Great Meadows, NJ
Nestled in one of my favorite stretches of Great Meadows, the Independence Project is a quiet homage to the heritage that lives so naturally here — a place where open fields, old farm roads, and time-worn homesteads still carry traces of early American spirit.
What drew me to this home wasn’t just its charm, but its remarkable integrity. Even after all its years, the structure stood steady and well-built, something both experience and professional insight made clear from the start. My role wasn’t to change its foundation but to honor it — to bring forward the grace and character already woven into its frame and let its story breathe again through thoughtful, restorative design.
Great Meadows has a way of slowing the world down, inviting you to notice the soft hills, the quiet mornings, the small histories tucked between properties. Working on the Independence Project allowed me to contribute to that landscape in a way that felt personal — a blend of preservation, care, and affection for the town that continues to inspire me. This home has become one of my proudest projects not because it was the most demanding, but because it allowed me to restore something that was already worth keeping. It’s a piece of Great Meadows’ enduring story, and being part of its next chapter has been a privilege I truly cherish.
Dull First Impression
The foyer always stayed with me from the very first walk-through, but not for the reasons most people expect. It had a heaviness to it — the dark brown walls, the worn carpeting, and the thin front doors that barely let the light in. The space felt tucked away from the rest of the home, almost like it had been forgotten over time.
As I stood there, I could see past what it was and into what it could be. The foyer is the first moment of a home, the place where the day begins and ends, and this one simply wasn’t telling the right story yet. My hope was for a space that felt immediately welcoming, understated but with enough refinement to make the moment memorable.
I pictured the entry drawing a bit of the outdoors inward, giving the home a more natural starting point. That small vision became the starting point for everything that followed.
The New Welcome
Transforming the foyer brought life back into the space. Once the dark walls and tired finishes were removed, I could finally see what the room was meant to offer —confidence.
The Waterjet Mosaic in Raggio Verde, framed by a Caribbean Marble border, became part of a design approach I’ve grown to love: creating custom tile inlay moments that ground the entry and give the home its first sense of identity. It didn’t demand attention, but it earned its place instantly.
As the white millwork went up, the light shifted in a way that felt natural. The room changed throughout the day — softer in the morning, a bit more defined in the afternoon. The new flooring and updated front door completed the transformation, giving the entry the kind of steadiness that makes you slow down instead of rush through. When it was finished, the foyer felt like a warm welcome instead of an afterthought. It set a tone for the rest of the home — the kind of space that reminds you how even the smallest rooms can shape the way you experience a place.
Unclaimed Dining Potential
The very first moment I walked into this space, I felt an instant connection to the home.
Even with its worn finishes and dated features, the room carried charm that was hard to ignore. Soft natural light filtered through the windows, but the pink carpeting, aging ceiling fan, and heavy window treatments left the space feeling muted and without direction. It functioned as both a dining room and sitting area, yet didn’t fully support either purpose.
Still, the architectural promise was easy to see. The bay window, the built-ins, and the openness of the layout offered a foundation worth investing in. Standing here, I knew the room needed to come alive in a different way — something brighter and design-forward. Intentional enough to support daily life — meals, conversation, and the quieter moments in between. My vision focused on grounding the space and giving it a defined role within the home.
A Brightened Chapter
The dining room finally reflects the feeling I had hoped for when I first stepped into it. A soft coat of Warm Marshmallow changed the entire atmosphere, giving the room a lighter, more open presence without losing the quiet comfort that makes a home feel lived in. It’s a shade that behaves differently throughout the day — sometimes bright, sometimes muted — and that subtle movement is what convinced me it belonged here.
To bring more intention into the room, I added custom frame molding to the ceiling and paired it with Watercolor Lotus decals from California. They changed the ceiling in a way I didn’t expect at first — suddenly it felt like a place where people might linger a little longer at the table. There’s something almost tender about looking up and catching a glimpse of those soft shapes overhead. I could imagine a family sitting here, sharing a meal, and feeling just a little lifted by that small moment of beauty.
The bow window, touched with hand-placed golden flakes, deepened that feeling. It brings a gentle shimmer into the room, the kind that quietly stays with you even after you’ve walked away.
In the end, the dining room became exactly what it needed to be: a calm, inviting space with its own character — a room shaped for the kinds of moments that make a home feel whole.
Early Living
Just off the foyer, the living room carried its own story. The wallpaper — a tapestry of soft blues, creams, and florals — immediately revealed something about the person who chose it decades ago. I could sense the intention behind it: an effort to make the room feel comforting, familiar, and personal in its time.
There was something thoughtful about the way the pattern wrapped through the fireplace mantle rather than stopping short; it showed care and a deliberate hand. That detail stayed with me. I began thinking about how I could honor that same continuous sweep around the fireplace, but with tones and textures that felt more connected to the home today.
The architecture helped guide the rest. The tall baseboards, the thick trim around the windows, and the proportions of the fireplace all held a steady presence beneath the aging finishes. Keeping them untouched was never in question; they shaped the room’s character from the start. Even before any updates, the trim alone reminded me that the structure of the space deserved to remain exactly as it was.
Living in the Meadows
Once the old finishes were removed, the living room felt open in a way it never had before. Instead of feeling confined, the room finally had a chance to take on a lighter presence — one that hinted at the landscape just beyond its windows.
