Ahead of the Curve — or Determining It?

This past month, a client of mine — whose recently renovated kitchen features a peninsula in lieu of the classic, beloved island — forwarded me an article from a design publication. The gist? Designers are ditching the island in favour of the peninsula. Turns out, I'm apparently “ahead of the curve”.

Which is funny to me, because I wasn't chasing a trend. I was chasing the space.

(And for the record — I'm not saying islands don't have a place anymore. I stand by islands when they're right. I even have photographic – albeit a little self-deprecating – evidence of me sprawled across one from our recent shoot on our Instagram page to prove it. It's just that... there are options.)

Here's the thing. The article touched on some of the ways I approach every project the way I do: with fresh eyes, letting the space tell me what it wants. I know that sounds a little woo-woo. But, stay with me.

I recently forwarded a note from a celebrity to my daughter, who's heading into grade 11 and feeling the very real pressure of "what do you want to do with your life?" The options feel endless at that age — overwhelming, actually. And the advice this person gave was so disarmingly simple that it cut straight through the fog:

Chase your talents. Not your dreams.

Everyone has dreams. I might dream of being an acrobat. But if I can't do a backbend, that dream goes nowhere. It's the talent — the thing that comes naturally, the thing you're already good at — that leads you somewhere real.

I promised I'd bring this full circle. Here we go.

When I walk into a space that's being renovated or built, I'm reading it. The layout creates a natural flow. It determines how people are going to move, where their eyes land, how they use every surface and storage unit and seat. In a couple of my projects — past and upcoming — an island would have taken up too much real estate. It would have made the space feel crowded, and crowded spaces make people feel like something's wrong without being able to say why. That's not woo-woo; that's neuroaesthetics.

The space told me it wanted a peninsula. So that's what it got.

rendering of the new kitchen peninsula layout for our client complete with hidden doors that lead to extra storage and a laundry space beyond

Now contrast that with how most renovation planning actually goes (and probably what you’re a little guilty of..): endless scrolling on Pinterest and Instagram, saving everything beautiful to your Dream House board, and unknowingly creating a paradox of choice that will haunt you the moment decisions need to actually be made.

My mom defends every questionable aesthetic decision she and my dad made in the 80s and 90s with: "There was only this or that." Meaning — not much choice. And you know what? She's right. And when choices are limited, regret is unlikely. When choices are infinite? Analysis paralysis is almost guaranteed, and you stop trusting your own instincts entirely.

We live in a hyper-connected world where you can see inside the homes of people across the globe. Endless tile, floor, cabinet, countertop, grout, lighting, hardware options — all of it available, all of it beautiful, and almost none of it telling you what your space actually needs.

I've always loved art. I've always been good at it. And I've always loved taking something from what it is to what it could be — from a blank canvas (or an absolute mess of one) to something that makes people stop to appreciate it.

Chasing my talent led me to my dream — in the same way that properly solving the layout puzzle of a space leads to a home that doesn't just look good, but actually feels good. There's science behind that feeling. It's not accidental.

So if you're standing at the edge of a renovation or a build, overwhelmed by the options and second-guessing every choice you haven't even made yet — borrow my confidence. That's literally what I'm here for.

Let's hold hands and jump, shall we?

XO, 

Cynthia 

Ready to stop scrolling and start seeing what your space could actually become? Let's talk.