Oh, and the shutters? I get at least ten questions a year about the color. I was able to match it exactly, using Benjamin Moore’s Mountain Laurel.
The interiors were to have been pretty much my domain from the beginning, so no big post-breakup adjustments there. The major projects were the kitchen and butler’s pantry, which I was happy about because I cook and entertain a lot and so could design them to suit.
Before, the overgrown arborvitae formed an arch over the driveway: poetic but impractical.
From the opposite side, with the tree trimmed and old hedges removed, the space opens up dramatically.
As much as form follows function, I confess I did not have all the function figured out at first. When I moved in at summer’s end of 2008, it was with boxes of uncertainty about the house, the future, and ever finding happiness. At least in the decorating I could start with a few decisions and work up to the rest. I told myself just to wait, to let design solutions come. Maybe other solutions would present themselves as well. The house was becoming a metaphor for my life. I kept seeing parallels between fixing up the house and facing my now-upended life, and I wondered if the house was a way toward healing.
It took a year to figure out how all the spaces should work. In the meantime I crept forward with filling in other answers I knew, like paint colors and arranging the living areas.
The blue shutters today: Benjamin Moore’s Mountain Laurel, on the nose.
The front door’s bulls-eye glass is a subtle, old-fashioned detail worth preserving.
The color palette was determined by complex criteria: It had to go with the stuff I already had. And while the colors—sea-grassy greens; cool blues; a touch of gray; and a warm, luminous white—aren’t exactly breaking news for a beach house, they all resonate with sea, sand, and sky, and are quiet and calming. That surely would be conducive to healing.
Another inspiration came from these wonderful plates I bought several years ago at a little shop in Sag Harbor. The pattern is blue and softly splattered like a robin’s egg, with gray-ish, brownish feathers painted on. I was besotted with them and had always wanted to do a room around them.
So the living room fireplace niche, stairway, and one bedroom would get that particular egg-y blue. All doors and window mullions were painted a high-gloss gray, which was a unifying element throughout the house. Painting mullions a darker color seems to diminish the boundary between inside and out. A value similar to the scenery beyond makes the view more continuous, while a light color stops your eye and draws your focus to the window itself.
Notes on Curb Appeal
Boring but important: Roofs are to houses what shoes and bags are to dresses. Have the best you can afford, and the whole outfit looks better. Gutters are the earrings. Copper would have been swell, but it’s become so expensive that vandals might steal it and sell it for scrap. What about just plain old zinc, suggested my designer friend Tom Samet, who was right as usual.
Have a great, solid front door. Bee’s original was worn out, but I loved the two bull’s-eye panes at the top. I had a new door made to accommodate the bull’s-eye glass, then stained and polyurethaned the wood for permanent luster. It looks handsome and substantial.
If something is old and you think they don’t make it anymore, ask anyway. An original pane of bull’s-eye glass in the front door was accidentally broken. I wept as I Googled and lo! Resources galore.
Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s good, but sometimes it is.
Sometimes new is better, though. Scraping and putting down new gravel on the driveway, for example, is like giving the house a new, well, driveway.
The grape arbor off the dining room would remain as it was. The light filtering through the vines is downright poetic.
Re-doing a house is a list-maker’s idea of heaven . . . or hell . . . I’m not sure which.
The reflective quality of the high gloss paint is just great, especially in a place where the light is beautiful, as it so famously is in East Hampton. I’ve always heard that high-gloss finishes should only be used on walls in perfectly pristine condition, and I’ve always ignored it.
These paint-spattered, be-feathered Robin’s egg blue plates were the touchstone of Bee’s color scheme.
Clockwise from top, Mountain Laurel, Galapagos Turquoise, Tudor Brown, Wedgewood Gray, Kiwi, Davenport Tan, Palladian Blue, Shale, and Powder Sand, all Benjamin Moore.
The kitchen scheme.
View of the living room from the front door entrance. A pair of Swedish chairs from designer Tom Samet flanks an old family Victorian game table. Painted cabinet long in my collection holds porcelains I can’t seem to part with. Vintage bee print and bee keep atop cabinet.
Chapter 17
The Living Room
The original living room had a fireplace and would lend itself to nesting and gathering on chilly winter nights. I’ve spent many nights there having dinner at the little table and then curling up with a stack of books and a glass of wine. And while this is one of my places to cocoon, it is also where I entertain in winter.
At 13 by 17 feet, the space isn’t terribly large, and there are other features to contend with, namely a radiator, two windows, three doorways, and a fireplace. It seems small when empty, and yet it is surprisingly accommodating, comfortably seating seven or eight.
Removing the doors leading to front and back vestibules cut some of the visual clutter. A third passageway leads to the stairs, and we capitalized on the niche at the landing at the foot of the stairs by building shelves for some of my Staffordshire collection.
