In a serene corner of the Pennsylvania countryside, nestled amid rolling fields and whispering woods, stands a farmhouse of deep historical character, its origins stretching back to the 1740s. In its quiet dignity, it seemed to call for a sensitive hand, one that could honor its long and layered past while adapting the old spaces to the needs of a modern, multi-generational family. When Philadelphia‑based interior designer Madeline Hause was invited to decorate the house—and the barn just beside it—she embraced the invitation with a reverence for history and an artist’s instinct for narrative through objects. In her hands, the property transformed into a home that breathes with quiet intention, where every selection is thoughtful, every antique meaningful, and the lightness of minimalism tempered by a collector’s heart.
Madeline speaks of her approach not as minimalism in the strictest sense—she confesses to being “a collector at heart” and admits that she seldom strips a space bare. What she values instead is intentionality. She describes a studio and storage brimming with beautiful objects, but insists that nothing placed in a project is arbitrary; each piece carries its own story, its own resonance, and serves a deliberate role in the unfolding visual narrative. In the Bucks County farmhouse, this philosophy is visible in every room: the walls and floors speak of simple materials and restrained finishes, but around them are hidden little worlds, corners of curiosity, and furnishings that compel you to pause and examine. There is a stillness here—not of sterility, but of calm confidence.
The farmhouse itself had long been tended by previous owners who took care to restore essential infrastructure—the rewiring, the heating, the air‑conditioning—yet left the period architectural features intact: the heavy oak beams overhead, the original mantel‑pieces, the traces of age in the cold‑worked bricks, and the patinated floorboards. Madeline’s clients inherited a lovingly restored canvas and requested a designer who could go deeper: they wanted a house to host family—children, grandchildren, visitors—for generations; they wanted spaces of ease and laughter, and also rooms of quiet contemplation. They spoke of clean lines, fuse of form with function, and a foundation of antique and vintage furniture. Madeline recognized immediately that their vocabulary echoed her own, and when they mentioned their affinity for Japan, her creative mind soared in response.
The pairing of Japanese sensibility with Bucks County folk tradition might at first seem unlikely—Japan’s refined restraint against Pennsylvania’s vernacular earnestness. But under Madeline’s direction, the juxtaposition felt harmonious; both cultural traditions prize craftsmanship, natural materials, warmth in simplicity. Working locally wherever possible, she collaborated with Bucks County artisans and upholsterers, selecting linens and textiles produced in the region, commissioning chairs and cabinets from neighborhood woodworkers who know, in their bones, the shapes and proportions of a farmhouse. At the same time she introduced Japanese touches: cushions upholstered in Nagato hand‑woven fabric, a table charred ash in the yakisugi tradition, sliding screens or subtle shoji references echoing fusuma panels.
Madeline was not content merely to place objects in the rooms, however. She wanted to let the house speak of continuity, of stories spanning centuries. She immersed herself in the house’s past, walking through its earliest stones and later additions, imagining generations of household life unfolding across its floors. Then she designed layers onto the site—vintage and antique furniture that might once have sat in a Philadelphia townhouse, Asian elements that feel respectful rather than pastiche, and local craft that roots each space in its immediate geography. The result feels neither museum nor showhouse, but a living, breathing home that narrates a century‑spanning history—still unfolding.
Madeline describes the house as a dream project, partly because of its age, partly because of its scale. As someone who turned her design talents from showroom and fashion in New York fashion circles into her own studio in Philadelphia—only three years old at the time—she viewed it as a rare opportunity: to take a structure built in the 1740s, one that had evolved and accreted additions for generations, and to distill its essence into a coherent, modern home. She speaks of wanting to “look right into” the building—to understand it, to respect it, and to add her chapter to its story so that it is ready for future chapters to come. Locke, chimney caps, plaster cornices, wide‑plank pine floors—all were not obstacles, but invitations to contribute.
The clients commissioned two structures: the farmhouse proper and the adjacent barn, which had been restored as a voluminous gathering space. The original family had done the heavy renovation work—insulation, electrical, climate control—and left intact the fireplaces, beams, wide stairs, and historical trim. Madeline says she “got to do the fun part,” meaning the interiors: introducing furnishings, textiles, lighting, objects of art and curiosity. Her maximal twist on minimalism: spaces that feel calm, and pared back in their architecture, but rich in the details revealed over time.
From the very first conversation with the clients, an alignment was evident. They expressed a desire for clean-lined furniture that held functional purpose, for antiques and vintage pieces that possess soul and patina. Japan was important to them; they wanted elements of its elegance interwoven into their home. At the same time, they wished for materials indigenous to Bucks County: fabrics woven locally, wooden pieces carved by area craftspeople, pieces that fit naturally into the land’s narrative. Madeline responded by sourcing antique gate‑leg tables, ladder‑back chairs of English oak, woven seats, farmhouse buffet tables from 19th‑century sources, and lights crafted by British design house Pinch but using organic, plant‑fiber shades that blend perfectly with the palette of soft neutrals and whites.
