A week of beginnings and endings all at once. School started, routines returned, and I welcomed the reset with genuine relief — and then the last couple weeks also brought loss. Several great creative talents left the world, and over the weekend I had the honor of attending a memorial service for my good friend’s father.

His service was really a celebration of his life and legacy. To see everyone who came to remember him — from so many chapters of his extraordinary life — to be in the beautiful place he built with his family, to understand more deeply where my friend comes from and who shaped her — I held her a little tighter afterward. He helped establish the wine industry in Oregon, but he was also a practicing physician, a humanitarian, and an adventurer—always hoping to do more. That spirit lives on visibly in the people he touched.

It had me thinking about legacy. About how the influence of a person manifests after they are gone — in the people they shaped, the work they left behind, the spaces they inhabited, and the threads they set in motion that keep running forward.

We recently also lost three remarkable creative talents: Tim Curry, Yayoi Kusama, and Dolly Parton. Countless remembrances have already been shared, and I won’t try to improve on those. What I want to do instead is channel each of them through the lens I know best — design — and look at how I see their influence rippling out into the world, directly or a little more tangentially. Spaces and objects are reflections of the people who inhabit them. They can embody our values, hold memories, and reflect our spirit in physical manifestations. Thinking about the people we’ve lost, this week I’m sharing objects and spaces that speak to who they were and the imprint they’ve left behind.

Let’s get into it.

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Frank-N-Furter Forever

I’m not sure if I will remember Tim Curry more for his outlandish, magnificent Frank-N-Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show or his razor-sharp butler in Clue — both were formative movies of my youth. Not to mention Annie, Muppet Treasure Island, and the role I have chosen to block entirely from memory (Pennywise truly traumatized me). He was a chameleon who somehow always felt familiar, and his characters were bold, memorable, and completely without apology.

Welsh actor Luke Evans, who played Frank-N-Furter in a Broadway revival, recently wrote to Curry thanking him for his fearlessness and for “creating something so enduring, and for inspiring generations of actors to be a little braver than they thought they could be.” That feels exactly right.

In design that spirit shows up as spaces that refuse to be quiet — that commit fully to a look, a material, a gesture. Frank-N-Furter in interior form: studs, leather, fringe, mirrors, platform everything, and not a single apology. Here are a few things I’ve been seeing that channel that same fearless energy.

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A Particle Among Billions

Yayoi Kusama spent a lifetime creating extraordinary immersive worlds — and left behind a body of work that may be more immediately recognizable than her name for many people. Her infinity rooms became a phenomenon in the age of social media, their spectacle perfectly suited to a screen. But I think what made her work genuinely powerful was its accessibility: the sense of theater, of pure wonder, of being invited inside something limitless. Whatever you think about the commercial success of her later years, her work brought millions of people into museums and galleries who might never have gone otherwise. That is not a small thing.

Dots, mirrors, infinite reflections—playful and naive on the surface, quietly contemplative underneath. Kusama reflected “since my childhood, I have always made work with dots. Earth, Moon, Sun and human beings all represent dots; a single particle among billions.”

Her influence in design shows up anywhere color becomes spectacle and pattern refuses to be subtle. A few things I’ve been seeing that carry that same spirit:

This Warsaw apartment takes the polka dot into three dimensions — oversized globe knobs and a counter with stacked red orbs creating structural support. Chrome and glossy red fall directly into Kusama’s palette.

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Room for Everyone

Capturing Dolly Parton in a single space feels almost impossible — and maybe that’s the point. She contained multitudes. An extraordinarily accomplished musician, yes, but I don’t think that’s what people are holding right now. What they are holding is her selfless philanthropy, her lifelong dedication to literacy and education, her radical love and acceptance of all people — most visibly and movingly the queer community, at a time when a country star from Tennessee being so plainly outspoken about that was anything but common — and her bold, unapologetic joy. She was an icon in the truest sense: a person who became a symbol of something larger than herself.

Should I honor her with a beautiful library — for the millions of children’s books she gave away; a sharp 1980s-take-down-the-patriarchy office — for the woman who wrote 9 to 5 and meant every word of it; or a lived-in, layered home stitched together over time — or for the coat of many colors, for the Smoky Mountain cabin, for the life that was always bigger than where it started? She inspired them all.

This was my attempt to hold her across these spaces: collected, optimistic, full of depth and layered with a patchwork of textures, open for gathering. Room for everyone. Always room for everyone.

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Summer Preserved in Bronze

As I say goodbye to these greats I am also saying goodbye to summer. We still have a few more warm weeks ahead — long evenings, the garden giving its last abundance, life still spilling out into the backyard. The blueberry bushes out back have been prolific this season, and harvesting has genuinely become a part-time job. To stop time and capture a little of that bounty indoors, I wanted to bring a reminder of the summer garden inside. And what better way than a cast brass homage to the little fruit.

My friends at Nickey Kehoe sent me the most perfect way to do it. These cast brass oversized blueberry knobs by Sally Breer are exactly the kind of detail that makes you smile every single time you open a door or drawer. I put them on my IKEA Stockholm glass door cabinet for a little upgrade — and the bonus is that the new hardware now has a view of its juicy friends just outside the back door.

And since we are making the most of the last of the harvest — blueberry cornmeal cake from the Smitten Kitchen cookbook has become a house favorite. Make it while you still can.

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What Remains

An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

This ancient Chinese proverb was shared at the memorial this weekend, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it since. It feels like the right note to end a week spent thinking about legacy and loss and the people who shape us. The threads they set in motion — they keep running forward. They do not break.

And maybe that is what Tim Curry, Yayoi Kusama, and Dolly Parton had in common most of all. They were bold, unapologetic, and completely unique — and because of that, their threads run especially long.

Which of these three shaped you most, and how?

Katie xx

We are in the final stretch of summer, school just around the corner, and I am welcoming the return of routine with open arms. As someone who finds real comfort in rhythm, the predictability of a school morning sounds genuinely appealing right now. Charlie has his last week of camp, which means my last week of shuttling — and as much as I love the flexibility to do it, I will not be missing it. What I will be welcoming back is our morning stroll to school, Charlie talking about whatever is on his mind while I slowly sip my coffee and take the long way home through the park. That small ritual has been missed more than I expected.

That said, this has been a genuinely lovely summer. The first in a while where we stayed in the city, and I found something simple and nourishing in that — extra time in the garden, Charlie’s endless neighborhood playdates, the particular pleasure of slowing down without going anywhere.

Last weekend we celebrated our dear friend’s son’s Bar Mitzvah — a beautiful day of community, family, and so much dancing. I was full of tears watching this boy we have known since he was small stand up and speak so thoughtfully about his place in the world. To watch our own kids grow into themselves, their personalities taking shape, their words becoming their own — it is a gift and a trip and an awe-inspiring thing all at once.

Which brings me, in a roundabout way, to this week’s issue. Because that is exactly what I was trying to do with a room.

At long last: Charlie’s bedroom reveal.

Let’s get into it.

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My Summer Project

A few months ago I sat down with Charlie over pancakes and asked for his wishlist. You may remember the list: LED mood lights, a Lego display shelf, a desk, a trapdoor with a fireman’s pole down to the basement playroom, light blue walls, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and more room for books. He liked the art in his room and didn’t care where the bed went. A list I could — mostly — work with.

Here is what we did.

Color

After much deliberation, sampling, and research I landed on Benjamin Moore Aspen Skies — a lovely midtone blue that leans slightly green, with just enough saturation to feel energetic and playful without tipping into overwhelming. I took initial inspiration from Farrow & Ball’s Yonder and matched it to this Benjamin Moore equivalent for the budget. I used the color on both walls and trim, adding a glossier sheen to the trim to create definition without contrast. The ceiling stayed white — partly practical, partly intentional. I knew I was adding glow-in-the-dark stars and wanted them to disappear in the daytime.

Storage

The full wall of shelving using the IKEA Ivar system was the most transformative structural decision. Solid wood, modular, adaptable — it allowed me to consolidate his bookshelf and dresser into one large unified system, making the room feel less busy and more intentional. A horizontal line of drawer units and a sliding door cabinet along the base, open shelving above. His books are now easy to see and reach, and — most importantly to Charlie — there is proper space to display his Lego collection. The beauty of Ivar is that as he grows and his interests change, the whole system can evolve with him.

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The Desk

Wrapping the corner and continuing that horizontal line for a built-in effect, I built a simple desk from one sheet of Baltic birch three-quarter-inch plywood. I love the simplicity of it — but I’ll admit I didn’t fully think through the engineering, and the span of the surface was too long without support. So I built a leg. A slightly goofy leg with slots for Lego platforms, letting the play spill off the desk surface and down the side. Do I love it formally? Not entirely. But it is genuinely fun, and Charlie now spends hours there — building Lego creations or reading spy novels. That counts for everything.

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The Rest

After paint and shelving, much of the room stayed familiar — because Charlie wanted it that way. His bed is in the same spot, centered below the window. The corner reading chair came back — a remnant of a nursery hack where I removed the legs from an IKEA chair and added a glider base, since swapped out for a legless, low, and loungy option. Several things Charlie explicitly asked to keep, calling them iconic. The North America vintage map I found on Etsy before he was born. The mobile I made for above his crib. The Schoolhouse clock that warns of bedtime and greets him every morning. I love that he has his own relationship with these objects already — that they mean something to him independent of me.

The new additions: dyed curtains in the wall color, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, a new IKEA PS 2026 chair at the desk, a tomato lamp, and the tomato poster that has been in his room since he was a baby — staying forever.

This project was more than a room makeover. It was a way of marking a transition — for Charlie, stepping into his tween years with a space that reflects who he is becoming, and for me, learning to follow his lead a little more and hold my own design opinions a little more loosely. There is something quietly meaningful about making a space for someone you love and then stepping back to let it be theirs. The planning, the building, the making — all of it gave me an anchor during a year of a lot of change. I needed a project, and this one gave back as much as I put in.

This morning I asked Charlie what his favorite thing in the new room was. He quickly said his desk — the place where he can write or build legos or just think. I then asked him how the room made him feel. After a moment of thought, he answered — ”peaceful. It just feels like me.”

I almost cried. That is the best review I have ever received.

Resource List

• Paint—Benjamin Moore Aspen Skies

• Flor rug tiles–similar

• Vintage Ritva Puotila Rya Rug–similar

• Curtains — dyed sheers

• IKEA Tarva Bed—hacked to fit headboard under window sill

• IKEA Ivar system

• Desk chair: IKEA PS 2026 chair

• IKEA Strandmon lounge chair

• Vintage Componibili side table– find new here

• Nickey Kehoe Madras Plaid Duvet

• Tomato lamp—similar

• Fine Little Day Tomato poster

• Glow-in-the-dark stars

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The Perfect Plaid

The last piece to land in the room — and the one that pulled everything together — was this duvet from Nickey Kehoe. I always love a plaid, and this one in beautiful linen is a new favorite. The color palette is unexpected: olive green, chartreuse, burgundy, a touch of pink, and royal blue. It is at once rugged and playful with a dash of sweetness — fresh yet feeling like that perfect vintage score. Not to mention the luxurious drape of the woven linen. Sometimes the right textile is the thing that makes a room feel finished. This was that.

What object in your childhood room do you still think about?

Katie xx

Happy August — time to make the most of these last weeks of summer. Last weekend we hosted our dear friend who moved to Scotland last year, which was equal parts wonderful and bittersweet. We gathered with friends, wandered two neighborhood markets, chatted over cocktails, and just soaked up the time together. The kind of weekend that fills you up and reminds you how lucky you are to have your people and your city.

This week I’m carrying that spirit of ease and optimism into a DIY project that combines my love of color with my complicated relationship with tackling new things. More on that shortly.

But first — hold tight for No Notes, because we made a recent purchase that is pure summer and I cannot wait to share it.

Let’s get into it.

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The Art of Nonchalance

I was recently introduced to the Italian concept of sprezzatura through the wonderful podcast Articles of Interest — and I have been a little obsessed ever since. Coined in 1528 by Renaissance writer Baldassare Castiglione, it describes a studied nonchalance: the art of making difficult tasks, performances, or personal style look completely effortless. Castiglione wrote of “a certain nonchalance which conceals all artistry and makes whatever one says or does seem uncontrived and effortless.” The best art, he argued, conceals art. It hides the labor behind the lightness.

In fashion it shows up as the hat placed at just the right angle, the scarf worn without too much rigour, the tailored suit carried with the same ease as a pair of jeans. A collection of patinated, lived-in pieces that when put together have personality — where the wearer shines through rather than the outfit. Imperfectly perfect. Casual with elegance running underneath.

But what I love about sprezzatura is that it extends far beyond fashion. Design, music, art, writing, sports — the concept applies anywhere confidence and ease replace the fear of judgment. And that freedom from judgment is what enables play, experimentation, and the kind of work that looks easy precisely because it isn’t.

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Color in the Grain

I have always been something of a wood purist — I love to celebrate the natural tone and grain of a wood with a clear oil or sealer, and I bristle at staining wood to mimic another species. But there is one place where my purist instincts give way entirely: color. Seeing wood grain in a completely unnatural hue — a bright red, a kelly green, a deep cobalt — makes my heart swell. The grain is still there, still honored, still the point. The color just takes it somewhere unexpected.

Linen and Light

While researching curtain ideas for Charlie’s room I came across these beautiful dyed linen Noren curtains on Etsy and immediately fell a little bit in love. Noren are traditional Japanese fabric dividers — hung in doorways to create a soft threshold between spaces, public and private, inside and out. I love the idea of that gentle suggestion of separation rather than a hard close. The moody, dreamy wash of shibori dyed color is intoxicating, and the way they move is everything.

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Blue Sunday

I like to think of myself as someone who isn’t too afraid of trying new things — figuring things out, feeling independent, diving in. And yet there is always a nagging voice that wants to get it right the first time, wants it to turn out exactly as imagined. As I’ve gotten older I’ve become more comfortable with that uncertainty. Maybe because I’ve learned that I’ll figure it out either way — whether it needs fixing or not.

When I was at Schoolhouse, sometimes the hardest part was setting a design aside when it wasn’t working. But we always held onto the belief that if an idea had captured us in any way, it could be refined until it was ready. Some of our best products came from exactly that — holding onto a good idea, giving it time, trusting the eventual value of the thing even when it wasn’t coming together easily.

All of which is to say: I dyed some curtains. Low stakes in the grand scheme of things — but the same uncertainty, the same can-do attitude, the same optimism and acceptance are all wrapped up in it. Tackle the project, even if you’re scared you’ll mess up. You can do it. And if it’s not perfect, that might be exactly the point.

So I spent this past Sunday over a pot of simmering blue water. The perfect August afternoon activity, right?

Here is what I did:

I decided to go for a DTM — dyed to match — look. Does that bring back memories of dyed-to-match prom shoes? Anyone? On the Rit Dye website they have a collection of color recipes, so I picked one to match the wall color. A visit to Michaels and a few bottles of dye later and I was ready to go.

I borrowed a large pot from my friend who has every creative supply imaginable . I heated four gallons of water, mixed equal parts dye into the simmering bath, added a dash of dish soap, and took the plunge. I added two damp curtains to the first batch — not wanting to overcrowd and risk uneven dye — and after thirty minutes of simmering and stirring, they came out for a rinse and then a soak in a fixative solution. Then I did it all again for the second pair. After all four were dyed, fixed, washed, ironed, and hung — I love them.

And they are not perfect. I hemmed them before dyeing, assuming a hot wash would have handled any shrinking — but unfortunately they came out about an inch too short. Easily fixed: lower the rods, or let down the hem. The other thing I noticed is that these curtains have a high polyester content, and the creases from being scrunched in a pot of hot water for thirty minutes caused some permanent wrinkling that even a thorough ironing hasn’t fully resolved. Does anyone have advice on avoiding this? I’d genuinely love to know.

But the color is lovely. The softness around the windows creates exactly the cozy atmosphere I was hoping for. And the imperfection? Very on-brand for a week spent thinking about sprezzatura.

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The Slushie Summer

The purchase I teased at the top: a Ninja slushie machine. Introduced to us over a weekend at my brother and sister-in-law’s lake house, this specific and decadent little appliance has changed everything. We have been making Aperol spritz slushies on the back porch and I have approximately zero regrets. At Charlie’s request we have also made root beer slushies, and next on the list might be an afternoon coffee cold treat. The magic of this machine is that it creates the slush without any ice, so your flavors stay completely intact. I plan to slush my way through the rest of summer, experimenting along the way. The perfect end to a Sunday — or a Tuesday, honestly.

What project have you tackled that didn’t turn out perfectly — and are you glad you did it anyway?

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Katie xx

I ran into an old colleague this week — or almost ran him over in a grocery store parking lot while belting out Sealion by Feist. An unexpected collision, and one that, on reflection, stopped me mid-stride and reminded me how others see you. He has always been a trusted voice, and he said something kind about my work and my eye. I walked away feeling both grateful and a little recalibrated. It is easy to lose track of your own perspective when you are deep inside a project or a season. Sometimes you need someone else’s lens. Thanks, friend.

The garden has been keeping me grounded in the meantime. Blueberry picking has become my part-time job — sitting under the bushes filling a bowl is a genuinely lovely way to spend an afternoon break. And then there was a rare weekend alone while my family was away, which gave me time to recharge, to work on Charlie’s room, and to notice a few things I might otherwise have walked right past.

Let’s get into it.

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The Bowtie Joint

This past weekend I had a rare couple of days home alone — projects, thrifting, my choice of television, and the particular pleasure of taking myself out to dinner. I find special delight in eating alone at a restaurant bar with a book. There is something wonderful about being surrounded by the energy of couples and groups while sitting happily in your own solitude.

At a nearby Italian restaurant, in a moment away from my book, I noticed the beautiful brass bar top — and embedded in it, a lovely bowtie inlay. Purely decorative here, but I appreciated the nod to the traditional woodworker’s joint used to stabilize checks and cracks in large pieces of lumber. The bowtie, or butterfly key, is both structural and beautiful — a repair that becomes a feature, a flaw that becomes a centerpiece.

The master of this was George Nakashima. I was lucky enough to visit his home and studio in New Hope, Pennsylvania in 2012, while on a business trip for IKEA, whose US headquarters is nearby. His work honors the material completely, guided by the natural inconsistencies of wood rather than fighting them. A crack is not a flaw; it is a character.

