(The tiles were made by my friend, Mokhtar Lahmar, who hand-makes and paints each tile in a garage turned atelier in the seaside town of Nabeul.) It’s in the 19th-century beaded Moroccan light in our bedroom, and the giant, drippy chandelier in the living room made of upcycled water bottles by artist Willie Cole. The pink kitchen, inspired by the New Orleanian love of saturated hues, pairs perfectly with the blue Tunisian tile backsplash. It’s there in the contrast between white lime-washed walls and those drenched in color. It’s there in the poetry of the arches and curves of the millwork. We wanted a home that felt soulful, timeless, and elegant, with a playful twist. We began to meld Tunisia and New Orleans into a style we call “Tunisiana,” an homage to our shared Francophone and African roots. The vision for the house was deeply tied to who Jon and I are as humans-to our creativity and our lineage. My diplomatic reply was an upbeat: “That sounds great. Jon had his own outrageous dreams, like a yellow brick road running through the garden, and for a while, a Mardi Gras theme: everything furnished in purple, gold, and green. I wanted to preserve and restore every decaying tin ceiling-to fill the house with one-of-a-kind salvaged objects, each with a whimsical backstory, including a vintage elephant-shape bar and a taxidermied peacock that became the topic of fraught debate. We also had to find a way to merge our tastes, lifestyles, and visions for the future in both symbolic and pragmatic ways-and let me tell you, pragmatism is not a strong suit for either of us. Suddenly we were faced with decisions around budget, collaborative dynamics, and division of labor like never before. Friends regaled us with tales of couples who’d been sundered by similar projects, and we soon understood why. A peek behind the walls revealed a gut renovation was needed. Apparatus pendant light Waterworks faucet Lacanche range handmade cookware by Netherton Foundry from Nickey Kehoe Rejuvenation cabinet knobs.Įager as we were to put down roots, we had a long road ahead. In the kitchen, the backsplash is composed of tile crafted in Tunisia. At 22, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia, and for the next few years, the grim fluorescence of a hospital was my primary dwelling. I attended six schools on three continents by age 12. For me, a child of immigrants, home always felt elusive. When he played piano (noon or night) his neighbors would bring out the broomstick and get to banging. Jon’s 20s were spent traveling with his band and bouncing between disparate creative projects, with layovers in a small Washington Heights apartment, where he dined on canned beans each night surrounded by suitcases. Until then, home for both of us had been makeshift and fleeting. In a leap of faith, he made an offer, sight unseen. I called Jon, who was on the road, to say I’d found the One. Touring the 1890s Brooklyn Italianate, I saw that the thick walls and large, atmospheric rooms could hold both. As a writer, I need total silence and solitude. Jon needs the freedom to explore making sounds and congregate with fellow musicians. We’d seen close to 70 properties, but none fit our specifications of a space where we could both live and create. Jon and I had been looking to buy our first place for months. The soaring archways and streaming light reminded me of the architecture of Tunisia, where my father is from, and it immediately felt like home. I sensed it the moment I crossed the threshold.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |