In the quiet neighborhoods of Atlanta, Georgia, history sometimes sits behind the simplest of façades. At first glance, a modest 1920s Craftsman bungalow tucked into the Virginia Highlands may not command attention. But beyond its weathered porch and classic silhouette lies a transformative design narrative—one that brings together budget-conscious creativity, antique sensibility, and an unexpected nod to English interior traditions. This story, orchestrated by interior designer Avery Cox and her client, photographer and artist Lawren Williams, is less about lavish expenditures and more about curated character, an aesthetic resurrection that speaks to what home design can achieve when vision meets constraint.
Home design is often thought of as a pursuit for the privileged—those with expansive budgets, teams of contractors, and access to custom everything. But this house was not one of those projects. In fact, its success lies in quite the opposite. Lawren Williams had returned to Atlanta after nearly a decade in California, hoping to make a meaningful home on a limited budget. What she lacked in financial surplus, she made up for with artistic openness and a firm grasp on the kinds of interiors that spoke to her spirit. Partnering with Avery Cox, who was then also early in her design career, the two women embarked on a project that was about more than just décor. It became a blueprint for how to restore soul to a home whose past had been largely erased by previous renovations.
The house, although structurally intact, had lost its original identity. Open-concept design choices had removed many defining features, leaving the interior feeling flattened and overly modernised. While some homeowners might appreciate that kind of streamlining, Lawren wanted more: color, texture, story, and an embrace of layered living. To do this without breaking the bank, Avery employed a strategy of thoughtful architectural reclamation. One of the first changes was reintroducing a wall between the living and dining rooms—not to close the space off, but to reassert the idea of distinct atmospheres. By inserting a broad archway, they retained openness while creating an opportunity for each room to express itself individually. That arch became a transitional moment, allowing the eye to move from one story to the next, each told in its own dialect of fabric, wallpaper, and carefully chosen furniture.
While a wall might seem a simple intervention, in design it can be transformative. In the living room, wide painted stripes bring energy to the walls without overwhelming them. The rhythm of the stripes allows for a kind of playfulness that doesn’t interrupt the room’s elegance. On the dining side, a small-scale floral wallpaper offers visual interest that feels almost like a textile backdrop. These decisions speak to Avery’s understanding of proportion and Lawren’s instinct for visual storytelling. Neither room feels loud, yet both have something to say.
That balance between restraint and creativity continued through every inch of the house. Rather than purchasing all-new furniture, they incorporated what Lawren already owned—pieces with family history, some worn with use, others in need of reinvention. Where many designers might push for a complete overhaul, Avery leaned into the soul of secondhand objects, recontextualizing them with bold textiles and vibrant paint. Take the bamboo chairs in the living room. Originally intended to be borrowed from Lawren’s mother, the plan pivoted when her mother hesitated about them being painted. Instead, they sourced two affordable pairs of similar vintage chairs, painted them a deep teal, and finished each set with contrasting handmade cushions. The result is something far richer than store-bought symmetry—it’s a design move that is clever, personal, and joyfully frugal.
The same philosophy extended to the dining table, an online vintage find that was stripped and stained a vivid red, providing a strong visual anchor for the room. Nothing in the house screams opulence, but everything whispers intention. The four-poster bed came from Room & Board, an accessible high-street brand, proving that accessible doesn’t have to mean ordinary. Throughout the house, remnants of fabrics were used to full effect, especially in the study, where the window seat features four different patterns sewn together in harmony. This method—of using what’s on hand, what’s affordable, what’s inherited—became the design ethic of the home. And rather than appearing piecemeal or haphazard, the overall aesthetic is unified by its sense of curated imperfection.
