We are the lovely interiors we seek—the condition of our hearts, the quiet of our minds, the color of our souls—Janene Kraft, Designer|Writer|Artist|Muse
Transforming the spaces that surround us, and the ones within—
Sanctuary Living is the real you expressed…the authentic, one-of-a-kind YOU that rejects sameness and cookie cutter to live an all-in expression of the life you long for.
If you love a European aesthetic— collected, curated, bespoke, vintage, flea market finds, juxtaposition of new and old, French and Scandinavian influences, plus unexpected pairings of color, texture, and light, then we just might be made for each other.
Complete conceptual design integrating interior and exterior spaces:
Architectural collaboration
Family consultations to consider space use
Renovation management
Materials, furnishings/accessories sourcing
Installation down to the finest detail
As featured in Better Homes and Gardens Magazine and Dream Homes Across America
Welcome to the latest entries in the Journal—
A deep dive into the interiors within us.
More than once I’ve checked my luggage, boarded the aircraft and nestled into my seat only to bolt through the open cockpit door and onto the jetway before realizing all the implications of what I had done.
When we pray into another’s situation, the forcefield of stagnancy is pierced. And through the hole created, a life-renewing energy moves in. This energy begins to devour the unhealthiness; first there is this subtle, curious difference, then an otherworldly lightheartedness is felt.
I think I stopped wanting something. At least something big. Maybe even something as necessary as breath.
Getting to know ourselves better is an extraordinary mission. The knowledge we seek is so often already within us. So, why do we hide it from ourselves?
The secret to life is to undertake something bold enough to make you pause, and necessary enough to do it anyway.
What is precious, it seems, is not the moment just before us, but the longings of a life we once had, remembered as better than the life we live.
We were certain. Not that He wanted the house for us. But that we wanted it for ourselves.
I imagine hanging by a rope off the edge of a cliff and deciding to release my tightened grip. There’s the possibility of a freefall, but what if instead I am dangling only 10 feet from the sturdy ground that lies directly below?
I imagine hanging by a rope off the edge of a cliff and deciding to release my tightened grip. There’s the possibility of a freefall, but what if instead I am dangling only 10 feet from the sturdy ground that lies directly below?
This is the month my second grandbaby will leave the safety of a solitary liquid realm of heartbeat rhythms and mama’s sweet coos and kisses to join me and my own mama as the third generation in a row of May babies.
More than once I’ve checked my luggage, boarded the aircraft and nestled into my seat only to bolt through the open cockpit door and onto the jetway before realizing all the implications of what I had done.
When we pray into another’s situation, the forcefield of stagnancy is pierced. And through the hole created, a life-renewing energy moves in. This energy begins to devour the unhealthiness; first there is this subtle, curious difference, then an otherworldly lightheartedness is felt.
I think I stopped wanting something. At least something big. Maybe even something as necessary as breath.
Getting to know ourselves better is an extraordinary mission. The knowledge we seek is so often already within us. So, why do we hide it from ourselves?
The secret to life is to undertake something bold enough to make you pause, and necessary enough to do it anyway.
What is precious, it seems, is not the moment just before us, but the longings of a life we once had, remembered as better than the life we live.
We were certain. Not that He wanted the house for us. But that we wanted it for ourselves.
I imagine hanging by a rope off the edge of a cliff and deciding to release my tightened grip. There’s the possibility of a freefall, but what if instead I am dangling only 10 feet from the sturdy ground that lies directly below?
I imagine hanging by a rope off the edge of a cliff and deciding to release my tightened grip. There’s the possibility of a freefall, but what if instead I am dangling only 10 feet from the sturdy ground that lies directly below?
This is the month my second grandbaby will leave the safety of a solitary liquid realm of heartbeat rhythms and mama’s sweet coos and kisses to join me and my own mama as the third generation in a row of May babies.