Birchwood Interiors

01/19/2022

Thanks to my insta-friend , I’ve got the courage to post my own thoughts (albeit belated) on . It got me thinking about other things people do to help future generations. Like participating in medical clinical trials. It’s exciting and terrifying, but most of all, it’s selfless. Kind of like the guy who plants a few seeds in the ground, never to see it hold up a bike whose kickstand long rusted off, make the perfect hiding spot during an endless summer afternoon game of hide and seek, or, if it’s really lucky, provide the perfect canvas on which to carve a few initials inside a heart.

10/27/2021

Found this beauty and it sure wasn’t easy to walk away from her. But alas, I have neither am exposed brick wall or large enough vestibule for this baby to lean against. When stars align, early evening scavenger hunts sometimes lead me to discover unexpected treasures like this only to leave for another kindred spirit to stumble upon .

07/29/2021

It’s no secret that every room in my little house holds memories and stories from strangers who speak different languages and small towns and farms google maps and Waze have yet to discover. My garden is no exception, which is why she grows best in forgotten treasures carelessly tossed in junkyards, and alleys and yard sales alike. A vintage tea cart, army file cabinet, and 3-legged ornate knickknacks with patinas born from wind and sun and morning dew.

07/29/2021

It’s no secret that every room in my little home has treasures found from scouring yard sales, junkyards (ask my kids if you don’t believe me) and alleys. Which is why my garden tends to bloom in unexpected ways. A vintage tea cart, a discarded army file cabinet and metal cylinders with patinas born from natural elements, like wind, sun and morning dew. If you swipe right, you’ll see one very boring container that’s in need of a new place to call home.

07/06/2021

07/18/2019

Eenie, meenie, miny, mo. Only kidding.

07/07/2019

She stood aloof, holding court without speaking, undaunted by the sawdust, occasional spiders, and the heedless disregard of passerby’s. For she knew, deep down in her all-wood, dovetailed drawers, she’d be loved again. And dusted and freshly painted and updated with some unexpected geometric lucite hardware. I just made a certain client very, very happy indeed. 💋

05/23/2019

How dare anyone hide this beauty behind a wall, trapped inside conduits and tangled between wires and electrical tubing. Not me. With its graceful, unadorned bodice and classic proportions, this gem is more Greek architecture than hardware store. Which is why, should you ever drop by unannounced for dinner, you may find yourself face -to-face with this. @ West Ridge, Chicago

05/21/2019

These metal keys never tapped out that great American novel; perhaps because my weary feet never roamed the war torn streets of Paris during WWI, shuffling into nameless pubs that lurked beneath cobblestone alleys, as I threw back shots of bourbon that slid down too fast and too easy. But that doesn’t mean I won’t, one day. Nor does it mean I don’t want you to think I already have. Our tabletops, barcarts, nightstands, kitchen islands and more present us with infinite opportunities to tell our stories—-stories not bound by place or time, and, as in this Hemingway wannabe case, reality. What stories do your surfaces reveal? @ West Ridge, Chicago

05/13/2019

It was love at first sight. Until it wasn’t. But that’s how most stories begin and, how far too many end.
Which is why, driving home with this baby in my trunk, I silently embraced her chippy white paint imperfections for the long haul, and until I saw the likes of her in shopping mall windows and mainstream catalogues. Today, her story reflects the color of stones that rest just below the pond’s surface, aged and polished from endless laps of quiet sun-kissed water, and fleeting reflections of transparent-winged dragonflies, and her shelves, once bare, now playfully dressed in highly-curated sheets of paper. From Michaels. 😉 @ Chicago, Illinois

02/01/2019

With its smooth, cold finish, butter-soft to***co leather handles and hand-stitching, I’m torn between throwing my keys, wallet and sunglasses inside, or keeping it at the stable to house my riding crop and boots. With ne’er a horse to board, nor a handbag trend to set, this rugged objet d’art may just bluff its way into becoming the most sought after (waste)basket in Chicago.