A Los Angeles couple purchased a 1928 Spanish Colonial Revival house in Hancock Park over FaceTime, then spent years settling it into its next life. They enlisted designer Barry Fox and architect Sonny Ward of June Street Architecture to thread a modern interior program through a protected shell originally drawn by James Dolena—who also designed the Walt Disney Estate.
The project reads less like a renovation than a long negotiation between past and present. The owners, a former beauty executive and a film and television producer who split their time between New York and Los Angeles with two school-age children, prefer the word "stewards" to "buyers." That framing shapes every decision.
A futuristic envelope for a 1920s shell
The owners describe their approach as "more historicist in ideology than practice." In practice, they kept the protected facade, courtyard, and deep circular pool intact, then installed a Calacatta marble and reflective brass kitchen—sleek, laboratory-like, slightly jarring on first look—into the rooms that 1920s families would have treated as the most up-to-date in the house. "What would a family in the 1920s have wanted? They would've wanted something that was ultramodern," the wife says.
Designer Barry Fox built interiors as distinct vocabularies. In the sunset-hued living room, a tan-leather Mario Bellini sofa sits near 18th-century pier tables under a Day-Glo canvas by Peter Halley. The dining room pairs a 1970s Milo Baughman table with chairs from Queen Victoria's personal collection, sourced at Christie's. The primary bedroom anchors on a George Nakashima headboard flanked by vellum side tables referencing Jean-Michel Frank, with an 18th-century Régence fauteuil from the husband's childhood Fifth Avenue home beneath a work by SoiL Thornton.
Fox calls the result "counter-trend in a positive way." The wife admits the mix defies easy explanation. They also rejected the California default of beige upholstery, arguing that clear room hierarchies and intentional design actually invite people to settle in rather than float through.
Ward led structural work that quietly expanded livable square footage underground for a three-tier screening room without touching the silhouette. "We didn't see it as our right to dramatically alter the home," the wife says. The most personal touch sits in a downstairs powder room: a custom bronze faucet designed and cast over two years by P.E. Guerin, an exact likeness of the family's cat, Buns.
Who should care
| Buyer profile | Why this project matters |
|---|---|
| Stewards and preservationists | Demonstrates that rigor and comfort aren't opposites—and that "stewardship" can be a lived philosophy, not a marketing line |
| Speculators and flippers | Carrying costs, multi-year timelines, and niche design choices mean this model doesn't pencil quickly; patience is the real variable |
| Design professionals | Shows clients how to thread ultramodern interiors through historic shells without apologizing for the collision |
What the project actually costs
Restoration at this scale rarely prints money early. Structural work on protected facades often inflates both engineering fees and timelines because additions must go underground rather than out. Soft costs—architecture, permitting, interior curation—run far longer than standard renovations. The husband, a lifelong collector, pushed for livability alongside refinement. That balance is where most projects either succeed or become beautiful tombs.
What to watch
The word "stewardship" is trending in luxury real estate. When mid-market architects and designers start selling it as a service line rather than a philosophy, the term gets diluted. The practical test: can the next owner tell, from the room set, what the house wanted to be? If yes, the work holds. If no, it has been styled into obsolescence.
Key takeaways
- A documented architect pedigree and restoration carries real resale weight, especially with collector buyers.
- Protected facades push value creation to interiors, curation, and underground amenities rather than expansion.
- Clear room hierarchies and intentional design choices invite habitation in ways that blank-canvas openness does not.
- Original fixtures (like the custom bronze cat faucet) signal authentic commitment—and become the story a house tells about itself.
Frequently asked questions
Who designed the original 1928 Hancock Park home featured in the profile?
James Dolena, the same architect associated with the Walt Disney Estate, designed the Spanish Colonial Revival residence.
What additions did the renovation make to the protected structure?
Architect Sonny Ward's structural work added a subterranean three-tier screening room and quietly expanded living spaces while leaving the protected facade, courtyard, and deep circular pool largely untouched.
Why did the owners describe their approach as "historicist in ideology"?
Because they preserved the exterior and historical envelope while installing a sleek, modern kitchen and curated interiors that feel deliberately at odds with the 1920s shell, treating the rooms the way a 1920s family would have wanted them: ultramodern.
How does the project balance preservation with modern livability?
The owners rejected California softness in favor of clear room hierarchies and intentional design choices, arguing that structure invites people to settle in rather than float through.
What detail best captures the couple's philosophy toward the house?
The powder room's custom bronze cat faucet, cast over two years by P.E. Guerin to resemble the family's cat, Buns—obsessive, personal, and utterly impractical except as a statement that this house is now theirs.