Spaces Built for Real Life
Get inspired by welcoming, stylish interiors that tell a unique story.
Design
For me, great design begins with comfort. Not showroom comfort. Real comfort. The kind that says: put your feet up, pour another drink, tell the story again, and the dog might have already claimed the best seat.
When we bought our place in the Catskills, we quickly discovered it wasn’t just a house. It was Edgewater Farm, a 1940s bungalow colony that had once housed, fed, and entertained hundreds of families each summer for three glorious decades. People came here to escape the city, swim, eat, dance, flirt, play cards, and make memories. In other words, the property already knew how to have a good time. My job was to remind it.
The first thing I added was a big, cozy porch. Every house needs a heart, and this porch became ours: a place for muddy boots, morning coffee, cocktails, and late-night gossip.
Bringing Edgewater Farm back to life has happened one room, one bungalow, one garden path, and one questionable purchase at a time. I believe in old things with soul, new things with purpose, and cheap things that look expensive if you put them in the right spot. Much of the place has been built from garage-sale finds, secondhand treasures, oddities, and the sort of objects that whisper, “Take me home. I’m fabulous.”
I also believe a house should remember where it came from. At Edgewater Farm, I’ve tried to honor the people who worked this land and loved this place before me. The old hand-dug well became a fountain. Cook Minnie Baker has a portrait in our kitchen. The barn foundation is now a koi pond. Scraps of the past are new anchors for the present. To me, that’s the best kind of renovation: not erasing history, but giving it a fresh coat of paint, a good lamp, and somewhere nice to sit.
My design theory is simple: rooms should make people feel welcome, curious, and a little more alive. A home should have beauty, yes, but also humor. It should have style, but never stiffness. It should tell the truth about who lives there – the travels, the obsessions, the bargains, the dogs, the disasters, and the legendary dinner parties.
Edgewater Farm has become my laboratory for that idea. It is part house, part garden, part former bungalow colony, part ongoing treasure hunt, and part proof that a place can come back to life if you listen to what it wants to be.
Our New York City place tells a very different design story. If Edgewater Farm is about porches, history, gardens, and found treasures, the city apartment is about light, glass, glamour, and the hum of Manhattan just outside the windows. With wall-to-ceiling glass, mid-century modern lines, smoky colors, sexy fur rugs, and a view that does half the decorating for you, the apartment has a different kind of comfort: sleek, tailored, and just a little bit naughty.
That’s the fun of designing different places: they get to have different personalities. Edgewater Farm is my storybook rescue. The New York City apartment is my designer suit: sleek, edited, polished, and ready for cocktails. But both places come from the same belief. A room should know where it is, know who lives there, and know how to make people feel instantly at home. Even if “home” sometimes means a koi pond and sometimes means a fur rug with a skyline view.
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Have a design project, media inquiry, or property that needs a creative reimagining? I'd love to hear from you. Get in touch today, and let's bring your ideas to life.