Anders and his wife, Valerie, had purchased a five-acre compound on the isolated western edge of the island for its mesmerizing view, a subject he knew something about. As a member of the first human crew to orbit the moon, Anders is responsible for “Earthrise,” perhaps the most famous landscape photograph ever published.

When it was time for Anders to retire, he and Valerie moved to Anacortes, and were happy to turn their Orcas Island treasure over to Michael and Karen Combs, a pair of desert roadrunners hunting summer cover.

“We were told about these islands we should go see. It was a serene experience — no road noise, no traffic, no stoplights and no branded fast-food chains,” Michael Combs says.

The terraced oceanfront property had much to offer, including a 5,250-square-foot primary residence, a 750-square-foot guest “bunkhouse,” a 597-square-foot art studio and immeasurable peace.

The terraced oceanfront property had much to offer, including a primary residence, a guest “bunkhouse,” an art studio and immeasurable peace.

Photography by Andrew Pogue

Unfortunately, the circa-1987 main home included heavy stone fireplaces that blocked the view, a warren of small rooms and later add-ons, as well as hipped roofs that accentuated a hunkered, horizontal disposition.

Before the sale was complete, the Combs approached Anders, concerned that he might be offended by a radical contemporary intervention. “He said, ‘No, no. Make it your own,’” Michael remembers.

The Combs engaged Prentiss Balance Wickline (PBW) Architects and Dalgarno Construction, firms that had worked together on previous projects. The owners, architects and builders tackled the guest house and art studio successively in the first two years, while the Combs switched residences as needed. This arrangement helped the team build creative synergy, which would prove invaluable during the challenging overhaul of the primary home.

View-tiful

Photography by Andrew Pogue

To preserve building rights on the water’s edge, the main structure was stripped to the original footprint and the foundation raised one foot. A new open floor plan was devised, highlighted by a dramatic central cut with a soaring shed roof and modern box element.

The home now boasts layered views of the islands from every room. For the critical seaward face, 12-foot windows were imported from Canada. Because the home is so close to the water, the windows had to be inched over the rooftop with an octopus-like suction device before they could be installed.

It was an expensive proposition, but in combination with slender metal frames, the windows handsomely achieve the coveted vertical orientation.

The existing kitchen was too small to allow two people working together. From the beginning, the Combs emphasized their desire to replace it with “a dream kitchen.” Delivering on that pointed request had the architectural team sweating bullets.

The home now boasts layered views of the islands from every room while emphasizing natural lighting and the breathtaking beauty of the outdoors.

Photography by Andrew Pogue

“We wanted to get everything just right, especially the relationship between the kitchen and the living room,” PBW Architects Principal Dan Wickline says. “You have to give the owners kudos. They were fantastic clients. They empowered us and constantly pushed us to explore opportunities. It made it a joy to work on.”

The refurbished kitchen now features an oversized island, raised bar seating, Dornbracht faucets and premium appliances including Sub Zero, Gaggenau, Miele, Thermador and Bosch.

Behind every dream kitchen is a dream hidden pantry accessible only by hidden oak doors. It contains a second dishwasher and an operations center for a rogue’s gallery of unsightly but critical kitchen appliances — homemade peanut butter doesn’t grind itself. The pantry also includes a private office.

The primary bedroom suite — which is also the only official bedroom in the main home — includes a tufted free-range daybed worthy of Cleopatra. Activities in “The Lounge” include wine tasting, TV watching and gazing at Canada. The theater and exercise wing can be used as bedrooms when needed, bringing the property a total of five bedrooms.

An original set of mahjong tile-inspired custom cushions no longer fit The Lounge as the floor plan evolved. “We found a man in Spain who made knock-off mahjong tile cushions, and they fit exactly,” Michael says.

The primary bath includes a cedar-lined sauna, soaking tub and steam shower. Again, the architects were encouraged to run with scissors, rearranging puzzle pieces in real time to find exactly the right configuration. “We went through a lot of iterations during construction,” lead architect Philip Burkhardt notes. “It was almost like working on a full-scale model.”

Anders kept tabs on the project with frequent low flyovers, always tipping a wing to say hello.

While living in Michigan in the 1980s, the family became one of the first adopters of geothermal systems for residential heating. At Orcas Island, the Combs commissioned multiple wells in excess of 100 feet deep to deliver water that consistently remains between 50 and 55 degrees.

“I won’t say that it was a budget-buster, because there was no budget,” Michael says. “We invest in finer systems and materials wherever we can.”

A super-tight building envelope, forced-air system and solar array are among the many energy saving technologies. An ultra-low energy consumption lighting system was also installed. The direct current, Cat6 cable system is believed to be the first such installation in a U.S. residence.

A Creston Smart Home system (Reference Media, Bellingham) allows an astonishing degree of remote control of lighting, music, temperature, shades and curtains in every room from any location via wall-mounted touch screens or mobile devices. Various room colors can be controlled remotely via Colorbeam — for example, lighting in the bedroom can be programmed to mirror natural outdoor lighting as the day progresses.

A more moody lighting scheme is appropriate for the theater room, which features a black couch and other dark materials, as well as Dolby Atmos surround sound and a 100-inch screen.

Mechanical controls are typically relegated to a dusty corner of the basement. Here, the mechanical room is a destination resort for techies, with the color control panel alone dominating one wall.

The exterior features compressed wood technology from Norway and drought-resistant plants.

Photography by Andrew Pogue

The existing landscape was beautiful, but a few quarts low on drought-tolerant native plants. Karen rescued salal, huckleberry, sword fern and kinnikinnick, sheltering them from construction in a makeshift nursery for eventual redeployment by Kenneth Philp Landscape Architects.

Raising the house one foot also necessitated raising the pool and Jacuzzi. Karen sourced blue-green Italian tiles that reflect the color of the ocean for the new pool deck.

The pandemic inflicted innumerable wounds on the project, which spanned six years, but the Combs felt blessed by the exquisite quality of the work produced, including the Decospan shinnoki ivory oak cabinetry throughout the home (Northwest Custom Interiors, Seattle). “Every grain matches, and every edge is square and true.” Heavy Metal Works (Whidbey Island) was responsible for the masterful hot-rolled fenestrations, Michael adds.

The exterior is clad in Kebony rainscreen, an environmentally friendly compressed-wood technology developed in Norway. It is expected to last 50 years, eventually weathering to a silver grey, without need for toxic oil or stains. To keep deer out of the garden, they ordered a sleek automatic gate comprising charred cypress (Gateway Controls, Bellingham). “We just love wood,” Michael says.

The primary bath includes a cedar-lined sauna, soaking tub and steam shower.

Photography by Andrew Pogue

When the project finally wrapped up last spring, they purchased a nice print of “Earthrise” in anticipation of inviting the Anders over to see how it turned out. The reunion was not to be. On June 7, Anders climbed into his Beechcraft T-34 Mentor for an “Orcas run.”

