The location
A nineteen-thirties house in Noordwijk, a hundred metres from the beach. This one is my own. My partner and I have a blended family of five sons, and all of them surf and kite — so living within walking distance of the water was never up for discussion. That connection with the sea and the sand is what the interior had to carry. This is our Seaside Haven.
The transformation
The house had the cramped, compartmented layout typical of its decade. We stripped it back to the shell, excavated the cellar, added a floor on top and extended wherever we could. Rooms need to be in balance and to have a natural flow, so all four floors were left as open as possible. The renovation took a year and a half. I would never buy a finished house — being able to make your own safe place is the real luxury.
Colours and materials
Most people paint their ceilings and window frames white and give the walls another colour. Here everything carries the same tone: Clay Pale by Little Greene, on floors, frames, walls and ceilings alike. It reads as one whole, reinforced by the same light fittings throughout and by recurring bespoke joinery in warm, dark walnut. Travertine for the worktops and splashbacks, one continuous poured floor through the entire house, and natural materials wherever they could be used.
The interior
The kitchen is built around an island that belongs to the kitchen rather than standing in front of it, in the same colour as the floor so that it appears to rise out of it. The first floor is our own domain, with a freestanding bath and a bench made to measure so that we can sit there together. The floor above is for the older boys; the excavated basement became a self-contained apartment for our youngest. I would rather have a handful of timeless pieces that move you than a room filled with things that mean nothing.
“An interior has to tell the story of the people who live in it. Here, it certainly does.”
Featured in Stijlvol Wonen, April 2025.
IN MY OWN WORDS
People ask whether it is strange to live in a house you designed yourself. It is the opposite. I walk down four floors that I drew, and none of it surprises me anymore — and that is exactly what I was after. A house should stop asking for your attention.
The sea is a hundred metres away. Five boys come and go with wet hair and sandy feet, and the house takes it. That is what I want for every project: not a room that photographs well, but a house that holds a life.
— Mariska Jagt