Sawkille Co. utilizes this classic joint but their approach leans into storytelling and unique materiality. Their tables feature brass inlays of symbols and talismans — bowties among them — that transform the surface of a table into something closer to a narrative. A functional object with genuine artistry running through it.

The Dye Is Cast

I’ve been thinking about fabric dyeing lately — partly because I’m considering adding curtains to Charlie’s room and want to transform some white sheers I already have rather than buying new. More on that in a minute.

I could tackle this myself, and I think I will — but if you want to try fabric dyeing without the DIY commitment, I cannot recommend Suay highly enough. This LA-based company focuses on upcycling discarded textiles — constructing new silhouettes and dyeing pieces for a new life. They host a community dye bath once a month with a rotating selection of three to five colors. You send photos for a quote, ship your item, and get it back about a month later, fully transformed. I used them once before to turn a drab putty-colored dress into a lovely red, and the result was exactly what I’d hoped.

I love finding ways to personalize things and make sure every object in my life is something I genuinely love. Transforming a garment or a textile with color is one of the best tools I’ve found for doing exactly that.

Are you tempted?

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Breaking the Floor-Length Rule

We are getting close to the grand reveal of Charlie’s room. I promise I am not dragging this out to torture you — these projects simply take time, especially when you are squeezing them in between work, summer camp schedules, and the rest of life. Today: curtains. Specifically, whether to add them at all — and then the more contentious question of length.

The room currently has simple blackout cellular blinds that work well and sit relatively discreetly in the window. As is, the room feels clean and simple, and you get a clear view of one of my favorite decisions: painting the trim the same color as the walls but with a sheen shift — matte on the walls, semi-gloss on the trim. A subtle detail that adds depth without complication.

Adding curtains means adding another layer of color or pattern, hiding the gap between the window frame and the blinds, and creating some visual weight to balance the bed and the newly built desk that sit below each window. The decision made itself. Curtains it is.

The thing that gave me pause was length. The curtains would have to be short — ending above the bed and desk — and the idea that curtains are only stylish when they kiss the floor has been design gospel for decades. We collectively decided sometime around 1990 that short curtains were simply wrong, and the rule has held ever since.

But I’ve been noticing a shift. Café curtains are re-emerging. Curtains hemmed well above the floor are appearing in spaces I admire, done with genuine intention. And I think it’s time to collectively question the rules we’ve come to accept without examining.

Here is how I think about it: long curtains are formal and classic, creating a strong vertical line that can increase the sense of height in a room. Short curtains are more casual, practical, even playful — they stop the eye rather than leading it upward. I would compare the difference to a wall of built-in bookshelves versus a solitary interesting hutch. The former unifies and keeps the eye moving; the latter creates a moment of pause and interest.

In Charlie’s room, short curtains actually do a bit of both. Because they stop at the top of the furniture — the bed on one wall, the desk on another — they continue the horizontal line I’ve created with the built-in shelving system. That line wraps around the room and gets reinforced at the delineation between furniture and curtain. Practical and architectural at once.

Two designers I love and admire are quietly breaking the floor-length rule and doing it beautifully: Frances Merrill of Reath Design and Sophie Rowell of Côte de Folk . Both are masters of collected, warm, and layered spaces, and neither shies away from the shorter curtain when the room calls for it.

Now I just need to land on a color and tackle my DIY dyeing project. Stay tuned.

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Scent and Smoke

Along with a few goodies I’ll share soon, my friends at Nickey Kehoe included some intoxicating incense from Astier de Villatte. The Tucson scent has now become part of my morning ritual — I sit down at my desk, sip my coffee, turn on my five lamps, and light an incense. It is slightly smoky and earthy with a touch of sweetness. And somehow it transports me straight back to my teenage years, when I felt very cool and very mysterious in my incense-filled bedroom. Not a thing has changed, right? I might have to pick up a holder — pretty, quirky, or refined—but for now my vintage cordial glass filled with rice does the trick.

What rule have you quietly broken in your home — and are you glad you did?

Katie xx

Happy Fourth. How did you celebrate — and how are you feeling about it? There is real tension in marking this particular holiday this year. The idea of home, of country, of belonging — these feel complicated right now in ways that are hard to dismiss. I find myself holding two things at once: grief for the distance between what this country is and what it could be, and a stubborn insistence on holding onto optimism. Both feel true. Both feel necessary.

Which, it turns out, is something design understands well. I love a bit of tension in design. It adds interest, energy, and life. Mixing styles, introducing an unexpected color, placing forms together that don’t immediately “go” — these are often the moves that make a space or an object genuinely memorable. This week a few things caught my eye that play into exactly that idea. Plus an update on Charlie’s room, which is coming along — slowly, obsessively, exactly as planned.

Let’s get into it.

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Traditional White

Naomi Osaka has been experimenting with fashion for some time, using the tennis court as her runway — or perhaps more accurately, her canvas. She is creating art, conversation, and a little productive controversy, quietly questioning the longstanding tennis tradition of all-white uniforms — rules designed to homogenize and control — by playing beautifully within them.

Her recent Wimbledon warm-up look was a masterclass in exactly this kind of tension. Working with Tokyo-based designer Hana Yagi, who is known for repurposing wedding dresses, Osaka arrived in a kimono-inspired look crafted from bridal fabric — making the all-white rule feel not like a constraint but like a natural extension of the design. The fabric was embroidered with cranes and cherry blossoms, symbols of good fortune, renewal, and longevity in Japanese culture. An oversized sash with dramatic bows flowed into layers of sheer fabric. A traditional kanzashi hair ornament, jewelry from Japanese luxury brand Mikimoto. Ethereal and athletic simultaneously. The look was also inspired, Osaka has said, by Lucy Liu’s assassin-slash-crime boss character in Kill Bill — which tells you everything about the kind of tension she is working with.

Underneath, her Nike dress appears streamlined in comparison — but the art lies in that simplicity, which draws the eye to the precision of the pleats and the meticulous floral appliqués creeping up the side.

There is also the beautiful contrast between her bold presence on the court and her reserved personality off it. She has said: “I don’t talk a lot so that way I can talk through my clothes. I can be as loud with colors or patterns or fabric as I want — and that’s the fun part.” Fashion as shield. Fashion as voice. I can very much relate — I am naturally shy and have always used creativity as my way of speaking.

It Means Happiness

Fashion was having a moment the last couple weeks with shows in Paris and Milan, and the Spring Summer Resort 27 collection by Jacquemus — shown at the historic Phare de la Pietra lighthouse in Île-Rousse, Corsica — was breathtaking. The collection is called Le Bonheur: happiness. And it earns the name.

What stopped me was the masterful tension between control and freedom. Perfectly tailored trousers with legs so voluminous they flow like fabric in the wind. The precision of a pleat against the expansiveness of the silhouette. Color that is simultaneously bold — full outfits in bright reds, oranges, and pinks — and restrained, appearing in a single contrast trim at the hem of a men’s trouser. The whole collection has that quality of looking utterly casual while being extraordinarily considered. Oversized without looking baggy. Cinched without looking stiff. Dreamy and joyful and rigorous all at once.

My favorite piece: a leather tank paired with a voluminous pink skirt. The contrast of materiality, the exuberance of color and form. Pure joy with a backbone.

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Going Bold with the Small Things

I’ve been working on an interior design project — a breathtaking apartment in Brooklyn that I hope to share more of when it’s complete. In designing my client’s spaces I’ve been thinking a lot about tension: how to introduce elements that create interest and break up an otherwise cohesive palette. She has a beautiful collection of mid-century teak and rosewood pieces, rich, angular, and wonderful — and my job has been to find things that play against that warmth and boxiness, as well as the distinct mid century style.

There are many ways to do this, but I have found that side tables are a great place to get a bit more experimental and add that needed tension. Think of them as small sculptures — objects you can afford to be a little bold with because they carry less visual weight than a sofa or a case piece. Here are a few I’m loving right now that bring a little tension, a little whimsy, a little welcome strangeness:

Which one would you bring home?

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Hold Everything

I’ve started work on Charlie’s room makeover — but you’ll have to wait a little longer for the grand reveal. A little anticipation never hurt anyone. This week let’s talk storage.

As you may recall from my introductory post, Charlie’s wishlist included Lego display shelving, a desk, and more room for books. That was my mandate, and one I was happy to fulfill. I considered keeping the existing dresser and adding wall-mounted shelving above, but quickly moved on — I wanted something that felt more architectural, more built-in, more of a statement. I could have added a second dresser to create a wall-to-wall base with shelving above, but I wanted the warmth of wood. A large system that fills an entire wall can add real architecture to a space — a sense of permanence and intention that freestanding furniture rarely achieves. This room needed that.

So I turned to IKEA Ivar. It is a humble, straightforward, and affordable system — raw knotty pine, obvious adjustability, elemental construction. In some ways it reminds me of Legos: modular, reconfigurable, endlessly adaptable. I love the character of the wood and the light warmth of the blond pine. And critically, what we build now can be completely transformed later when Charlie grows and his interests change.

The plan: drawers and a sliding cabinet along the base for clothes storage, open shelving above for books, Legos, and the inevitable collection of bits and bobs, and a wrap-around desk built under the window that integrates into the shelving in the corner — continuing the horizontal line around the room for visual continuity. Rather than using the Ivar desk components, I’m building the desk surface myself to get exactly the depth and finish I want. For the initial planning I used the IKEA planning tool for Ivar, which was very helpful to experiment with different configurations until I settled on the right mix of open and closed storage.

The bulk of the system is already built — I have, as expected, obsessed over the shelving placement — but I’m waiting on a few drawers to come back into stock before tackling the desk. I’m also toying with the idea of adding color to the drawer and door fronts but I’m going to make some textiles decisions before deciding. More to come soon.

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Pattern Tension

I’ve had my eye on these Alma Towels for a while, so when Autumn Sonata reached out to gift them I was genuinely overjoyed. I’d been wanting to add some pattern to my bathroom — and towels felt like exactly the right place to try it. The color-way gave me pause at first: my bathroom is neutral, light, and airy, and this palette felt like a bold departure. But I thought the black could connect with my Everyday Beautiful print by Anthony Burrill poster and bring some much-needed contrast to the softness. And it did. The black adds tension in the best possible way — the kind that makes the whole room feel more resolved rather than less. Thank you, Autumn Sonata, for mixing things up. And beyond the looks, the softness is exactly right — not so plush that you wonder if you’re getting dry, just right.

Next newsletter: textiles, art, or accessories for Charlie’s room — what’s your vote?

Xx Katie

Happy Summer Solstice, everyone. The long days bring a sense of endless possibility with the sun holding in the sky for a surprisingly long time, telling me to keep going. And yet at the same time I feel an equal urge to just loll about, because time itself feels stretched. A strange and wonderful dichotomy. I’m leaning into both.

We celebrated my son’s birthday this weekend with an escape room — hilarity ensued. On his wishlist, alongside an elaborate ranked list of Legos, was his favorite olive oil. I have raised an olive oil connoisseur. My work here is done.

We also did some strawberry picking, attended a wine festival, and I’m forever ticking off home projects. This week I’m bringing you along for all of it — plus a few things that have been lifting my spirits in a week that needed lifting.

Let’s get into it.

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Strawberry Season

Every year we make several pilgrimages to Sauvie Island, just north of Portland, to visit the farms. It is our happy place — one we discovered on our very first scouting trip to Portland before we made the move. Sauvie is a rural oasis: u-pick farms, a wildlife refuge, and long stretches of beach along the Willamette and Columbia Rivers. The farms range from simple and quiet to fully festive, with concerts, burgers, rosé slushies, pigs, and hay rides. We go back as different crops come into season — strawberries first, then raspberries, peaches, and pumpkins in the fall, with a few extra trips for concerts and beach days in between.

Maybe because strawberries are an early summer crop they feel so hopeful and cheerful — a promise of sunny days ahead. But with a short season they are also fleeting. A little sweet moment to capture. This year we made jam, so we can tap into that feeling all year round.

And let’s not stop there. I love the strawberry as a design motif — a reminder of long warm days in almost any form it takes. A few favorites:

Portrait of Hope

The Obama Presidential Center opened this past weekend on the South Side of Chicago — a symbol of commitment to community, hope, and the belief that public spaces can be truly transformative. The Center includes a museum honoring the Obama presidency, a public library, a civic center, an athletic facility, walking paths, and a fruit and vegetable garden. It is genuinely a space for the people. I’d love to delve deeper into the architecture in a future issue — but this week I couldn’t let it pass without talking about the new portrait of the Obamas.

Unveiled at the opening ceremony, the portrait of Barack and Michelle, by Los Angeles-based artist Njideka Akunyili Crosby, stopped me completely. It is at once larger than life and surprisingly intimate. The scale is massive but the composition — the posture of the couple, the warmth between them — is approachable and deeply human. The portrait uses a photo-transfer collage technique, creating a visual archive using family photos, historical imagery, political memorabilia, and cultural artifacts. A patchwork of pictorial storytelling that captures not just who they are but where they come from and what they have meant. As a lover of color, pattern, and good people, this portrait sings.

Hardware Heaven

The other day I took advantage of a spare hour and zipped over to Hippo Hardware. For those of you in Portland — please do yourself a favor and go here if you haven’t already. And if you have, go again. After every visit I tell myself I should come more often than I do. It gets my mind moving, my ideas bouncing, and my excitement running.

This three, or is it four, story meandering hardware salvage shop has been operating for 50 years. It nearly went out of business a couple years ago but was saved by the support of the community and a loyal team — and thank goodness for that. These places are treasures that need our support. You can find porcelain doorknobs alongside the latch set, backset, deadbolt, faceplate, strikeplate, and every related component you didn’t know you needed. Drawers and drawers of parts, old knobs, hooks, and handles. Vintage colorful porcelain sinks and toilets. Endless glass shades that look like fancy Jell-O molds. Beautiful old solid wood doors. I feel like a kid in a candy shop, my mind racing through possibilities.

Even if you don’t need a thing. Just go. You’ll thank me.

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A Rising Tide Raises All Boats

This weekend I attended a lovely wine festival in the beautiful Willamette Valley, hosted by Elk Cove Vineyards . I went because I love wine, I love any excuse to spend time on a farm, and I love the Elk Cove family — I went to college with one of them. But I also had the honor of designing this year’s poster for the Rising Tide Wine Fest, which made the whole afternoon feel especially meaningful.

My friend from Elk Cove reached out at the beginning of this year, knowing I had recently been laid off from Schoolhouse, with this opportunity. I’m not a graphic designer, a painter, or an illustrator. But I am a designer, an experimenter, a dabbler. And at that point I was in desperate need of getting back into my creative head. This project was a gift. A reminder to play, to trust my instincts, and to just make something.

The festival is named for the saying “a rising tide raises all boats” — a beautiful message about the power of community. I wanted to capture that sense of collective momentum while also honoring the diversity within it. I sketched a wave pattern quickly, wanting a strong graphic stripe element in a bold contrasting color. Then I had the idea to use a color overlay to create a wine glass shape in the waves — wine waves, to hold this lovely community of boats. I played with color and landed on classic blue with a deep burgundy. A bit on the nose for a wine festival palette, but I wanted the poster to feel approachable and warm rather than abstract.

I decided to work by hand rather than digitally — I wanted the poster to feel crafted. I used acetate sheets to create a long stencil for the blue waves, stippling the paint to create texture in each stripe. Once that dried I masked the goblet shape and added the burgundy wine waves. Each sailboat is hand-drawn and uniquely patterned, with a subtle nod to each winery’s color palette. I cut the wave edges so the boats could slip in and float. The text is stenciled too, keeping the technique consistent throughout.

The process was laborious — and I probably could have found a more efficient approach — but that was okay with me. It was meditative to just sit and make. To stencil wave after wave. To draw tiny boats. It reminded me that working with my hands in this way gives me real energy and fuels new ideas.

Cheers to delicious wine and the practice of making.

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The Jam / Something to Spread

To keep the summer spirit going, my wife took our bounty of strawberries and made some delicious jam. Now we have stacks of jars that feel like a little gateway to the warmth of summer. The perfect antidote to a rainy Portland winter.

She was looking for a recipe that was simple and really just captured the natural sweetness of the strawberries without adding a lot of sugar or other flavors. The recipe could not be simpler: a few pounds of fresh strawberries, sugar, pectin, and a little lemon. That’s essentially it. I tried some today and she really nailed it. It’s the kind of thing that makes a piece of toast — or an English muffin — feel like a small celebration. Make it while the strawberries are still around. You’ll be grateful in February.

And as a bonus, some closing words from our former first lady. Never any notes for her.

“Hope is a choice. Whether or not we use our voices to speak up is a choice. Voting is a choice. Being a decent human being is a choice. Believing that we still hold the power to build a country that reflects us all is a choice.” — Michelle Obama, at the opening of the Obama Presidential Center

Is there a place in your city that gives you the Hippo Hardware feeling — the one you keep meaning to visit more often?

Katie xx

Happy June, everyone. I’ve officially shifted into summer mode with the school year behind us — which in practice means navigating a different camp schedule every week rather than the comfort of a predictable routine. I’m trying to embrace the sunshine, the long light-filled evenings, and hopefully a few trips to the coast and floats on the river. What are you planning this summer?

Last weekend Charlie and I zipped down to San Jose to spend time with my family, with a special appearance from my cousin visiting from New York. We soaked up the sun, ate citrus from the trees, and rode in our first Waymo. I snuck away to Santa Cruz for the morning for breakfast with my dad, and we got to talking about our shared sentimentality when it comes to objects. He’s been trying to let go of a few things — some clothes, a piece of furniture, some pottery gathering moss in the backyard — and finding it harder than expected. Each thing reminds him of a person or a place. I definitely inherited this from him. In both of our minds, objects serve as physical manifestations of emotional connection — talismans that transport us to a memory, a feeling, a beloved time.

So today I’m sharing a few things that give me that sentimental warm feeling. And then we’ll talk about the color blue.

Let’s get into it.

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Me Made

Inspired by a flood of #MeMadeMay content on Instagram, I decided to tackle a sewing project. I’m not a total novice — I’ve made pillows, curtains, Halloween costumes, lampshades, and hemmed more pants than I can count — but I had never made clothing from a pattern. A summer dress caught my eye and, with the warm weather and a goal to make more things with my hands, I committed.

I used the Skyline Dress pattern — a lovely sleeveless, flowy tiered summer dress that is the perfect thing to throw on for the hot days ahead. My goal was to use fabric I already owned rather than buy anything new. I have quite a stash. I was originally going to use a linen shower curtain that had gotten an accidental bleach stain, but I couldn’t fit the pattern pieces around the discolored sections. So I turned to my collection and was happy to rediscover a few yards of beautiful cotton damask that my brother and sister-in-law brought back from a trip to Namibia in 2002 — clearly I like to hold onto things with potential. They found it at the Namibia Craft Centre in Windhoek. This fabric had been waiting for the right project for years, and this dress turned out to be it.

I didn’t document the process — sorry! — but it was surprisingly manageable, and now I have this lovely breezy dress to wear all summer that will forever remind me of some of my favorite people. That feels like exactly the right outcome for a piece of fabric that traveled across the world.

High Shine, High Joy

One of my most prized possessions is my grandmother’s old bowling jacket. She was wearing this well into her eighties — maybe nineties — for her weekly bowling league. I love the bold shiny blue, the sporty striped trim, and the little bit of glam from the silver and pink patches. I channel her quiet strength every time I wear it.

It also reminds me of something I’ve been noticing in interiors lately — a return of the high-gloss finish on walls and built-ins. I love the lushness a sheen brings to a room. High gloss can feel cold and slick on its own, but paired with a rich, saturated color it creates a sense of decadence that still feels playful. My grandmother knew this. She just applied it to a bowling jacket.

Get the Weird Lamp

This lamp belonged to my grandparents, and I was lucky enough to inherit it. I can picture it in their old house in Lexington, Massachusetts — which takes me straight back to dozens of memories: summer days tricycling across the street to neighbors who always had candy, stuffed artichokes and several kinds of pasta at Christmas dinner, and the basement with the flocked wallpaper and cedar-lined closet. This lamp can transport me to that house instantly.

I have always loved how ornate and textural it is — sitting on three clawed feet, tiers of bobeches, an oversized finial, and a gathered fabric shade. It isn’t shy, in the best possible way. The height is untraditional — is it a short floor lamp or a tall table lamp? Maybe it’s just exactly right for being itself.

So here is a small nudge: get the weird lamp. Not the gimmicky one, but the one that is confident in its detail, materials, or color — or better yet, all three. The one your grandchildren will remember you by.

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How to Pick a Paint Color Without Losing Your Mind

Shifting gears — though maybe not as much as it seems. There is something in all of this sentimental object talk that connects directly to Charlie’s room. I feel a healthy pressure to make this a space that expresses who he is and can carry him through his teenage years. I hope it becomes a room full of objects he loves, memories being made, things worth keeping.

Today we are talking about wall color.

In my last post I shared a narrowed list of colors. Since then I have adjusted the list slightly. Charlie’s wish is blue walls — and even with that direction, picking paint color can feel overwhelming. Color has been central to my career, so this may surprise you, but the sheer volume of choices can be genuinely daunting. I’m hoping my process helps if you feel the same way.

Step one: assess your room’s orientation.

Understanding how sunlight enters your room is the single most useful thing you can do before choosing a color. Light direction affects how every color reads on your walls — not just in terms of brightness but in terms of undertone. Here is a quick guide:

North-facing rooms receive cool, indirect, bluish light. Embrace the shadows and keep it warm with creamy whites, rich earthy shades, or deep moody tones. Avoid stark cool whites and pale grays, which will read flat and cold.

South-facing rooms get the strongest, most consistent light all day. Because light intensifies color, softer cooler hues — like blues and crisp whites — tend to work best. Bold warm tones can become overwhelming.

East-facing rooms catch bright yellow morning sun but cool down in the afternoon. Warm neutrals, mauvey pinks, and colors with blue or green undertones work well.

West-facing rooms are cooler in the morning and flood with golden light in the late afternoon. Cooler tones help balance the intensity.

All that said, you can absolutely choose blue for a north-facing room — just pick one with warmer undertones and good depth of color. Likewise, you can choose a warm hue for a south-facing room, but lean toward a cool undertone to balance the intensity of the light. These are guidelines, not rules.

Step two: decide how you want the room to feel.

Once you know your light, think about atmosphere. Cozy and moody? Uplifting and cheerful? Calm and airy? Your answer will tell you whether to go deep and muted, saturated and dynamic, or pale and balanced.

Charlie’s room has west and south-facing windows, which means the light runs warm — strong southern exposure and an intense golden glow in the late afternoon. Blue is actually the perfect choice to balance all that warmth. I can work with blues that lean gray, green, or purple since they all carry an underlying coolness — though I want to be careful with green-leaning blues, which can shift even greener in his warm light. The goal is a room that feels energetic and bright but calm enough for reading and sleeping. I’m going for light to mid-tone blues with good saturation, avoiding anything too gray, which reads too drab and serious for both our tastes.

Step three: pick a small range of color to sample.

Here are the five finalists:

I did switch to Benjamin Moore — I have used their paint for years, love the quality, love my local BM store, and love that it is more affordable than Farrow & Ball. Remember, I’m doing this on a budget. I love starting with Farrow & Ball because of their beautifully curated palette — it’s a good way to avoid getting overwhelmed by the thousands of colors Benjamin Moore offers. I ordered adhesive paint samples from Samplize — so quick and easy, and they ship overnight across several brands. I lived with the swatches on the walls for about a week, taking note of how they read at different times of day and on different walls, and checking in with Charlie on his preferences along the way.

After this step we were able to narrow to three colors—Santorini Blue, Sheer Romance, and Aspen Skies.

Step four: test your color options with the other colors, materials in the room.

I gathered a small selection of other materials — fabrics, patterns, objects — that will be featured in the room to see which paint color feels most cohesive alongside everything else. Sometimes you just feel it before you can explain it. When doing this I like to make sure my sample materials are layered together in roughly the proportion they will appear in the room. I have kept the wood, rug, and blanket large because they will be the biggest elements. This helps anticipate the weigh each color will have in the room. It is also very helpful to photograph along the way just like I have so you can reference the paint in different locations, at different times of day, and with other colors. Sometimes it can be easier to make a final decision staring at a picture rather than the wall.

Charlie has a definite favorite — what about you?

Next up: we’ll reveal the final color and talk about the new storage shelving unit.

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You Say Tomato

I bought this print from Swedish design studio Fine Little Day before Charlie was born, when I was first decorating his nursery. As I’ve shared before, my grandfather was a tomato wholesaler in Boston, so the tomato has always been a family symbol of sorts. This friendly little tomato has been in Charlie’s room ever since, and we plan on keeping him in this next iteration.

What object in your home transports you most reliably — and where does it take you?

Katie xx

Happy summer, everyone. With Memorial Day behind us, school winding down, and the days getting luxuriously long here in the PNW — I love the long evenings, considerably less enthusiastic about the 5:30am blazing sun — I am feeling the familiar shift of season and routine. This always makes me want to organize, refresh, and reinvent. I’ve been plotting my son’s bedroom makeover and dreaming about the garden, while also feeling a powerful urge to purge approximately everything. Too many projects, not sure where I’ll land first.

In the meantime, the neighborhood has been doing its summer thing — block parties, kids spilling out onto sidewalks, that particular quality of long-evening light that makes everyone want to stay outside just a little longer. There is something about this season that turns neighbors into friends and streets into living rooms. I have been soaking it up. It feels like a small act of manifesting the world we want.

While my mind spins on projects and plans, I thought we’d take a little respite this week and bounce around the things that have been stopping me mid-scroll, mid-walk, and mid-daydream.

Let’s get into it.

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PS: I Love You

I was at IKEA, in line before opening on launch day for the chance to see the new PS collection in person — and to snag a few things for myself. I love the energy around moments like this. You get a little microcosm of people with similar interests, all buzzing about the same thing. My friend and I quickly scoped out who was there for the PS and who was just after a morning cinnamon bun and a Kallax. We made a beeline for the launch area, secured our pieces before they disappeared, and then gave ourselves time to properly browse.

So what did we get? We both took home the new floor lamp, and it really exceeded my expectations. It is a study in simplicity — I initially had bad torchière flashbacks, conjuring dorm rooms and banned halogen bulbs, but this is not that. The proportions are slim and elegant. I brought it home not knowing exactly where to put it and discovered it could tuck into so many corners as a sculptural accent. I landed on a corner in my dining room. I’m keeping it upright, but the adjustability is genuinely impressive — it adds so much function and personality for the price.

The color was a difficult choice — all three are so good. I ended up with the burgundy, but I love how fresh the citrusy green is, and I am always a sucker for cobalt. I did notice that the burgundy is a near-perfect match to Schoolhouse’s Raisin color, which I developed with my team a couple of years ago. IKEA, I see you. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery — I’ll take the compliment.

I also grabbed this chair for my son’s future desk. Quirky and cool in exactly the right way.

The one thing I didn’t manage to get was the ratchet stool — sold out before I could get my hands on one. I am now stalking the IKEA website for the next shipment. I have a small collection of IKEA stools from various collaborations and past PS editions. I find stools endlessly useful and I can never resist one with personality. Update: I got the alert as I was sitting down to edit this newsletter that the stool was back in stock, and I immediately dropped what I was doing to zip over to IKEA. Success, friends!

What RISD Is Up To

All the coverage of the IKEA PS collection gave way this week to ICFF, and I’ve been following along with equal amounts of FOMO and admiration. I don’t have a full roundup this year, but I couldn’t let the week pass without a shoutout to my alma mater, the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD), and their exhibition Intrinsic Values.

As part of the Wanted exhibit for new designers, The Furniture Design department presented work from fifteen BFA and MFA students examining furniture as utility, as art, and as a medium for questioning domestic conventions and environmental responsibility. The work balances traditional craftsmanship with experimental approaches — hand and machine, structure and expression, function and narrative. It is, in the best possible way, exactly what RISD has always been about.

Two pieces in particular stopped me:

Russ Fogle, MFA 2027 — Screenshot 2017-01-02 at 01.35.00 PM—This piece uses the iconic Shaker ladder-back chair as its canvas. Its title — “Screenshot 2017-01-02 at 01.35.00 PM” — is the exact timestamp of the death of Shaker elder Sister Frances Carr, leaving only two living Shakers. The choice to name a handcrafted object after a digital notification is its own quiet commentary — the kind of conceptual layering that makes you stop and look twice.Fogle’s work examines tools and their societal effects — here the traditional ladder-back is ornamented with wireframe linework executed in black-dyed maple veneer, using a combination of traditional string inlay and modern lamination techniques. I have long admired the Shakers, so I love seeing their legacy inspire a new generation of makers. The inlaid black maple creates a wireframe that speaks to the craft and mathematics of these masterful chairs. A beautiful study in construction, material, and history.

Mary Alford, MFA 2026 — Filet Lamp —This lamp is another beautiful experimentation with materiality. The delicate crocheted textile is turned into a three-dimensional glowing lamp with an unexpected structure, deceiving our perceptions of a flat, fragile material. I love the movement of the form and the way light glows through the patterned surface in endlessly changing ways.

ICFF has a special place in my history with RISD. During my time there, our class was invited to take part in a Design Week show hosted by Martha Stewart at the Chelsea Martha Stewart Living headquarters — one of the great privileges of being a student at a school that takes your work seriously enough to put it in front of the world. I was interviewed by Martha herself, which was equal parts terrifying and thrilling. I remember feeling nervous but confident, sporting my space buns and flared jeans. The well-funded, large booths of the bigger brands are always impressive at these fairs — but the innovation, then and now, lives in the student work. It always has.

Something Fishy

This little fish caught my attention on Instagram and I was delighted to discover it is a rare piece made by mid-century Danish architect Finn Juhl. Juhl is best known for furniture that sits at the marriage of sculpture and function — and this small treasure is a perfect expression of that sensibility. I love when an object immediately incites an emotion — especially when that emotion is pure joy — and then reveals itself to also have a function. It fills me with delight every time.

The fish was on view at The European Fine Art Foundation (TEFAF) New York Art Fair, which takes place every May — a discovery for me this year. Have any of you been? This one-of-a-kind puffer fish piggy bank, made in 1941, was handcrafted by celebrated Danish woodturner Kai Boysen, with whom Juhl frequently collaborated. The playful form reflects the sculptural sensibility that defines Juhl’s most iconic work. I love the simplicity of the forms and use of materials. The beautiful warm, textured turned teak is punctuated with graphic use of bronze — the undulating wire crest, perforated tail, welcoming wire and sheet metal fins, money-hungry mouth, and the round keyholes that double as eyes.

If you’re looking for some whimsical but functional objects to make your everyday life a little more fun, here are a few to brighten your day.

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The Dog That Stays on the Porch Will Find No Bones

I was recently reminded of the work of Wendell Castle by a designer who had the privilege of working under him — and it sent me back into his world with fresh eyes.

Castle stands as one of the defining voices of the American studio furniture movement — not its originator, but perhaps one of its most daring practitioners. Born in Kansas in 1932, he received a BFA in Industrial Design and an MFA in sculpture from the University of Kansas before moving to Rochester, New York, where he taught at the School of American Craftsmen and eventually headed the woodworking department at Rochester Institute of Technology in the 1960s.

A brief word on studio furniture — a term that deserves unpacking. It describes an era of American furniture design united not by a single aesthetic but by the background of its makers: their interest in linking concept, material, and technique, and the small studios in which they worked. Taught through academic programs rather than traditional apprenticeships, it prized intellectual rigor alongside technical mastery. Castle was one of its defining figures. It is this movement, this way of thinking about making, that shaped how I learned to design — to hold concept, aesthetics, and craft together as a single inseparable thing

His work begs the question: is it sculpture or furniture? Is it art or design? In the mid-1960s he developed a stacked lamination technique — pieces of wood stacked, glued together, and shaped into large organic forms. Wharton Esherick, before him, was working in this manner, as were many sculptors, but Castle took the technique further. Esherick used it primarily as a supplementary carving method, working organically. Castle industrialized the process, creating rough-blocked forms to execute complex, biomorphic art furniture. The initial spark, remarkably, was a how-to guide for making duck decoys that he read as a teenager in a woodworking magazine. (I am filing away a future newsletter on the history and craft of decoys. But I digress.) When he moved to Rochester and gained access to better equipment, the technique flourished into a distinctive style of volumetric, whimsical forms that defied traditional furniture categories entirely.

What makes the stacked lamination so remarkable is not just the forms it produced but the efficiency of the process. Rather than gluing up a large solid cube and carving away, Castle planned each cross-section in advance — cutting the silhouette at each layer, hollowing the interior to reduce weight, and gluing up these graduated shapes like a staircase of forms. Less waste, more precision, limitless possibility.

His Library Sculpture of 1965 is a breathtaking example. Towering in height, it consists of two cantilevered chairs and a desk growing from a central twisting column of layered walnut. The crisp edge of the twisted trunk and the audacity of the cantilever add a lightness to what is, structurally, a monumental achievement. Masterful engineering and beauty in perfect tension.

Interestingly, Castle was criticized by elders in the field — Wharton Esherick, Sam Maloof, and George Nakashima — for using too much wood. But he related to wood differently. He didn’t need the perfectly grained lumber his colleagues prized; he could use the offcuts, the so-called “bad” pieces. He valued the final form over the perfect grain, celebrating wood as a building material rather than a surface to be admired. In doing so he freed himself from the constraints of lines and planes entirely.

Throughout the 1960s he broadened his material palette to include fiberglass, styrofoam, neon, and plastic, still pursuing his volumetric organic forms. His Molar series of fiberglass furniture leans heavily toward sculpture — a Pop Art expression that illustrates Castle’s ability to continually evolve his work.

In the late 1970s he made a significant pivot toward more refined, historically referenced furniture with trompe l’oeil still lifes of everyday objects carved in wood — most notably Coat On A Chair. In the 1980s, using costly materials and masterful workmanship, he raised the ceiling on what studio furniture could be. Later in life he returned to nearly nonfunctional sculptural forms. A full arc, fully committed at every stage.

When I was at RISD I experimented with Castle’s stacked lamination technique myself. I made a series of stools called Sea Stones , inspired by years of visits to Cape Cod with family and friends — meant to be relics of gathering in that coastal place, weathering with time and connection. I also made a series of ring boxes that mimic the shape of a human heart; pulled apart, they reveal a tiny drawer just big enough for wedding rings or small mementos of a relationship. Wendell’s work was firmly in my mind when I was making both.

While researching this piece I came across Castle’s ten rules of thumb, published in 1996. They stopped me — not as artistic advice alone but as a guide to living and problem-solving that extends far beyond any single discipline:

1. If you are in love with an idea, you are no judge of its beauty or value.

2. It is difficult to see the whole picture when you are inside the frame.

3. After learning the tricks of the trade, don’t think you know the trade.

4. We hear and apprehend what we already know.

5. The dog that stays on the porch will find no bones.

6. Never state a problem to yourself in the same terms it was brought to you.

7. If it’s offbeat or surprising, it’s probably useful.

8. If you do not expect the unexpected, you will not find it.

9. Don’t get too serious.

10. If you hit the bullseye every time, the target is too near.

Right now I am particularly drawn to the last two — a reminder to be easy on yourself and a push to keep reaching further. What Castle understood, and what his whole career demonstrates, is that the most interesting work happens at the edges: between art and design, between function and sculpture, between the known and the not-yet-imagined. The line between sculpture and furniture is not a line at all. It is an invitation.

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Pink Again

I have been wearing these pants on repeat. The cut is easy and effortless, but the color is what really makes me smile — it is remarkable how many things pink works with in a wardrobe. Maybe not so surprising, if you know me at all.

Which of Castle’s ten rules resonates most with you right now?

Katie xx

I hope you all had a lovely weekend — and for those who celebrated Mother’s Day, I hope you were loved, appreciated, and thoroughly pampered. Maybe even with something from my gift guide. I’d love to hear your favorites for next year’s roundup.

I’ve been taking long neighborhood walks, unable to resist photographing every flower along the way, hosting my parents, and winding down the school year. I cannot believe it’s almost summer. I’ve also been dreaming up my next house project — or two, or ten. This week I’m letting you into my mind as I plan a room refresh for my soon-to-be 11-year-old son, alongside some other things that have been catching my eye lately.