Although no one can be certain, witnesses familiar with his aerial routines said he appeared to spike upward in preparation for a final spectacular leap of joy, a split-six maneuver, when he ran out of altitude off the western coast of Orcas, near his former home.

Anders died of blunt force trauma. He was 90.

The post Whale Of A Remodel appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Dense suburban charm is what lures many families to Montlake. Dense suburban charm is also what forces many families to leave Montlake.

“The lots here are very small, with setback and height restrictions,” says architectural designer and local resident Tamara Engel.

The affluent Montlake neighborhood is an important sanctuary for historic Tudor revival homes. The National Parks Service estimates that 27% of the neighborhood’s homes are century-old Tudors, making it the predominant style.

An extra 200 square feet made the kitchen airier and more connected.

Photography by Sumaira Amber

Think of a Tudor revival home as a Victorian home that got into the cooking sherry. The movement arose in the U.S. in the 1890s as a nod to the rustic English Tudor cottages of the 1500s, and as a pushback against more starchy vernaculars. Tudors are distinguished by their eccentricity and asymmetry. No two Montlake Tudors are exactly alike, even in blocks built by the same developer.

Since they were mostly constructed in the roaring late 1920s, Tudors are sometimes called stockbroker homes. Their popularity, however, plunged with the markets. A typical Tudor has a steeply pitched roof and dominant front-facing gable; decorative half-timber framing; arched doorways; patterned or clinkered large chimneys; and tall, narrow window groups.

Chock-blocking zoning restrictions make expanding up or down the only viable options for many Montlake families experiencing growing pains. Kirt Debique and Ann Marie Mentis ended up doing a little of both. They loved the neighborhood and their storybook 1927 home, which featured old-growth mahogany trim, leaded glass windows and plaster walls, but faced form and function challenges.

“We were storing kitchen items in an unfinished basement, bathroom items in a hallway nook, and clothes in various rooms, given the limited closet space,” Mentis says. “There wasn’t a home for shoes and coats. Typical Tudor living.”

Their existing basement ceiling was just over 6 feet, common for the era but not for Montlake, where most are closer to a luxurious 8 feet.

“We decided to raise the entire house to elevate the finished basement,” she adds. “The extra square footage provided us with a mudroom, office, full bathroom, family room, and we even snuck in a small fourth bedroom. It’s a walk-out basement with high ceilings. I think it’s time we stopped calling it a ‘basement.’ It’s essentially our first floor.”

The couple engaged Engel, a friend and neighbor, to develop an expansion plan that preserved the historic face of the home. Its cedar lap siding was restored to last another 100 years, and the back of the second floor was subtly bumped to add a new primary bedroom.

As Engel says, “When I do a project in a historic neighborhood, my goal is for someone to walk by and never know that a remodel was done.”

Tudor interior design is by definition a moving target. The tricky business of blending new world functionality with old world charm fell to Jennifer Gardner Design. In the kitchen, the stove had been isolated on a wall across from the basement stairs. The room’s flow was further interrupted by an oddly shaped peninsula. “They both love to cook, but they were tripping over each other,” Gardner says.

Timeless elegance

Photography by Sumaira Amber

Two-hundred square feet was added, allowing for a large anchoring island, three cooking/prep stations and seating for guests. Calacatta gold marble countertops and custom cabinets were commissioned. Ferguson Plumbing Supply provided unlacquered, living finish brass and nickel fixtures.

Mentis researched vintage lighting (Rejuvenation and Visual Comfort) extensively, with Gardner advising on scale and finish.

The important matter of high-end ranges was thoroughly vetted. The best candidates seemed to sort themselves into opposing camps, often contradictory camps — high performance or high style. They chose high performance, a six-burner, dual-fuel Wolf.

The kitchen is Debique’s favorite room, while Mentis cheerfully banishes herself to the bright and fully appointed underworld, where even the gruffest old-school Tudor owner might find solace after a hard day of routing peasants. Calming amenities include an elegant new bath with English floral garden wallpaper (William & Morris).

The main draw is the mudroom, which features marble countertops, black and white marble floors, green cabinets, a pink Dutch door that opens to the backyard, and the much anticipated and desperately needed beautiful cafe-curtained storage.

Design challenges included maintaining the home’s historical charm while making it comfortable for modern living.

Photography by Sumaira Amber

“It’s a mother’s dream,” Mentis notes. “As a stay-at-home, I joke that it’s my office. Yes, the brand new kitchen is glorious, but mudrooms are underrated. Every day goes significantly smoother now that we enter and exit via a mudroom.”

Seattle homeowners over the past decade have increasingly created more living space by going underground, says Jeremy Weiss, co-owner of WA Development Group, which served as general contractor for the project.

Water table and soil structure permitting, digging deeper is more common than lifting, which can cause plaster cracking and other problems in older homes. That was less of a concern here, since the upper floors were to be extensively remodeled after the lift.

“Modern homes are easy to lift. With earthquake codes, they’re bulletproof,” Weiss adds.

The precious windows were removed and the openings stabilized with plywood before the operation. The cost of lifting the home and setting it back down was $30,000. Costs for additional foundation work and basement remodeling range from $50,000 to $350,000 depending on the project.

Supply lines for remodeling materials have finally snapped back to pre-pandemic efficiencies, but costs have increased significantly, Gardner says.

“Three years ago, a kitchen remodel cost about $65,000 to $70,000,” he says. “Now it’s more than $100,000, and from what I’m hearing from contractors, that price is not going to come back down. People are having to make some tough choices.”

For some, that includes foregoing an interior designer, which Gardner doesn’t take personally. She admits that it’s an expensive service. The author of a popular design blog and a former educator, she has launched a step-by-step online design service, including a weekly video consultation.

The Debique-Mentis project was a big win for the neighborhood, says Engel, who lives across the street. “The small lots and close houses — most without a garage on the street — nurture a kind of community that is hard to replace. We were all so happy that they were willing to do the hard work to make the house right for them to stay.”

The post Underground Overhaul appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Architect Eric Walter, co-founder of Seattle’s MW Works, was consulted to determine if a deteriorating cabin might be salvaged. He advised the couple to tear it down.

The Connors asked for a replacement structure that could stand up to big-boy weather. “After living through hurricanes and floods in Houston, which caused people enormous headaches with mold inside their homes and drywall that essentially disintegrated, we wanted to minimize the use of drywall,” Julie says.

“The project is not about big moves. It’s not some grand architectural gesture. It’s just enough of what you need and nothing more.” — Eric Walter, Architect and co-founder of MWWORKS

“It’s like the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’ — we didn’t want to build a house out of paper mâché,” John adds.

With a humble budget and simple needs, they weren’t expecting MW Works to produce a design that would go on to win widespread critical acclaim and numerous awards, but that’s what they got.

“The project is not about big moves. It’s not some grand architectural gesture. It’s just enough of what you need and nothing more,” Walter says of his Northwest modern minimalist design.