The imported mural from Sydney, handcrafted on premium canvas and fittingly named Sunlit Meadows, introduced pastel tones that moved gently across the walls. The misty, early-morning blues and the jaded greens settled into the room with an ease that felt both intentional and understated. It felt natural.
The fireplace, already a strong architectural feature, became more connected to the space once the mural was installed. Its lines met the artwork seamlessly, as though the two had been designed for each other from the start. The tall trim and baseboards remained untouched — their proportions too important to alter — grounding the entire room.
By the time the space was complete, it held a presence that stayed with you — the kind of room you don’t need to linger in to remember.
The Blush-Tiled Beginning
Upstairs, the blush-pink tile paired with glossy black trim left the bathroom feeling heavier than it needed to. The floral wallpaper — softly patterned with a hint of shimmer — spoke to the era it came from, but the details had long outgrown their moment. What remained was a room layered in materials that no longer worked together.
Beneath the aging finishes, though, the structure of the space still made sense. The layout offered a foundation that could evolve into something more aligned with the rest of the home.
As I looked around, my own thoughts began to take shape — especially my love for floor-to-ceiling tile. A cleaner, uninterrupted surface felt like the right approach, letting the room work with its footprint instead of against it.
Greenstone Revival
Once the pink tiles were removed, there was space to shift into something fresher — something that aligned with the nature-inspired palette in the rest of the home. From there, the walls began to take shape.
Monteverde Onyx porcelain wrapped the lower half, its green veining bringing a grounded, earthy character. The transition into glazed ceramic wheat tile came next — material already used in the kitchen, helping the spaces relate to each other. Where the two met, a Caribbean-marble pencil carried the transition forward
drawing a small connection to the black tile that once framed the room.
I wanted to carry that same feeling into the shower — the idea that whomever lived here would step in and immediately feel at ease. I kept thinking about how water would move down the tile, how the glaze would catch the light, and how calming those greens could feel at the end of a long day. The wheat tile continued inside, framed by Emerald Shores marble that added a sense of presence along the alcove.
Seeing it now brings a major rush down to my bones. Bathrooms carry more of a home’s story than people realize, and when they come together with this kind of intention, the result is always worth the layers, the details, and the time it takes.
Vintage Blue Beginning
The primary bedroom. Blue wallpaper filled the room with its own history. Dense florals, deep tones, and a pattern repeating so tightly it almost pulled the walls inward. The drop ceiling pressed the space down a little further, and the worn carpet softened whatever daylight tried to make its way across the floor. At first glance, it seemed like the kind of room that might feel eerie.
But, it didn’t.
I’ve learned over time to read a space with a certain awareness. A steady attentiveness to how a room holds itself. The energy here was surprisingly balanced. My instincts stayed even, my breath didn’t shift, and nothing in me braced or pulled back. The room felt unexpectedly welcoming under all that pattern, as though it had simply been misunderstood at first glance.
That’s when the direction became clear. This room didn’t need theatrics or heavy-handed reinvention; it just needed to look the way it already felt — steady, gentle, and far more open than it appeared. The inspiration came from that simple recognition: taking a dark, heavily patterned corner of the house and preparing it for a version of itself that finally matched its own calm presence.
A Countryside Suite
Once the blue patterns were gone and the room finally had a chance to show its real temperament, I wanted to give it something that matched what I sensed in it from the start. A connection to the landscape of Great Meadows itself.
That’s when the king-sized framing came into focus. It gave the room a center, a purpose, and a place for the story to settle. Within it, the vintage European countryside mural brought in exactly the kind of atmosphere the room had always hinted at:
cow-speckled fields, low rolling hills, and a gentle, steady calm that mirrors this township more than any paint color ever could. The fact that it was made here in New Jersey, by a small Etsy maker no less, only made the decision feel more rooted and personal.
The sconces, set into the framing, gave the room a well-deserved soft glow at night.
And when everything was installed, the room finally looked like the experience I had in it the first day: grounded, settled, and ready for someone to rest without distraction.
Petals on Onyx
The next room shifted the mood in an entirely different way. The moment I stepped into it, I could almost picture who once called it theirs. Something about the black floral wallpaper — the soft pinks, the little bursts of ivory — made it obvious a girl kept the room. It was nostalgic. Familiar. Almost sweet.
I paused for a moment in the doorway, letting the colors tell their story.
My instinctive “girls’ girl” switch flipped on and I knew immediately I wanted to honor that softness rather than erase it.
That recognition — that spark of who this room used to belong to — became the thread I carried into the rest of the design. I didn’t want to neutralize it or strip it of its personality. I wanted to give it a new version of Her.
Rosé Daydream
I knew exactly what I wanted for it: a space where any woman could walk in and immediately feel like she’d slipped into her own Elle Woods moment. The kind of room that lets you spiral, in the best way, into girl world.
The structure came first. Framing has always been one of my favorite design language. Steady, grounding, and confident. Building custom panels felt like the natural way to give this space its shape. Once the frames were up, the room finally had its backbone, something graceful for the eye to land on. Inside them, I lined each panel with Tempaper & Co.’s pastel flamingo print: blush-toned feathers, soft blues, and that playful, slightly whimsical pattern. It gave the room movement without tipping out of balance. The golden semi-flush light gave it just enough glow to make the flamingos feel alive. And of course, the entry step was redesigned into a rounded half-moon shape — a small but unmistakably soft-girl detail.
Stepping back when it was finished, the room felt exactly as I hoped: a Rosé Daydream.