Let’s get into it.

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Dot Dot Dot

I’m seeing polka dots everywhere lately, and I am not mad about it one bit. There is something so unapologetically playful about a good polka dot — it brings movement and ease to almost everything it touches, whether it’s a dress, a sofa, or your walls. I love the combination of a structured repeat that gives a sense of order, softened by that friendly, yielding circle form. Oversized or tiny, aligned or offset, the polka dot has a reliable power to make you smile. Scale and repeat do the rest.

Give Me a Hand

Perhaps it is because we are craving evidence of the maker’s hand — a quiet rebellion against AI, an app for everything, and a life increasingly mediated by screens. The human touch is something I know I’m craving. So why not go literal, and let the hand itself become the design element?

Dance No More (But Actually Please Dance)

Harry Styles’ video for Dance No More has been circulating and I cannot stop watching every time it lands on my feed. I love the set and costume design — vintage gym, the energy of a PE class that got completely away from itself. There is a freedom of movement here, an invitation to join in, a looseness around gender and sexuality and the pure joy of dancing alongside strangers. The retro references are clear but the proportions are distinctly modern — slim sneakers, short shorts, a cropped hoodie under an oversized blazer. As Harry strips away his outfit he becomes one of the crowd, just another body moving to the music — feeling the freedom of dance, of non-conformity, of collective joy. It is euphoric and very much of this moment. And the song is genuinely catchy, which doesn’t hurt.

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Room for Growing Up

I’ve been wanting to give my son’s room a refresh for a while. As he has grown, the room has grown with him — from crib to big bed, from toys and books to, well, different toys and books. As he approaches 11 and middle school, his opinions about his space are developing fast, and I want to create something that feels genuinely his — that will carry him through his tween years and maybe beyond. The challenge, I’ll admit, is that I don’t entirely want to give up control. I love creating spaces that are beautiful and work hard. My ideas and his don’t always align. He is simultaneously my best and most difficult client.

I sat down with him over pancakes and asked for his wishlist. Here it is: LED mood lights, a Lego display shelf, a desk, a trapdoor with a fireman’s pole down to the basement playroom, light blue walls, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and more room for books. He likes the art in his room and doesn’t care where the bed goes. This is a list I can — mostly — work with.

I always start with the layout. I could spend hours rearranging furniture, and if I’ve ever been to your house I have almost certainly moved your belongings around in my head. I’ve been drawing up plans in Illustrator — it’s what I have access to — but this could easily be done with paper, a pencil, and a scale ruler. When I was in college I made a scale plan of my dorm room so my roommate (check out her substack) and I could experiment with the layout before moving a single piece of furniture. I still think it’s one of the most useful things you can do before a room refresh. While space planning I’m thinking about flow, functional zones, and vertical space even as I work in two dimensions. As a starting point, I’m also working with the furniture we have — I’m not attached to most of it, but I’m trying to do this on a budget.

The bed is the biggest element so it’s the right place to start. Should it stay in the middle of the room, where friends sleeping over have easy access from both sides? Or should it move to a corner to open up floor space and create a cozier nook? Here are a few of my favorite options.

After working in Illustrator, I discovered that IKEA has some more general 3D planners now. I’m familiar with the planners specific to Pax and Sektion, their closet and kitchen systems, so was excited to discover this new tool. It doesn’t have everything so I had to use some placeholders, but a really good way to play around in a 3D space.

I like the current bed location because it creates natural zones on either side — a reading corner, easy access to the front window for fresh air, and a less cluttered bedside area that helps Charlie wind down for the day. My first instinct is to keep it relatively similar but use more vertical space for storage.

Alternatively, the corner option creates a cozy bed nook, a dedicated zone for clothes, and opens up the floor for wrestling or dance parties.

A Wall for Everything

If we invest in anything new it will most likely be a wall shelving and desk system. I love the streamlined efficiency of a built-in — the long horizontal lines it creates, the sense of order, the way it adds a little architecture to an otherwise plain room. I might integrate the basic white IKEA pieces we already have, add a countertop for a desk, and hang shelving above — or I may build a wall unit using IKEA Ivar. If it weren’t discontinued I’d use the Svalnäs line. IKEA—please bring it back. It was so good. There is also something in these mid-century wall units in bamboo and white metal that I keep coming back to. Either way I’d integrate Lego display shelving, books, a desk, and clothes storage into one unified system.

Going Blue

Charlie has requested a light, bright blue. The room is currently gray, and it just feels flat. With a gray wool rug I want to keep, I need to shift away from the gray-heavy palette without going too vivid. The windows are south and west facing so it gets a lot of bright afternoon sunlight. Blues will work well to balance all the warmth. Here are some of our finalists, all from Farrow & Ball:

• Selvedge—the darkest and moodiest but still good saturation

• Yonder — the brightest of the group, with a touch of green. Cheerful and bold. Not surprisingly, Charlie’s favorite.

• Lulworth Blue — mid-tone and bright, a classic.

• Kittiwake — a touch more black in it, slightly more serious than Lulworth.

• Parma Gray — cool and light.

• Kakelugn — cool, clean, with a nice clarity.

Charlie voted for Yonder, while I’m waiting for sample swatches to test is the room to make my final decision. Which one is your favorite?

All the Ambiance, None of the Vibe

This request has given me pause. I want to avoid the room looking like a teen gamer setup straight from central casting — you know the one. Blue and black, LED strips everywhere, a ring light in the corner. That said, the room may well be blue, so I need to think carefully. I came across this crown molding example that I thought could be a fun and architectural way to integrate LED strip lighting without screaming “gamer.” Or perhaps I’ll add the lighting to the shelving unit to light up those lego creations. I’m still brainstorming and genuinely open to suggestions. The brief is simple: all the ambiance, none of the vibe.

At the end of the day, this room is for Charlie — his interests, his comfort, his growing sense of who he is. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also designing it a little for myself. The best rooms do both: they reflect the person living in them and still have something that makes you pause at the doorway and feel glad to be there. I’m hoping we can find that together.

Stay tuned. I’m hoping to tackle the makeover in the next couple of months and will document every step here and on Instagram.

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Silk Season

I received these Lunya washable silk pajamas in the most perfect cobalt blue just in time for Mother’s Day — thank you, Lunya. I already have a pair with the same pants and a long T-shirt top, so I’m loving this new cropped style. There is something quietly empowering about lounging around the house in silk — warm, breathable, and a little fancy for a Tuesday. Five stars, no notes.

So, what’s on your child’s room wishlist, and how much of it are you actually giving them?

Katie xx

It’s been a big week — I turned another year older, went to a killer concert, met some alpacas, and all the while have been living vicariously through everyone lucky enough to be in Milan. As you may know, Salone del Mobile — the preeminent design fair — along with the surrounding events of Milan Design Week ran all last week. Designers and tastemakers flock to northern Italy every spring for not only the trade show but all the surrounding installations and debuts. It is no longer just furniture — fashion, sportswear, skincare, and food brands all show up to plant their flag in front of the world’s most design-literate audience.

There has been so much inspiring and fresh work. But a pattern has emerged in what I’ve been seeing: the biggest brands are building fantasy worlds rather than debuting products. Less a showcase of beautiful objects, more a declaration of values and vibes. Think Gucci weaving a hundred years of history into twelve monumental tapestries, or McDonald’s filling a gallery with a sea of primary-colored balls to unlock your inner eight-year-old. Then contrast that with Issey Miyake quietly transforming paper scraps into furniture that makes you question everything you thought you knew about materials, or Hermès letting an ombré cashmere throw speak for itself. Both approaches can work. Both can fail. What I’m drawn to is examining what earns its place — when does the spectacle serve the story, and when does it replace it?

Is this a problem? Not necessarily — I love an immersive experience and appreciate a brand willing to go all out. But I do miss the focus on thoughtful, innovative objects. And I’d hope these giant budgets are finding their way to the small artists and designers who are risking everything just to afford to show up.

This week I’m rounding up what broke through my feed — organized around four tensions I keep coming back to: food as folly, luxury craft, playing in public, and the weight of history. Spectacle vs. substance, brand vs. product, fantasy vs. function. Let’s get into it.

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1. FOOD AS FOLLY

Solid Nature x OMA/AMO — Il Sonno

This installation reimagines the familiar supermarket — a space typically defined by consumption and convenience — through the lens of material permanence. Constructed entirely from stone, the shelving, the packaging, the food itself: every conventional grocery item becomes an artifact. It is a meditation on durability, time, and disposability, and an invitation to ask how we perceive long-term value and intention. The materiality of the familiar makes it fantastical and precious. This installation is at once a commentary on consumerism and the most amusing stone samples I’ve ever seen.

Laila Gohar x Arket — Reimagined Fairground

Starting from a historic carousel believed to date back to the late 1700s, this installation replaces its original figures with oversized fruit and vegetables created by Laila Gohar — bringing together food, playfulness, and everyday beauty through Gohar’s characteristically theatrical language. The oversized produce is familiar and comforting in its realism; the simple slice forming each seat is the invitation to step inside the fantasy. These everyday objects made monumental become genuinely wondrous. And as a symbol of the collection itself — everyday clothes that explore the interplay between opposites, masculine and feminine, soft and structured, sheer and opaque — it lands perfectly. The theatrical and the practical, in conversation.

Chloe x Poltronova — Tomato Chair

I am always a sucker for a good tomato-themed design. As I mentioned in the last newsletter while fawning over the perfect scent, my grandfather was in the tomato business, so the fruit holds a permanent spot in my heart. This chair stopped me in my tracks. Originally designed in 1970 by French designer Christian Adam in collaboration with Italian manufacturer Poltronova, it was born from Italy’s Radical Design movement — a proposition for a new relationship between body and object. The soft, organic form rejected rigidity in favor of comfort and sensuality. Chloé, with their affinity for softness, fluidity, and ease, has unveiled a re-edition of the chair. The supple leather and sectioned form are unmistakably tomato, but the rich materiality and restrained color palette keep it elevated — and utterly not gimmicky. Here the product IS the installation. No fantasy world required — just a very good chair.

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2. PLAYING IN PUBLIC

IKEA PS Collection

I cannot wait to see the full collection on May 14, but the three pieces teased so far are genuinely intriguing. I have always loved the PS collection — it’s IKEA’s chance to play a little, and some pieces have real staying power. (I still have the yarn-wrapped stool and the classic locker.) The lamp is the clear star: simple form, transformative movement, and a perfect color palette. The chair is a looker, and I love the intention behind the air-filled cushions — flexible, movable, easy to break down — though I do wonder if it’s actually comfortable. And then the bench: a curved bottom rail that invites a wobble, alone or with a friend. A simple form made social. On the whole, IKEA has done what it does best — brought a genuine sensibility of play while keeping one foot firmly in the practical.

Škoda Auto–Ooooh that’s EpiQ

All spectacle — and I mean that with some affection. The Play-Doh-like forms descending into the piazza are dramatic, and the historical architecture does most of the heavy lifting. Set in the courtyard of the Palazzo del Senato — home of the State Archives — it was an inspired choice of venue. The juxtaposition of form, color, and formality plays up the absurdity beautifully. What I love most is how unapologetic it is. Why shouldn’t adults hop around in a bouncy castle and sculpt something out of Play-Doh? It makes you feel something, and feels perfectly calibrated for the debut of Škoda’s EV, a car that is deliberately challenging the traditional auto industry. Whether it will leave any lasting design inspiration is another question entirely.

McDonald’s — Pool: Unlock Happy Memories

Well. Why is McDonald’s at Milan Design Week? Is this the sign of the end? They are celebrating the 40th anniversary of their first restaurant in Italy. Setting aside my lackluster feelings about the brand, I think this is a genuinely successful installation. The iconic ball pit taps into collective childhood memory — but executed en masse, in a gallery setting, it becomes something else entirely. The installation was informed by Damien Hirst’s Spot Paintings , with the aim, according to McDonald’s, of “weaving together play, memory and critical reflection.” The sea of primary-colored balls is genuinely compelling. There is no product here, just a feeling. Which is either the most honest thing a brand can do, or the least. Does the spectacle work? Are you any more inclined to eat at McDonald’s? For me — yes and no.

Marimekko — Osteria Fiori

I am continually inspired by this brand, and their installation succeeds in marrying the product with emotion — which is harder than it looks. Nothing groundbreaking, but it is consistent, strong, and distinctly Marimekko. The space they’ve created is like living inside one of their joyful floral prints — it surrounds you, nourishes you, entertains you. The dinnerware and even the food share the same vibrant palette. The Osteria Fiori (Flower Tavern) is exactly that: flowers to be consumed in every sense — eaten, worn, enveloped. I particularly love the bocce ball set, which brings a casual summer lawn game energy to the whole thing. This is how brand building should feel. This is the sweet spot — world-building and product in lockstep. You want to live there, and you want everything in it.

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3. LUXURY CRAFT

JW Anderson x Edie Glew

This collaboration between JW Anderson, Creative Director of Dior and Edie Glew, Yeoman Basket Maker and Sculptor, draws inspiration from medieval chests and the poetry of everyday tasks. The four baskets are designed to serve practical needs — laundry, organizing, fire-tending — but the exquisite craft makes them look like they belong in a museum. I love the tension between the rugged inspiration of medieval storage and the delicacy of willow basketry. Sturdy and fragile. Both skillful. Both built to last.

Hermès

A study in how everyday objects can elevate everyday life — which is, of course, exactly what Hermès has always been about. Executed here through luxe materiality and exquisite craft, the color palette is sophisticated but not shy. The real heroes are the pieces where the materials speak for themselves. I am particularly drawn to the ombré cashmere throw with leather fringe and the hammered metal and horsehair-skirted vase. Apparently I have a thing for fringe right now.

Issey Miyake — The Paper Log: Shell and Core

Miyake brings us an exploratory project conceived by Satoshi Kondo of Miyake Design Studio and developed in collaboration with Spanish architecture office Ensamble Studio. The project features sculpture (Shell) and furniture pieces (Core), both made from compressed rolls — or logs —of paper, the byproduct of the house’s iconic pleated garments. The logs were soaked with glue or wax for structure and then treated like timber: milled, sawn, carved. The result is furniture that is genuinely hard to place — marble? Plastic? Wood? The mystery of the material, the innovation of the process, and the elegance of the byproduct-to-product concept make this one of my favorites from the whole week. The resulting forms are mesmerizing.

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4. STORYTELLING THROUGH HISTORY

Aesop — Factory of Light

This installation introduces Aesop’s Apose new lighting collection across two spaces. The first is a light-filled structure inspired by the scaffolding that lines Milan’s streets — a ghostly imprint of that inspiration printed onto fabric hanging in rectilinear forms, creating something like a memory of a streetscape. It leads into a second space that is dark and solemn, where the lights sit atop an undulating structure that reads, to me, like prayer candles in a church — reverential, quiet, honoring something. The atmosphere is striking and sensory, as you’d expect from a brand known for extraordinary scent. The lamp itself is striking, minimal, and beautifully made, but like the monastic setting of the installation it feels a bit serious and hard to connect with. The installation is the stronger of the two. The lamp is beautiful but hasn’t fully earned its cathedral yet.

Gucci — Memoria

This installation traces the fashion house’s 100-plus-year history from its Florentine roots to its current global status. At its core: twelve giant Renaissance-style tapestries depicting the narrative of Gucci’s legacy, woven in a medieval style while depicting distinctly modern fashion sensibilities. The visual tension between the formality of the historical craft and the modernity of the subject matter is what makes it work. Add a wildflower garden and interactive elements and you have a masterclass in emotional storytelling. History not as nostalgia but as living material.

Miu Miu Literary Club — Politics of Desire

Miu Miu’s focus was not a collection launch — instead, they created a space to host discussion and music centered around desire, sexuality, and consent. And it is one of my favorites from the whole week. I love the formality of calling it a literary club — the air of academia and men’s-only institutions, done deliberately in lavender and olive. The palette alone reframes everything. The subject of sexuality and consent hosted in a space that deliberately evokes patriarchal tradition is not subtle, and it shouldn’t be. It is perfection.

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Yes Please to Pleats

Inspired by the beautiful pleats of Issey Miyake, I went looking to see what Julia Heuer — another master of the pleated form — was up to, and immediately fell in love with this bomber jacket. The oversized sleeves, the dreamy grid and floral pattern, and all that pleated texture — perfection.

What stopped your scroll from Milan this week — and do you think the spectacle is earning its place, or has the trade show become more theater than substance?

Katie xx

Hi friends!

The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, and the world is a lot right now — but we keep marching forward, and sometimes that means leaning into the things worth celebrating. This week I’m getting a jump start on Mother’s Day, a little less than a month out, with 50 ways to honor the people who mother in your life.

I hope this inspires gifts for your own mother, your wife, your sister, your best friend, or that person who has quietly nurtured you in ways you’re still discovering. In my house, with two mothers, we have a history of skipping this holiday entirely — it always feels like someone has to choose who gets the spotlight, so we’ve chosen neither. Friends of mine, another two-mom household, solved this brilliantly by splitting Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and I think that’s genius. However you navigate it, the key is simply showing your appreciation. For a lot of mothers that means one day of not having to plan, think, or be responsible for anyone else’s hunger. So yes, order something off this list — but also cook a meal, make a reservation, book the massage, pack her lunch and send her on a hike, or just give her an afternoon to read, sketch, or garden without interruption.

Whether or not Mother’s Day is your thing, there is always a reason to have a list of delightful indulgences on hand. I’ve organized these into six categories — delight her, pamper her, adorn her, equip her, wine and dine her, and honor her — for whatever gift-giving occasion is next on your calendar.

I hope you enjoy.

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1. Naked Wire People Bookmarks Tiny wire figures that perch on the pages of a book in various poses. Absurdly charming, completely giftable, and the kind of thing that makes reading feel a little more companionable.

2. Baguette Bread Lamp This quirky little lamp makes me smile every time I switch it on — glowing over my morning coffee or happy hour drink. Made from a real baguette, it is completely absurd and completely wonderful. A delight in the truest sense.

3. Murano Glass Candy Set A set of hand-blown Murano glass candies that are purely decorative and purely delightful. For the mother who collects beautiful objects with no practical purpose whatsoever — and is right to do so.