Little House began life as Tiny House. The Connors elected to save money by building atop an existing foundation that measured 20 feet by 20 feet, which would produce a total of just 800 square feet for a standard two-story structure. The architects instead developed a floor plan cantilevered on all sides, allowing for a total of 1,140 square feet. This bit of foundational trickery is disguised by an exterior skirting of blackened cement infill panels, which complement the equally moody cedar siding that was oxidized to speed up aging and turn it black.

That is Little House’s lone subterfuge. Visitors have no trouble instantly reading the room. The bright interior is a master class in transparency, with straightforward deployment of simple materials.

“You can do a lot with shape and color,” John says. “You don’t need marble and leather.”

Smart simplicity. To warm the interior, walls are clad in lightly painted and disparately segmented medium-density fiberboard. The basic materials create a warm, welcoming environment and a spacious vibe.

The ground level contains a mudroom, a corian-countered kitchen, and an open plan living and dining area. Floor-to-ceiling glass offers views to the north of the water and the mountainous terrain. Two bedrooms and a shared bathroom co-exist upstairs.

The Connors are outdoor cats, and pleaded for a design that wouldn’t leave them scratching at the doors.

Basic materials create a warm environment.

Photo by Andrew Pogue

“We live most of the year in Houston and can be outside most of the time, although it’s a tad hot in the summer,” John says. “We wanted to be able to feel like we were outside even when it was raining. The architects responded with window walls,” giving the feel of outdoor living inside.

They also needed a “wash-and-wear” interior. As a second-home, vacation destination, the Connors didn’t want the interior surfaces to be “precious.” They wanted to plunk down their stuff, give their dog freedom of movement and make sure that everything was useful and usable. Think of it as smart simplicity.

To warm the interior, walls are clad in lightly painted and disparately segmented medium-density fiberboard, which is highly moisture-resistant, and pine plywood. Everything clicks together, as if the house was constructed of Legos.

Ranges of glass on the north and west facades provide a strong connection to the natural landscape. The remaining two sides were left mostly opaque to shield views from the driveway and neighboring properties. A firewood nook anchors the south elevation, where a thin canopy shelters a porch and marks the front entrance. A terrace at the northwestern corner beckons toward the landscape and serves as a jumping-off point to the trail system that meanders to the water’s edge.

Many rural holiday homes are unfortunately sited in accordance with an urban social imperative — face the road, face the neighbors.

“I hear so many vacation homeowners say, “I wish I could turn the house toward the view,’” John notes. “That’s hard to do after the fact.”

The Connors’ primary home in Houston is a spacious, traditional 1930s home, but Little House doesn’t feel cramped, partially because of high ceilings, the judicious use of off-white and black paint, and the finish on the plywood walls and alder floor. The Douglas fir beams above the dining table were bleached to match other wood species in the home, as if they were from the same family. Left to its own devices, fir tends to fade to fake-tan orange.

“We wanted to be able to feel like we were outside even when it was raining. The architects responded with window walls.”

Skylights help mitigate the northern exposure, especially one situated over the shower. The main-bedroom skylight allows for a celestial window to see the moon, the stars, and the sky — a literal portal to the cosmos.

For others looking for a second home, Julie offers a piece of sage advice: Be very clear about your priorities and how you anticipate using the home.

“Look carefully at other projects completed by your architect. If you could imagine enjoying living in those spaces, you can probably translate that into a successful project.”

The post Where Function Meets Finesse appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Mercer Island residents Sheri and Jeff Blumenthal have been vacationing in the area for 20 years, attracted to the pristine water, family friendly vibe, outdoor culture, dry climate, golf, agricultural productivity, toasty summers, and wine industry. A waterfront lot was beyond their means. Until one day it wasn’t.

“We were just paddling along on the lake and saw a ‘For Sale’ sign on a dock, and we had a Covid-crazy idea,” Jeff recalls.

The road near Chelan (population 4,200) hugs the lake, creating a series of cheaper parcels that aren’t big enough to qualify for a building permit. Over the years, property owners have developed a sort of day-use cabana lifestyle to utilize the waterfront lots. Building permits are not required for uninhabited small accessory structures in Washington, as long as mechanical systems aren’t installed. Portable solar panels and batteries and other energy-efficient outdoor technology are making such tiny off-grid hideaways more feasible.

The Blumenthals bought the cabana lot, and up the hill about a mile away a second larger parcel with a great view, where they constructed a 2,500-square foot modern farmhouse and planted a necklace of wine grapes.

“We built our home in Mercer Island, and enjoyed the process,” Sheri says.

Cabanas provide a roof and three walls for privacy and shade, with a fourth wall that can be opened to the water. Custom models sell for up to $50,000. The Blumenthals budgeted $20,000 plus $1,000 for delivery, and commissioned a lockable unit featuring LP siding, partial bar, refrigerator, and other creature comforts. Family pitched in to build a “pop-up picnic table boat” permanently moored to the dock.

While there was an impulse component to the cabana lot purchase, the Blumenthals are both long-time professionals in finance who had carefully plotted a move to Chelan. First, they had committed to visiting the area frequently for one year. “We weren’t sure that we would want to spend most of our vacations in the same place,” Sheri says. Today, their now college-age kids are frequent visitors. Second, they reduced anxiety by creating a spreadsheet of expected expenses for their second home.

“For the most part, it was pretty accurate,” Jeff notes.

And now, the Blumenthals are very much enjoying their “cabana” lifestyle.

The post Sandy Sanctuary appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Sandy Wolf founded Seattle’s Office of Ordinary Architecture in the belief that beauty is found in everyday objects. She and her husband — fellow architect Daniel Ash — were not disappointed in that regard in their long search for a home of their own. They finally settled on a quirky structure with a flat roof and cornices.

“From the street, it’s very unassuming,” Wolf says. “People frequently say, ‘I thought this was an office building.’ It looks really ordinary, but lives really large.”

The droll facade hid a dusty gem: a unique 1979 townhome designed by Seattle architect Milton Stricker, who studied under Frank Lloyd Wright. With a roofline as distinctive as Don Draper’s fedora, Stricker homes are easy to spot. There are a half-dozen examples within an easy walk of the Wolf-Ash home in the Mount Baker neighborhood. The 1,000-square-foot split-level townhome, one of four units in the building, was created in the horizontal Prairie style, inspired by the flat, broad expanse of the Midwest and the first uniquely American architectural style of the 20th century.

It was the narcotic effect of the home’s custom-built-on-site windows that sealed the deal. They featured butt-joint glazing, a glass-on-class mitering technique that allows a seamless panoramic view. Modern energy codes prevent the method from being used in new construction. The good news was that the home was purchased from Stricker’s son and, unlike the other three units, had retained many of its original mid-century details. The bad news was that the tiny kitchen retained some of the Space Age’s less critical contributions to culinary science, such as lazy Susan technology and clinically obese appliances.

Trapezoids and acute angles were among the stock in trade for Stricker, who demonstrated no terrible affection for precise right angles, at least not in this rendering. The building is an extended hexagon with pointed ends.

