As a second-generation Interior Designer, I was fortunate to grow up in and around beautifully designed spaces created by my father.
In 2001, when a fire destroyed the historic 100-year-old home where I was raised, I experienced the loss deeply and perhaps for the first time, understood the true meaning of "home".
For the two years following the fire, our lives were in continuous upheaval. Over the course of six moves we did our best to gracefully shift our daily rituals to suit these temporary spaces. I remember riding in the passenger seat on numerous occasions as my parents drove mistakenly back to the property we no longer called home. We laughed about how habitual our motions had become, but it was clear that simply experiencing the sound of the gravel in the driveway brought us a sense of comfort. I quickly realized the pivotal role our homes play in our lives as a respite from our chaotic world and the place where we continuously go to feel secure,
ground ourselves and rejuvenate.
In these moments of nostalgia, I appreciate just how much each thoughtful detail of our home influenced the memories we made there. Our home was a celebration of elegance, history and all things collected. The objects within those walls were reflections of who we were, where we had traveled and what was important to us. My parents have always had a knack for entertaining
and creating spaces that give the natural urge to linger. Whether small or large, the gatherings within our home welcomed connection, community and tradition.
I observed closely as my parents renovated their next home and knew that one day I would pursue Interior Design.
In San Francisco, I found and have continued to explore my own authentic style while continuing to tap into the inspiration my father’s designs have been to me. I am incredibly grateful that my passion and profession are deeply intertwined. It is an absolute joy to be invited into my clients’ homes, armed with the job of enhancing life’s wonderful moments through design.