While Japanese influences might perhaps feel austere in other contexts, here they are layered with soft folk textures—the rush‑seated chairs, rough‑hewn wooden textures, linens in warm undyed tones. Everything coordinates without forcing a match; there is generous white space to let each object breathe, and through that quiet emerges an elegance. Madeline was intent on using enamel‑white walls to highlight the gentle patina of wood, the craftsmanship in cane, the carved geometry of carved oak. Without busy prints or patterns, attention rests on texture, grain, age. The house feels balanced: open enough for family gatherings, carefully composed enough to invite quiet reflection.
One of the project’s most memorable features is a dedicated prayer‑corner on the landing, created to house a collection of Orthodox Christian icons belonging to the client. This ritual space was an early request; Madeline noticed a landing ripe for meditation, its window facing east—a direction full of symbolic resonance for many spiritual traditions. She delved into research into Orthodox church architecture, discovering the iconostasis, or icon screen, and set about finding a carved shelf or piece reminiscent of that form. Eventually she sourced a hand‑carved oak shelf from Carpenter Studio, with lines that softly echo ecclesiastical architecture rather than shout it. When the client’s icons—rich in gold leaf and rust tones—were placed on the shelf, the landing achieved transcendence: a quiet altar that anchors the house with presence and history.
Upstairs and in the sitting room, decisions were equally thoughtful. In one of the bigger gathering rooms, which features two fireplaces at opposite ends, Madeline selected chairs from Sixpenny—specifically Gio chairs whose spectacular ladder‑back detail faces the entrance of the room. She considered how the chairs would look from the back as well as the front, recognizing that guests approach the room from a long corridor and that symmetry, line and pattern—even on the reverse side of furniture—affect spatial experience. Each chair is beautiful from every angle, furnishing the room both visually and functionally.
In the barn, which rises up into a lofty space for gathering and celebration, she placed a large sofa upholstered with pillows in traditional Nagato fabric—its deep indigo hues interspersed with subtle patterning, handmade in a Japanese weaving city. Nearby, a low ash wood coffee table treated with the yakisugi technique (a traditional Japanese method of charring wood) offered rich texture, deep tone, and quiet surface patina. These elements, fresh in tradition but beautiful in their simplicity, created a space both contemporary and calming, one where guests could gather without distraction.
Further rooms reveal stories that span time and geography. In the granddaughter’s bedroom, Madeline selected a rare Swedish folk‑art desk from the 1940s—not only a piece of genuine craftsmanship, but one chosen with psychological intuition: a child surrounded by beauty, by history, may grow up learning to hold design and material culture in esteem. Madeline reflects that her own grandmother’s house left a profound impression on her growing up—knowing that furniture can shape the way we see design, how we come to notice proportion, texture, space. She wanted to pass that inheritance forward.
The color palette throughout the house is the domain of neutrals, sun‑bleached whites, soft beiges, pale grays, punctuated by the warm patina of aged wood, woven rush, corduroy linens, ochres and rusts lifted from textiles and icons. Underfoot, wide plank floors show traces of history—knots, small cracks, the slight slope of centuries of foot traffic. On the walls, simple art—watercolors, small prints, white frames—hang lightly, never overwhelming. In circulation areas, the furniture is arranged carefully so that no corner feels congested. The effect is subtle: the house appears spare at first glance, but quiet discovery reveals layers of meaning, moments of delight in unexpected places: a vintage candlestick here, a Japanese katsura wood bowl there, an old woven trug beside a bench made by a local craftsman—in each case the pieces feel curated rather than random.
Lighting plays a central role. In the dining room, a large English gatefold table—antique, beautifully grained—is centered beneath a light fixture by Pinch, whose plant‑fiber shade diffuses the overhead glow into soft warmth. At night, the wallpaper‑folded glass lights cast shadows that accentuate wood grain, beam texture, and linen weave. In the barn, uplighting on beams gently illuminates the structure without spotlighting any single object. In bedrooms, linen shades glow with soft lamplight, offering a restful and intimate ambience.
While Japanese finishes inform fabrics and occasional surfaces, the underlying ethos of simplicity and narrative informs everything. The house holds allusions to folk traditions: locally made fabrics and furniture references the Amish or Quaker past of Bucks County, while Japanese weaving, lacquer, charring, and grid textures echo the design principles of wabi‑sabi. Yet the combination never feels forced. It flows—because Madeline allows breathing room, eschews pattern overload, and focuses instead on material integrity and balance.
Functionally, the property accommodates intergenerational living beautifully. The great stair and original hearths, the farmhouse double parlors, the extended wings with bedrooms and living areas, all allow family members to spread out. In the kitchen—ancient wide‑plank floors underfoot—an antique English dresser stands as counter extension, open shelving holds vintage stoneware, and a farmhouse sink alongside modern appliances sits tucked into cabinetry painted in a subdued sage tone. A simple bench by the door invites shoes off and conversations begin. Everything feels calm, rooted, and practical.
