Many antique structures (and some inspired newer ones) are painted a single, deep, bold color. Instead of relying on multiple exterior colors to differentiate the various component elements, such structures rely on texture and depth to communicate order.

Here, wide tongue-and-groove boards establish a field of horizontal relief which clearly reads as siding, and is differentiated from thick trim boards, proud slatted shutters, and doors comprised of vertical tongue-and-groove panels framed within crisp stiles and rails. A clipped rake and a short eave are just deep enough to cast shadow lines. The result is a taut, nuanced, rockin' red shed.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast

All too often our garages appear to receive only cursory design attention, as if we've only a finite supply of design energy, which our homes have exhausted. Not this spunky garage.

There's a lot to like about it. First, it's modestly sized. Its single stall is clearly subordinate to the main house, as a garage should be. Its casual Scandinavian-like board-and-batten siding and gable roof complement the main house's French Second-Empire-inspired tidy clapboards and sophisticated Mansard roof, rather than mimic or ignore them. Its yellow exterior body color and white trim visually tie it to the main house. And the green garage-door surround kicks up the garage's playful vibe.

My one complaint is with the intermediate space between the main house and the garage. Though I appreciate that a one-story, flat-roofed, recessed structure can be an appropriate connector between the two, I wish it had been better differentiated as a distinct entity. Ideally it would have been more transparent, either screened or glassed in, but perhaps it functions as a utility work or private living space; in which case, I'd have clad it in white-cedar shingles stained a natural color like the garage doors.

In any case, this ensemble is in lively conversation.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast

I just watched East of Eden this weekend, the c. 1955 Hollywood interpretation of a portion of Steinbeck's classic, which recalls Cain and Abel -- with James Dean as Cal (Cain) and someone else as Aaron (Abel). They're brothers vying for their father's affection. Well, Cal thinks their vying, when, truly, Aaron has already, long ago, handily won. Aaron has it all: confidence, good looks, a solid reputation, a balanced ease, support of the establishment. Poor Cal is the seeming opposite of Aaron, in all respects save the looks department. You might (if you're a House Enthusiast) even compare their attributes to those of symmetry and asymmetry.

What is it with symmetry, so sure of itself, so solid, so relentless, so balanced, so attractive, so established, so lauded, so trusted, so good, so Aaron? This Georgian could be the poster child for symmetry. It's a self-assured delight. How we enjoy the parade of double-hung windows and the march of stone treads, railing, and balustrade emanating out equally from the center of the door and pediment. What pleasure we take from the repeated shadows cast by the matching sconces, thick sills, and proud window heads. How comfortable we are with a countenance that's symmetrical like our own.

But fear not, asymmetry has its strengths, too. It's the underdog, less established, less trusted. But it, too, can posses its own unique kind of balance. It can be less relentless and more open as a result. It can win your trust. And it can be uniquely attractive; take a look at Cal (James Dean); he's redeemed in the end. He just needs someone to believe in him. I'll keep my eyes peeled for a worthy asymmetrical "Design snapshot" to share, if only for Cal's sake.

by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast