When Ken and Jennifer Wilkinson launched into the renovation of a 1936 Moderne-style house in Des Moines, they wanted to preserve the structure’s streamlined sleekness while softening the overall look. An outgrowth of Art Deco, Moderne is clean-lined, even stark, with little if any ornamentation. By adding curved lines, heightening ceilings, and incorporating additional windows, the couple has succeeded in creating just the right atmosphere. "When the sun pours in on the tile, it has the feel of a Tuscan villa," says Jennifer. "We just love this place."

Ken and I had just sat down after work on a Friday evening when the phone rang. It was our friend and real estate agent Edie, and I could tell she was excited. "I’m at a house you’ve got to see. There’s great potential. There’s also a bid on it. You have half an hour to make up your minds."

Edie knew that we were anxious to make up our minds about some house. Having finally moved the entire family from Northern Virginia to Des Moines, a year-long process involving temporary quarters and commuting, we were more than ready to find a new home.

Within minutes, we had pulled into the driveway of a white stucco, flat-roofed house surrounded by huge trees, and followed the stepping-stones to the front door. Inside, threadbare wall-to-wall carpet and a musty scent told us this place had long been neglected. "The owners had grown old together here, after raising their family," Edie explained. "The husband died a couple of years ago, and the house has sat empty ever since."

As our eyes focused, we spotted remnants of another era—boxy spaces, corner casement windows, and an avocado-themed kitchen. There were few embellishments: no moldings or decorative trims, straight edges, and simple light fixtures. We later learned this is typical of Moderne style, as was the layout of the main floor, where one room opened onto the next: entry to living room to dining room to kitchen.

Because the house had been unoccupied so long, one stipulation for a possible contract (and a reason it was so moderately priced) was that no inspection was permitted—a risk we were willing to take. With Ken’s 25 years of contracting experience and several major house renovations under our belts, neither of us was fazed by what a closer look might—and did—reveal: termites, water damage, and chipped and peeling stucco.

Instead, Ken jumped into his contractor mode, relocating rooms and walls with the sweep of his hand. "We’ll move the kitchen over there, put a wall here, bump this wall out..." Meanwhile, half-listening, I was drawn outdoors by the romance of the place, in particular, the huge trees that shaded the property, the quiet neighborhood, and the walled garden. Bolstered by Ken’s vision and a mutual, gut-level enthusiasm, we quickly agreed to buy the house.

Once the papers were signed, we threw ourselves into all the decisions associated with renovation: What aspects did we want to keep or change? How many bedrooms did we really need? What did we want the overall look to be?

As is often the way with such projects, we had a couple of false starts. I became wildly enthusiastic about a similar house I had seen that was transformed into a Mexican hacienda. "You’ll hate it, Jen," one friend warned, adding that one of the charms of this house was its very particular style of architecture, and that tampering too much with that was a sure invitation to disaster.

Even after much discussion with our architect, Steve Mead, of the style and spaces we envisaged, the first drawings didn’t work. They included shutters, columns, and exterior moldings that might be right for the neighborhood but were wrong for the house. "The synthetic stucco is so easy to work with, you’re tempted to overdo the design," Steve explained. But it took that step for us to realize that any ornamentation would contrast too blatantly with Moderne style.

"Renovation is a process in which sifting and sorting through ideas is a necessary phase," Steve reminded us. We continued to talk about our needs, the good and bad points of the house, and our past successes and failures. Slowly, the shape of the new house began to evolve.

Without violating the integrity of the house, we added interest and warmth through height and light, and broke out of the boxy feel with more depth and variety of line. On the exterior, this meant punching out the front of the house in two areas, for a light-filled two-story entry and a new dining room downstairs with a bedroom above. To the entry extension we added a curved wall and a curved overhang above the front door, then repeated the curves in pathways from the door to the sidewalk, and to the driveway at the side of the house. Inside, the raised ceiling in the entry and stairwell makes a dramatic opening statement. We also increased the ceiling height in the gathering room, kitchen, and master bedroom to make these spaces more airy.

An addition to the back of the house, a sunny semicircular room, now opens to the kitchen. The finished room is Percy the cat’s favorite spot and a natural gathering place for family. Here, around the large wooden table in the middle, casual meals are eaten, homework is completed, and informal entertaining takes place. And to accommodate our three daughters—Emily, Claire, and Lucia—two bedrooms were added: one above the den and a master bedroom over the garage at the opposite end of the house.

Because we wanted to maintain a light and airy feeling throughout the interior, we chose a mottled, cream-colored ceramic tile to unify downstairs floors (except the den, which, like the upstairs, is carpeted). Our overall plan was to create a neutral background—walls, ceilings, floors, and basic upholstered pieces—to complement the spartan style of the house, then to infuse vibrant colors through artwork, objets, and accessories. In the living room, for example, bright silk throw cushions on beige sofas bring out the vivid colors of the Tibetan cross rug. Side chairs, also covered in bright silk plaid, repeat the warmth of these vivid hues.

But there were major bridges to cross before we arrived at the point of considering colors and patterns. We did run into all the problems we had anticipated at first glance: serious termite infestation—the entire garage and most of the back of the house were rotten, requiring professional treatment and rebuilding—and water damage where the casement windows had leaked. But my heart sank when Ken called me at work one day to report in, sounding really down. "Which do you want first: the bad news or the worse news?quot; he asked. He had found carpenter ants in the den as well as termites, and to make matters worse, he had discovered the den’s heating ducts were made of cardboard and were rotting. He had to hack up the entire concrete subfloor to replace the ducts. That was our lowest ebb.

Along the way, we were careful to consider the changing needs of our family and the mistakes made in earlier projects. "Let’s make sure we have a private place we can take our friends," Claire requested, remembering the Virginia house where we had to pass through the den to reach the kitchen. One of the things that works best in our Des Moines home is the den/TV room/guest room near the kitchen. Separate from the rest of the house, it has a private entrance and bath, making it ideal for a variety of needs.

Being serious cooks and loving to entertain, Ken and I focused on the kitchen. We had a very large kitchen in Virginia with an island one friend referred to as "the continent." An island in this house was an absolute necessity, we decided, going against the advice of one kitchen designer who claimed we didn’t have enough space. Although the new 27x93-inch island is a far cry from our lost continent, it’s vital as an additional work surface or a buffet area for parties. A speckled, light amber surface tops the island and counters, a natural-looking material that’s easy to maintain.

Simplicity was key when it came to kitchen cabinet style, and we repeated what we had loved most about our Virginia kitchen: pullout drawers for pots and pans, a wine rack in the island, two ovens, and vertical storage space for trays and cookie sheets. Plus, we added a few conveniences we hadn’t had—an appliance garage and a microwave oven. To our dismay, we somehow overlooked a broom closet, an oversight we are still trying to remedy.

But so far, the lack of a broom closet is the only thing we’ve discovered that we would have done differently. It’s a very livable house, with an uplifting feel, especially on a sunny day. Someone asked me recently which house I preferred, my Virginia house or my new house in Des Moines. I said something diplomatic about how that would be like choosing a favorite child. Suffice it to say, we’re very happy here.

Text: Jennifer Crutcher Wilkinson

Photography: Colleen Duffley

Architect: Stephen Mead

Stylist: Steed Hale