blogging”), and I’ve made some awesome friends along the way. A handful of them have moved in and out of my internet-life in various contexts for years and years now, and I’m so happy that I’ve been able to see them change and grow over time. I met Leah, Sara, and Tamera through LiveJournal eons ago (well, eons in internet-years). All four of us have since transitioned to “freestanding” blogs, but I think we’ve all managed to keep the personal voice behind our blogging that drove us to put snapshots of our lives on the internet in the first place.

Anyway, if you don’t already read these blogs, take a few minutes to check them out. All three are well-written, beautiful to look at, and share pieces of the lives of three women I admire so much. (More than they realize, probably.)

A note about me and blog-reading: There are 62 blogs in my Google Reader*, and that’s pretty much my limit. If a blog isn’t holding my interest anymore (or worse, if it’s actually making me angry on a regular basis) I take it out. If I’m “test-driving” a new-to-me blog, I add it to my Reader so I don’t forget about it. I also use Reader to keep track of blogs that I don’t have on my public blogroll (usually because they are either infrequently updated or unlikely to be of interest to most D16 readers). My goal, though, is to keep my Reader lean enough that I can actually keep up with the volume in a meaningful way.

*Google Reader is the best thing ever when it comes to blog-reading. I’ve been using it for a couple of years, and I can’t imagine being without it. I like to read blogs in their “natural state”, though (as opposed to just viewing the RSS feed with Google’s formatting), so I have a nifty NEXT button (in your Google Reader settings, click on the “Goodies” tab, then scroll down to “Put Reader in a bookmark”) in my bookmarks toolbar. Whenever I have a free minute during the day, I just hit that button and see the next updated blog in my queue. Love.

Okay, your turn: Tell me which blogs you think I should know about that I might not be reading already. (And yes, it’s okay to promote your OWN blog!)

It’s funny—I think of myself as someone who, in “real life,” really isn’t afraid to discuss just about anything, regardless of what the potential reaction of those around me might be. When it comes to my blog, though, I’m a little gun-shy. Maybe that’s because the internet can be a wasteland of misunderstandings based on a lack of body language, eye contact, and accountability; or maybe it’s just a fear of being called out as a hypocrite.

Whatever the case, I’ve been wanting to write about my reaction to Jonathan Safran Foer’s phenomenal book, Eating Animals, for quite some time now, but I’ve been procrastinating. Even now as I sit down to finally begin, I’m finding myself wondering whether I’ll actually be able to hit the “publish” button when I’m done.

I suppose this post is as much about Public Fear of Blogging as it is about (Not) Eating Animals, then. (I guess it’s going to get lengthy.)

If you were a reader of my old blog, Absolutely Vile, then you may recall my rapturous reviews of Jonathan Safran Foer’s novels, Everything is Illuminated and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Both books had an enormous impact on me, and Foer quickly became one of my most favorite authors ever. When I heard that he was working on a book about the ethics (or lack thereof) of factory farming, I was surprised, but also confident that he would manage to write about this ugliest of subjects with grace, truth, and artistry. I’d read a couple of articles that Foer had previously written about his experiences with vegetarianism and his feelings about his dog, George, so I knew he and I were at least somewhat on the same page. I was excited to read this new book, for sure.

Until it was actually released, that is. I waited nearly four months before I actually cracked the cover and started reading. I knew Eating Animals was going to change my life, and I was scared.


Me in 1992. Morrissey spoke, and I listened.

When I was in my mid-teens, I became a vegetarian. There was no hesitation or “tapering off” once the decision was made—I just stopped, cold turkey (as it were). Aside from having a deep love of animals, I was also a fan of Morrissey, and I have no problem admitting that his very public and very sincere stance on (not) meat-eating and animal rights had a seriously influential effect on me at that age. I also had a lot of friends who were Straight Edge (this was the early ’90s, after all), and that peer pressure played a positive role in shaping my earliest of opinions about vegetarianism and drug and alcohol use.

Plus, being a vegetarian was another way that I could set myself apart from the average person, something which (for better or for worse) has always been very appealing to me. I knew how “different” (not to mention “difficult”) it made me seem, and I liked that. That said, vegetarianism was definitely not a phase for me—in fact, I stayed a total veg until I was 30 years old.

I’m not sure exactly what happened when I turned 30 to change my ways. Well, the short answer is that I went to Freeman’s with a friend and was lured into eating a bacon-wrapped prune (It’s always bacon that does in the vegetarians, isn’t it? It’s a total gateway meat), but the real answer is more complex than that. I joke around sometimes and refer to my lapse as a “vegetarian rumspringa,” and that’s actually not a bad description of what was going on.

I had come to feel like being a vegetarian was just another item on the list of things that have defined me in other people’s eyes for so many years, along with having dyed hair and bangs, being a Cure fan, wearing black, and so forth. It started to feel superficial, I guess. As much as I am confident about who I am as an individual, I start to get itchy whenever it seems like I’ve fallen into enough of a rut that even strangers have me figured out. I don’t like being a cliché, and, of course, I have that ongoing need to be “different.”