4. Glass Rainbow Nest Bowl A hand-blown glass bowl from Vancouver, BC-based artist Maria Ida in a swirling rainbow that catches the light beautifully. Functional, joyful, and the kind of thing that makes a room feel more alive.

5. Bitty Bowl I have started a little collection and have deemed this the most delightful and useful small bowl in existence — good for jewelry, snacks, salt, a single flower, or whatever needs a home on any surface. In East Fork’s gorgeous glazes, even the most mundane object becomes something worth looking at.

6. PavilioTable Lamp This colorful lamp from London’s Pale Fire Studio is made from hand-painted recycled paper pulp — tactile, sculptural, and beautiful. Made to order with a 6–8 week lead time, so plan ahead — maybe for next year. Worth every moment of the wait.

7. Interior Portraits A gorgeous monograph by Leslie Williamson celebrating the homes of influential designers and artists — intimate, beautifully photographed, and the kind of book you return to over and over. For the mother who understands that a home is a self-portrait.

1. Silk Pajamas I treated myself to these a few years ago and they remain my favorite way to feel a little fancy while lounging about the house. Silk is luxurious but surprisingly practical — warm and breathable in equal measure, which means year-round wear. I am absolutely smitten with this new cobalt.

2. Olive Mask A deeply nourishing face mask from Wonder Valley, made with California olive oil. Simple, generous, and the kind of thing she’ll reach for every Sunday.

3. Dew North Duo A longtime fan of Ursa Major skincare, these two go-to products come in a perfectly giftable bundle — great scent, great texture, lasting moisture and glow. Add their new body butter to pamper from head to toe.

4. Loop Earplugs I asked my dear high school friends for ideas while compiling this list and multiple of them independently suggested these. Loop makes varieties for sleep, for everyday focus, and for concert or loud-project ear protection. This bundle covers the first two, which is, honestly, a pretty complete picture of what motherhood requires.

5. Sidewinder Robe The perfect thing to throw on after a shower — or after a long soak in the hot tub. Blockshop makes so many irresistible patterns that finding the right one for whoever you’re gifting will be half the fun.

6. Heirloom Tomato Candle One of my all-time favorite scents is a fresh garden tomato — my grandfather was a tomato wholesaler in Boston, so I have a sentimental connection to the fruit, but I also just truly love everything about them. Flamingo Estate makes the most beautiful tomato candle, and you can pick up the matching lotion for a full-immersion experience. Who doesn’t want to smell like their favorite nightshade

7. Wood-Burning Hot Tub The ultimate indulgence, and one I’ve been coveting for some time. This thoughtfully designed cedar soaker from Goodland heats with a wood fire and is as beautiful as it is restorative. A bit spendy, but the gift of a daily ritual is one she will use forever.

1. Campbell Sunglasses These tortoise aviators from KREWE are so good. The granita finish makes them feel like a little piece of art for your face. A splurge that will make her feel very chic every time she puts them on.

2. Lofty Wool Whip Stitch Cardigan A beautifully made wool cardigan from Lunya in a warm ivory. The oversized fit, whipstitch details, rolled edges, and practical pockets will make this a daily companion.

3. Cashmere Bandana Scarf A whisper-light cashmere scarf from Le Bon Shoppe that works as a neck scarf, head wrap, or pocket square. I have one and it’s become something I grab over and over again to add a little warmth and a little style to any outfit.

4. Petit Moyen I picked up the cutest green tote on my trip to Paris last fall. The tote is perfect in many ways but it has also taught me that grass green can go with anything. So when I saw this leather woven beauty from Clare V, I was immediately intrigued.

5. Huvittaa Kukasta Kukkaan Dress Say that five times fast. A Marimekko print dress in their signature bold botanical pattern — light green, blue, and the kind of joyful color that makes you feel better just putting it on. This is the perfect easy dress to welcome the summer ahead.

6. Braun Watch A classic Braun watch with the perfect restraint and hint of color. For the mother who values things that do their job beautifully and without fuss.

7. Beklina Scarf Hat A sculptural floral scarf hat that is both practical and absolutely a statement. For the mother who appreciates sun protection with style.

8. Segui Tote Lindquist Object always gets it right — this structured tiny tote in a gorgeous persimmon hits the perfect balance of sculptural and useful. A bag that fits just the essentials while making a big statement.

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1. Confetti Cutting Board A large, beautiful chopping board from Fredericks and Mae that adds a dose of color to the kitchen. It’s an instant chopping party.

2. 6” Chef Knife I bought this knife for my wife last year and it has become a favorite. The size, the hand feel, and the beautiful burl-wood handle make it easy to use while looking good. A serious knife made in Portland from carbon steel — the kind of tool that becomes an extension of the hand. For the mother who cooks with real intention.

3. Living on Earth This beautiful book — illustrated and handwritten by the author — is a practical reference to living an intentional life. It covers organic gardening, outdoor cooking, crafts, herbology, midwifery, backpacking, survival, first aid, making and playing musical instruments, sewing, building a kayak, making soap, ice cream, and tamales — and, at the end, how to cremate.

4. Sun and Moon Flower Frog Set A more decorative set featuring sun and moon forms that can be used together or separately — or are just as beautiful on display when not in use.

5. Moccamaster Coffee Maker I have this in cream and am tempted to switch for this amazing orange that wasn’t available when I bought mine. It’s the most beautiful coffee maker in existence and an absolute workhorse. For the mother whose morning ritual deserves an upgrade.

6. Brass Measuring Tape A 60-inch brass measuring tape from Nickey Kehoe that is the kind of tool you reach for every day and feel happy about every single time. For the mother who is always rearranging, measuring, and making things better.

7. Everlasting Garden Hose A hose might seem an odd choice for a Mother’s Day gift, but this is for the person who appreciates well-made, well-designed tools for living. Look forward to a summer of watering your plants with ease and style. Made in Canada, guaranteed for life, kink-resistant, and UV-resistant, this hose comes in a patina green that makes watering the garden feel like a considered act.

8. Abierto Daypack A 26-liter pack from Cotopaxi that is practical, cheerful, and built to last. For the mother who is always ready for the next adventure.

1. Olive Oil Triptych Three of Flamingo Estate’s extraordinary olive oils in one beautiful set. The kind of thing that makes every meal feel more intentional.

2. Cosmo Coupe Set of 4 Four classic coupe glasses from Sophie Lou Jacobsen — the right shape for champagne, spritzes, or a very good martini. Because we deserve to drink from something beautiful.

3. Oyster Bottle Opener A sculptural bottle opener from Mau House (RISD shoutout!) that doubles as a countertop object. For the person who believes even the small tools should be beautiful.

4. Good Things A new cookbook from Samin Nosrat that celebrates the simple, considered pleasures of cooking well. For the mother who loved her book and miniseries Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat.

5. Sparkling Wine Trio A trio of sparkling wines from one of Oregon’s most beloved wineries. For the mother who appreciates a little bubbly.

6. Colorband Tumblers The most satisfying everyday glass — good weight, beautiful color, the right size for everything. A set of these becomes a fixture on any table.

7. RBG Wine Stopper A ceramic wine stopper in the shape of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s face. Completely ridiculous, completely wonderful. For the mother with a sense of justice and a good bottle of red. Grab the whole collection–including David Bowie, Cleopatra, Elvis, and Marie Antoinette.

8. Freeland Pink Gin A bottle of my favorite women-owned Portland distillery’s limited edition pink gin — with notes of huckleberry, white peony tea, and lemon mint —it’s unlike anything else. A perfect gift for the gin lover or the cocktail curious.

9. Island Creek Big Variety Pack A longtime fan of Island Creek from my days living in New England, this gift pack features their collaboration with a cannery in Spain, including tinned clams, mussels, oysters, tuna, scallops, and octopus.

1. Mom Ring A statement-making gold ring from Maria Black that says exactly what it means — bold, wearable every day, and genuinely touching as a gift. Also available in silver.

2. French Enamel Locket A locket with that wonderful quality of feeling both antique and completely current. Fill it with a tiny photo before giving it.

3. Knot Woodblock Print A hand-woodblock-printed art piece from Block Shop Textiles — beautiful, tactile, and made with real craft. For the mother whose walls tell a story.

4. The Women Who Changed Architecture Inspire a mother who loves design with this beautiful chronicle of the challenges and impact of over 100 women in architecture, from early pioneers to contemporary leaders. A reminder that the built world was shaped by women who refused to be invisible.

5. Brass Photo Display Box An easy way to curate family photos without the added complexities of making an album — this small brass and wood display box from Artifact Uprising can hold 10–50 photo prints while showcasing one on a rotating basis.

6. Padlock Riddle Necklace A brass and nickel charm necklace from Our Legacy via Frances May that has a wonderfully mysterious quality. The kind of piece that prompts a question every time she wears it.

7. Akane Vase Each heart-shaped glass vase by Japanese artist Akane Matsuura, is handmade and therefore unique, like your mother. This simple gift reminds her of your love.

8. French Enamel Heart Pendant A small, beautifully crafted enamel pendant with an undeniable charm. Classic and a little cheeky — the best kind of jewelry.

I’d love to hear what you’re wishing for or gifting this year that feels meaningful and delightful. Drop ideas in the comments!

Katie xx

Please note: This guide—and all my posts—are a labor of love. I occasionally include affiliate links for products, which means I may get a commission if you purchase something from the link (at no extra cost to you). This helps me keep Design School free for everyone. Thanks for your support!

Happy spring, everyone. I love this time of year — past the equinox now, when you can really feel the days getting longer, see the flowers showing off, and sense the warm days creeping in. The light moves through the house at different angles as the sun’s arc shifts across the sky, revealing new small beautiful moments. Right now it is shining directly into my face through my office window — something that only happens in early spring and late fall. It forces me to stop whatever I’m doing, close my eyes, and just soak it in.

This time of year has me thinking about growth, renewal, and the cycle of things. I’ve been setting new routines and noticing how rituals find their way into physical systems and objects. Design is full of rules — and I love that intersection between structure and creativity that design affords. Whether it’s typefaces, tile patterns, weaving structures, or window fenestration, there are endless proven systems across every design field that give creativity the guardrails it needs to blossom. This week I’m dipping into that world of systems, routine, and ritual as we welcome spring — plus a home office refresh born out of a desire to create structure and inspire a new chapter.

Let’s get into it.

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Float into Light

This time of year I find myself drawn to the ways different cultures mark the arrival of spring. Are you tending a garden, starting seeds indoors, deep cleaning, or just standing outside a little longer than necessary? I stumbled upon a ritual that stopped me in my tracks — a Slovene tradition called luč v vodo, where children release colorfully adorned, candle-lit handmade boats and houses onto the river to mark the arrival of spring and the victory of light over darkness.

What a way to center creativity and optimism at the turn of a season. I love a ritual that is both beautiful and symbolic – that gives a moment in time a physical, handmade form. It made me think about my own small spring rituals and which ones I want to be more intentional about this year.

Pin It

I’ve been thinking a lot about office organization lately — and about managing the relentless to-do’s of everyday life. We keep a magnetic whiteboard on our fridge that runs a constant rotation of chores, reminders, and grocery lists. I love keeping lists analog, and this whiteboard is perfect — easy to edit and front and center in the hub of the kitchen. What I really long for, though, is a giant cork board. One that becomes the wall finish. An architectural statement.

I love cork — the texture, the warm neutral color, the sense that it is both calm and alive. And the endless possibilities of what to pin: photos, reminders, inspiration, mementos, and my favorite organizational tool, the Post-it. So when I saw this office by Reath Interiors in their recent Pasadena project I was immediately, deeply jealous. I recently added a large cork board to my own office as part of a refresh — more on that shortly — but now I’m thinking I need to go wall to wall.

Edge to edge, a cork wall makes a graphic material statement while allowing for constant evolution. It is a wall that is never finished — which, for a certain kind of mind, is the whole point.

And why not really commit — cork wallpaper. I love the larger grain on this one, which creates so much movement in the sun-drenched space. Its like functional marble for your walls.

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The Pancake Routine

Since being home more I’ve been doing a little more cooking. My wife has been graciously and skillfully creating beautiful dinners for years — she took this on when we first moved to Portland and I was starting at Schoolhouse while she was figuring out her next chapter, and the routine stuck. Now that I’ve left Schoolhouse and she is starting a new job, I’m picking up some of the cooking again.

I have always loved cooking but feel very much out of practice — humbled and rewarded simultaneously. I’m not tackling any soufflés, beef Wellingtons, or timpanos. I’ve started small: breakfast duty for my son. He is spoiled with chocolate chip pancakes most mornings, and yesterday I felt genuinely proud that I finally memorized the recipe. I can move around the kitchen effortlessly now, and I’ve become a little neurotic about finding the most efficient path between the refrigerator, pantry, and stove — calculating my movements to minimize extra steps and unnecessary drawer openings. Which, if you know me at all, will tell you everything about how I approach systems and routines. This translates to most things I’m making, whether it’s breakfast, a coffee table, or a silver ring.

Chocolate Chip Pancakes, courtesy of (with a few tweaks) Joy of Cooking.

• ¾ cup all-purpose flour

• ¾ tsp baking powder

• ¼ tsp salt

• 2 tbsp whey protein*

• ¾ cup milk

• 1 egg

• splash of vanilla.

Recipe makes 4 pancakes. I cook two pancakes and save the batter for the next day. Whisk to combine the dry ingredients in a bowl and then stir in wet ingredients until there are no lumps. Heat pan over low heat. Pour in batter and place 7-10 chocolate chip cookies on the pancake. Once the batter bubbles flip and cook for another minute or two. *not in the original recipe

For dinners I’ve been reaching for a handful of favorites cookbooks: Milk Street’s Tuesday Nights and Cookish for reliable weeknight inspiration, Jamie Oliver’s One — a Christmas addition that has earned its place — and Alison Roman’s new Something from Nothing, which I am loving.

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The $20 Credenza

As I moved out of my office and my life at Schoolhouse at the end of last year, I brought with me years of collected objects — scraps of fabric, magazine tears, sketches, and a library of books. I found myself surrounded by a physical history of my time there, all of it piled in my home office. Desperate to find some calm, order, and sense of place for everything, I decided I needed a refresh — a refresh from the recent refresh, which had been focused more on the room as a guest room than as a working office. My goal: more storage, a hub for creativity, and a space that could hold the new path I’m forging. Since this room doubles as a guest room it can’t be the crafting room of my dreams, but I have carved out a corner to work and keep inspiration at my fingertips.

A note on dual-use spaces: they can be tricky, especially when the functions feel seemingly at odds — like sleeping and working. The key is to give each use its own designated zone while keeping it part of a unified whole, so the room doesn’t feel unnaturally chopped in two. In my space the architecture helps — the nook naturally defines my office area — but a rug or a larger piece of furniture can do the same work just as well. A corner that is fully committed to work, even in a small footprint, reads as intentional rather than apologetic. Keeping the materials and palette unified throughout makes the room feel consistent while still having clearly defined spaces.

This refresh turned into a furniture DIY — which was good for the wallet and good for my soul. I often turn to projects when I’m working through something hard. My pink bathroom is the only good thing that came out of the last presidential election. I love the focus and the systematic nature of a project. There is a clear path. Not always smooth, but a path all the same.

After some Goodwill, thrift shop, and yard sale visits I found something with promise on Facebook Marketplace — an old IKEA Stockholm sideboard. The dimensions, the functionality, and the $20 price tag were all perfect. I drove to Vancouver, WA to pick it up and was disappointed to find it in really rough shape—the foil surface was bubbled, the corners chipped, and the wood base was broken. But for $20 and the desire to get started, I packed it into my car and brought it home for its makeover.

I cleaned, scraped, sanded, Bondo-ed, sanded, Bondo-ed, sanded again, primed, and sanded one last time — and then finally got to the fun part: painting. I chose a dusty red with a twinge of orange — Benjamin Moore Strawberry Fields — inspired by the color of my new bathrobe from last week’s newsletter. I went with a glossy finish to add contrast against the eggshell walls and bring some reflectivity to the basement space. After a few too many coats and a lot of shuttling the cabinet in and out of the house to avoid the cold, I got her in place.

Then I stepped back and didn’t love it. The sideboard was the same height as my desk, and the two big pieces opposing each other made the nook feel crowded. I craved some hierarchy. (I’m sorry — I forgot to photograph this stage.) So I removed the original wood base and swapped in some shorter oversized globe legs I’d recently taken off my son’s dresser, painted them to match, ordered new brackets, and after another week finally got the credenza exactly where it belongs. I also added a larger cork board (which still might not be big enough), rearranged the art to accommodate, and now I’m genuinely happy with my little functional creative nook.

Total cost: $20 credenza $30 paint $15 brackets + $15 shipping $20 cork board $100 — and then an unfortunate tariff bill arrived a few weeks later for the brackets.

Swapping out one piece of furniture for something substantial and bold gave new weight and importance to the whole corner. I love having a surface to hold my various treasures, and another excuse for a lamp. The credenza and the cork board will work together as a rotating display of whatever is inspiring me at the moment. Everything else gets tucked inside out of sight.

One lingering question: I’m toying with adding cabinet pulls instead of the push openers, which tend to be a little fussy. What do you think?

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The Good Stuff

A good friend recently brought a bottle of Flamingo Estate olive oil as a hostess gift. My son immediately claimed it as his own, discovering — at ten — the joy of a genuinely good olive oil. His go-to snack is now a King’s Hawaiian roll with a tiny dish of oil for dipping. The perfect high-low combination: a grocery store buttery roll and an unctuous artisanal oil. His dish of choice is the bitty bowl from East Fork — we just got a new set in the gorgeous glossy Water Lily glaze, which is honestly like olive oil in glaze format. I love keeping a bottle of Flamingo Estate around for a final drizzle on pasta, salad, or eggs.

Are you a cork board person? And more importantly — do you think I need handles?

Katie xx

This past weekend was the annual Academy Awards ceremony. Did you all watch? The Oscars have been a fixture in my life for as long as I can remember — first as a child at our friend’s party, curled up on their couch, then as a host with my own couch, my own ballot, and a steadily more elaborate menu–I once constructed a sushi boat fashioned after a British Royal Navy frigate (Master and Commander) serving Lord of the Rings: Return of the King Salmon Rolls floating in a sea of biscuits (see what i did there?) . I love the outfits, the speeches, the unexpected moments, the excuse to get dressed up on a Sunday, and of course the lead-up: the movies themselves. There is something about awards season that sharpens the eye. You start noticing things — a color, a silhouette, a detail — and suddenly it’s everywhere. In your home. In your closet. In the way you set a table.

This week, I followed that thread. We’re talking red carpets (literally and historically), the return of the brooch, movies as a source for getting dressed, and a behind-the-scenes look at my annual Oscars party — which, enjoy planning for as much as the party itself.

Let’s get into it.

The Original Power Move

I love watching the guests arrive — the gowns, the tuxedos, the jewels, and the glimpses of real personality peeking through all that pageantry. “Walking the red carpet” has become synonymous with grand arrival, success, and celebration. But have you ever stopped to wonder why it’s red? And why there’s a carpet at all?

It actually begins in Ancient Greece. In Aeschylus’s play Agamemnon, Queen Clytemnestra lays out a crimson tapestry for her husband, King Agamemnon, to walk upon as he returns from Troy — an act that reveals his fatal hubris, since red was reserved for the gods. That association carried forward through centuries: in the Renaissance, red carpets and tapestries were reserved for monarchs, their rarity tied directly to the cost and difficulty of producing red dye — expensive cochineal insects from the Americas, madder root from Europe and Asia (Natural dyes deserve their own newsletter — noted.). Scarcity made them symbols of power.

By the 19th century, the monarchy-less United States had adopted crimson as shorthand for the upper class. In 1902, the 20th Century Limited train famously deployed a red carpet as a masterstroke of luxury branding. Hollywood, always in the business of manufacturing gods, naturally followed. The 1922 premiere of Robin Hood featured one of the first celebrity red carpet arrivals, and the Oscars adopted the tradition officially in 1961. Ever since, it has been the performance before the performance: the entrance as spectacle. A historical echo of gods, kings, and the rare luxury of arrival.

Red is doing a lot of work on that carpet. It is bold, emotionally charged, and impossible to ignore — triggering energy, excitement, and intention from across a room. You may remember my earlier exploration of red theory — the idea that a strategic dash of red acts like a magnet for the eye. But the red carpet makes a bolder argument: what if red is not the accent, but the ground? Boldly underfoot, covering a whole floor, it becomes something almost meditative — a warm, enveloping field that anchors everything above it. I have a red carpet in my living room, and I can confirm: it works exactly that way.

Here are a couple interiors making the case for red, floor and beyond.

Are you ready to roll a red carpet in your home?

Glimmer and Structure

Adrien Brody, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Michael B. Jordan all wore brooches at this year’s Oscars, and I am fully here for it. There is something genuinely thrilling about a beautifully tailored tuxedo punctuated by an ornately sculpted glimmer of diamonds — the tension between structure and ornament, restraint and pure delight. It also feels like a quiet but meaningful push against the idea that embellishment is exclusively feminine territory. I love that.

This look is more accessible than it appears. Thrift stores are full of gorgeous costume jewelry brooches waiting to be rediscovered. For my own wedding, I combined brooches from my grandmother with thrifted finds to create a belt — something that felt deeply personal in a way that anything new never quite could.

This got me thinking about how the brooch impulse translates to interiors — because I think it does, beautifully. Bringing ornament back into our homes feels long overdue. I want to see moldings, wall paneling, and especially ceiling medallions — the perfect way to frame a light fixture with a little, or a lot of, sculptural attention. Let’s give some love to what’s above us.

Hardware is often called the jewelry of a home, and for good reason. Like a well-tailored suit paired with an unexpected brooch, a sculptural knob or handle can transform a structural cabinet into something that delights you every single time you open a drawer.

And then there is perhaps my favorite form of adornment, the chandelier. I am enthralled by Lindsey Adelman’s recent collection Hieros Gamos — illuminated mobiles that are a discovery all on their own. Illustrated glowing glass shades, fabric-like ball chain curtains, crystals growing along the arms of the mobile. The ornament is ornamented. It is a dance between form, texture, glow, and growth.

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Method Dressing

Last week I asked whether you wanted to see more of me playing dress-up, and enough of you said yes that I took it as a mandate. This week I found my inspiration in the movies themselves — each outfit drawn directly from one of this year’s films. Costume design has always been a rich source of design inspiration: characters come to life through color palettes, materials, and historical references, all in service of the story. Why not let that work for your wardrobe too?

I had complicated feelings about One Battle After Another and was disappointed it took the top prize — but one question nagged me throughout: why did Leo’s character never take off his robe? Running for his life, trying to save his daughter, and not once did it occur to him. Maddening. And yet — I received my dream robe for Christmas, and most mornings I am equally reluctant to shed it. So I took a page out of Leo’s book, or better yet, the Dude’s, and committed to wearing it all day. The key is to elevate it with structure and a dash of formality: I hid the ties with a vintage brass and leather belt, added a denim jacket (similar style) to counter the flowy silk and conceal the robe silhouette, and completed the look with my favorite chunky suede clogs (sadly my Charlotte Stone clogs are no longer available but a few good options here and here.

Wicked for Good didn’t receive a single nomination this year, and I still haven’t actually seen it — but I was not about to let that stop me from channeling Dorothy. Gingham: obviously yes. Red shoes: non-negotiable. Some things are bigger than the Academy.

Michael B. Jordan gave one of the year’s best performances in Sinners, playing twin brothers whose wardrobes do quiet but powerful work before we fully understand who they are. Stack wears red — signaling his swagger alongside his fedora, pinstripe suit, and gold tooth — all conveying elegance and confidence. Smoke wears blue to denote a more serious, grounded nature, emphasized by his tweed suit, denim newsboy cap, and unadorned lapel. The storytelling in the costume design is so rich. I simply love a tailored 1930s look — the vest, the slacks, the deliberate elegance of it all. For my version I paired high-waisted Cordera trousers with a simple linen vest, added brightness with white loafers (similar), and for some swagger, piled on the gold — including my grandmother’s pocket watch necklace.

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And the Party Goes To…

Oscar parties have been a tradition since I was a child. The first one I remember was at a close family friend’s house — food, drinks, friends, and a friendly competition. We all kept ballots and voted for our picks. I took home a prize that night: a VHS tape of the original Batman movie. I can picture it all so clearly.

My love of movies continued. I spent a summer working at the Nickelodeon, the indie movie theater in my hometown of Santa Cruz, which, heartbreakingly, closed in 2020. It was the summer The Blair Witch Project came out, and they needed extra hands for the unexpected crowds. I loved every minute of it — just being in that atmosphere, that particular combination of anticipation and dark and shared experience. The spectacle of the big screen. The popcorn. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since, and an Oscars party is my best attempt at recreating it at home.

I started hosting my own parties in my twenties — including an era of invitations written entirely in verse, featuring all the Best Picture nominees — and picked the tradition back up a few years ago after a short break for new parenthood and a cross-country move to Portland. I don’t go quite as all-out as I used to, but I remain deeply committed to a themed dinner, fancy clothes, and yes, an actual red carpet to welcome guests at the door. First things first: set the scene before anyone crosses the threshold.

The menu is where things get serious. Each year I create a spread where every dish connects to a Best Picture nominee — through symbolism, iconography, a signature ingredient, or occasionally a well-placed pun (which I use sparingly, but sometimes the situation demands it). When the Academy expanded the nominees from five to ten, the degree of difficulty increased considerably. I’ll just say it: ten nominees is a lot. Clearly motivated by money rather than merit, and I wish they would revert. But I digress.

This year we opened with French 75 cocktails — named for the revolutionary group at the center of One Battle After Another. For hors d’oeuvres: cheese, smoked salmon, beets, and lingonberry jam for Norwegian sensibilities (Sentimental Value); a honeycomb drizzle (Bugonia); roasted garlic to ward off the unwelcome (Sinners); and carrots bearing a suspicious resemblance to the kind of legs sharks find irresistible (The Secret Agent). We also could not resist a duo of deviled eggs — half classic Southern style to conjure those vampiric demons, and half spiked with beet pickling liquid, perfect for working through your father issues with Stellan Skarsgård.

For dinner: an English beef pie with herb salad, something Agnes might concoct to soothe what ails you (Hamnet); breadstick logs (Train Dreams); and hot dogs — franks, if you will — for the kids (Frankenstein). Dessert brought ping pong cake pops dyed the perfect orange (Marty Supreme) and chocolate spare tires (F1).

The tablescape is where I really let myself go. I pulled my dad’s old electric train set from the garage to anchor the whole display — the breadsticks fit perfectly in an open train car. My son built his F1 Lego set to plate alongside the spare tire chocolates. Our friend and creative genius Jorie contributed a toy shark. I crafted the iconic black and red Norwegian house. Each dish had a home in the scene, and a well-placed prop does a lot of heavy lifting when the food connection is a little abstract.

The key to this party — and I mean this — is not taking it too seriously. It is objectively a little ridiculous to dress up and eat hot dogs on a Sunday night. That is exactly the point. I wore a silk beaded top with my best sweatpants and felt the balance was exactly right.

Power Duo

My favorite look of the evening was Jessie Buckley. She is so passionate, joyful, and seemingly unencumbered — and that dress captures her spirit beautifully. I have been seeing the combination of red and pink everywhere lately, and this iteration does not disappoint. The structure of the bodice paired with the ethereal flow of the skirt. Red is power, pink is grace. A power duo indeed. She closed her acceptance speech for her work in Hamnet, playing a grieving mother, with words that have stuck with me —

To understand the capacity of a mother’s love is the greatest collision of my life. I would like to dedicate this to the beautiful chaos of a mother’s heart.

A beautiful reflection on the capacity of a mother's love that felt like the perfect final note of the whole evening.

What has stopped you in your tracks lately — a color, a performance, a small beautiful thing you weren't expecting?

Katie xx

This week marks one year of Design School (cue champagne popping and confetti flying)! I feel grateful — and quite proud — of the body of work, the community that’s formed around it, and the way this project has pushed me toward deeper introspection in my work.

A little over a year ago, the Schoolhouse team began conceiving of a presence on Substack. As no surprise, Amanda Hesser was the champion — she has always deeply valued building community and nurturing collective energy. Homeward and Design School were ways of connecting to the brand, yes, but more importantly, they offered something more personal: a window into how we think.

I must admit I was hesitant at first.

Leading design for Schoolhouse was in itself demanding, and I wasn’t sure I could carve out the time to create something truly good. I didn’t want it to feel pushy or marketing-driven. Design School needed to feel intentional — a place to share how I think about design and home, and how that thinking shapes my work.

But if I’m honest, the stress about time may have been an excuse. I’ve never considered myself a particularly confident writer. I’m far more comfortable expressing myself through materials, form, and intention. Being asked to articulate my thought process in words felt daunting. That was the challenge. And then, slowly, it wasn’t.

For the first nine months, I had the immense support of my editor, Alex Redgrave — a thoughtful partner, design lover, and steady cheerleader. Since stepping into this fully on my own at the start of the year, I’ve kept her advice close. It continues to guide me.

Over the course of this year, I’ve become more aware of how I notice the world — how I catalogue details, connect references, and attach emotion to the physical environment. Writing has sharpened my vision (not literally — I wish. I did get bifocal contacts this year). But it has sharpened my design vision.

And in the end, what a gift that has been.

Your engagement and encouragement have made this feel alive. When I revisited the archive, I expected to see a collection of topics — lighting, travel, paint colors, organization, quilts. Instead, I saw patterns. Themes resurfacing in different forms. Confidence growing quieter but stronger. Posts that sparked thoughtful replies and others that felt like small personal revelations. It’s funny how clearly you can trace your own growth when you look at it in sequence.

So this week, I want to revisit the year — not as a recap, but as a reflection. The ideas that kept resurfacing, the favorite posts, the products and tips that stuck, and the subtle lessons that may have shaped how we’re all seeing our homes a little differently.

Let’s look back together.

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Usefulness Builds Trust

I have always loved solving problems. It shows up in how I make my home more functional and in how I approach product design. I love to iterate — to explore possibilities in search of the best outcome. In design, I am an optimist. I believe most ideas can work if you’re willing to refine them. Product design is a puzzle with constraints — materials, manufacturability, value, margin. I met with my old Schoolhouse team recently, and someone said, “When we’re all together, I feel like we should be solving problems.” That was at the core of what we did.

Solving problems at home is a passion, too, and I’ve loved sharing those ideas with you — from shelf styling secrets to organizing closets to hanging art. That practical advice became an unexpected gateway into deeper conversations. Perhaps because the way we live in a space is a window into the life lived there.

I’ve come to believe these functional tips are really tools for building design confidence. Creating systems for yourself is like writing a mini design brief: pose the problem, define the feeling, consider look and function — and then dig in.

Some of my favorite discoveries came from you — using my closet color-coding system in a new way (to sort types of clothing vs flagging them for potential purging); the overwhelming love of hooks (should we start a club?); and the beautiful idea of marking each birthday with a new piece of art. What a wonderful way to let each year leave a visible trace in your home.

Mood Is a Material

I am obsessed with the beauty of objects — but even more with their power to create or unlock a feeling. Designing objects isn’t just about making something pretty. Success comes when they become symbols of who you are. As Design School progressed this year, I felt a shift — from focusing on objects to focusing on atmosphere.

I talked about a visit to a neighborhood restaurant — finding a seat at the bar for a quiet dinner and immediately feeling at ease. The layered lighting (glowing orbs overhead, a warm backlit bar, small brass lamps perfectly illuminating a space for two) paired with brass, rich green, wood, and marble created the effect of a warm hug.

My guest room makeover explored this too. I wanted it to feel cozy, comfortable, and colorful. Layering hues across the color wheel worked because each shade carried a shared dustiness — a softness that created cohesion and calm. And of course, I couldn’t resist a jolt of orange for punctuation.

Whether I’m designing a room, a rug, or a lamp, I now start with one question: How should this feel? The answer dictates everything that follows.

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The World Is the Classroom

This year I was lucky to travel — some places near, some far, and one virtually — all rich with inspiration. Exposure to new places, cultures, and people is such a privilege as a designer. The human experience becomes richer when it’s diverse. Inspiration overflows when you step outside your routine. Exposure expands design acumen far more effectively than chasing trends ever could. Travel sharpens your eye.

I went vintage shopping and crabbing on the coast.

I caught up with friends, soaked up the greenery and carved out pool time in Mexico.

I virtually explored the latest in Copenhagen.

And I spent a week in Paris and Portugal, including the honor of touring the factories of Schoolhouse’s beloved textile partners.

Each of these experiences layered something new into my perspective.

Context Matters

I believe in being a student forever. Curiosity keeps the work alive. Understanding who came before you makes your own practice richer. The goal isn’t to copy, but to understand the motivation, context, and culture — and then draw inspiration from material, form, or philosophy.

We explored “parkitecture” after my spring break trip to the Southwest. We revisited Arts and Crafts through the lens of seasonal concepts. We reflected on the life and legacy of Frank Gehry.

Design isn’t just aesthetic. It’s lineage.

Play Is Not Frivolous

I continue to champion design as a vehicle for joy. That is one of my core motivations for Design School. Each week, my goal is to bring ideas, empathy, and inspiration that spark that joy in you. The play exists both in the learning and in the result.

I recently reread my newsletter on playful design — written during a tender moment when friends were moving away. That move still feels fresh. Revisiting the reminder to bring play and lightness into our homes feels especially timely.

Pattern and color are obvious entry points. But I also love motifs of play — board games, playing cards — objects made more meaningful because they carry memory. They are imbued with former happy times.

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The Invisible Curriculum

After a year, we covered so much — often without even realizing it.

We learned:

• How to see light

• How to edit

• How to pair function and delight

• How to trust a bold color

• How to spot a revival

• How to build ritual into space

And perhaps most importantly, how to trust our own eye.

Reflecting on this year still fills me with pride. I was nudged into something that scared me — and discovered clarity instead. I feel steadier in my expertise and more trusting of my instincts.

As we move into this next year, I hope you’ll stay with me as I step further into my own identity — separate from Schoolhouse and fully standing on my own as a designer and voice. That ownership feels thrilling. And yes, still a little scary. You’ve made it easier to lean into self-trust rather than doubt. Thank you.

So tell me — what do you want to see this year? More home projects? More design tips? Fashion moments (I do love to play dress-up)? Deeper dives into design history? Travel reflections? Let me know your thoughts and thanks for sharpening your pencil with me.

Because as I look toward year two, I don’t feel the hesitation I felt at the start. I feel clarity. I feel momentum. I feel deep appreciation for this practice — and for all of you who have made it meaningful.Design School has become more than a newsletter — it’s a ritual. A lens. A place to slow down and notice. Thank you for reading, responding, sharing, and encouraging. I’m excited for what we’ll explore next — together.

And the winner is…

Let’s close with what you all loved most this year. The top three products you collectively agreed with me on:

• The most luxurious serum from Ursa Major (Major tip: I just started using their Golden Hour Body Butter and Alpine Rich Cream. Both are luxuriously rich and heavenly.)

• The tried-and-true chore jacket from Alex Mill

• The perfect candle duo from East Fork

No notes, team. I have taught you well.

Cheers to a new year of Design School and all it will bring. What are you toasting to?

Katie xx

I just got home from a magical getaway to Napa Valley to celebrate my dear friend’s 50th birthday. A dozen or so of us converged on Calistoga for a long weekend to relish in days of unscheduled time spent floating in the pool, reading, and chatting. My friend brought together her network from her college days, early career, and more recent friends like my wife and I. It was wonderful to relax, but even more meaningful to witness her web of friendships woven together in one place. I felt incredibly lucky to be part of this celebratory trip.

This week, I’m sharing bits of that escape—and tracing where that same feeling is showing up in music, fashion, photography, and interiors right now. And then, as always, we’ll round it out with a little structure because relaxation and ritual aren’t opposites—they’re partners.

Let’s get into it!

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Symbolism as Resistance

We didn’t make it home from our trip in time to watch the Super Bowl live, but I did stream Bad Bunny’s halftime performance afterward—the only Super Bowl content I was truly interested in—and it didn’t disappoint. The show brought spectacle, symbolism, representation, grass costumes, emotion and cultural pride. Even without understanding every word, the performance lingered with me. It felt like joy as resistance. Unity without dilution.

