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Love where you live

Updated: 2018-02-16T18:08:08-05:00


European cities come to life in these delightful architectural embroideries


Delightful If only vacations could last longer than a snapshot or an Instagram post, life post-vacation wouldn’t feel so dreary. Luckily for French-Swedish textile artist couple Charles Henry and Elin Petronella, they’ve got it figured out. Working together as Le Kadre, the couple creates charming embroideries of cityscapes and other scenes all over Europe, rendering historical architecture in the tactile, raised lines of floss. The canals and close-together homes of Denmark come alive on a swatch of cotton, as does a Parisian street corner and the notched facade of a Haussmannian building. Sometimes a simple “line” drawing stitched in black thread stands alone or is flanked by trees with feathery green tops or presided over by a swirly sky à la Van Gogh. Other times, each component of a scene is stitched in vibrant color. If these embroideries delight you, Henry and Petronella offer video classes on architectural embroidery for you to try your hand. See more at their respective Instagram accounts. A post shared by Elin Petronella ( on Jan 20, 2018 at 8:11am PST Experts believe that climate change and growing populations mean that the crisis in Cape Town inevitably will repeat itself on a global level. Droughts are likely to become more frequent and more severe, while warmer temperatures will cause what water is left to evaporate more quickly. Whether U.S. cities run out of water in the future will depend on what governments and residents do now to prepare. Diversifying local water supplies, conserving the water we do have, and investing in water-recycling and stormwater-capturing technologies can all delay disaster. But with water prices on the rise and increasingly frequent natural disasters that will further stress our water supplies, there’s no question that water scarcity could become the key issue of the 21st century. Even in the United States, the taps may not always flow. [...]

Cute beach cottage with tiny sunroom asks $425K


Located in Ogunquit, Maine, it measures just 736 square feet Have a nomination for a jaw-dropping listing that would make a mighty fine House of the Day? Get thee to the tipline and send us your suggestions. We’d love to see what you’ve got. Location: Ogunquit, Maine Price: $425,000 Just minutes from the water, this almost-tiny home is another kind of quintessential Maine getaway, and it sure is adorable. It’s located in southern part of the state in the teeny Ogunquit, a resort town meaning “beautiful place by the sea” that was only incorporated in 1980. And measuring just 736 square feet, Canary Cottage, as it’s known, is just as small. Still, the 1935-built residence has everything you need, starting with a living room with brick fireplace and furnace, a sun room with a vaulted and beamed ceiling, a spacious eat-in kitchen, and not one but two bedrooms, plus a single bathroom. There are hardwood floors throughout as well as tongue-and-groove paneling on the walls and the ceiling that give the house plenty of rustic charm. Outside, there’s more than enough space in the yard for al fresco dining and lawn activities. And don’t forget those yellow window shutters. Located at 32 Constance Lane just steps away from Perkins Cove, Oarweed Cove, and all the restaurants, Canary Cottage makes for the ideal beach clubhouse. It’s offered at $425,000. It would sing with the right refresh. Via Sotheby’s International Realty [...]