To anchor the room I placed an armless banquette I’d acquired at designer Richard Keith Langham’s tag sale. It was perfect opposite the fireplace, even though it’s against the radiator. The streamlined silhouettes of banquettes and slipper chairs are especially good for small spaces and always look chic. My slipper chairs were nothing special, but they were about the only things I could afford in the Sotheby’s auction of Katharine Hepburn’s estate. They were frayed and beat to hell when I got them, a state that I thought enhanced their WASPy, shabby glamour. Eventually I relented and re-upholstered the chairs and the banquette in a cozier, more wintry fabric, saving the striped cotton slipcovers for the warmer months. (The slipper chairs have since migrated to the garden room, replaced by re-furbished chairs of my mama’s.)
BEFORE
The living room as it was before.
Living room in the interim. The slipcovered Richard Keith Langham-designed banquette came from my previous house and remained “as is” for a while. The pair of club chairs I bought from the owner’s estate and re-covered. Lamps are re-purposed antique Italian candlesticks.
It is such a lovely thing to change your rooms with the seasons, putting crisp cotton slipcovers on wintry upholstery. Admittedly somewhat of an extravagance, slip-covering does extend the life of upholstery by sparing it wear and tear.
For warmth and texture we glazed the walls a soft caramel and added a honey-colored sisal rug. Curtains, pillows, and cashmere throws are the final layer of “soft goods.”
A painted cabinet stores china and decorative objects, which I rotate in and out. A mahogany Victorian table can be used for dining à deux or unfolded for cards and games. The two chairs flanking it can also be pulled up to the conversation group around the sofa when company comes. It’s a surprisingly lot of stuff for a small room, but it functions well.
The Living Room today, with the banquette re-upholstered in a textural geometric woven that works well year-round. The pillows are always being moved around.
The enormous bronze dolphin chenets flanking the fireplace no doubt made sense in the Newport mansion they likely originally hailed from, and they were grand and beautiful in my mother’s library in our big old family house in Tarboro. But in a stucco cottage across the street from a grocery store parking lot, they find themselves in rather reduced circumstances, I’m afraid. In the meantime they have been made into beautiful lamps, but they can easil
y reclaim their former glory should their fortunes change.
BEFORE
The fireplace before . . .
. . . and now. The armchairs by the door have hence migrated here. Lamps are re-purposed bronze fireplace chenets that were my mother’s.
A narrow antique English church bench is a landing strip for magazines, pocketbooks, and what all. Photograph of the sea is by my dear friend Holger Eckstein.
BEFORE
The niche and stairway were painted in a pale robin’s egg blue. The lampshades are trimmed in gross-grain ribbon and sea shells—an easy DIY. Shallow shelves hold a collection of Staffordshire and create a focal point.
An old chaise is given new life in a Mauel Canovas linen print. Note: I firmly believe that every place to sit also needs a light and a place to put down a book or a drink. And P.S., you can hang pictures almost anywhere, even on the side of a banister.
Chapter 18
The Garden Room
What I call the garden room had once been the garage, and because it has the best light and views of any room in the house, this is where we would hang out—particularly in the mornings and in the warmer months.
So that’s where I put the television and the Sofa That Ate Long Island. My friend, designer Richard Keith Langham, had a tag sale a few years ago and I scored this fabulous HUGE sofa. It is 10 feet long and 4 feet deep. I must have been thinking I would save it for when I moved into Windsor Castle. Anyway, there it was and it was fine. It’s definitely comfy. You can hardly get out of the thing once you’re in it. It worked well with other Keith cast-offs, over-scale arm chairs, and an over-size wing chair we call the Edith-Ann chair.
BEFORE
Previous owners had converted the garage into a living area with the advantage of the only “public” room besides the kitchen that opens onto the terrace and garden.
A small set of stairs leading into the room has the effect of adding another bit of wall space.
(For those old enough to remember the television show Laugh-In, comedienne Lily Tomlin’s little-girl character Edith Ann would sit in this enormous chair with her legs sticking straight out and impart her wisdom, always ending with “And dat’s de twoof,” then sticking out her tongue and making a poot kind of noise, like a whoopee cushion. I still think it’s funny.)
Painting the backs of bookcases makes what’s in them more interesting. On the top shelf are a collection of Italian terra cotta pots that are mementoes from New York Battery Conservancy benefit luncheons over the years. Miniature gilded chairs designed by Angèle Parlange.
Compared to the rest of the house the garden room was practically a ballroom, with ceilings soaring up to 8 feet and a nice, almost square proportion. It seems counterintuitive to put a sofa and chairs so big in a room that size, but large-scale pieces can make small rooms seem bigger. I swear.
The wallpaper is graphic and bold, a departure from the more muted tones in the rest of the house. It gives the room a sense of destination, like a special but separate part of the house. Love a trellis, always have. So fresh and garden-y. It also worked with the old green striped slipcovers and is just as good with the later addition of a floral print. Geometrics have a way of accommodating both prints and solids and are always a great way to spiff up a room.
What was once a blah pass-through space becomes a little exclamation point with bright paint and colorful ceramics in mirror-backed shelves.
Sometimes you have to be willing to let a room surprise you, and also to let it change. Our rooms evolve as our lives evolve, and we go with that. It’s a way of getting un-stuck, acknowledging loss, accepting change, and moving forward.
