One of the distinctive things about being a journalist is that people open their doors to you. It’s like being a locksmith or a plumber, but without all the cumbersome tools. An email, maybe a text, and, suddenly, you’re in someone’s home, drinking iced tea and exploring textures of their lives they may not let many people see. I once left a note and copy of San Diego Magazine on a historic home’s doorstep in Sunset Cliffs, and, a couple months later, I was in a Prohibition-era tunnel under their house. This phenomenon proves a very cool perk of the job.
Inevitably, people apologize when there is simply no need. They meant to do the dishes, the kids left a mess, the bed is crumpled, the laundry’s in a heap—basic signs of human life that, for some reason, need to be explained when someone comes over. Yes, our homes are a part of us, and we want them to be seen at their best. But, having done this work for more than two decades, I can tell you that looking lived-in is generally a sign of a home well-loved.
Whether I’m stepping into the priceless-art-filled estates of billionaires, rooms that sleep a dozen, or tents lovingly set up by unhoused neighbors, I’ve been fortunate to see what the essence of home means to different people. I’ve spent long hours in subjects’ residences across this country and all over this world, sitting quietly on a couch until I became part of the furniture—invisible. Until the people I was there to learn about could relax and be themselves. Then, I’ve learned, is when a home starts to speak.
This is intimate work, yet entering a person’s home often provides a close-up view of humanity as a whole. For example: I’ve found that no matter what conditions people are living in, they decorate. Maryam comes to mind. I met her after she spent more than a decade in solitary confinement in Louisiana. While she was in that bare room day after day, she occupied her mind and hands by making flowers from toilet paper. She crafted thousands of them, rubbing the ink off of wet magazine pages for color. It’s proof that, regardless of circumstance, everyone likes to surround themselves with beautiful things.
Our homes and the trappings we choose to decorate them tell many stories, which is why we’re excited to bring you this issue dedicated to architecture and design. From cave paintings to Michalengelo, design is a base function of our shared humanity, quietly influencing our daily lives in myriad ways. Even if one doesn’t identify as a lover of design, its impacts are steady. Maybe you gravitate to a favorite mug or towel or grocery bag, or perhaps you simply enjoy sitting on one side of the couch more than the other. This is design in action, and exploring it can be amusing and informative.
While working on this issue’s feature, I was again invited into a legendary home, balanced just-so above a La Jolla canyon. Full of myth and memories, this house is exemplary in both architecture and meaning, and, truthfully, the aspirational allure of going inside a beautiful house never gets old. On that note, we wander through another artsy, open-air remodel, learn about an influential trip to Europe that helped shape the look of Rancho Santa Fe, ponder what an intentionally planned downtown could mean for our city, and celebrate the best spaces in SD with our Home + Design Award winners.
For fun, we also head to Serra Mesa for a meal at a new kind of employee lounge, round up the best products for your backyard kitchen, and meet a man who keeps one of our local universities at the top of the beauty rankings. This is a lovingly crafted issue to save in your home to keep inspiration close. We hope you luxuriate in it. And, if you ever find a note on your doorstep from me, please roll out the welcome mat.
