When a place has good bones, be it a cottage or a palace or a treehouse in the woods, one simply doesn't want to disrupt this fine circumstance.
Staying true to what already works...what is already beautiful...is important to the harmony of the house and those who inhabit it.
A lovely little cottage wants to grow with reason and care. A palace wants an Inigo Jones to create that perfect addition. And a treehouse, done well, feeds the souls of those who must climb the ladder to get there.
Therefore, I believe, one must try to build without rattling the bones.
Long ago, at this cottage, the sweet 20's garage might have housed an early version of Henry Ford's masterwork. Perhaps there was a cart, also, or a wagon, or some such thing--something to bring home baskets of cherries and bushels of plums from the surrounding orchards.
All things considered, the little building cried out for a good solid set of doors that looked like they'd been crafted to keep the cavalry mounts in for the eve. Somehow, in it's soul, the now-vintage space seemed far grander than a garage/fruit drying shed.
It might have held cherries, but I couldn't help thinking that the first inhabitant of the sturdy structure might've been a horse, rather than a horseless carriage. Anyway, it--the structure, not the long-ago-imagined horse--wanted us to make these doors. Bespoke, as it were.
Either way, I find myself hoping the Buffalo Soldiers would have approved wholeheartedly.
Above, the as-yet unpainted doors await final touches.
design: victoria thorne
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