Escapism, yes—but not passive. It was expressive, defiant, joyful and alive.

Surrealism in Service of Storytelling

The recent Who What Wear editorial featuring Elle Fanning stopped me mid-scroll. The surrealist sets were theatrical, playful, and slightly absurd—yet completely captivating. The photoshoot highlights the twee aesthetic fashion comeback with doll-like settings achieving a dreamy and whimsical effect. I love the use of hand-painted sets that add to the surreal and collaged feel.

In researching the shoot, I was happy to discover (or perhaps rediscover) Hungarian-born, Italy-based photographer Szilveszter Makó. I’ve admired his work before: the striking portrait of Rama Duwaji for The Cut, and the symbol-rich Vogue feature with Bad Bunny. Makó is a master of storytelling through image. His work blends craft, symbolism, fashion, and a kind of intelligent absurdity. It’s escapism, but constructed, intentional, layered. Its not a retreat from the world, but a reimagining of it.

Interior Escapism: Texture, Memory, Mood
When I think about escapism in interior design, I’m less interested in spa-like minimalism and more drawn to spaces that are immersive and sensory. Escapist interiors are textured, emotive, craft-centric, and full of personality. They often feel nostalgic—not tied to one era, but layered in a way that blurs memory and mood.

The Ibiza home on the left embodies effortless cool and is full of moodiness. The glow of the art, the voluminous curves and gloss of the chair, and the texture of the natural stone and shaggy wool rug create a layered living room to do nothing but chill.

Next we see Scout Willis’s California home that is a wonderful combination of whimsy, maturity and storytelling that are transportive. The mix of styles gives each piece a voice and yet the space is cohesive. I love the unexpected lantern pendant with a pop of red within the French Cottage traditional architecture. I feel grounded but not sedate looking at these spaces. Its no surprise I’m drawn to this home–it was beautiful designed by one of my favorites, Roman Alonso of Commune Design.

The final living room ornate traditional space combined with modern furnishing is a conversation creating a history between the architecture and the inhabitants. This living room feels joyful, storied and collected.

Couture as Fantasy Landscape

Did anyone else obsess over the Spring/Summer 2026 couture shows?

Matthieu Blazy’s debut Chanel Haute Couture collection was a masterclass—not just in clothing, but in fantasy. The set felt like Alice in Wonderland meets Monet’s Water Lilies meets The Lorax—cotton-candy willow trees, giant spiraling mushrooms forming the runway, a dreamlike forest scaled to shrink both models and audience into birds and insects.

The collection itself was romantic, ethereal and creature-like—feathers, fringe, scales, texture layered over Chanel’s iconic structure. You could get lost in all the detail and the texture. That tension is what I loved most—the pieces that combine the classic tailoring Chanel is known for with a free-form texture.

That juxtaposition reminds me a bit about my weekend that was a combination of ritual and relaxation, structure and flow, scheduled celebration within total ease.

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Cabana Stripes: Structure Meets Leisure

As I spent many hours by the pool this past weekend, one of my main views was the cabana striped awning and umbrellas. The bold alternating blue and white stripes were perhaps the most rigid thing about the whole stay. And yet– those iconic stripes feel synonymous with leisure. It got me wondering where and when cabana stripes originated. Let’s find out together.

Stripes first appeared in medieval Europe and were associated with the devil being worn by society’s margins—servants, criminals, sex workers. By the 19th century, that symbolism began to shift. Queen Victoria rebranded the pattern by dressing her son in stripes for a Royal Yacht event, thus creating an eternal association between stripes and nautical settings. In 1858, the French Navy issued navy-and-white striped uniforms: the Breton stripe was born.

Soon after, seaside leisure culture adopted striped canvas tents, bathing structures, and umbrellas. Painters like Eugène Boudin captured them along the French coast. Stripes became less naval and more about vacation, salt air, and sunlight. Stripes became synonymous with vacation, sunlight, and leisure rather than just with sailors’ clothing.

Coco Chanel elevated the sailor stripe into high fashion. By the mid-1900s, stripes signaled Riviera glamour and poolside elegance. Dorothy Draper’s redesign of The Greenbrier featured bold striped interiors, cementing the pattern in American resort culture'.

Hollywood sealed the deal: Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn, Brigitte Bardot, James Dean, Cary Grant. Stripes became relaxed but chic. Structured but effortless.

Cabana stripes endure because they carry that duality. Their bold geometry provides order, while their cultural associations deliver nostalgia and escape. Structure and relaxation don’t often go hand in hand—but here, they’re the perfect pair.

Designers like Casa Josephine Studio in Rioja use bold stripes in a way that feels architectural yet transportive. Even away from the coast, the pattern evokes leisure.

Two interiors featured by stripe powerhouse Colours of Arley add texture to bold stripes with a gathered curtain and tufted chair.

I love the drama of this Brooklyn home. They’ve created a personal beach cabana in the middle of New York.

I seem to be seeing stripes everywhere now, and I’m not mad about it. I’m also dreaming up new ways to incorporate them into my home. How about you?

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Living in Stripes
If you love stripes as much as I do, don’t be shy about surrounding yourself in them—wear them, lounge on them, sleep under them, and paper your walls with them. (You can find a few favorites in my shop.)

My affection runs deep enough that I’ll happily wear a fully striped Marimekko ensemble—perhaps grounded with my classic check Vans, which I wear most days.

Escapism doesn’t have to mean disappearance. It can be craft. It can be spectacle. It can be texture and storytelling. It can be something as simple—and as bold—as a stripe.

So I’ll leave you with this:

Where are you finding escape right now—and how are you giving it structure?

Katie xx

I had been wanting to see this movie since its release in March 2025, but missed it in theaters, so I was thrilled to find it streaming on Netflix. I was living in Providence and attending RISD during the same period depicted in the film. Watching it felt deeply nostalgic—a love letter to a time in my life when I was completely absorbed in my creativity and the creative community around me.

Much of the footage is captured on a small handheld camera, and the graininess perfectly reflects that pre-iPhone era, when documentation felt more intentional. Everything about the movie felt familiar. I kept thinking I might spot one of my friends—or even myself—in the background of a scene. So before the story even unfolded, I was already rapt with nostalgia.

Because this film captured me so fully, I’m doing things a bit differently this week. I want to focus entirely on this documentary and the ideas it stirred up for me: home-making, the value of art, and the power of creative communities.

So let’s get into it.

A City Reshaped

The Providence Place Mall was built in 1999 as a way to “revitalize” the city and position it as a destination rather than a drive-by stop on the I-95 corridor. Providence, once a wealthy mill town, had been in decline since the early 1900s, when the textile industry moved south and eventually offshore.

The mall was constructed directly in the middle of the city, blocking the state house and creating a physical divide between the more affluent East Side and the West Side, home to many artist and immigrant communities. Designed to cater to a wealthier clientele, it effectively turned its back on much of the existing population.

The story centers on eight artists, several of whom were displaced by the gentrification spurred by the mall’s development. Fort Thunder—a former mill building that housed a legendary music and artist colony—was demolished to make way for new construction. This loss forms the emotional and political backdrop of the film, positioning the mall as a symbol of anti-culture.

One day, Michael Townsend, the group’s informal leader, heard a radio commercial for Providence Place featuring a woman talking about how convenient it would be to get everything she needed there—if only she could live there. That sparked a thought: What if we did?

Four of the eventual eight artists challenged themselves to see if they could live in the mall for a week. On their first night, they discovered an unused wedge of space between sections of the building—an architectural leftover, invisible and forgotten. That discovery changed everything.

They adopted the mindset of the corporate developers who were “revitalizing” unused space throughout the city. If development was the language of power, they would speak it too. Once they found this hidden void, the idea of leaving after a week became impossible to accept.The group quickly grew to eight and made a pact of secrecy. They told no one. This was essential—not just for survival, but for respecting the project itself.

Importantly, this wasn’t about needing shelter. I got the sense that most—if not all— of them had other places to stay. This was a performative, conceptual exploration of what makes a home—set inside a temple of capitalism and aspiration that was fundamentally out of reach for them, and for so many others.

The Couch That Made It a Home

They began with a couch.

Michael states in the film, “The couch was the most important thing. It made a home immediately.” And he’s right—but why?

The couch has become central to our idea of home. It’s a place of comfort, gathering, and rest. Maybe even a symbol of stability or success. That moment sent me down my own memory lane. I can remember every couch I’ve lived with: the boxy brown corduroy one perfect for making forts; the Josef Frank–esque floral sofa where my high-school friends and I spent endless hours; our more recent IKEA Scandinavian sofa, which has steadfastly borne witness as my son grows up.

They aren’t just furniture pieces. They’re monuments—supporting characters in the story of our lives.

Dressing a Space as Home

The group continued furnishing the cinder-block space with china cabinets, tables, lamps, and accessories—many sourced from the Salvation Army down the street from my old apartment. Slowly, the space began dressing itself as a home.

But was it one?

In my view, not quite. Not without windows. Not without warmth. And yet—it was undeniably a place to gather, to talk, to think, to create. They were testing the tipping point between a furnished space and a home.

Early on, the film shows the semi-furnished space with a dining setup: a table made from two sawhorses and a sheet of plywood, surrounded by classic bentwood chairs. I loved this combination—utilitarian and iconic, completely at ease in an unintended space.

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Which brings me to a short tangent.

Bentwood Chair: A Timeless Icon

Designed at the turn of the 20th century by Michael Thonet, the bentwood chair was a breakthrough of industrialization. Made from just six parts using an ingenious steam-bending process, it is minimal, lightweight, efficient—and still full of personality with its elegant, swooping back.

It perfectly balances traditional craftsmanship with mass production, redefining what a chair could be. Its enduring presence across styles and eras makes it one of the great icons of furniture history.

Sawhorse: Utility as Design

The sawhorse is functional at its core—a quick, portable work surface whose use dates back to at least 1556. Made from wood, plastic, or metal, it can be rugged or technical, minimal or elevated.

I love seeing sawhorses in refined interiors. Their presence instantly creates approachability and contrast, blurring the line between work and home.

Okay now back to our movie…

The Door, the Key, and Belonging

As the space evolved, the group decided they needed a wall—and a door with a lock. Security became another building block of home.

In one of the film’s final moments, the artists—almost 20 years later—pull out their keys. Many still keep them on their keychains. Each key, worn with patina, is heavy with memory and symbolism. That moment made me tear up.

I had recently taken my Schoolhouse keys off my own keyring, feeling a palpable lightness. I still keep keys from former homes—my childhood house, a family vacation place. Keys are talismans. They unlock not just doors, but memories.

Art as Ripple

Secret Mall Apartment isn’t just about eight artists living secretly in a mall. It’s about the purpose of art and the necessity of human connection.

The film documents other projects by the group: ephemeral tape murals in the local children’s hospital, an installation responding to the Oklahoma City bombing, and an ambitious years-long project of 500 life-size tape silhouettes commemorating each of the fire fighters and airline passengers who died on 9/11. These works reflect a deep belief by this group in art as a connective force. These young artists created a secret hideout as an act of creativity in itself but they also used the space to plan and organize serious work meant to give back to their community.

James Mercer, one of the artists, reflects:

“I don’t think that artists are obliged to go and do good works, or try to pretend that making art has to…save the world or feed the children or do any kind…nice crunchy things that people might want. But if you can, if there’s an opportunity, why not? You have a chance to use the skill that you have to do something good. And also, you know I do really believe that art and aesthetics are good in and of themselves… they make life better.”

Art doesn’t need to live in a museum to matter. It can be small. It can be fleeting. It can create one ripple that spreads outward. That feels especially important now. Strengthening community, reaching our neighbors, speaking out—these feel urgent. I’m grateful for artists and designers like Amanda Jane Jones, Carson Ellis, Lisa Congdon, and so so many others who continue to create their own ripples.

So I’ll end where the film leaves me:

How will you create yours?

Katie xx

The World Will Dance

What a uplifting and needed message of joy, community, and diversity. Can’t wait to watch the half time show…oh…and the game too.

(video via Apple Music Super Bowl Halftime Show (Official Trailer))

It’s January 20, and we’re one year into the most destructive, self-serving, inhumane presidency of our history. I don’t know what lies ahead but I continue to stay sane by holding onto this community and our mutual love of design with the intention to bring light to an otherwise dark time. This community shows up for each other and I really felt it after my last newsletter. The beautiful supportive outpouring of comments was a medicine to my soul. Thank you deeply for sharing your love of Schoolhouse, and in turn me. The loss is a little bit easier knowing it had been such an impactful endeavor to spend so many years of my life on. Thank you—truly—for showing up with so much generosity.

Okay, so here we are in January–a new year, starting over, hunkering down, staying warm, and moving more slowly. I’m drinking a lot of tea (here’s my current favorite) and leaning into the intentions I shared last time—simplicity through creativity, small but confident acts of joy, and community.

I also just finished Stranger Things, which somehow hit harder than I expected. The end of an era, a little grief, and that final line—“I believe”—lingered with me. Maybe it landed because belief, in small daily ways, feels especially important right now.

This week, I’m sticking close to simple living, simple pleasures, and simple rituals.

Let’s get to it!

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Color Underfoot, The Case for Wall-to-Wall Carpet

A trend I’m fully embracing lately: the return of colorful wall-to-wall carpet.

Growing up, I had a royal blue carpet in my bedroom—think Grover the Muppet. I adored it. When my parents replaced it with a beautiful (and very sensible) wool berber, I was devastated. I spent a full day refusing to look down in quiet protest. Sorry, Mom and Dad.

That bold blue carpet had joy and the perfect patina of a few melted crayonss. I didn’t yet understand how beige could possibly compete. Looking back, it’s clear I was passionate about color early on.

I love the power of a soft field of color underfoot. Depending on the shade, it can energize a space, calm it, or ground it entirely. It’s surprisingly unfussy and bold at the same time—an anchor that sets the emotional tone of a room.

With that in mind, here are some homes that are fully committing to colorful carpet that I’m loving.

If wall-to-wall carpet feels like too much commitment, a large solid rug that reaches nearly to the edge of the room can offer a similar effect. A couple great options here, here, and here.

Walks Around the Hood with Good Hang

January has been unusually sunny in Portland, so I’ve been taking full advantage with neighborhood walks. My constant companion lately is Amy Poehler’s podcast, Good Hang. An hour spent listening to conversations about friendship, creativity, and what makes people happy reliably leaves me with a very stupid grin on my face. Apparently, I’m not alone—she just won the inaugural Best Podcast award at the Golden Globes. Congratulations and thanks Amy for this nugget of joy you bring to me without fail.

Listen to Good Hang

Snow Day in Bloom

DesignBoom recently shared this act of public joy, and it’s exactly what I needed. A trail of daisy footprints pressed into the snow—quiet, playful, fleeting. A reminder that lightness still belongs in the world.

Who else is already scheming how to make their own flower-print snowshoes for the next snow day? I know I am.

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Creative Slow Down with Ikebana

For Christmas, I received a beautiful vase with an integrated floral frog (remember my post about my love of this simple tool) from my sister-in-law’s mother (thank you, Sue!). It felt like a small but meaningful gift—especially because I’ve long loved this humble, practical tool. There’s something quietly empowering about an object that removes friction and invites play.

Last week, during a stretch of rare sunny January days, I decided to pause my job search and give myself permission to slow down. Not in a grand, retreat-like way—just enough to notice the light and do something with my hands. I went outside and clipped what my yard had to offer: some lonely winter Camellia and Hellebore blooms, branches, and a few persistent leaves, things that wouldn’t normally feel “special” enough to arrange.

That was the point.

I set up a small worktable in the backyard and began experimenting, using only what I had and letting constraints guide the process. With the new vase as my container, I leaned into a loose interpretation of Ikebana, the traditional Japanese art of flower arranging. I’m no expert—far from it—and that was part of the appeal. This wasn’t about mastery. It was about attention and letting go.

Unlike the Western approach to floral arranging, which often emphasizes fullness, symmetry, and abundance, ikebana is rooted in restraint. It prioritizes line over volume, asymmetry over balance, negative space over density. Each stem is considered individually—not as filler, but as a contributor to the whole. Less isn’t just more; less is intentional.

As I worked, I noticed how different this felt from my usual instinct to “fix” or “perfect.” Instead of forcing stems into place, I listened. I rotated the vessel. I let a branch lean where it wanted to lean. I adjusted, stepped back, adjusted again. The process demanded patience and presence—two things I’ve been actively trying to cultivate lately.

Historically, ikebana dates back to around the 14th century, originating as floral offerings placed on Buddhist altars. Over time, it evolved into a disciplined art form grounded in Japanese aesthetics—simplicity, understatement, reverence for nature, and respect for impermanence. Ikebana is often translated as “living flowers” or “giving life to flowers,” which feels especially poignant. It’s not about decoration; it’s about relationship—between materials, space, and intention.

There is also deep symbolism embedded in traditional ikebana forms: representations of heaven, earth, and humanity; seasonal awareness; an acknowledgment of growth, decay, and renewal. My knowledge of the art is limited but I’m eager to learn more.

I didn’t follow every rule. I probably broke several. And that was okay. I let go of the desire for perfection and allowed curiosity to lead. I listened to what each branch and frond wanted to do. I collaborated rather than forced. The result was far from perfect, but I felt satisfied in the process of creating.

A few days later, I tried again with a more restrained approach, using fewer elements and slowing down even further. It felt different—calmer, more deliberate. Another reminder that design, like life, benefits from embracing imperfection and trying again.

A few tips if you want to give ikebana a try

Start with a floral frog: This small, often overlooked tool deserves its moment. Originally from Japan and known as kenzan—or “sword mountain”—the floral frog allows stems to stand freely in water without relying on the shape of the vessel. It turns bowls, plates, and unexpected containers into vases, opening up new possibilities for form and composition. Here are some of my favorites from Bauer Pottery, East Fork, Iittala, and Marimekko.

Gather your flowers and foliage: You only need a few elements that you can gather outside if available or hit the supermarket florist. Greenery works just as well as flowers here.

