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" What do you do when good friends buy an arrestingly ugly house in one of the most spectacular--and visible--spots on Long Island? Stage a rescue, of course. Make the house what it always should have been.  This project came into my life as a barracks-style shed, covered for as long as anyone could remember in a thick coat of battleship-gray paint. It had more in common with the commercial buildings on the highway in Southampton than the pretty shingle architecture of the village. The interior was &amp;quot;darker&amp;#039;n a black steer&amp;#039;s tuchus on a moonless prairie night,&amp;quot; to quote a line from one of my favorite films, The Big Lebowski. There was nowhere to go but up.  Here was the chance for a fresh start. The owners were friends of mine, young newlyweds, and I wanted the transformation of their beach house to be like a wedding present. It had to have more than just nice things and unsurpassable views--it had to have romance. It had to live up to its site.  THE RENOVATION I collaborated with my friend Will Meyer, a designer who&amp;#039;s basically a modernist but knows how to make traditional elements cool. Modern outside and in would have been too much of a one-liner. Our idea was that we would redo the exterior to make the house appear to be a snug 19th-century whaling captain&amp;#039;s cottage, clad in shingles.  But the inside would have the unexpected character of a modern Scandinavian cabin. So from the beach, the house would look as if it had always been there. Open the door, though, and it&amp;#039;s full of surprises. The couple&amp;#039;s favorite surprise is the ingenious ladder in a hidden closet that leads to the widow&amp;#039;s walk we designed. It has alternating walnut treads and is as exquisitely detailed as any sailboat I&amp;#039;ve ever seen. When you open that closet door and see those stairs, you have to climb them.  We opened the house up with more and bigger windows. After all, the best part of living at the beach is the sensory stuff--the views, the changing light, the sound of the ocean.  Wherever we could, we created beauty by contrast, like juxtaposing a white Corian staircase wall and glass stair rail with the rustic architecture. We wanted a material as opposite as possible from the whitewashed pine. We also wanted to give you a view of the ocean as soon as you start up the stairs, rather than a slow reveal through banister pickets. The glass has a slight tint, so you notice it. I didn&amp;#039;t want it to be invisible.  THE INTERIOR DESIGN I began by asking myself, &amp;quot;Where have I seen the kinds of rooms I want this to feel like?&amp;quot; The answer that kept coming back to me was Sweden. I&amp;#039;ve always loved the Swedish design sensibility, that sense of lightness in their rooms--their interiors feel young. And I&amp;#039;m drawn to the beautiful contradictions: antiques that look modern, and exotic fabrics that are modern but look antique and handmade.  The intersection of modern and handmade is something they do in Sweden better than anywhere else. That aesthetic felt right for my friends&amp;#039; getaway at the beach. I would mingle all these elements with the architecture of Long Island, giving them the best of all possible worlds: Sweden on a Yankee beach. Summer may be the main event here, but the fact that this house is used all year actually made it easier to decorate. I didn&amp;#039;t have to hold back and keep everything in white slipcovers. There had to be some luxury, making it worth the drive from Manhattan on a February night to be cozy in the snow. This justified gutsy and sensual elements, like the massive and vaguely Swiss fireplace and an apron of black marble under the Corian kitchen island. The marble is the kitchen surprise. I tried to maintain a strong contrast between very humble and very fine materials throughout the house.  We cast a wide net when we shopped. My friends were modern art collectors, but not furniture collectors. I wanted them to think in terms of a whole environment. We found a Frits Henningsen easy chair in Paris at Galerie du Passage. I love that chair so much, I&amp;#039;d rather watch it than the TV. This masterful piece of sculpture in wood and leather would elevate any room, but it&amp;#039;s especially exciting to encounter it here, so unpredictably, with sand between your toes. There&amp;#039;s also some Charlotte Perriand and George Nakashima furniture, and there are heavier, richer, more sophisticated fabrics and rugs than you would usually find in a summer house. THE RESULT A great client knows that sometimes you&amp;#039;ve just got to go for it. When you work for your friends, you&amp;#039;re making a portrait of someone you already know, but also of who they can be. I wanted them to have the best, but also to be able to relax.  Will and I knew there was a great house asleep in there. I&amp;#039;m pretty certain we woke it up, because it&amp;#039;s one of the only places I&amp;#039;ve ever designed that I want to live in myself. I think it deserves that glorious spot on the beach now. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.housebeautiful.com/design-inspiration/home-makeovers/advice/a653/david-netto-designer-1011/>