15th Arrondissement, Paris

Down and out in Paris, I needed a challenge, a labor-intensive catharsis. So I found an apartment in the 15th Arrondissment that was as unremarkable as the neighborhood around it. The walls blistered and the oak-wood floor needed refinishing. The sewage line that ran vertically down the five-story building was patched precariously with Spackle paste. There was no storage space save for some rotting kitchen cabinets deep enough to announce themselves with concussive effect to the uninitiated.

In other words, it was perfect.

I immediately went to work. At Castorama, France's answer to The Home Depot and living proof that efficient, friendly service and Parisian retail can happily coexist, I filled out my bill of materials: a power router, circular saw, drill, and jigsaw, in addition to a host of hand tools and ancillary items such as wood screws, carpenter's glue, paint and sand paper. My lumber of choice was "Lamelle Pin Rustic," a sheet of 3/4" finger-joined pine that was made in Brazil and riddled with knots and gashes. It sold for the equivalent of $18 per 2' x 8' sheet (though having it delivered in volume effectively tripled the per-unit price). I referred to it with affection as the potted meat of lumber.

At 61 meters square, the flat was roomy by Parisian standards and begged for a proper renovation. But as a locataire, - a tenant - my work was limited to cabinets, bookshelves, a bathroom vanity and an armoire for my bedroom.  Even that took me a year to complete, however, and the process was punctuated by vertiginous highs and lows. At one point I found myself sharing space with two washing machines in the bathroom - a damaged model and its replacement - and two stoves in the kitchen - one gas and the other electric - as if I was running a clearing house for pilfered white goods. I learned that "sandpaper" in French is not the intuitive "papier de sable" but the more elliptical, and therefore more authentically French, papier de verre - "glass paper." Unable to cope with the epidermal layer of dust that my ambitions had released I gave in to pathology. One night, a dust-ball the size of a hedgehog rattled me awake and, with a deck of playing cards in one hand and a smoldering Gitane in the other, insisted on a round of canasta. It was only a dream. Or was it?

Recently, with most of the heavy lifting behind me, I spent a morning romancing the open stalls of the Porte de Vanves flea market. It was a consummation of sorts, the denouement of an affair of mutual pleasure for both parties, or so I dare to presume. I ended the day with a reading chair, an end table, a mirror and a set of candle-stick holders for the table where Atticus and I recount our adventures of the day over dinner.

I've put my tools away. The madness is over.

At least for now.

Clockwise from left: The redoubtable, if featherweight, work bench; absent a table saw each cut was set up by hand with a fence and circular saw; the sum total of the apartment's storage space.

Dining room, salon, office ... chantier

As Atticus and I have our own chambers the dining room assumes multiple duties as eatery, home office, lounge and, until recently,  a chantier or work-site. It was here were I would cut panels, dado and rabbet joints, drill screws and the pilot holes that preceded them, plane, glue, sand, paint and, when things went pear-shaped, swore floridly and in great volume. For that reason I confined my labor to work hours, when the building was more or less vacant.

The first task was to build a work bench, which I fashioned from an old bed frame. It would serve as the backbone of the renovation though it was so light I had to coil my ankle around its fore leg lest it slide about under the weight of the rip cuts. This ungainly tango was complicated by the routine accumulation of sawdust on the floor. (It acquitted itself better as our dining table, setting aside of course the nefarious similarity between sawdust and grated Parmesan.)

To accommodate my 500 or so books I built shelves in two of the flat's three fire-places, a prudent use of space unless you're partial to smoking your own meat, so poorly do the damn things draw. The main book case in the dining room measures a miserly seven inches deep for the sake of space economy in a room of only 13 square meters and includes a drawer for stationary items, a hanging file and a large shelve for folio volumes.

I chose to display my antique radios and ceramics on the wall, a device borrowed from one of my favorite saloons - The Radio Bar in Tokyo - as well as a space-rationing gesture. However inspired, the decision set up a white-knuckled battle of wills with the apartment's lath and plaster walls. Though not unfamiliar with the ancient craft of plasterwork I have always preferred the simpler and lower-maintenance drywall-on-stud system common in the the United States. Not unlike its odd species of health care, however, America's embrace of sheet-rock makes it a global outlier.* Eventually I learned to respect the cheville, the plastic sleeve that fits into a freshly drilled hole for the purpose of screw-mounting everything from a picture frame to a kitchen cabinet. (Though not before I managed to drill clean through a non-bearing wall - twice. In case you're wondering, the French version of Spackle paste is Rebouchage.) That said, I still flinch each time I introduce so much as a tea-bag to my kitchen shelves.

* To be fair, drywall is increasingly common on French build-sites - proof that the France can be as much about results as they are about process.

Rogue's Galley

I made the galley kitchen a "no-melamine" zone by replacing its rotting cabinets with custom-built pine-wood shelves; I had to unleash chaos in order to kill it.

If the kitchen is indeed the heart of every French home mine was in need of a bypass. Below the otherwise charming farmhouse sink was a nest of corroded arteries and valves. The hot water routinely gave out before I could finish washing the dishes after dinner and the faucet's hot-water knob consistently came off in my hand. Though the kitchen was equipped with gas pipes and a meter the French energy utility refused to open a gas account for me because, I was told, my building had gone 100% electric a decade ago. "Bad luck," I moaned to my neighbor, resigning myself to the agony of an electric stove. "Bureaucratic lassitude," she countered, informing me that recent tenants have both gas and electricity at their disposal. "Nothing happens in France for a reason."

