View Gallery
Built in 1885, the seven-bedroom, six-bathroom Queen Anne spread sits on a finger of land that wriggles into where the Connecticut River and Long Island Sound splash together— a Winslow Homer watercolor of salt marshes and shifting tides, gurgling whirlpools and squawking seabirds, sunsets that seem to last forever. And that’s where the drama stops. Inside, there are no decorative fireworks, no mic drops. Designer Pamela Christensen has no interest in competing with nature’s show. And she has the cool confidence to let the rambling Victorian be exactly what it wants to be.
A lantern by Kevin Rilley from Holly Hunt hangs over a seating area in the stair landing, where a pair of vintage wing chairs—reupholstered in an indoor-outdoor linen—flank a lacquered table from Mecox Gardens.
Francesco Lagnese
An antique Swedish Empire console grounds the foyer, topped with a sculpture by McKenzie Dove and a vintage French mobile that shifts gently in the air, while a work by Isobel Church hangs above.
Francesco LagneseShe knows well what that is: Thirteen years ago, when the then-New York–based Christensen and her husband, Bill, bought the house from her cousins, she’d already had a lifetime of familiarity to go on. Her grandparents had long been part of the Fenwick community: Her uncle purchased the property in 1949; her mother bought nearby in the early 1970s, and childhood summers unfolded here in long, familiar stretches. “I never really left,” she says. What Christensen acquired wasn’t just a house, but also something shaped as much by memory as by architecture. Which is precisely why she resisted the urge to remake it. “One of the great things they did,” she says of the cousins who stewarded it, “was that they didn’t do a whole lot. Some houses get so renovated you don’t know if they are old or new. There’s no soul left.”
The kitchen’s glass-fronted cabinets keep everything in plain sight—a practical gesture that means guests who cook can find what they need without asking, and a subtle cue that this is a room meant to be used. A Belgian zinc-and-iron table from Bobo Intriguing Objects replaces the traditional island, while a woven-rattan pendant from Etsy and Belgian linen window shades soften the light. The Viking range is tucked into the original brick fireplace, anchoring the room to its past, while a mix of vintage Cleo Baldon garden chairs and Gerrit Rietveld Zig-Zag chairs upend expectations.
Francesco Lagnese
A small, deliberate departure from the house’s pale palette, the bar is lacquered in a deep, inky blue from Fine Paints of Europe. The countertop is cast-concrete and the horn-and-bronze hardware is from Ochre.
Francesco Lagnese
Shallow, open shelves in the kitchen hold antique ironstone, French glassware, Mexican tumblers, and Baccarat stemware, all lined up and ready for use.
Francesco LagneseChristensen tackled the invisible work—adding a foundation, rewiring, modernizing plumbing—while leaving the house’s essential character intact. Groaning floors she was urged to replace stayed put. “They’re a little slopy,” she says. “But I love them—the knots, the craziness, the patina.” Bleached and clear-coated, they now catch the light rather than absorb it, quietly anchoring the rooms without ever calling attention to themselves. “They’re understated and simple,” she says, articulating the ethos that governed everything that followed. Her mantra: “Don’t overdecorate.”
In the dining room, a 19th-century English table and sideboard—family pieces, more formal than Christensen might have chosen on her own—are softened by linen-slipcovered chairs and a plaster RH chandelier in a palette of whites that lets the room breathe. Art by Paule Marrot.
Francesco Lagnese
In nice weather, meals migrate to the screened teahouse, where a long, custom table—built by Christensen’s brother-in-law to seat a crowd—looks out to the Sound beyond. She found the vintage wrought-iron chairs at Brimfield and furnished them with custom round cushions.
Francesco LagneseNeutral to her bones—camels, ivories, soft grays, the occasional smoky green—Christensen builds texture where another designer might reach for color. “What comes forward then are shapes,” she explains. In the living room, that might mean the curve of a contemporary wicker chair against the linearity of the planked walls, or the plush geometry of a stacked, Turkish-style ottoman of the kind that Billy Baldwin made famous—tailored, yes, but also louche, something to sit on or pull closer without ceremony. “They’re chic,” she says. “And also really comfortable. I want to be able to go in and sit there in a bathing suit and T-shirt as much as I do in a gown with guests in ties and jackets.”
