Story of the Unknowable

When we visit Mediterranean Europe and fall in love, we fall in love with history, with hundreds of years of rich culture, with the personal stories of people and their struggles, joys, and traditions. Knowledge was passed down through generations – no building recipe books, no building codes. The architecture was built with rocks and clay from underfoot and from ancient forests, and the landscapes tell of human relationships with the land, of homestead farms, the harvest, and the feast. We can feel it, we can see it, but we can't always explain it. We hear the laughter and singing around open fire cooking, and smell the family recipes. We tune into the unknowable.

Two Authors

Two authors intensified the interest in all things Mediterranean

Peter Mayle authored "A Year in Provence" in 1989 and continued writing about Provence until he died in 2018. His love for France was highlighted when the French government awarded him the title of Knight of the Legion of Honor in 2002. Whereas Mayle has introduced thousands of people to the landscape, history, and culture of Mediterranean France, he also expressed frustration with the flood of visitors that followed the success of his book, as well as receiving criticism that he had “ruined” Provence by drawing so many tourists.

“Under the Tuscan Sun”, published by Frances Mayes in 1996, followed by a movie of the same name, released in 2003, inspired people to restore older Mediterranean houses. The success of the book and movie took its toll on the Village of Cortona that Mayes lovingly portrays, turning it into a glaring tourist attraction.

Back in California

The Perfect Disconnect

Influenced by, but not curious about, the history and nuance, local materials, craftsmanship, the signature of time, the scale and proportions, and the raison d’être, the California stucco home focused on the 4 in 12 roof slope, warm earth-tone colors, the Romeo and Juliette balconies, columns, grand entrances, and a few arches thrown in, in a sign of disconnected grandeur – strangers on a hill.

In defence of the builders, the original design guidelines are the responsibility of the developers and their architects, and later managed by the Homeowners Association.

Following a set of architectural plans, the builder's objective is to ensure everything is done correctly in accordance with building codes and expectations — a performative perfection of metal edge sheetrock corners, wood floors puttied and sanded, recesses squared and plumb, high polished countertops, design standard cabinets, typical door heights, and so on — design without risk. Imagine a future owner and designer (design team) who is not only willing to take design risks but also welcomes the imperfections and nuances of a Free-Spirited Design.

Free-Spirited Design

Spaces Layered with Personality, Memory, and Texture

Free-spirited design is creativity unbound by convention. It is the art of shaping spaces that feel authentically alive—unrestricted by formulas or trends—filled with stories collected over time and reflecting the individuality of the people who inhabit them.

Palettes may be layered rather than coordinated; furniture may feel gathered rather than planned. Imperfection and patina coexist with polish and refinement. These juxtapositions do not clash—they converse.

At its heart, free-spirited design is less about decoration and more about how a space makes you feel: grounded, expressive, and entirely at home.

The Communication Quandary

From Idea to Implementation

A free-spirited design is unique. Its beauty lies in nuance, in the delicate balance between intention and improvisation. And yet, this is precisely what makes it fragile: how do we preserve subtlety, spirit, and texture as a design moves from imagination into construction?

How can we translate the softness of light on a plaster wall into a technical drawing? How do we convey the spirit of imperfection—the deliberate irregularity that makes something human and timeless—to a builder whose craft depends on precision?

At some point, the language of inspiration and feeling must evolve into something tangible. It must become a shared conversation: a Design–Build Dialogue.

Design Build Dialogue

Bringing a Story to Life

We bridge the gap between vision and execution by creating a clear, visual language for the build team. Together, we identify the unique materials and elements—the antique limestone floors, oak planks, hand-carved fireplaces, reclaimed sinks, and custom cabinetry—and assemble them into a room-by-room pictorial handbook.

This handbook becomes more than a set of instructions; it is storytelling. Each page holds not only what to build, but why—so that the spirit of the design remains intact as it becomes real. In this dialogue, craftsmanship and creativity converge, and the original vision takes form without losing its subtleties and essence.

The free spirit that inspired it at the outset remains present in every corner, every texture, every carefully considered imperfection.