On the plus side, a floor-to-ceiling window ensured ample natural light throughout the day and additional space could be easily had with the help of suitably sized cabinets. So I designed and built shelving ten inches deep - enough to accommodate a three-piece Corningware bake set - and hung my pots and pans and other utensils over the stove and base cabinet. The shelves are sustained by pins reclaimed from a demolished barn in California.

The base cabinet was a mélange of scrap lumber from previous jobs, new and reclaimed drawer glides, metal baskets from Castorama and a discarded counter-top that I thoroughly sanded and water-proofed. Notwithstanding the electric stove and unruly hot-water knob, the kitchen is now worthy of a genuine Parisian cuisine. I've even taken to storing my eggs at room tempurature.

A room with a loo ...

I never understood the point of pedestal sinks. Even guest bathrooms or half-baths deserve a proper vanity cabinet with a respectable counter-top and at least a single shelf below to accommodate extra towels, toilet paper and hygienic products. So when my own pedestal sink seized up I unilaterally declared it dead and replaced it with a simple, open-bench cabinet of my own design and construction. I was lucky enough to find an abandoned but vividly grained wood pallet to serve as the counter-top which I duly water proofed.

Upon inspection of the discarded Ikea kitchen cabinets I decided to lift my melamine embargo out of respect for the planet. So I cut them down, routed them new joints and glued and screwed them back together. The result was a serviceable wall of shelving that can be easily dressed up as skirted cabinets. 

Before I could hang up my tools there was the matter of the workbench to settle. As noted, it was not without its liabilities. In addition to being too light I was constantly stumbling over its interminable A-frame legs. On the other hand it had endured my own snafus without complaint, such as the time I incorrectly lined up a rip-cut and nearly sliced it in two. So I cleaned up its pine top and installed it on a trestle frame I built as the new dining table. Its gashes, stray drops of paint and screw holes that secured hundreds of fence lines now bear witness to an ardent, if occasionally addled creative process. They also seem to be keeping the dust-bunnies at bay.

Fallbrook, California

Though not without dilapidated charm, this Reagan-era structure was a repository for every manner of industrial repellent to say nothing of a high-density warren for myriad creatures both living and expired. But the studs were solid, if a little bowed, and the window bays allowed for generous natural light and a pleasant, late afternoon breeze.

We installed a sub-floor and replaced the exit door with a third window scavenged from a barn marked for demolition. Hanging drywall was a challenge given those warped studs but I managed with the expert advice of my 90-year-old father, who like Dorian Gray minus the opium dens seems to grow younger while the rest of us age at exponential rates.

Use what you have. I salvaged the shelves, cut them down, doused them in ammonia, sanded and antiqued them and now they accommodate handsomely my tools and jigs. The baseboard was crafted from redwood shiplap recovered from the door-frames of a demolished garage. (Just don't look too closely. There's not a right angle in the joint.)

The floor-boards and window sills were cut from 1" x 6" panels of Douglas Fir - priced to move at $4.50 a strip.

Finally, we replaced the lower-half of the Dutch entry door with one made from new lumber but we kept the original knob as a gesture to the past. (Plus the fact that none of the surplus knobs we keep in the barn properly fit.)

Georgetown. Washington, D.C.

From 2005 to 2008 I led the renovation and expansion of a Washington, DC home that effectively doubled its original surface area of 1,200 square feet. The project was carried out by a small team of subcontractors consistent with my design specifications and most of the finish carpentry work was my own. The back of the home was extended to create additional space in the basement, a large living room on the ground level and an office on the second floor. The original living room was converted into a library and basement was transformed into a spacious guest room. A sun room was later added to the extended first floor and the front and back yards were landscaped into drought gardens

Since the renovation was completed, the market value of the home has been appraised by the DC municipality at more than 50 percent its 2003 purchase price.

Converting the living room into a library. Facing the street and absent a foyer, the original salon did little to inspire visitors but works well as a library. Custom-built, floor-to-ceiling shelves create the illusion of recessed bookcases with the help of a two-tone finish that accents their depth. 

The bookshelves were fitted with halogen lighting, as were the nooks for wall art, and a pendant lamp was hung from the ceiling. Independent dimmer switches illuminate the room with distinct pools of light.

Creating new space from scratch. The extension to the house allowed for a comfortable, sunlit living room on the ground floor and a large office space on the top level complete with credenza. The galley kitchen was renovated along with the adjacent dining area. Recessed ceiling lights were installed along with flush-mounted stereo speakers, part of a sound system controlled from the library. A liquor cabinet and additional kitchen shelf space, designed and built by myself, were installed.

A half-finished basement was completely overhauled to accommodate several guests at once. I custom-built new storage space and a wine nook and refinished existing shelving. Wood flooring was laid and recessed lighting was added.

To maximize space in both the master and guest bathrooms, I designed and built freestanding vanities and medicine cabinets that maximize storage area and highlight depth.

A sun room was added to the extended living room and quickly became the most popular space in the home. A surface deck was added in the backyard, which was landscaped with a drought and labor-efficient hardscape design.