A canopy in Schumacher’s Jumi Stonewashed Linen, fabricated by Eileen & Taylor, turns the guest bed into a soft enclosure. A 19th-century mahogany secretary holds a collection of curiosities.
Francesco LagneseObjects are chosen for how they live, not just how they read. “I don’t like perfection,” Christensen says. What she gravitates toward instead are things that carry their history with joy: African baskets stitched together where they were torn, urns worn at the edges, a French secretary with cracked glass that catches the light just so. In the foyer, an 18th-century Swedish console—encrusted with centuries of leafing and paint, its repairs visible—holds a faceted plaster sculpture by McKenzie Dove and a French mobile that spins when a breeze drifts through the front door. Above it, a luminous work by Isobel Church depicts the barometric whorls of a hurricane.
An Avery Boardman tuxedo sofa that has traveled with Christensen for 30 years anchors the primary bedroom’s sitting area; the Chinese elmwood cocktail table holds a small constellation of objects—ceramic vessels, rock crystal, a blanc de chine figure. Another Billy Baldwin–style ottoman fabricated by Eileen & Taylor offers an extra perch. The Dennis & Leen sconces add glimmer.
Francesco Lagnese
In the primary bedroom, a wicker chair that once sat in Christensen’s mother’s nearby cottage catches the breeze from the French doors. The table is another Brimfield find transformed with a coat of white paint.
Francesco Lagnese
Charcoal studies by Ellen Patterson, a local artist and friend, hang above a 19th-century French fauteuil from The Antique and Artisan Gallery upholstered in a C & C Milano linen.
Francesco Lagnese
Christensen declined to replace a broken pane of glass in a 19th-century French cabinet from The Antique and Artisan Gallery because she likes the marks of patina; midcentury French landscapes hang beside it.
Francesco LagneseWicker is a through line and a philosophy: Inherited Bar Harbor pieces and midcentury finds are parceled throughout in original finishes, histories intact. “They should creak when you sit in them,” Christensen says. The mahogany dining table and sideboard came from her husband’s family–they’re heirlooms she might not have chosen but have been absorbed into the mix, set against slipcovered chairs and pale environs so they feel less formal, more unbuttoned. “Constraints help creativity,” she adds.
The front porch gathers vintage Maine wicker, weathered Adirondack chairs, a lacquered linen coffee table from Mecox Gardens, and a slate-topped version from Terrain into an easy, all-day arrangement.
Francesco LagneseWhat it’s all yielded is a place that can accommodate both solitude and swarm. Come summer, “we’re either two of us or 12,” she says of life here. The kitchen is open, legible, designed so that anyone can find their way through it; porches extend outward into salt air and the garden’s scent of roses and sage. A sister lives next door; nieces, cousins, and old friends circulate through a season that stretches well beyond September, the Sound holding warmth deep into the fall. It’s a house less for looking at than for moving through, its pleasures cumulative, its roots deep and unbothered. “It’s not fancy,” Christensen says. It doesn’t need to be.
The rambling, 1885 Queen Anne house has been reclad in cedar shingles with dark gray trim.
Francesco LagneseMy mantra: “Don't overdecorate.”
Pamela Christenson
Landscape architect Rick Worcester designed the parterre garden, its four precise beds edged in English boxwood. The garden is planted for a long season of bloom—Russian sage, daisies, roses, and delphiniums give way to hydrangeas that shift from white to pink before fading out in fall.
Francesco LagneseSee More of Christensen’s Home
-
Christensen painted the vintage tole lamp from The Antique and Artisan Gallery in nearby Stamford and topped it with a linen shade. Indigo textile art by Pat Smith punctuates the high-gloss shiplap walls.
Francesco Lagnese -
A guest bedroom, its original 1885 fir shiplap still intact, is warmed with Matouk bedding, monogrammed linens from Peacock Alley, and a bolster in a Brunschwig & Fils print.
Francesco Lagnese -
The upstairs landing is lined with built-in bookshelves and leads to a second-story porch where you can relax and enjoy a good book with views of the Long Island Sound and cool sea breezes.
Francesco Lagnese -
The light over the marshes where the Connecticut River and Long Island Sound meet is magical.
Francesco Lagnese
THIS ARTICLE ORIGINALLY APPEARED IN VOLUME 21 OF FREDERIC MAGAZINE. CLICK HERE TO SUBSCRIBE!