A simple starting structure:

• Begin with your tallest element—at least twice the height of the vessel

• Add a secondary stem at about two-thirds that height, slightly angled

• Introduce a lower element closer to the vessel

• Rotate as you go, adjusting from all sides

As you create, it can look a bit awkward if the balance isn’t right. Working with fewer elements requires patience to find the right place for each element. The balance comes from small shifts. Slow down, give yourself grace and in the meantime, good enough really can be beautiful.

More than anything, this small exercise reminded me why I return to design during moments of uncertainty. Creating something—no matter how modest—can be grounding. It’s a way to process without words, to find clarity through making, and to remember that imperfection is not failure. It’s part of the work.

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Simple Ritual: Everyday Oil

One of the few presents I ended up giving myself for Christmas was a little trail size 4 pack of oils from Everyday Oil. I’ve been using them everyday, morning and night as a moisturizer, and they have added a simple ritual to my skincare routine. I was nervous that the oil would cause breakouts but it has been quite the opposite—my skin has felt clearer and brighter than normal. The lovely scents of the Early Morning and Warm Feelings invite me to pause and take a few deep thoughtful breaths before each application. I’ve been opting to just use these some days instead of all my other loved tinctures. I’m liking the glow and simplicity.

If you’re curious, check out what else i love to put on my face here.

What small ritual—or simple act of joy—are you returning to this winter?

Katie xx

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season and is stepping into the new year with renewed energy and intention. Since my last newsletter, life has shifted in ways I didn’t anticipate, and I’ve spent time considering how to share this moment here.

As some of you may know, Schoolhouse has been navigating a period of change. While there is still uncertainty around what comes next for the brand, it has also created a moment of reflection and transition for many of us who were deeply connected to the work.

Just before the holidays, I unexpectedly parted from a role that had been a true dream. It has been a lot to process, and there is sadness in that. Alongside it, though, is a growing sense of gratitude—for the experience, for the people, and for the chance to reflect on what comes next.

Design has always been how I make sense of the world, so it felt right to process this moment here—with you, my fellow design lovers.

I don’t want to use this post to catalog the wrongs that led us here, nor do I want to linger in sadness. I have always been an optimist—someone who finds joy in the world and assumes the best in people. That hope has been tested intensely this past year, both nationally and now personally, but it’s also been reaffirmed by what remains steady: a healthy family, a beautiful home, and a deeply supportive community.

That community may be the silver lining. The outpouring of kind words and well wishes as news of turbulence at Schoolhouse has spread has been incredibly moving. If my goal has always been to inspire, it seems that effort has mattered—and that is profoundly rewarding. So that’s where I want to linger: on the community, and on the reach that was possible through the beautiful work of the Schoolhouse team.

While driving the many hours down to California for Christmas—through Oregon’s farmland and spectacular state forests, past Mount Shasta and vast ranch land, alongside long, repeating rows of olive orchards—I kept thinking about the people who welcomed Schoolhouse into their homes. Like those endless rows of trees, I imagined home after home with a Stillwater Quilt to cozy up with, an Allegheny Sconce lighting a front door, or a Ray Pendant glowing over a family meal. Those image brought me real comfort.

At Schoolhouse, we often talked about creating the next generation of heirlooms. This idea isn’t just about quality—though that mattered deeply—but about intention: how design makes people feel. We are always striving to create an emotional connection through design, because that connection is central to what makes something an heirloom. I hope that those of you who own Schoolhouse pieces feel that connection. That was always our goal. Not just to light your home, keep you warm, or give you a place to hang your hat, but to bring you joy.

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Intentions for the Year

As I begin this new year, I’m realizing that the same intention we brought to design at Schoolhouse—thoughtfulness, restraint, and care—is exactly what I need to bring to my own life right now. I’m taking the opportunity to figure out what I love, how I want to spend my time, and what I’m really good at. I’m trying to reframe this forced reset as an opportunity—to discover a new path and see where it leads.

In design, I’ve always loved constraints. They help narrow focus, create structure, and ultimately lead to better outcomes. So rather than avoiding structure right now, I’m embracing it—using a few guiding mantras not just to orient myself forward, but to take care of myself in the process.

Onward

This was the message on my family holiday card this year. We chose it before anything happened with Schoolhouse, and it feels even more fitting now.

I’m committing to moving my body every day. I’ve been catching up on Stranger Things (no spoilers, please!) while walking on the treadmill, and it’s been the best kind of escape. I’m also reminding myself that small steps count. Everything can feel overwhelming, but steady progress is still progress. I’m going to keep looking ahead and stay open to possibilities—even the stranger ones.

Find Comfort

I’m choosing to be kind to myself and to prioritize simple joys. Whether it’s a sewing project, a new book (any good recommendations?), or time spent connecting with friends, I’m making space for comfort. I’m also reminding myself to extend that same kindness outward—to others—and to fully embrace the incredible community around me.

Simplify and Use What I Have

I’ve always tried to be intentional about what I buy—clothes, furniture, food—but lately I’ve noticed myself too often chasing the dopamine hit of something new. This year, I want to rediscover what I already have. I’m experimenting with new outfits from my wardrobe, rearranging lamps, and tackling long-postponed house projects. Spending less is practical right now, but it’s also clarifying. I’m purging what’s unnecessary and focusing on what brings me joy—both physically and mentally. Clearing clutter, practicing small rituals, and letting go of self-doubt, negativity, and sadness as I move forward.

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Living Room Makeover: Small Tweaks, Big Energy

I’ve been keeping busy with morning walks, time with friends, unemployment paperwork, and small house projects. It’s a delicate balance—moving my body, facing the unknown, and gathering bits of joy along the way. My medicine has always been creativity: a project that fills my bucket. Lately, I’ve been starting with the space around me. Small tweaks that bring new energy and help me exercise the design muscle again.

The living room was my first target. Nothing major—no new furniture, rugs, or curtains. Just a textile refresh and an opportunity to play. I removed all the blankets (I have many) to create a blank slate, then swapped in others from my collection. It allowed me to enjoy pieces that had been tucked away while breathing new life into the room.

Pattern and color are powerful tools. They can shift the mood of a space—almost like therapy.

Previously, the textiles all leaned very warm. My natural attraction to oranges, reds, and pinks is undeniable. Schoolhouse classics like the Popcorn Coverlet on the couch, a Pendleton Canebrake throw on the rocking chair, and a Stillwater Quilt in its original auburn color draped over my grandmother’s wingback chair created a cozy warmth—but it was starting to feel a little flat.

My goal was to introduce contrast, movement, and energy by bringing in cooler tones. I added a Stillwater in cobalt, a blue wool throw, and kept some warmth with extra intensity using a vibrant Tulbend Quilt color sample we never produced. The cooler blues lift the space, let the eye move, and add vitality. Before, the room was warm and cozy; now, it feels lively, energetic, and full of motion.

I’m taking all the energy I can get right now, and I’ll keep making small changes around my home to reflect the fresh start that’s unfolding.

This small refresh was a reminder that it doesn’t take much to shift the energy of a space—or a mindset. A few blankets, a change in color balance, a willingness to experiment. Small changes can create momentum, and that’s a lesson I’m carrying with me right now.

Since many of my quilts are older styles or Schoolhouse process samples, I’ve linked a few options from brands I love—Toast, Pendleton, and Nickey Kehoe—if you’re inspired to experiment with your own mix of pattern and color.

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Gratitude

Finally, a huge thank you to my immensely talented editor, Alex Redgrave, who has been my partner in bringing you Design School each week. She created a safe space for me to share my writing—something I can be a little self-conscious about. I’m nervous to forge ahead without her, but I’ll keep her wisdom in my ear as I continue onward. Alex, you are brilliant, and I am forever grateful.

I don’t know exactly where this path leads, but I do know how I want to walk it—with intention, curiosity, creativity, and care. I’ll keep designing, writing, and sharing what I learn along the way. Thank you for being part of this community, and for continuing onward with me.

I’d love to know: what’s inspiring you as you step into the new year?

Katie xx

My goal has been to bring you into my world and introduce you to the way I see things, the way I think about design, and how I approach my projects through an optimistic lens. I hope I’ve achieved that in even a small way.

As I look back on the year and forward into the next, I am still striving to hold onto that sense of lightness we can create by surrounding ourselves with things we love. This week, I’m writing about a book, an artist, a film, and an architect that all touch on the idea of finding purpose in the world. Plus, a few of my fave holiday traditions that keep spirits high (while remaining low-effort).

And with that… here’s my last post of 2025! If you enjoy reading, please share far and wide. Is there anything you want to see covered in 2026? Let me know in the comments—I’m taking notes!

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Mentors Past & Present

I just finished The Female Persuasion by Meg Wolitzer. The novel centers around a young woman looking for her purpose in the world and explores the themes of ambition, admiration, power, influence, and loyalty. It’s about the people who guide, inspire, and support her, and how these relationships evolve over time. It had me thinking a lot about the different ways we fall into our careers, as well as the mentors who support us along the way. One of my most influential mentors might actually be coming back into my life more consistently, and I find myself so hopeful and a little scared at the same time. Scared mostly that it might not happen, but also because it might not be the same as it once was. (Of course it won’t be the same—don’t get my brain started on that subject.) The unseen can be unsettling as we look forward, but I will control what I can and lean into where I know I shine.

A Forward-Thinking Artist

I went to the newly renovated Portland Art Museum (highly recommend!) with my family over Thanksgiving break and was reminded of the diverse and impressive collection they house. I took a moment to admire the neon word art installation “Please Participate” by Jeppe Hein. The blazing glow of the hopeful message emanated like a cheerful convenience store sign. I was also happy to discover the work of Yoshida Chizuko (1924-2017), a Japanese painter, printmaker, and pioneering modernist. The retrospective features over 100 works that showcase the full breadth of her career, from avant-garde abstraction in the 1940s and ’50s to vivid photo-etchings from the ’60s and ’70s to the more refined nature-inspired pieces she completed later on. I was struck by Chizuko’s use of color, pattern, and her range of styles, both expressive and controlled. She is part of the widely recognized Yoshida family of artists, including her husband Yoshida Hodaka, her mother-in-law Yoshida Fujio, and her father-in-law Yoshida Hiroshi. Continuing the family legacy, her daughter Yoshida Ayomi is also a well-regarded artist who focuses on modernist woodblock prints. This generational gift that flows forward is such a beautiful example of mentorship.

A Journey Through Time & Land

Last weekend I saw “Train Dreams” and was transported by the meditative story of a seemingly unremarkable man who works on the railroad. Set in the Pacific Northwest at the turn of the 20th century during the American expansion westward, the film follows the entirety of his life. He experiences a tragedy early on, but he keeps going and that is much of the story—of coping and surviving and continuing even through loss. One of the characters, a logger who specializes in explosives (played by William H. Macy), offers philosophical insights on the power of nature, change, and hard living. “You cut down these magnificent trees that were around when Jesus roamed the earth, and it hurts your soul,” he says. The movie is shot and scored in a way that gives it a mythical quality and seems to be not just a story of one man but of an entire country and landscape that undergo immense change over a single lifetime. The scenes are often framed to capture the vastness of the forest—and Robert’s small part in it.

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To Be Frank

As many of you probably know, Frank Gehry died earlier this month at the age of 96, leaving behind a legacy of work that challenged the idea of what a building could do or look like. They defied gravity. They were alive. I was lucky enough to visit the Guggenheim in Bilbao way back in 2002 and remember being entranced by the fluidity of the exterior. It was like seeing waves crashing in the nearby ocean with the light reflecting in a dreamlike way. I was in awe of how Gehry’s hand sketches for the building had “effortlessly” come to life. (This engineering feat was achieved through his software innovations, which are a lesser known but nonetheless significant part of his legacy.) I had recently graduated college, where I studied architecture, and was working for a firm in Boston, so I was at a point in my life that I was a true sponge for architectural design. I was already a fan of his work, liking the drama, the engineering magic, and the movement he achieved.

While Bilbao was the first of his works that I saw in person, his home in Santa Monica (renovated in 1978 and again in 1990) was what initially caught my attention. He used common home-building materials such as corrugated aluminum, unfinished plywood, and chain-link fence, and was able to create dynamic, interlocking spaces. I love the collaged approach and use of unexpected everyday materials.

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Likewise, Gehry’s Easy Edges furniture from the early 1970s always fascinated me for the strong lines and humble materiality. You can imagine these corrugated cardboard chairs in sketch form just like his larger architectural works, but produced at a smaller scale. The cardboard was meant to meet the goal of standardized production for affordable furniture. Gehry leveraged the strength and resilience of the material, elevating it into something useful and beautiful.

Frank Gehry’s work left room for curiosity and finding artistry amongst any constraints. As a designer, I often think about balancing rules and emotions, about finding the place where limitations and expectations leave room for feeling—even better, when they support each other to make something surprising and new. Gehry was pushing against the most economical solution to still leave room for humanity. That is what I admire most about his work.

As fellow architect Moshe Safdie noted, “I think he would want to be remembered not just for his forms but for his profound commitment to the craft of building—his insistence that architecture is as much about its making as its appearance. He was inventive, rigorous, and extraordinarily generous with his support and friendship. And he never stopped exploring.”

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Treasured Traditions, Made Easy

We used to celebrate the Feast of the Seven Fishes with my grandfather’s friends on Christmas Eve. The Italian-American tradition marked the abstinence of eating meat until feast day on Christmas. For the last few years, I’ve nodded to this memory by bringing an array of tinned fish. There are so many brands to choose from these days, but I love this Fishwife gift pack that conveniently has seven varieties. Another custom I’m upholding: When I was living in New England, my dear friend started celebrating the first snowfall with a signature cocktail. The Snowflake is equal parts vodka, frangelico, and milk. Shake like crazy so it’s frothy, and you get a little marzipan-with-a-kick treat.

Have a wonderful holiday everyone! See you in 2026!

Katie xx

Lately, I’ve been drawn to materials that are the opposite of wooly and rustic (as much as that look is so me-coded!) and leaning toward glassy-smooth silk, ethereal lace, and lush florals. Modern romance? Yep, that’s this week’s theme. Plus, a “Behind the Design” on a prolific female designer whose colorful work I always return to. Let’s scroll, folks!

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Touch Me Textiles

Blame the film Materialists (and, more precisely, Pedro Pascal); silk bedding is having a moment. There’s something so appealing about a piece that feels good on your skin. Sure, silk (and satin) can quickly tip into kitsch, but stick to warm neutral hues and channel disco chic with that insouciant drape and just the right amount of sheen. In other material-related news, I’m going down lace research rabbit holes the way I’ve been known to do for vintage quilts. The intricate craftsmanship, beautiful patterns, and delicate designs all speak to me. (Shoutout to my editor, , for introducing me to Highland Lace!)

Pretty in Pink & Red

I know, I know. Barbie pink is out. And the “unexpected red theory” popped up a while ago. But what about when they combine chromatic powers? Personally, I can’t resist this charismatic duo in home decor or fashion as a shot of optimism and playfulness. Whether hot pink and cherry red, or deep crimson and blush, it’s like doubling down on love, which feels essential right now. Who’s with me?

Florals With an Edge

Everything about the new Christopher Farr x Commune Design rug collab is dreamy—and trippy! The “Psychedelic” collection is an ode to California counterculture with a “punk” twist on traditional botanical motifs (think: William Morris on mushrooms). I want to hang these beauties like oversize tapestries on the wall, or empty a room of furniture so the patterns can be on full display. (Bonus inspo: this lovely behind-the-scenes from Craft in America on hand-crafted silk flowers.)

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The Queen of Color

A couple weeks ago, I went to dinner with a good friend and former colleague at a new Portuguese/Japanese restaurant in Portland. It didn’t disappoint. While catching up, I was completely mesmerized by my friend’s silk scarf. Rather than continuing to stare at her neck, I came out and asked where it was from. “Vera,” she revealed. Of course. IYKYK—and if you’re unfamiliar with the prolific mid-century designer Vera Neumann, I feel honored to introduce her work to you.

Beyond her signature use of vibrant color and lively prints, what is perhaps most notable about Vera Neumann is her inspiring entrepreneurial spirit. She believed that art should be used and integrated into daily life rather than just admired. And she achieved this with her silk scarves—which carried her brand, Printex, for many years—as art and fashion aficionados clamored to scoop up the latest covetable prints (an impressive 130 styles were produced each season).

Vera is known for her expressive florals, but she also employed dynamic abstract prints. There is an energy and optimism to her work that feels nostalgic yet modern. I admire her not only for her artistry but for her ability to translate that vision into usable objects that, in turn, built her incredibly successful brand.

Vera Salaff was born in 1907 to Ukrainian immigrant parents in Stamford, Connecticut, where she grew up with easy access to both nature and the metropolitan buzz of NYC. Her father recognized her artistic talent early and nourished it with art classes and frequent trips to the Met, even rewarding her with 50 cents per completed sketchbook. At 19, she went to study at Cooper Union and later the Traphagen School of Design, which fostered the connection between fine art and fashion, sealing the idea for her that art should be lived with and used, not just put on display.

In the 1940s, Vera married George Neumann, whose family were textile manufacturers—fortuitous for both their future careers. The couple built a silkscreen press in the dining room of their Manhattan studio apartment… and so the brand Printex began. Vera’s big break came with her innovative use of available material. After WWII, she found some parachute silk surplus and swiftly adapted her printing process and designs to a new format. Her most well known product, the Vera scarf, was born.

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Her success continued to flourish in the 1960s, with celebrity admirers who were eager to be seen in the newest Vera scarf, a wearable work of art. In 1969, Printex introduced a home collection full of joyful florals and graphic prints. The cheerful color, bold scale, and modern approach make this collection appealing (and highly collectible) to this day.

Vera was the first designer to register her works with the Library of Congress, and the first American to manufacture her designs in China. She holds 8,750 copyrights, which continue to be licensed. Her work has been the subject of solo exhibitions at the Fashion Institute of Technology, the Philadelphia College of Textiles and Science, and the Museum of Arts and Design in New York. Her designs are represented in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, among others. Vera died in 1993 at the age of 85 in her home in Sleepy Hollow, NY. She kept painting up until her final days.

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I have a couple of Veras in my collection, ranging from an art print (a serigraph water color from the ’70s that I inherited from my grandparents) to a set of napkins that I scored while vintage shopping with my sister-in-law in San Jose that remind me of the classic Endless Summer 1970s surf movie poster. Both pieces make me happy every time I see them.

Snip, Snip!