The Carleton V trellis wallpaper gives the room dimension and pizzazz. It’s also appropriately garden-y. In the room’s first iteration, I used furniture I had on hand. A huge sofa slip-covered in green and white stripe, oversized rush-seated arm chairs, large scale contemporary floor lamps, and an industrial strength coffee table. Even the awning came from my old house.
Amen, sister.
Two years later I did not move into Windsor Castle, but I did begin spending time on a ranch in California with the cowboy I met on the blind date at the end of Chapter 12. His house was a large, contemporary design by Hugh Newell Jacobson, if you can imagine anything more different from Bee. I eventually sent my large old friends the chairs and sofa out there, to make us all more comfortable, and the Sofa That Ate Long Island could not eat California, thank heaven, and it fits right in.
When the big sofa and chairs moved out, I rescued from storage Mother’s classic low-slung 1960s sofa. It was well made and had held up, but the old Clarence House chintz, pretty as it was, had to go. I found a great Manuel Canovas linen print to replace it. The two green slipper chairs from the living room were relocated to join the sofa happily. All greens go together. I’m definitely a green person.
Presto, change-o. As it is today, the garden room is furnished a bit more to scale. We refurbished my mother’s chic old 1960s sofa and covered it in a Manuel Canovas print. Katharine Hepburn’s slipper chairs were also re-upholstered (it was time), and the big round ottoman migrated in from my New York apartment. Curtains add privacy, texture, and warmth. Drawing to left of window is by the late Long Island artist, Robert Dash. It is a prized possession.
I’m definitely a green person.
Think of your rooms in layers that add depth, richness and personal style: from paint, furnishings, and fabrics, to rugs, trims, accessories, and collections.
Curtains cozy up the room and make it more night-friendly. Something about bare windows at night makes me uneasy—like big black holes that the bogey man might look in.
People are always saying they don’t like things to look “decorated” and to look like they’ve “always been there.” Well, safe to say we’ve got that covered. Hardly anything is new. Lord, sometimes I feel like I live in a flea market.
This Carlton V wallpaper in a trellis pattern pairs well with Benjamin Moore’s Powder Sand white and Kiwi green.
Notes on Living Areas
Before you do anything to a house, decide how you’re going to live in it. A big piece of that is where you’re going to live in it. Plan and furnish accordingly. Is it the living room? The family room? The den? Or the kitchen? Be honest.
If you don’t know what to do with a room, WAIT; it will eventually tell you.
Small rooms seem bigger the more you put in them (to a point); it’s all about the arrangement. Pull the furniture into conversation groups away from the walls. Don’t shy from big-scale pieces or bold graphics; if it feels fun and right, go for it.
In furniture, aim for a mixture of “legs and skirts.” Wood or metal chairs and tables with legs should balance pieces that are upholstered or covered to the floor, like club chairs, sofas, or skirted tables.
Create a dynamic to keep the eye moving around the room. Create contrast with color, tone, texture, art, and objects. Experiment and don’t be afraid to change. Vary the heights of tables and chairs.
Painting window mullions a darker color diminishes the boundary between inside and out. Painting interior doors to match the mullions is a unifying element throughout.
High-gloss paint enhances the light and adds subtle pizzazz. So what if the walls aren’t perfect?
If ceilings are low, encourage the eye to look up. Install curtain rods to the ceiling. Hang tall mirrors. Use high-back chairs. Group art from wainscoting to ceiling.
Trim lampshades with grosgrain ribbon and augment curtains with contrasting panels of fabric or trim. The layering of details creates depth and a sense of luxury.
Repurpose the dated or out of whack: e.g., we made floor lamps from massive bronze chenets I’d inherited from my mother.
Chapter 19
Tom Samet to the Rescue
Several months into the project, I was overwhelmed. Going in circles, sparring with despair, and despair was winning. I couldn’t make headway, and I didn’t ask for help. The worst thing is I di
dn’t even think of asking for help. Maybe I thought I didn’t deserve help. You got yourself into this, sister, and you can just figure it out. I didn’t even know what help I needed. Help moving forward from a painful decision with hurtful consequences for people I cared about? Help digging out of boxes and getting organized? Help from a handyman? The answer, of course, was all of the above, and there was one person in particular who was the answer to an unspoken prayer.
Tom’s kindness and generosity in those early days were a light in my darkness and a salve to the emotional scrapes and bruises I was so good at hiding.
Decorator and friend Tom Samet, with his avowed affinity for old houses, agreed to help see Bee through, conjuring the kinds of thoughtful and ingenious suggestions I cannot now imagine living without. Like extra shelves in the bathroom. Like (finally) acquiring a proper set of dining chairs. They say the devil is in the details, but Tom took that devil’s place, and it has made all the difference. Glazing the living room walls and adding extra panels of contrasting fabric to curtains were his ideas. So were purple lampshades, but we won’t talk about that.
Tom also has a darlin’ mama (named Frances!), whom he adores. He understood the affection I’d felt for my own mother and my desire to honor her memory by incorporating some of her things into my house. He has been a godsend, truly, and my gratitude is beyond words. Tom’s kindness and generosity in those early days were a light in my darkness and a salve to the emotional scrapes and bruises I was so good at hiding.
The Bee Cottage Story Page 5