That makes for intriguing architecture, but also creates some maddening remodeling complications. One might reasonably assume that the wall behind the existing refrigerator is square and would therefore accommodate a new installation to a quarter-inch margin tolerance. That was not the case.

“At times, it very much seemed like we were remodeling a boat,” Wolf notes. “By the end of the project, our tile installer was not in love with us.”

To rage against the extremely controlled palette — cherry cabinets, mahogany trim and white walls — they unleashed “punches of color,” tagging light fixtures mint green and commissioning splashes of faux handmade variegated porcelain tile.

They decided they could free up valuable space with a slender, scratch-and-dent German refrigerator with the freezer on the bottom. In time they would come to prefer the new arrangement. “It’s easier to reach everything, and you don’t have to deal with those weird things lurking in the corners,” says Ash, the family cook. But the real party trick of the remodel is the new hidden induction (Invisacook) stove, which heats through the countertop. There are no seams, breaks or any other indication that a portion of the countertop is actually the stove, making it sleek, safe, space-efficient and a snap to clean.

“You can put a piece of paper under a Dutch oven while you’re cooking, and it won’t ignite. After you’re done, the counter is cool to the touch, so you can immediately use it for food prep or other functions,” Ash says.

“Our counter is porcelain, but I don’t think it works well with quartz, which a lot of people are installing these days.”

Like many others at the start of the pandemic, the couple were stunned to suddenly find themselves working from home. Both are graduates of Auburn University’s prestigious Rural Studio, where they learned to pour concrete and other types of manual labor in the punishing Alabama summer heat.

They immediately rolled up their sleeves and went to work on this project, tackling the “mound of dirt” that comprised the backyard, carving out a 500-square-foot outdoor room. A mill connection provided high-grade cedar slats to hide the home’s unsightly crawl space and create new storage. Ash’s first endeavor was a unique and complex ensemble of Wright-inspired outdoor concrete projects, including a stairway, bench and rippling plant wall: “My goal was to build something that nobody in their right mind would pay for.”

To rage against the extremely controlled palette — cherry cabinets, mahogany trim and white walls — they unleashed “punches of color,” tagging light fixtures mint green and commissioning splashes of faux handmade variegated porcelain tile. The couple were compelled by circumstances to create a lair for their “absurdly annoying” pet hedgehog, which is a short, stout, perky-snouted mammal. They are smaller and in theory cuddlier than a porcupine, and although their spines are stronger, they don’t release barbed quills or toxins.

Nocturnal and highly active, hedgehogs are so named for their aggressive foraging style, all of which is justifiable on an evolutionary scale, but of no particular benefit when placed in congress with finely crafted architectural interiors. Their strategy was to build a throne so alluring as to preclude lesser expeditions. An aquarium view was among the non-negotiable demands. Time elapsed: three weeks.

A time crunch compelled them to hire a general contractor, which was easily the top budget-line item. The most savings were realized in the landscaping, since they performed much of that labor themselves. The sheetrock half-wall in the dining nook was replaced with glass, creating a game-changing line of sight from the kitchen to the backyard.

“We respected the vernacular with a subtle remodel,” Wolf says. “It’s not 1979 anymore, but it looks like it has always been there, which is what we are most proud of.”

The post Prairie Townhome Companions appeared first on Seattle magazine.

The Bellevue couple had spent years searching the west-facing waterfront corridor from Bellingham to Oregon, but always found themselves a step behind the pandemic-induced buying frenzy. They were about to give up when they noticed a sleek and powerful home on west Bainbridge Island, where Puget Sound meets the bay.

The natural world. Darshana Shanbhag says she enjoys the feeling of being “one with nature” at her second home on Bainbridge Island.

Photography by Emily Keeney

It was a “legacy” home designed by longtime local architect Peter Brachvogel. Built to last hundreds of years and passed down through generations, legacy homes represent a new breed of future-forward vacation property. After just 48 hours on the market, the home had already attracted a near full-price offer. The couple were grateful — and surprised — when their counter bid was accepted. “It’s pretty much what we had in mind. More expensive than we had anticipated, but lovelier than we’d imagined,” Wagle says.

It’s no stretch to say that time moves more slowly on Bainbridge Island. The life expectancy here is 87 years, the longest in the state, and almost eight years longer than the statewide average. The primary consideration in their search was that the lot must front saltwater, not a lake. “We wanted a place where we could just chill, relax and be one with nature,” Shanbhag says. “We wanted to be able to experience the tides and the waves, to feel like we were a part of the cycles of the Earth.”

PHOTOGRAPHY BY EMILY KEENEY

With Shanbhag busy with her medical practice and other responsibilities, Wagle, a business executive with an MBA and multiple computer science and engineering degrees, spearheaded a methodical hunt for vacation property, inspiring Shanbhag with his enthusiasm. Convenience was another important factor in their search. They didn’t want a place that was more than two or three hours away from their primary home in Bellevue. They were concerned that distance would discourage their use of a second home.

The 3,200-square-foot home was built in 2012 and refreshed in 2020 with an emphasis on high-end sustainable materials and systems, and a versatile floor plan designed to meet the evolving needs of its inhabitants, remaining functional and accessible for every stage of life. And — when you live on the edge of eternity — there is no need for a formal dining room.

“I love designing vacation homes. Everybody has a great attitude,” says Brachvogel, who has been building homes on Bainbridge Island for 35 years. “The owners have reached a stage in their life where they’ve fulfilled most of their responsibilities, and they’re ready to spread their wings.”

The home’s massive, carefully calibrated roof overhang is designed to hoard light while aggressively protecting the western red cedar soffits and siding. “This building lights itself,” Brachvogel notes. The original owners chose to stain the clear cedar, which was unnecessary due to the overhang, and will require maintenance.

Windows to the water

Photography by Emily Keeney

The 40-year standing-seam roof is custom-made on 18-inch centers, as opposed to standard 12-inch centers. At that width, manufacturers typically baffle the metal to increase strength, but Brachvogel likes the flat, uninterrupted look. The butyl-injected seams repel water and peak at a tall 1.5 inches, enabling the seams to cast a beautiful shadow. On the interior, acid-etched and stained concrete floors are underpinned with 13 inches of insulation — far beyond code requirements. The floors are radiantly heated via a complex geothermal system.

The home had its share of challenges, among them mastering operation of the geothermal system, septic system and water well.

“That isn’t something we had experience with in Bellevue,” Shanbhag says. “It is time-consuming maintaining two homes, but we decided that we wanted to do it ourselves, and not turn it over to a property management company. Both homes are dear to our heart. We feel bad when we leave one for the other.”

To speed the transition between Bellevue and Bainbridge, each household has a complete set of clothing, pantry items, and other daily necessities. They strive for congruence in household organization — for example, kitchen utensils and dishware are arranged similarly in each home.

“In Bainbridge, we felt it was important to maintain the feeling of light and space. The art is eclectic, mostly nature and a modern take on humanity. The walls are white to emphasize the art. It feels like a space to sit and look out at nature.” — Darshana Shanbhag

Both homes are designed in the contemporary modern style they prefer, but the Bainbridge second home features a deliberate break in traditional decor to reinforce the vacation concept. The couple are both retired, but remain busy with a wide range of philanthropic and leadership organizations.

“In Bellevue, there is far more art and far more attention to detail, because we do a lot more entertaining there,” Shanbhag says. “In Bainbridge, we felt it was important to maintain the feeling of light and space. The art is eclectic, mostly nature and a modern take on humanity. The walls are white to emphasize the art. It feels like a space to sit and look out at nature.”

The couple wanted to maximize the use of light and space to take advantage of the water view.

Photography by Emily Keeney

Legacy homes are often built to comfortably host three generations, which is possible without purchasing additional lots. One recent Brachvogel project included a main house, a guest wing accessed through a glass-covered walkway, and a stand-alone accessory dwelling unit with bunk beds.

Many of his Bainbridge clients are compounding in place by getting creative with accessory buildings and structures. One, for example, constructed an “oyster temple” for shucking and cooking shellfish. Such accessory structures can be arranged at corners of a quad to create an inviting outdoor room.

“A common mistake first-time vacation homebuyers make is to over-glamorize the process,” Brachvogel notes. “They need to use caution. A lot of vacation homes are really just cabins that were built 50 years ago by the homeowner, sometimes with a kit.”

Wood touching the ground, water pooling on the roof and compromised siding are key indications of predation by rot and rodents, he adds.

Wagle and Shanbhag have the same favorite spot in the home, in the great room with the nano doors open to the patio, especially when low tides expose a shellfish buffet for bald eagles and many other species. “There is always so much life there,” Shanbhag says. “Being in the midst of so many wild creatures gives us a sense of balance and reminds us that we are just a small part of it.”

A widely reported study noted that the average American has not made a new friend in the past five years. That, however, is most definitely not the Bainbridge Island way.

“It is a lovely community, with lovely people,” she says. “We have made so many new friends. That wasn’t something we planned on when we were looking for a vacation home, but we are thrilled by it.”

Elite Escape. The design is modern, but the couple also wanted a “vacation home” vibe.

Photography by Emily Keeney

The post Tide and True appeared first on Seattle magazine.

Remnants of a bygone era included pillars, carpeted bathrooms, a sunken living room and a Jacuzzi in the master suite. The home’s disagreeable floor plan backed the family of five into the kitchen. They persisted with good humor until flood damage triggered a full-bore remodel.

“I didn’t know anything about remodeling,” Smith recalls. “I thought it would take a month.”

Her mother had just finished a complex and well-received remodel of her home in Jerusalem and was available to help. Early childhood memories of her mother’s dresses are a foundation of Smith’s fondness for arresting hues and patterns.

“It’s a good antidote to all the tacky, cold, sterile boxes going up, especially on the Eastside,” Larson says, “where every new home has to include a butler’s pantry.”

Smith, a curator, and her mother, an artist and ceramicist, collaborated on a provocative interior design that paid homage to their homeland of Israel. Smith and her husband, Shmulik Eisenmann, engaged Story Architecture’s Miriam Larson, who was initially skeptical.

By the end of the project, the architect had developed an appreciation of her client’s design sense and sense of community.

“It’s bold, irreverent and interesting. Everyone who walks through it is impressed,” Larson says. “There are many textures, many colors, many styles, and yet somehow it all works. It’s a unique, meaningful project and there were many obstacles to overcome.”

The high-tech industry has attracted to Seattle thousands of brilliant, innovative people from around the world. A sizable chunk of that energy — and disposable income — was turned inward during the pandemic, injecting color, creativity, and class into the region’s residential architecture portfolio.

“It’s a good antidote to all the tacky, cold, sterile boxes going up, especially on the Eastside,” Larson says, “where every new home has to include a butler’s pantry.” An early obstacle for Smith was learning to work with wood. Homes in Israel are made of brick, concrete, and tile. Kitchen floors are flooded and sluiced rather than mopped.

Smith discovered that exterior paints that look good in the showroom don’t always hold up on test drives. She isolated the proper tint — “summer blue” — by tagging the side of her home with sample swatches.

“Natalie loves blue,” Larson says. “Even the insides of her shoes are blue.”

An egg yolk yellow was selected for the front door. Completing the “Hello Wedgwood!” effect, like expertly applied eyeliner are the slender black mullions of newly installed New York loft-style windows (Marvin Modern Windows).

The black windows combine with white, high-ceiling interior spaces to create a backdrop for splashes of color throughout. Warm wood flooring fearlessly borders cool mosaic cement tile.

The living and other rooms reflect a mastery of color-block harmony design principles promoted by artists such as Piet Mondrian, who magnified the impact of primary colors by surrounding them with expanses of bright white and geometric black lines.

Quiet luxury. A sliding barn door from the pantry closes an entrance to the family room.

Photography by Miranda Estes

Quiet luxury abounds in the kitchen, with European-style cabinets and handmade Moroccan zellige backsplash (Indian Saffron). “Eventually, the kitchen always becomes the center of the home,” Smith says.

A barn door (Frank’s Lumber) can be slid from the pantry to close an entrance to the family room. Guest suites are trending locally as an alternative to building an accessory dwelling unit at the back of the property. Larson attributes this in part to demand from immigrant families, many from cultures that place a higher value on intergenerational living than the typical American family.

Quiet luxury. A sliding barn door from the pantry closes an entrance to the family room.

Photography by Miranda Estes

It’s an 18-hour flight from Jerusalem, so visitations of three weeks or longer are common, Smith notes.

A 180-square-foot guest suite was created off the kitchen with bedroom, small closet and comfortable bath, where Moroccan tiles were coaxed in from the kitchen and sent racing up the walls. In a lucky accident, the design team located an off-the-rack shower stall that exactly matches the style of the exterior windows.

The existing upper floor plan included a dead area between the master suite and children’s bedrooms. This was combined with the footage intended for the master bath to create a reading-room landing area that is now one of the most popular destinations in the home.

Sourcing a perfect-sized mustard loveseat proved a challenge. The space was wired for television, but Smith later decided against the installation. Glossy porcelain subway tile (Poseidon Blue, Cavallo) anchors the primary bath. The vanity surface is flat and painted high gloss, making it easy to clean. “I hate seeing fingerprints on the cabinet,” Smith adds. “Besides, I think it looks posh.”

Creative and colorful. The renovation created a reading-room landing area from a dead space between the master suite and children’s bedroom.

Photography by Miranda Estes

The project drew so many compliments that Smith’s mother, 70, was inspired to pursue a design career. She was accepted into Israel’s most prestigious design Institute, and spent a year learning software in preparation for beginning formal studies in October 2023.

Then, on Oct. 7 that year, Smith heard news reports that there was trouble in Israel. She immediately phoned her aunt and uncle, Lilach and Eviatar Kipnis, who helped raise her and lived in a village within eyesight of the fence surrounding Gaza. They spoke softly, concerned that nearby Hamas militants would overhear.

