Hollywood Hilltop

Empty-nesters' tri-level for masses remodeled as a toast to the chic '60s

Post / Lyn Alweis The chartreuse bouclé Pierre Paulin chair gives Sally Stich’s living room a Jetsons feel.

Can a typical 1960s tri-level - an architectural dullard with a long, narrow family room, a dark-paneled living/dining room dominated by an ugly slate fireplace, an uninspired kitchen, and main bathroom with an original peach-colored toilet and tub - rise above its cliched roots to become a suburban fantasy, the kind of house in which Rock Hudson and Doris Day might've sipped martinis and made witty banter?

That's what my husband and I - both children of the '60s - wondered when our youngest went off to college and we decided to update the house we'd bought 22 years earlier.

Inspired by vintage movie sets, we set out to create a custom interior in a house whose exterior screamed "California Modern - for the Masses!"

Our home is located in a subdivision that was built in 1964, in what was then the southern edge of developed Denver, still within city limits but with a very suburban feel. This area originally attracted young professionals on their way up the ladder, people who had enough money to buy in one of Denver's newest neighborhoods at the time but not enough money to build custom.

When we bought in 1980, the neighborhood had become rather pedestrian, and many of the original owners were finally moving into their "real" homes.

For me, the house always held promise as a "real" home, in spite of its trite exterior.

My goal was to pay homage to the High Modern design of the late '50s and '60s - mixing the taste and sophistication of a movie set with a dash of humor. I wanted to make the transition from exterior to interior a journey back to a hipper, more exuberant time. No museum exhibit here; this was about a feeling, not academic history. And I'd spent the past 22 years thinking, researching and refining the aesthetic sensibility that I hoped would define my house.

Few extensive remodels are done solo, and mine was no exception. I made a conscious decision to work with a young designer (Tobi Yum, Yum Designs) and a young furnituremaker (Tamas Kovacs, DG Studio), both of whom had little or no direct knowledge of the '60s. Why pick them over a boomer like me? Because I wanted their youthful energy and excitement about delving into a design period that predated them to fulfill my vision of the "set" in which my husband and I would live and entertain.

I pored over books like "Mid-Century Modern," by Cara Greenberg and tagged pictures of rooms I loved. I browsed every contemporary and modern furniture store in Denver for new pieces of furniture and lighting. After extensive research, I had an epiphany: If I wanted to capture a truly original '60s feel, I had to have my furniture and lighting custom made, based on great designs of that decade. I gave Tobi a list of things I wanted: a low-slung sideboard that could double as a buffet for the living room; clean, angular bedroom furniture that sat on thin brushed-metal legs; a multipaneled credenza and unusual bookshelves for the den. I also told her what pieces of furniture I was keeping - a very '60s Scandinavian teak dining room table, a Noguchi coffee table, an Eileen Grey side table, and a Memphis chair. Though the last three dated from eras other than the '60s, each worked within the parameters of classic modernism.

While most new furnishings were custom, I did order two Pierre Paulin Orange Slice Chairs (which look like flying saucers) and had them covered in chartreuse boucle, inspiring the selection of chartreuse and orange to accent a primarily black, white and gray interior.

 

Post / Lyn Alweis

Top:The sputnik -like light fixture in the hallway was found on a website. This is the original developer’s advertising material placed on the mosaic in the home’s entry. The neighborhood was built in 1964, and it attracted young professionals who had enough money to buy a new home but not enough money to build custom.

Good movie sets have good lighting, and I was on a mission to find the best for my personal set. An Internet search led to a company in Arizona that still makes sputnik chandeliers, one of my must-haves; I ordered one for my upstairs hall. In the book "Mid-Century Modern," I found a dining room light fixture - think George Jetson meets the 21st century 'burbs - that I had re-created at NeoSource. I ordered a sleek silver torchiere for our bedroom from the catalog Chiasso, and two silver double-cone sconces for the living room from a website for a furniture store in North Carolina. Finally, I picked up a Le Klint floor lamp at Scandianian Design, just because I loved it.

Because my overall goal was 90 percent "sophisticated '60s suburban" and 10 percent "kitsch" (the '60s were, after all, also known for some real bad taste), I accepted an offer from a Realtor friend to take what I wanted from a custom-built 1961 house in Hilltop that was slated for demolition. A fabulous set of etched -glass shower doors with flamingos and palm trees were too irresistible to pass up. And they made a perfect complement to the amoeba-shaped mirror over the double sinks in my newly painted turquoise and silver bathroom.

(The peach toilet and bathtub stayed!) The transformation to this '60s suburban fantasy took a year. I also recarpeted the entire house in an updated gray sculptured carpeting, did a tiny bit of construction, repainted everything, had new sleek hand railings made to replace the original black wrought-iron ones and ordered a custom-made one-armed sofa. And one year later, I am still delighted every day.

All vestiges of the dreary walnut paneling are now a cool shade of off-white. The long narrow family room has two focal points, which makes it feel less like a bowling alley and more like a comfortable gathering spot. The addition of orange, chartreuse and turquoise gives the house energy. And the low-slung, clean-lined furniture creates a sense of calm.

When the project was furnished, I had a friend over, one with whom I had never discussed my design philosophy. I gave her the grand tour. As we settled down in the living room - she in a chartreuse chair, I draped dramatically on the one-armed sofa - she looked around and said, "This is just like being in a Rock Hudson-Doris Day movie!"

Sweet words indeed.