Color, unsurprisingly, plays a central role in how the house speaks. But the palette is not bright and brash. Instead, it’s a moody symphony of dark greens, deep reds, earthy browns, and weathered blues. This choice was both practical and poetic. The bungalow has lower ceilings and limited natural light, which can make overly bright tones feel oppressive or out of place. Rather than fight against the home’s bones, Avery and Lawren leaned into them. Inspired by English cottage design—a world of heavy drapes, layered textiles, antique wood, and wallpapered nooks—they allowed the house to embrace its own quiet shadow. The result is not gloomy, but grounded. Every room feels lived-in from the moment you step through the doorway.
The decision to channel an English sensibility in the heart of Atlanta may seem unusual at first glance, but it makes perfect sense within the context of the house and its owner. Lawren was looking for warmth, for history, for spaces that felt less like galleries and more like conversation partners. In England, especially in country cottages, it’s common to find rooms filled with inherited objects, mismatched chairs, and thick fabrics in patterns that would confuse a minimalist. But this is where life breathes. In this Atlanta bungalow, those same principles find a southern accent. The Robert Kime wallpaper in the dining room—classic, restrained, floral—serves as a nod to that lineage while remaining appropriate for its American setting.
Texture is another unsung hero of the space. From the painted wood of the dining table to the knotted fibers of the vintage rug, from the tactile richness of patterned upholstery to the cool smoothness of green tile on the fireplace, every room offers something for the hand to explore. These materials add depth and sensory engagement, two things often lost in mass-produced or highly contemporary interiors. Importantly, none of the texture feels staged or pretentious. It is domestic in the best sense—inviting, lived-in, and unfussy.
Of course, every well-designed home needs a few pieces of gravity—items that ground the lighter, more playful elements. For Avery, this meant finding objects with weight, both visually and emotionally. In the living room, a hand-knotted vintage rug in earthy hues gave the space a richness that instantly changed its tone. Gone was any hint of a “starter home” or post-college aesthetic. In its place came something elegant and enduring. The barley twist table added to that same effect: a piece with history, a piece that had already lived several lives before becoming part of Lawren’s. These selections may not be loud, but they’re resonant. They carry a kind of timelessness that can outlive trends.
The true magic of this house is not that it’s expensive or impressive by traditional standards, but that it reveals what home design really can be. It isn’t about perfection. It isn’t about following a formula. It’s about listening to the soul of the house, understanding the lifestyle of the people who live there, and making thoughtful choices—even constrained ones—that reflect both. What began as a modest renovation on a tight budget has grown into a living, evolving home. Today, three years after the initial design was completed, Avery and Lawren are once again collaborating on updates. The house that once held a single woman and her two cats is now home to two adults, two children, three cats, a dog, and, occasionally, a 78-year-old grandfather. Its purpose has expanded, but its charm remains intact.
It is this adaptability that makes the design so successful. Too often, homes are created to look a certain way rather than to function or evolve. But real life is messy. It brings with it changes in career, family, needs, and even taste. A well-designed space anticipates this. It allows for reimagination, for reconfiguration. It accommodates growth without losing its essence. This Atlanta bungalow does all of that because it was built on principles that prioritize soul over style, authenticity over gloss.
For homeowners and designers alike, this story offers an important reminder: a limited budget does not mean a limited imagination. In fact, it can foster a kind of design clarity, forcing you to think deeply about what matters, what endures, and what makes a house feel like a home. You don’t need endless square footage or high-end labels to create something beautiful. What you do need is a sense of story, a respect for the bones of your house, and a willingness to embrace the imperfect magic of mismatched fabrics, old wood, and worn rugs. And maybe, just maybe, a touch of English cottage sensibility—even if you’re deep in the American South.
This house in Atlanta tells us that great design is less about cost and more about care. It's a testament to creative resourcefulness, to friendship and trust between client and designer, and to the emotional resonance of interiors that reflect lived lives. In its stripes and florals, its antique chairs and Room & Board bedframes, it contains multitudes. It is a love letter to homes that dare to feel like homes, not showrooms. And for anyone contemplating a renovation, large or small, it's proof that beauty lives in the details, in the layers, and in the stories we choose to tell within our walls.