They were later found dead. The couple was eulogized as lovers of peace who had opposed right-wing Israeli politicians, worked tirelessly to end military occupation of the West Bank, and volunteered to provide blankets and food to Palestinian political prisoners held in Israeli jails.

Seven other family members were kidnapped. Six were returned in the first hostage deal. One, Shmulik’s cousin, remains in Gaza.

Smith, a third-generation peace activist, spoke prominently in Seattle news media in the weeks that followed, condemning the attack, but also calling for protection for innocent Palestinians living in Gaza.

“We came here for economic opportunity, but also due to a disparity with what was happening in Israel,” she says. “I thought we were coming to a place of progress. America had a Black president. But in 2016, Trump was elected, and that was really, really hard.”

The house became a labor of love

An oil-on-canvas abstract of a tractor working a field, painted by an Israeli friend who lives in a kibbutz, hangs above the fireplace. Gallery-style high cubbies feature her mother’s native art.

A goal of the remodel was to amplify light from the home’s southern orientation, which overlooks a community garden, or what Smith calls “the pea patch.” It’s what originally attracted her to the home. Bright outdoor furniture gives the back deck a hard spank of primary color.

The home is now much more habitable and efficient, an important consideration in a household with boys ages 13, 9, and 3.

“Miriam came up with the genius idea to move the laundry to the second floor,” Smith says. “She made it real cute. I thank her every day for that. I had actually broken my foot schlepping clothes down the stairs. It’s the daily things that really matter.”

The new design increased the home’s footprint just 71 square feet, but peat in the soil required an arduous permitting process  for “piling,” which entails driving 2-inch-diameter foundation pins 10 to 15 feet deep.

Covid-era bids were extraordinarily high. They selected a lower-priced contractor who parted ways late in the project due to aesthetic, infrastructure, and quality concerns.

“We said, ‘We’re doing high-end, not flipping a house,’” Smith says.

Glossy porcelain subway tile anchors the primary bath. The vanity surface is flat and painted high gloss, making it easy to clean.

Photography by Miranda Estes

Larson stepped in to arrange new subcontractors to finish the job properly, which is not a service many architects provide. “I became emotionally invested in the project,” Larson says. “These are people who put a lot of love into the world.”

Other dominoes have yet to fall. In an event an estimated 30 years in the making, a neighbor recently announced that he will be repainting his house. The new color is beige.

Most of the couple’s family and friends remain in Israel. The guest suite awaits. “You try to build your new life, but you never really detach from the old one,” Smith says.

The post Prismatic Palace appeared first on Seattle magazine.

“I just wanted to be able to design a stable for a horse,” she recalls, “but I didn’t have a horse.”

She eventually crossed trails with a knight, Luis Colasuonno, a native of Buenos Aires who was on a mission when he entered architecture school in 1970.

“I wanted to change the world,” Colasuonno says. “Growing up in Argentina under military repression, we were keenly aware of the problems of the world. Considering that architecture dealt with the environment, I always felt that architects needed to be as much as possible responsible for guiding our culture with socially significant work.”

Hatch was contemplating life in an ivory tower. She was motivated by the visual world, a love of natural and human nature, and “the possibility of gentle synergy” of the two.

Photo by Lara Swimmer

“My curiosity just wouldn’t rest,” she says. “Perhaps the study of architecture would land me employment in a sunlit atelier where I could spend my days making beautiful ink drawings. Well, I soon found out that architecture works best as a team sport, with the many disciplines contributing to the success of architectural concept.”

Colasuonno brandished a double-edged proposal, convincing her that they could create better architecture together than alone. That was more than 40 years ago. In California, the couple helped design thousands of LEED-certified affordable and nonprofit housing units. Homeless. veterans, persons with mental disabilities, and special needs teenagers were among the beneficiaries.

“The work was a joy. One woman was crying the day she moved in,” Hatch says. “She said she never thought she would live in a home so beautiful. It was just a one-room apartment, but it was clean, and it was fresh. It’s a tough world out there.”

The couple had remodeled two of their residences in Los Angeles, but had never built a home for themselves from the ground up.

That changed when they bought a sailboat moored in the San Juan Islands, intending to sail it back to Los Angeles. Instead, they submitted a down payment on a sight-unseen 1.5-acre lot near Friday Harbor. They had friends from Los Angeles who were prepping to retire in the area.

“The roofs are like a blanket,” Hatch notes. “When it rains, it’s beautiful.”

The wild lot had never been built on, possibly due to drainage issues. A contractor was hired to cut an exploratory tunnel through a heavy necklace of blackberry vines, uncovering a thriving ecosystem of giant cedars, scrub pine, majestic maples, eagles, and otters. The couple wanted to build a home in harmony with its natural surroundings.

But, despite a common system of values and aesthetic sensibilities, they argued about the San Juan project for a year. They eventually agreed on a conceptual direction and settled on a house that favors overhangs and orients toward the sun.

“We wanted to build a home that was so in harmony with its natural surroundings that it would look as if it had been dropped down from the sky and had wriggled itself into the earth,” Hatch says.

As is their custom, the first consultant hired was a landscape architect to formulate a plan that maximized oxygen production by minimizing disturbances to plant life. The covered front entrance beckons visitors with a bright, hitching-post ambiance. The exterior siding is handsomely stained and varnished yellow cedar, a local material. Aluminum-framed, commercial-grade horizontal window panels also please the eye, while keeping maintenance at a minimum.

In pod we trust. Windows in the kitchen and dining room are placed for the maximum benefit of sitting guests.

The main event in the living room is its cinder block hearth, which is filled with concrete and rebar to create a large thermal mass in concert with the concrete slab foundation. The wood-burning fireplace has no gas inserts.

Alder, the most impoverished of the native tree species, sacrifices itself in wind-storms dependably enough to keep the wood box stocked, eliminating the need for fossil fuels. Local artisans contributed widely to the project, including the library wall, a home to the treasured remnants of their Los Angeles archive. The library also serves as a second insulating wall, and provides storage for Christmas ornaments and other sundries.

The kitchen is functional but also built for show.

Photo by Lara Swimmer

The home is inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, with a major caveat. Unrestrained by modern energy conservation codes, Wright splashed windows about like costume jewelry. Here, each window is treated like a gemstone, precisely placed to create and maintain a 270-degree view. In Los Angeles, most of their designs protected structures from the relentless sun. At this latitude, the opposite is optimal, with strong east and west orientations.

The gallery roof is flat with parapets. Everything else is protected by steeply sloping shed roofs with generous eaves that establish a demilitarized zone against the summer sun and winter weather. Roof and garden runoff is captured and stored for later use as irrigation.

“The roofs are like a blanket,” Hatch notes. “When it rains, it’s beautiful.”

The octagonal geometry of the home is accented by two primary curves. The first is the sweeping arch of the driveway as visitors arrive. The second is the art gallery’s soaring double-height wall, which serves as the project’s datum line and connects with every major section of the home. “It’s doing a tango,” Hatch adds. “You can’t appreciate the black if you don’t have the white.”

