It’s 8 on Shelter Island, and for Vivian and William Antrim, ages six and three, that means bedtime. But first, a dance party. “One song,” warns their father, Taylor, cuing the music. Tiny fists start pumping and little hips begin to shake as the kids recognize a favorite tune—Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone.” “Thanks to youuu, now I gettt, what I wannnt,” Vivian bellows, sashaying across the broad window seat, her podium for the evening.
Taylor and his wife, Liz Twitchell, didn’t have a stage in mind when they decided to build in this mellow community, tucked between Long Island’s North and South Forks. But in many ways their house has been a happy accident. “None of this was planned,” recalls Liz, a Manhattan high school English teacher. “We weren’t even looking until we came here.”
Six years ago, the couple fell in love with Shelter Island’s low-key charms while staying at the home of a friend, design writer Sarah Medford, who had built from the ground up. That approach stayed in their heads as they looked at houses for sale, none of which appealed. When they visited a sunny parcel, empty save for an old barn, they instantly felt a connection. A week later it was theirs. “We acted very quickly,” says Liz. “The whole thing felt like a fever dream.”
To design a house, the couple enlisted Christoff:Finio Architecture, whose modernist rigor Taylor, now the executive editor of Vogue, had come to admire while working at AD. “We thought they were more architect than we could afford,” he remembers, uncertain at the time that the firm would take on a modest dwelling on a budget. But their first meeting with husband-and-wife duo Martin Finio and Taryn Christoff proved jolly—everyone teasing their respective spouses and bonding over a shared love of the island, where the architects had gotten married. “For us it’s never about the size of a project; it’s about the clients,” says Martin. “We gravitate toward people who really engage and want to create something authentic to how they live.”
Above Liz and Taylor gather with the kids in the kitchen. Stools by Mash Studios; range by Dacor; hood by Best.
Liz and Taylor had their hearts set on a modern house, with wood construction and visual links to the landscape. Beyond that, everything was open for discussion. There was the choice of one story or two, which was resolved after Martin built an elevated platform that revealed only a sliver of water views. The question of where to situate the house, meanwhile, was answered one afternoon when he spontaneously drove from Manhattan to Shelter Island, walking the property until inspiration struck. By stretching the house lengthwise on the long plot, with the structure’s back to nearby neighbors, he realized, he could orient it toward the surrounding woodlands while maximizing privacy. “Martin figured something out that we would never have been able to do on our own,” says Taylor.
A smallish house presents itself as much bigger.
The design process lasted several months, as one idea evolved into the next. A compound of discrete volumes gave way to a single massing with dramatic light monitors, which in turn gave way to a peaked roofline. When Taylor and Liz floated the prospect of just a simple box, the architects came back with the winning proposal—three pavilions, all single-story except for an upstairs lounge that pops through the flat roof. Bedrooms connect to living areas via a glass-enclosed walkway; living areas in turn open onto a covered deck that leads to the guest pod, with an indoor/outdoor bathroom that doubles as a kind of poolhouse. “We created a gathering area for people to meet, plus private zones for visitors and family,” explains Taryn, adding that since both indoor and outdoor rooms are crowned with one shared roof, “a smallish home presents itself as much bigger.”
Construction is never without its freak-outs. After the house had been framed, Liz suddenly panicked that the ceiling, slightly lowered to cut costs, felt claustrophobic. “I thought it was going be too Being John Malkovich in there, all 7½ floor,” she jokes. A frantic email to Taryn and Martin followed. “Martin’s response was so staggeringly perfect,” Taylor remembers. “He said, ‘No problem at all. Ceiling perfect. You’re gonna love it.’ And he was right. They were right about everything.” As, for that matter, was their contractor, Maude Adams of Artisan Construction Assoc., who realized the architects’ plan with precision.
Three summers in, family rhythms have molded to the house. The long march that is a summer day with kids begins early, Vivian and William rising with the sun. Hours float by as the family migrates from the kitchen to the living area to the deck to the pool—with excursions to farmers’ markets and beaches or picnics aboard their motorboat, The Antrim Family Presents: Robot Sparkle. (“We let Vivian name it,” Taylor notes.) In the evenings, the children get to watch a show upstairs while dad barbecues outside and mom steals a quiet moment to read, reclining on the window seat. “I just wanted the house to be great for them,” reflects Taryn, who chose the furnishings, a mix of vintage finds and budget-friendly modern furnishings. “It was truly a labor of love.”
By bedtime, the family has enjoyed but somehow never exhausted the whole house, its clever floor plan keeping cabin fever at bay. “There’s no space that doesn’t get used,” says Taylor. “We rotate through the rooms.” For Liz, that momentary panic about ceiling heights has long dissipated into domestic bliss. “When we’re in the house, I really feel like this is how I wanted it to be,” she says. “There’s never a moment when I think, What a weird decision.” At that, she pauses and laughs. “I guess that’s because we made all the decisions.”