Madeline’s clients love to entertain large gatherings in the barn. With its soaring ceiling, exposed beams, and sweeping open area, it is ideal for family parties, dinners, and holiday meals. A long oak trestle table—likely from a reclaimed antique source—is set with rush‑seated benches, candles in pewter and brass, ceramic vessels. She placed plant‑fibre pendant lights from Pinch overhead, hung at varying heights to emphasize scale and soften the verticality of the space. Daylight filters in through large casement windows, the green fields visible beyond. The palette remains restrained: white walls, timber, charcoal lighting fixtures, and soft upholstery punctuated by the deep blue and indigo of Nagato‑woven pillows.
Even in the laundry or mudroom—spaces functional and often neglected—Madeline attended to detail: hand‑hooked rugs from a local studio, baskets for storing boots, lidded ceramic jars for pebbles and supplies, old wooden ironing boards repurposed as shelves. She believes that design should lift every corner of a property—not only the grand rooms, but the quiet passageways, the stair landings, the halls beneath low beams.
Through this entire process Madeline communicated closely with her clients. She learned their desire for clean yet warm, functional yet emotive, Japanese‑inflected yet rooted in Bucks County tradition. She studied local craftspeople, visited Carpenter Studio in search of carved pieces, examined weavers making fabrics in Lancaster County, consulted with lampmakers about plant‑fibre lighting. When the icon shelf arrived, deeply carved and rich in grain, she set it precisely in the landing, built into a niche that caught early morning light. The icons, some centuries old, were arranged with intention: fathers and mothers of the faith, saints, gold halos reflecting against aged oak. At dusk, when sunlight waned, the shelf was illuminated by a single wall sconce, its amber glow gathering graceful shadows and drawing the viewer’s focus.
In each bedroom, Madeline considered sightlines: where would your gaze fall from the entry bench? How would furniture feel around you at night? In the granddaughter’s room, the Swedish desk sits beside a window, so that morning light spills onto the folk‑painted motifs—reds, blues, floral sprays—encouraging creative thought. A woven straw mat, a linen dresser, a carved wooden cradle (family heirloom) and a small vintage rug all add texture without clutter. The desk isn’t big, but it feels purposeful and delicate—a gesture of respect for artistry and learning.
In the master suite, too, choices were thoughtful: a worn wood canopy bed with simple linen bedding, hand‑wrought iron side tables (sourced from local blacksmiths), a linen chaise beneath a wide shuttered window. Crisp white walls frame window boxes filled with lavender. A small antique mirror, oval and aged, leans rather than hangs, while a woven rush chair sits at the end. Lighting is minimal, but layered: bedside sconces, floor lamps with linen shades, soft morning light.
Even the bathrooms are understated: tadelakt or lime‑wash walls, hand‑made ceramic tile, vintage railroad faucets, niches built for candles or jars of salts, a round mirror with brass frame. The effect is quiet luxury—nothing flashy, but deeply calming to the senses.
As one moves through the house—from the firm entry foyer, past antique chairs, into the fireplace‑grounded sitting room, out to the barn, upstairs past the prayer landing, into bedrooms and bathrooms—the effect is cumulative. You sense history, narrative, family energy. You sense Japanese restraint relaxing into Bucks County warmth. You sense intention behind each object and layout. Nothing feels casual, but nothing feels over‑styled.
Madeline reflects that design is always stronger when woven with story. She gets to know her clients intimately—what they believe in, where they come from, what feels meaningful—and then she crafts the spaces so that those stories are visible in paint, wood, textile, and form. It is this method that yields interiors both beautiful and intriguing, grounded yet light, lived‑in yet curated.
Perhaps what is most remarkable is how this historic farmhouse has gained a new life. Rather than feeling like a preserved museum piece, it now feels entirely alive—a house full of relationships, layered memory, and gentle elegance. The barn is ready for laughter and large conversations, the kitchen for suppers and salt‑of‑the‑earth activity, the prayer landing for quiet vow, bedrooms for rest and dreaming, the granddaughter’s desk for creativity and growth. Under Madeline’s vision, the historic bones of the farmhouse continue their story, and the property is now prepared to welcome new chapters of family life.
In sum, this Bucks County farmhouse project is not merely an exercise in period homage or trend‑driven styling; it is a sensitive coupling of old and new, of global inspiration and local tradition, of Japanese thoughtfulness and Pennsylvania character. Madeline Hause’s design practice—grounded in intentionality and storytelling, in vintage character and contemporary functionality—has allowed a historic house to evolve into a tranquil backdrop to family life, where each object is meaningful and every space welcoming. It stands as a testament to the power of design that is both thoughtful and generous, purposeful and lyrical—perfectly suited to carry its inhabitants gently forward through time.