The home is comprised of pod-like pavilions set in the landscape, placed sequentially higher in harmony with and in concession to the natural topography. There are four sets of stairs, which Hatch, who is 80, notes is not the safest floor plan for an aging-in-place couple. The gallery features her oil-on-canvas work, largely abstract studies of tree branches, shells and other transitioning objects that were once alive.

The couple entertain frequently, including young partners and staff of Bell Design Group, where they remain senior design associates. Luis is the cook in the family, a task that he executes with a gusto that naturally lures visitors to the kitchen. Chairs at the snack bar serve as opera seats.

Kitchen windows are often placed primarily for the view of anyone working at the sink. Here the layout is different — Colasuonno prefers to face his audience as he works, and the windows are situated for the maximum benefit of sitting guests. One counter was kept free of sinks and other interruptions, to better present flower arrangements and food platters.

The chairs at the snack bar serve as opera seats as Luis holds court in the kitchen.

Photo by Lara Swimmer

Because the kitchen is built for show, the team worked hard to create storage that hides all mundane aspects of food production. Hatch, who classifies Colasuonno’s culinary discipline as “meat-eater,” is delighted to limit her kitchen transactions to the cocktail construction station near the refrigerator.

Learning asado, the art of grilling, is a rite of passage for young Argentinian men. Colasuonno performs his magic on a custom concrete outdoor grill. Again, there are no gas inserts. Wood embers are developed externally and then introduced below the adjustable-level grill, which channels melted fat away from the heat.

Their conference room table was imported from Los Angeles and fashioned into a dining room table. A tree that couldn’t be saved during construction was repurposed as a picnic table.

One with nature. The cinder block hearth in the living room provides a large thermal mass in concert with the concrete slab foundation.

Photo by Lara Swimmer

“The home doesn’t have air conditioning. We didn’t think we needed it,” Colasuonno says. Heat convection and cross-ventilation between high and low windows keep things cool in the summer. They accumulated enough energy credits elsewhere in the home to surround the master bedroom with windows, creating a tree house vibe.

Twice a day and two by two, foxes, raccoons and other local citizens circle and inspect, pressing against the window in sympathy.

“We keep expecting them to throw crackers at us,” Colasuonno says. “These strange creatures trapped behind the glass.”

The post Among the Trees appeared first on Seattle magazine.

“It was a very cute 1914 craftsman/foursquare with loads of light, but it just wasn’t ‘The One,’” Kirsten says.

Their next stop was a nearby midcentury, also delightful. But Covid hit, and living in the small home was suddenly too hard. Then Friday, their French bulldog, needed a checkup, which created some initial confusion.

“She’s basically a mobile potato,” says Kirsten of Friday’s awkward placement on the animal-vegetable-mineral scale. “Ninety-nine percent potato,” confirms Paul, a numbers guy.

Nevertheless, the decision was made to consult a veterinarian, which took Paul and Friday to an unexplored part of West Seattle, where they crossed swords with a 1958 midcentury designed by noted architect Al Bumgardner. It was just right. The 2,360-square-foot home — known as Lark House — sat atop a cliff with sweeping views of Vashon Island, the Olympic Mountains, and Puget Sound.

“I’m the type of person who always wants their home to look like it’s ready for a photo shoot for Architectural Digest, and Kirsten’s like, ‘No dude, we have to live here.’”

“That was the beginning of the end,” Paul recalls. “It was out of our price range, but I started stalking the house on Zillow, and I don’t know if it was algorithms or what, but after a while it seemed like the house began stalking us.”

The price dipped fortuitously, but there was much work to be done. A 2005 remodel had introduced drywall, carpet, blue paint, pink granite, cherrywood, and polished nickel. There were also outdated earlier features, including a walled-off kitchen, a fire pit in the living room floor, a masculine bar, and a peekaboo into the master bedroom. Hey man, it was the ’60s.

Lost was the original intent of Bumgardner, an early master of bringing the outside in and delivering piercing light into residential interiors. The late Bumgardner, in fact, produced numerous award-winning projects, and is often credited with helping to create the “Seattle style.”

Paul and Kirsten engaged Shed Architecture and Design, which began by scanning the interior and exterior and creating a 3-D model.

“The home hadn’t been messed up in a profound way, which is always a relief,” says Thomas Schaer, Shed’s design principal. “It was lacking an identity, other than the view,” adds Kyle Keirsey, project manager.

From previous projects, Kirsten and Paul had developed a good handle on their creative differences. “I’m the type of person who always wants their home to look like it’s ready for a photo shoot for Architectural Digest, and Kirsten’s like, ‘No dude, we have to live here,’” Paul adds.

Shed split the difference with a digital mockup showing how the new design might hold up under the duress of day- to-day living — a coffee mug in the sink, a blanket draped over the sofa, a band of free-range stuffed animals. How does one design for transient clutter? By not being too precious. Architects often favor a clean, minimalist look, and “we sometimes force that aesthetic on the client,” Keirsey adds.

The digital mockup — “like moving through the house with a drone camera,” says Paul — included a painting by Seattle artist Anne Siems that the architects thought might appeal to the couple. It did, initially more to Kirsten than Paul, who later fervently repented. At a handsome cost, they commissioned Siems to produce a 70-by-70-foot work on stretched canvas that now anchors the living room. The tattoos on the woman in the painting are meaningful to the family, including Lark’s name, a bird, and a squirrel with a knapsack, which is a bit of German iconography.

The couple’s travels in Morocco inspired the low-slung, casual and comfortable sofa pit. “It’s art you can sit on. We were all hungry for some color,” says Kirsten of the Roche Bobois Mah Jong collection.

Festival of color. The couple’s travels in Morocco inspired the low-slung, casual and comfortable sofa pit. “It’s art you can sit on. We were all hungry for some color,” says Kirsten of the Roche Bobois Mah Jong collection.

Photography by Rafael Soldi

Paul’s color is orange, which he understands to be socially unfortunate. “I want to have an orange car someday, but I will probably be riding alone.” That aspiration inspired the tuck-and-roll orange leather bench in the entry. Muuto dot coat hangers complete the fun effect. For the guest powder room, Kirsten sought an intense, immersive, rich, dark, enchanted forest experience.

Paul is the cook in the family, and coveted a kitchen reminiscent of Coffee & Coconuts, a multi-level Amsterdam cafe and roastery that bills itself as a tropical island getaway “to let all the restrictions go and feel free.” The new kitchen incorporates a Nero Marquina marble island, built-in breakfast nook and hot chocolate-enabled walk-up coffee bar, one of several scenic waysides strategically located throughout the home.

The heart of the home. Paul says his favorite spot is the kitchen, where a wall was removed to connect with the surrounding landscape.

