Blame the Peacocks.

Victorian terraces are our love language. Always have been. And this one — one of our very first projects — still makes us stop and stare.

The brief was delightfully simple: honour the architecture. The soaring ceilings, the bay windows, the ornate plasterwork that arrived already knowing it was the best thing in the room. Then somehow make it all function as a very sophisticated race circuit for a young family with absolutely no intention of slowing down.

We started with a neutral base and a found 16th century French oil painting of peacocks in rural Tasmania. It walked into the project, took one look around, and quietly took charge. Bold blues and warm pinks lifted straight from its canvas landed against the Victorian heritage details like they'd been waiting there for a hundred years to be found.

The result is a home that wears its history with genuine pride and absolutely zero stuffiness. Grown-up enough for the architecture. Unruly enough for the family. And coloured, ultimately, by a pair of French peacocks who made their way to Tasmania and somehow ended up on our mood board.