I started to question whether being a vegetarian even meant anything to me anymore. I thought it would be fun to cook and eat the same things as my husband. I was excited by the prospect of going to a restaurant and ordering anything I wanted. The more I dwelt on the positive aspects of giving up on my long-held beliefs, the less and less vegetarianism mattered to me.

Or at least I convinced myself that that was the case. The truth, though, is that I spent 4 1/2 years feeling guilty and uncomfortable about eating meat, and embarrassed every time I had to tell someone who’s known me for any length of time that I was no longer a vegetarian. Often times this information was met with a response of, “Great! I’m so happy for you!”, which made me feel even more uncomfortable with my new non-labeled self. Obviously this wasn’t something that I should have put on par with a decision to incorporate more color into my wardrobe—vegetarianism was something real and good and meaningful that I had committed myself to at a very young age, and I should have trusted myself enough to have held on to my convictions.

Which brings me back to the subject at hand: Eating Animals, the book.

There are plenty of reviews out there already that summarize the content of Jonathan Safran Foer’s book, so I won’t focus too much on those details. Sojourners recently published a “Cliffs Notes Edition” which very neatly outlines the 10 main arguments Foer makes for not eating factory farmed animals, and I urge you to read it.

I, like Foer, have chosen to go beyond the extent of merely eliminating factory farmed meat from my diet. Factory farmed animals comprise “99.9 percent of chickens raised for meat, 97 percent of laying hens, 99 percent of turkeys, 95 percent of pigs, and 78 percent of cattle”—in other words, the vast majority of the meat consumed in the United States. As Foer explains in great detail in Eating Animals, it is nearly impossible to be a meat-eater and not eat animals raised or slaughtered in gruesome environments. Terms I tricked myself into believing, like “free-range,” “organically raised” and “natural,” are virtually meaningless.

I was only about five pages into the book before I knew I would never eat meat again. Halfway through, I crossed out eggs and dairy products as well. When Evan read the book, he experienced the same thing. There was just no way that I, as an educated, compassionate, and financially secure person, could convince myself that there is any reason whatsoever for me to partake in a lifestyle that does nothing to help the world and its inhabitants, and everything to encourage cruelty, unsafe working conditions, and environmental destruction. When I became a vegetarian in my teens, I never once thought about farming conditions, environmental impact, personal health, worker safety, or anything beyond the most basic emotional response to animal rights. As an adult, I thought I knew the truth about these issues, but I really didn’t. Most of us don’t, because it’s not presented to us…and most of us are a little frightened to seek it out.

Aside from compiling a factual reference, Jonathan Safran Foer managed to (as I imagined he would) also put out a beautiful, thoughtful, and thoroughly compelling piece of writing. Lest you be put off by the prospect of reading something horribly dry, depressing and soap-boxy, let me assure you that this book is absolutely readable. Foer explores the philosophy of eating meat and of his own struggles with ethics as a father, as a grandson, and as a young man who enjoyed the taste of a burger. This is not a preachy tome, but a challenge to think and to make meaningful choices.

If you’re feeling apprehensive at all about reading Eating Animals, that’s all the more reason to dive right in. (And yes, even if you think you already know the truth.) What you’ll find is not a pretty reality, but it is an important one. Every single one of us has the power to make up our own minds about what we will and will not put in our mouths. Blaming poor choices on something as simple as a craving (“Oh, but I like the taste of ____ too much”) or laziness (“I have kids, I don’t have time to be so diligent”) doesn’t give enough credit to that power. It’s not an all-or-none prospect, anyway. Even tiny changes are significant when multiplied by millions.

We can do better, though. All of us. It’s good to change, to learn, to grow—and even, sometimes, to revert to the instincts we had when we were younger.

VARMT HUND fabric from IKEA, 59″ wide (39″ repeat) / $3.99 per yard

One of my favorite things about IKEA is that they almost always attach the name of the designer to their products. This isn’t a practice that’s typically associated with lower-cost retailers, but it is in line with IKEA’s emphasis on promoting “good design for all”. When I saw IKEA’s new VARMT HUND textile design, I immediately looked for the name on the tag: Danish textile designer, illustrator and artist Kristine Mandsberg.

After Googling her name and discovering Mandsberg’s website, I became an immediate fan. Interiors, collages, clothing, and even an opera! Very cool stuff, and she’s probably someone I would never have come across without IKEA giving her credit for her work. I wish other retailers would do the same thing.

All images from KristineMandsberg.com.

Inspired by Victoria’s great post about black sofas, I put together a collection of primarily white rooms with black elements in them. This is my favorite kind of atmosphere—ethereal and peaceful; grounded and warm.

p.s. You know you can follow me on Twitter, right? I never shut up, and I love to answer—and ask!—questions.

Photo by Per Magnus Persson

In my house: Door Sixteen HQ

From Light Locations

L: Styling by Sofie Andersson; R: From LivingEtc

Interior by Stephen Roberts

From Sköna hem

Interior by Joseph Dirand Architecture

Home of Kristina Stark (via emmas designblogg)