Photography by Rafael Soldi

From determining the best placement of hand towels to perfecting the stove vent exhaust, Paul prefers the deep end of the precision pool: “I’m still looking for and grabbing challenges that make me feel like a novice, because learning ‘til your brain hurts and overcoming big challenges with others is the spice of life.”

The best seat in the house is the loft — Lark’s perch — which integrates lively wallpaper, a piano, a swing and reading space. Paul is relieved that Lark, now 10, inherited her mother’s design sense. “She picked out the carpet. It’s not juvenile, not ‘Paw Patrol.’ And it’s got some orange in it.”

Lark’s previous playroom was a daylight basement without line-of-sight to her parents, which suited no one. Here, peekaboos allow her to monitor all the major areas of the home. A dual-faced fireplace allowed anyone in the living room to peer into the primary bedroom. The shared fireplace didn’t stretch to the ceiling, further eroding privacy.

Photography by Rafael Soldi

Shed eliminated this problem with glazed brick tile and created storage with an ingenious ploy where the bedroom’s entry is a walk-in closet disguised as an unassuming paneled hallway.

This mirrors a worldwide trend. As housing costs skyrocket, architects are eliminating hallways that don’t serve dual functions.

Shed supercharged the home’s four original skylights with mirrors and battens and extended its horizon.

Photography by Rafael Soldi

“One thing they emphasized was bringing the outside in, and they really did,” Kirsten says. “The color (Benjamin Moore Black Tar) on the vertical exterior siding matches the interior paneling. It’s a neat trick. You can actually forget that you’re sitting inside.”

The couple worked well together to create a unique, colorful Pacific Northwest home, Keirsey notes. “They did a good job of letting each other have their lane.”

The post An Adventure Driven Purely By Impulse appeared first on Seattle magazine.

In Camp A are homeowners who enthusiastically embrace minimalism for its mind-freeing simplicity. In Camp B are persons terrified by the alternative.

Meet Lucy and Elliot Burkland, modern maximalists who welcome color, complexity, and character in home design.

In a shot across the bow of Scandinavian modernism, maximalism is cresting again in the U.S., perhaps in reaction to pandemic restrictions, perhaps in defiance of the long-threatened recession. The advent of maximalism in home interiors is traced to the 17th century baroque period, a raucous rebellion against the perceived coldness of the Renaissance. The Rococo movement and the Victorian era in the 18th and 19th centuries advanced the cause, as did the rise of the avant garde Memphis Group in the 1980s.

With a young family of four, the Burklands weren’t looking to revel or rebel. They were comfortably entrenched in a nice home on a lovely avenue in Montlake, a seraphic Seattle enclave studded with abundant green space and well tended single-family homes.

“We were really happy where we were,” Lucy says. But an intriguing opportunity came knocking, the type that doesn’t knock twice.

Directly across the street was a dormered 1915 Dutch Colonial whose previous owner had held court for a half-century. The longtime empty nester had remained remarkably faithful to an unremarkable ’70s-style renovation, with the exception of updating some appliances.

“It was kind of old and tired, but it looked like a fun project,” Lucy says.

Maximalism is the bold use of color, pattern, and layering. Among modern interior design styles, it allows for the greatest self-expression. Tools of the trade include eclectic furniture, texture, bold accessories, luxurious fabrics, statement art, mirrors, oversized vases, decorative pillows, dramatic lighting, whimsy, and much more.

The Burklands engaged a top-notch team, including architect Res Loci, contractor Toth Construction and interior design firm Casework. The 3,000-square-foot, four-bedroom, three-and-a-half- bath home’s antique infrastructure required that the interior be stripped to the studs, creating a clean slate for Casework (Portland) founder Casey Keasler, a Tennessee native with a soft spot for vintage homes.

“Lucy and Elliot love colors and patterns,” Keasler says. “Mixing colors and patterns is not for the faint of heart. The final design had six different wallpaper designs — or was it seven?”

Casework’s methodology is to collaborate with homeowners to arrive at three keywords or phrases to guide the design. “Layered,” “handcrafted” and “organic” were selected for the Burkland project.

Keasler’s “soft maximalism” design embraces the intimate scale of the original house and features a color, pattern and materials exploration in every room.

The finished product flows cohesively from one room to the next — each working in tandem while maintaining a unique personality.

Vintage furniture and traditional molding and trim are incorporated throughout the space out of respect for the home’s provenance. The smaller scale of the rooms is offset by furniture and decor with softer edges, which lubricates flow and elevates safety for the children. Employing lighting fixtures as sculptural elements further advances the uncluttered ambiance.

Roman Shade, an organic neutral paint color with a touch of brown, was selected for the sunroom walls. The room is just 8 feet wide, but a double-faced fi replace, floor-to-ceiling shelves and plush lounges seem to expand its boundaries.

Roman Shade is also used next door in the living room, but is applied differently, altering its appearance and simultaneously bringing the spaces together while setting them apart.

Custom upholstery and drapery are abundant, as are a wide assortment of plaids and geometric shapes. With so many competing elements, it was critically important to identify an anchoring foundation color for the walls to weave through each room. The designer proposed Monroe Bisque.

“At first, I was freaking out. I thought, ‘This is too yellow!’” Lucy says.

The Burklands cheerfully endured supply chain problems. Weather delays cost overruns, and a Teamsters strike shut down concrete trucks (they switched to bags). Lucy remembers the design process as “quite calming. It was super fun working with Casey to pick out fabrics and wallpapers.”

The kitchen-dining room complex is full-oak bespoke. The Burklands challenged their team to produce a design appropriate to both large gatherings and intimate family meals.

The kitchen-dining room is designed for both large gatherings and intimate family meals.

Photo by Emily Kennedy

“Like a lot of young families, we spend a lot of time in the kitchen,” Elliot says.

Here Casework blended painted cupboards with cerused oak cabinets, warm hues and elegant wallpaper. Paneled walls and the Alaskan cedar ceiling soften the dining room, which boasts a 19th century Jacobean hutch and is anchored by an 8-foot custom table by Nick Tretiak of Portland. A classically trained craftsman, Tretiak eschews Portland’s reputation for quirky furniture, producing pieces with complex joinery and other features that make them repairable for decades or even centuries.

Serenity and natural light blanket the primary bedroom, which features neutral textures, wood paneling, and a shearling bed, all connected to the outdoors through delicate floral drapery. Neutral grasscloth wallpaper and wood paneling on the vaulted ceiling lend richness and architectural interest.

Primary bedroom features a neutral color palette.

Photo by Emily Kennedy

Throughout the primary and children’s bedrooms, carpets and rugs introduce a variety of textures and patterns, balancing geometric plaids with organic elements. The basement was dug out to accommodate a playroom, workout area, home office, and guest suite.

“This project is about layering, and this many layers take time — one color or pattern dramatically impacts the next, even from a different room,” Keasler says.

Elliot was unleashed with full pigment privileges in the basement, where he hatched a dark and dramatic scheme. “He was not shy about his use of color, which I love,” Keasler says.

The post Montlake Maximalists appeared first on Seattle magazine.