There’s a familiar cycle of frustration that many of us know well. It begins with a pristine, beautiful new rug placed proudly by the front door. It ends, just a …
There’s a specific kind of heartbreak that comes with watching a glass of red wine topple in slow motion, arcing gracefully through the air before landing with a devastating splash …
There’s a constant, silent war being waged in my home, right at the entryway. The enemies are mud, dust, rain, and all the assorted grime that clings to the bottom …
There’s a unique frustration that comes with finding the perfect entryway rug, and it’s a story I know all too well. For years, our front door was a battleground. We’d …
For years, our living room felt incomplete. It’s a large, open space that acts as the central hub of our home—a place for movie nights, impromptu kid wrestling matches, and …
For years, my design philosophy clashed with the realities of my home. I’d fall in love with beautiful, textured rugs—natural jute, warm wool, intricate flatweaves—only to watch them slowly succumb …
There’s a specific kind of frustration that comes with furnishing a high-traffic area like an entryway or kitchen. For years, my own entryway felt like a revolving door of disappointment. …
As anyone who has designed a child’s room knows, the floor is more than just a surface to walk on—it’s a stage for imagination. It’s where lego towers are built, …
There’s a specific kind of coldness that seeps into a room, not from the temperature, but from a lack of texture. I remember staring at my home office, a space …
For years, my front entryway was a battleground. It’s the first impression of our home, yet it’s also the primary chokepoint for dirt, mud, rain, and everything else the outside …