A restored church, a room built to make people look up, and a group of designers ready to make a mark.
Charleston in January is the version almost nobody photographs. The crowds are gone, the light is low and grey and comes in sideways, and the Lowcountry is stripped back to its materials — oyster shell, tabby, salt marsh, bare live oak.
The room is a restored church on Highway 17, built to do one thing: make people look up. Height, sacred geometry, light through glass. It gives us volume and it refuses to be casual.
The first residency of the season, in the first month of the year, in a building made to catch the first light of the day.
A restored church, a room built to make people look up, and a group of designers ready to make a mark.
Charleston in January is the version almost nobody photographs. The crowds are gone, the light is low and grey and comes in sideways, and the Lowcountry is stripped back to its materials — oyster shell, tabby, salt marsh, bare live oak.
The room is a restored church on Highway 17, built to do one thing: make people look up. Height, sacred geometry, light through glass. It gives us volume and it refuses to be casual.
The first residency of the season, in the first month of the year, in a building made to catch the first light of the day.