Begin With Curiosity
A note on homes, questions and the design of a life lit from within.
It’s taken me years to realize that curiosity isn’t just part of my creative process—it is the process. It’s the engine, the compass, the quiet spark that keeps me moving, even when I’m not sure where “forward” leads. I used to think curiosity was a luxury. Something reserved for artists, wanderers, or people with time to dawdle. I had things to get done! But over the past few years my gaze has shifted and I now see curiosity it as essential—not just for creativity, but for clarity, for care, and for a life that feels lit from within.
Because when I follow my curiosity—when I let myself learn without an agenda or chase a hunch just because it delights me—I feel most like myself. Not the scheduled, polished version, but the truer one. The one who lights up at unexpected color pairings. Who tears up at the texture of an old linen. Who rearranges a corner just to see what might happen.
The best of my work—and my life—unfolds in those moments.
In the studio, curiosity is where everything begins.
I never start with a list of must-haves. I start with questions:
How do you want your space to feel?
What colors feel like comfort?
Where do your eyes naturally rest when you walk into a room?
What does “home” mean—not in Pinterest terms, but in memory and mood?
Because a home, like a person, doesn’t arrive fully formed. It becomes itself through attention and time. Through noticing. Through change. The most soulful interiors I’ve created didn’t come from speed or trend. They came from listening. From asking again and again, what if?
Our homes are often the most intimate creative project we’ll ever undertake. They reflect how we see ourselves and how we want to feel. But we often expect to “get it right” from the beginning. To choose a style. To stick to a palette. To follow a checklist. But what if we let our homes emerge the same way we let ourselves emerge—through questions, experimentation, and gentle evolution?
The most meaningful spaces I know weren’t assembled in a weekend. They were grown. Slowly. With missteps. With sparks of insight. With shifts of heart.
Even in my own home, I try to stay in the practice. I buy objects I don’t have a place for—yet—because they tug at me. I paint and repaint. I change my mind. I experiment. Not because something was wrong, but because I’m curious about what could be better, or simply different.
That’s what keeps a home alive. Not in the frantic, always-redesigning sense, but in the way a living thing grows and softens with time.
It sounds obvious, but the truth is that to be curious is to care.
It means noticing. Paying attention. Saying, “You matter enough for me to wonder.”
That’s part of why I’ve always been drawn to antiques and vintage pieces. They carry stories we may never fully know—but we still ask:
Who made this?
Whose hands held it?
What was it meant to be, and what could it become now?
To bring those pieces into our homes isn’t just to decorate. It’s to start a conversation across time. A nod to the beauty of what endures. A reverence for mystery.
And that, to me, is the highest form of design.
And maybe, the highest form of living.
So, if you find yourself craving change—whether in your space or in yourself—but unsure where to start, I offer this:
Begin with curiosity.
Not the Pinterest board. Not the paint deck. Not the master plan.
Start with wonder.
Ask yourself:
What do I want to feel here?
What small moment brings me joy, even if I can’t explain why?
What color feels like a whisper of home?
What do I collect and why? What meaning do these objects hold for me?
What is holding me back from creating the space that feels right for me?
At what level do other's opinions dictate my design choices? How do I choose more for myself or those in the home?
What can I do to move forward in a meaningful way?
Let yourself collect without answers. Rearrange without a plan. Read without a goal. Wander without a reason.
Let your space—and your aesthetic—grow as you do.
You don’t need certainty to begin.
You just need a question, and the courage to follow it.
May your questions lead you home,
Sara Kate