What a pair of modern chairs revealed about my grandmother


“I told myself that after the Korean War, my grandparents must have bought them to begin rebuilding their lives” One day in 2005, my grandmother entered the hospital, and the next, she was gone. A few days after her death, most of my extended family descended on her Oakland apartment to sort through her things. We needed a task to distract from the grief, and being the efficient Koreans that we are, her quaint one-bedroom was emptied within a couple of hours. Nothing we found surprised us: photos of us, trinkets from her travels around the States, news clippings from whenever her grandchildren did something newsworthy (the local Korean newspaper had a broad definition of “newsworthy”). In the flurry of cleaning, I noticed two chairs sitting in the hallway. Low, dark wood, soft triangular cushions of a rough, pea-soup green fabric—they looked out of place. How had these sleek, albeit battered, modern chairs co-existed in the same apartment as stuffed animals, ruffled fabrics, and Christian inspirational artwork? I asked my mom and my aunts, but was dismissed; no one knew anything about them. Since they were earmarked to be tossed, I laid claim to them, believing they just needed a bit of love and reupholstering. Plus, I was in no position to reject free furniture. As a broke 20-something, post-college bachelor, my living spaces were always filled with cheap, particle-board pieces most commonly found curbside. Yet those triangular chairs persisted, always slightly out of place next to a dented Ikea Expedit. They served less as a reminder of our family matriarch and more as a sign that I would eventually graduate from assembling flat pack furniture. And in fact, over time, my aesthetic and tastes matured seemingly to match the chairs. Gone were my visions of hiking through remote, mist-laden Korean villages in search of the descendant of a long line of furniture makers. Still, the mythology of the chairs grew in my mind. I told myself that after the Korean War, my grandparents must have bought them to begin rebuilding their lives. Surely, they strapped the chairs to their backs as they traveled to the U.S. to start over. Why wouldn’t they be worth thousands of dollars as historic proof of some underground, postmodern trend in war-torn Korea? After carting them from place to place for 12 years, I finally decided to find out once and for all. After all, maybe halmoni would have wanted me to pawn them off if it meant a down payment on a brownstone. It was almost comical how easily I found information on the chairs: I flipped them over to read the label. Samick Furniture, 1981. One quick Google search and there it was: A company timeline on a Korean website. The first thing I learned was that the chairs are younger than I am. This meant that they were manufactured in Korea after my grandparents had moved to the U.S. in 1979. But beyond that, due to a less-than-adequate record-keeping system, Samick Furniture wasn’t able to provide much more information. The company was able to confirm that it didn’t distribute outside of Korea at that time, so while my grandparents didn’t cart them over, someone else’s surely did. Gone were my visions of hiking through remote, mist-laden Korean villages in search of the descendant of a long line of furniture makers. And yet, with a few fundamental questions answered, more questions cropped up. How did these Korean-manufactured chairs end up in an elderly woman’s apartment in Northern California? Rather than tracing the journey of the chairs, I began tracing the journey of my grandmother. I’m the child of Korean immigrants who moved to California in the late ’60s in search of stability and opportunity for their future children. With language and cultural barriers, the divide between myself and the older generations at times felt insurmountable. This was particularly true with my maternal grandmother. A proud, strong, fiercely religious woman, my halmoni was a fixture of my childhood. She lived in t[...]

Whimsical tiny house is a masterpiece of craftsmanship



It was recently featured on HGTV’s Tiny House Big Living

Just when you think you’ve seen the most peculiar tiny house, another one appears to surprise you. This double-decker tiny home was built around the family’s most prized possession: an heirloom whiskey still. Hidden within a copper-topped table supporting the stove, the still’s quirky curves seemingly inspired the home’s whimsical angles and arches.


Designed and built by Daniel Weddle of Carpenter Owl, the exterior is clad entirely in walnut and trimmed with cedar. The roof materials were reclaimed from two older buildings and rolled flat with a truck. Inside, the home is dominated by wood paneling and brimming with design details. Each individual light fixture was hand-carved. Rustic metal fixtures complement a copper-framed porthole window.


It took 16 crew members four months to build the 22-foot-long home, including the 150-square-foot second-floor deck, which holds a luxurious soaking tub and a built-in table. The deck is accessed via an exterior spiral staircase, or from a secret door in the sleeping loft, hidden behind a drawing.


The home weighs roughly 11,000 and has a price tag of $85,000.


Via: Carpenter Owl, IU

Solar-powered floating villa creates modern retreat in historic area



This energy-neutral houseboat is surprisingly airy and bright

What do you do when you want the perfect modern home in a coveted historic neighborhood? For the owner of this exquisite abode, the answer was simple: Build a houseboat. Floating in the Spaarne river near the city center of Haarlem, Netherlands, this sleek and bright home by Amsterdam-based vanOmmeren-architecten was a true labor of love.


The interior alone took more than three years to finish in order to meet the client’s exacting tastes. But boy was it worth it.


The houseboat is a single rectangular volume clad in silvery wooden slats emphasizing its horizontality. From the street side, higher, clerestory-like windows let in natural light without sacrificing privacy. One the canal side, four-fifths of the facade is made of full-height glass, offering stunning views of the city beyond.


The aesthetic is simple and refined. The main floor holds an open living room, dining area, and kitchen, in addition to an office, master bedroom and bath, and storage. A deck off the living room provides enough outdoor lounge space for two. The stairway down to the lower level cleverly acts as a light well bringing sunshine to the rooms below—a music room, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, storage, and mechanicals.


Additionally, the home is energy-neutral. Solar panels on the roof generate enough power to keep it running, and there’s no gas connection with the shore.


Via: ArchDaily