# Finding the Right Restoration Design Centre: What I’ve Learned from Fixing Old Spaces
You know what’s weird? I never thought I’d become the person my friends call when they can’t figure out why their “perfectly” renovated space feels somehow… off. But here we are.
Last month, my neighbor Sarah showed me photos of her contractor’s latest project – this gorgeous 1920s craftsman restoration in the Pearl District. On Instagram, it looked absolutely stunning. Original hardwood floors refinished to perfection, crown molding that would make a museum curator weep with joy, and a kitchen that somehow managed to blend period details with modern functionality. But when Sarah went to see it in person, something felt wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but despite being technically flawless, the whole place felt kind of… dead.
This happens way more than you’d think, honestly. I’ve been obsessed with restoration projects ever since I started following this blog about historic Portland homes, and I keep seeing this same issue pop up. Teams nail every single historical detail but completely miss the bigger question of how these spaces actually work for real humans living real lives. That’s where finding the right restoration design centre becomes crucial – and I mean one that gets that restoration isn’t just about preserving the past, but about making old buildings actually livable for people today.
When I first got into this stuff about three years ago (thanks, pandemic hobby rabbit holes), I quickly noticed there’s this bizarre disconnect in restoration work. You’ve got the purists who insist everything should be exactly like it was in 1923, never mind that people in 1923 would’ve sold their souls for decent heating systems. Then you’ve got the flip-and-gut crowd who rip out anything historical in favor of that generic open-concept look you see everywhere. Neither approach really serves the people who’ll actually be living in these spaces, you know?
The best restoration centres I’ve read about seem to understand this balance. There was this article I came across about a team called Heritage Craft Solutions up in Asheville – they specialize in old Appalachian log structures, but they’re not afraid to add modern elements that actually complement traditional building methods. The article described how they restored this 19th-century cabin where they kept all the original chinking patterns but added these strategic clerestory windows that completely transformed the interior lighting. The owners went from basically using it as expensive storage to spending entire summers there.
What makes restoration so tricky from a biophilic perspective – and this is something I learned from way too many YouTube videos – is that most historic buildings were designed when people had completely different relationships with indoor and outdoor spaces. Like, Victorian homes were all about privacy and protecting yourself from the elements, not about natural light and air flow. Colonial houses were built when heating efficiency was literally a matter of survival. You can’t just stick some plants in these spaces and call it nature-connected design – you need to actually understand both the historical context and what humans psychologically need from their environments.
I remember reading about this Federal-style townhouse restoration in Philadelphia where the original builders had installed these tiny, super high windows that barely let in any light. A period-accurate restoration would’ve kept them exactly as they were, but the family living there – two working parents with three kids – desperately needed spaces that felt connected to the outdoors. The restoration specialist they worked with figured out how to lower the window sills by just eight inches while keeping all the original proportions and hardware. Sounds like such a minor change, but apparently the psychological impact was huge. Suddenly you could actually see their courtyard maple tree instead of just a sliver of sky.
The furniture side gets even more complicated, from what I’ve observed. I’ve seen people on restoration forums talking about spending thousands to have antique pieces professionally refinished, only to realize they hate actually using them daily. There was this thread about a Duncan Phyfe table – technically museum-quality after restoration, but the height was all wrong for modern dining chairs, and the finish was so delicate the owners got anxious every time their kids walked past it. Sometimes the most respectful restoration approach is just admitting that certain pieces work better for display than actual use.
But I’ve also seen people completely destroy genuinely valuable pieces through misguided “updating.” My sister inherited our grandmother’s mahogany bedroom set and wanted to paint it white to match her Pinterest-inspired aesthetic. When I showed her some articles about how that particular figured grain was actually pretty rare and valuable, we found a compromise. She kept the original finish but changed the lighting and bedding to complement the warmer wood tones. The whole room ended up feeling way more cohesive than her original all-white vision would have.
From all the research I’ve done – and trust me, I’ve fallen down some deep rabbit holes on this topic – here’s what I’ve learned about finding good restoration services. The best ones ask tons of questions about how you actually live your life. They want to know your daily routines, whether you’re sensitive to light or sound, if you have pets or small children running around. Generic restoration that just follows period style guides without considering the actual humans living there usually creates these beautiful but completely unlivable spaces.
I always tell people to look for restoration centres that can show you multiple approaches to similar projects. There was this documentary I watched about a place called Timeless Interiors in Charleston, and they showed three totally different ways they’d handled kitchen updates in 1830s homes. One was museum-faithful, one blended different periods thoughtfully, and one prioritized modern functionality while still respecting the architectural bones. Having those options means they’re thinking beyond just “what would have been here originally,” which seems crucial.
The cost factor is definitely real though. Quality restoration work isn’t cheap, and adding biophilic elements can bump budgets up significantly. But I’ve seen too many people try to cut corners by using modern replicas instead of restored originals, or just completely skipping environmental considerations. It’s false economy, really – you end up with spaces that neither honor the building’s history nor actually serve your needs.
One thing that’s apparently changed a lot in recent years is the availability of traditional materials and techniques. Climate concerns have pushed more craftspeople to revive old methods that were actually way more sustainable – lime mortars, natural pigments, locally sourced timber. I read about this restoration centre in Vermont that sources all their wood exclusively from trees that had to be removed for ecological reasons anyway, then air-dries everything using traditional methods. Takes way longer, costs more upfront, but the resulting work has this character you just can’t fake with modern shortcuts.
The water feature thing is interesting too. I’ve been experimenting with small fountains in my own apartment – got a little tabletop one from a thrift store for twelve bucks – and the difference in how the space feels is honestly pretty dramatic. There was this case study I read where they added a small water feature near the entrance of a restored craftsman and introduced plant varieties that actually would’ve been available during the home’s original era. Apparently it completely transformed how the space felt – went from sterile and lifeless to warm and welcoming.
If you’re thinking about a restoration project, my advice based on everything I’ve researched is to find professionals who see themselves as collaborators rather than just authorities following historical rules. The best restoration stories I’ve come across happened when homeowners, contractors, and designers actually worked together to solve problems instead of just executing some predetermined historical plan.
I’m definitely not qualified to do any of this work myself – I can barely keep my houseplants alive, let alone restore period furniture. But I’ve gotten pretty obsessed with the theory behind it all, and I love seeing examples of restorations that manage to honor the past while actually serving present needs. Done right, restoration creates spaces that feel both historically grounded and genuinely alive, which honestly seems like what all good design should accomplish.
The goal isn’t to create some kind of historical theme park where you’re afraid to touch anything. It’s about finding that sweet spot where old buildings get to be beautiful and functional and connected to nature all at the same time. And from what I’ve seen, that usually requires finding restoration professionals who understand that preserving history means making it livable for real people, not just creating museum displays.
Jasmine lives in a tiny Chicago studio with one stubborn window and a lot of plants. She writes about creative, low-budget ways to make small urban apartments feel more alive — from DIY grow-light hacks to rooftop gardens and shared green spaces.
