The house took two years to design and another two to build. Eighteen architects interviewed before finding the one who understood what modern architecture actually means- not trendy minimalism, but timeless restraint. Someone who understood less is more, knew when to edit, when to let materials speak, when negative space carries as much weight as structure.
The result: floor-to-ceiling windows framing natural light as it shifts through the day. Various material and texture interplays. Open spaces that flow without forcing connection. Proportions that feel intuitive, not imposed. The kind of modern design that ages gracefully because it never chased trends- just pursued clarity, function, and quiet sophistication.
Then came the dining room wall. Large. Prominent. Very blank.
The Search That Came Up Empty
Marketplaces offered thousands of options- none that felt right. Big-box retailers had volume but no soul. Galleries had meaningful work at inaccessible prices. The problem wasn't lacking taste. It was lacking trust in what existed.
Endless scrolling through nearly identical abstract prints. Mass-produced designs appearing in countless homes. Generic statements that filled space without saying anything. The curation-versus-volume conundrum: too many choices, none quite right.
What Was Actually Missing
We'd spent four years getting every detail of the house right. The proportions. The materials. The way light moves through rooms. We weren't going to compromise on what hung in those rooms.
A pretty image wasn't enough. We wanted to know the story. We wanted those stories to resonate with us. We wanted to know what was actually happening in the frame. The human element. The social fabric. Something we could talk about over dinner, something that would reveal new layers the longer we lived with it.
Building What Didn't Exist
When we couldn't find what we're looking for, we build it ourselves.
We knew what mattered to us: archival materials that would last as long as the house. Production quality that matched the craftsmanship we'd insisted on everywhere else. Limited runs so our walls wouldn't look like everyone else's. And those title cards- the honest context we'd been searching for all along.
Modern Squared started in our dining room. It grew from the frustration of wanting something better and the realization that we probably weren't alone.
Our wall isn't empty anymore. Neither should yours be.