Hendricks Churchill Are Building a “Distinctly American” Legacy
With their new Rizzoli monograph and a soon-to-launch hospitality venture, the Connecticut duo reveal how their parallel upbringings laid the foundation for a design practice that finds emotional resonance in longevity, craftsmanship, and authenticity
Whether designing new houses or masterminding historic renovations, Rafe Churchill starts each project by asking himself one simple question: “What are we not going to do with this house?” That ethos of preserving a structure’s original envelope has instilled in Hendricks Churchill—the rural Connecticut design firm that he runs with his wife, Heide Hendricks—a deep connection to historical architecture and the landscapes they sit within. Together, the partners have built a thriving practice deeply rooted in authenticity and craft, defined by a steadfast refusal to overbuild or chase trends. Their second monograph, Distinctly American (Rizzoli), chronicles two decades of simple yet emotionally resonant interiors that reflect a reverence for vernacular traditions while embracing the individuality of each client, the title underscoring how their work has come to embody a particularly American sense of history and place.
The duo trace their partnership back to their shared hometown of Woodbury, Connecticut, where Churchill’s family worked in the building trades and Hendricks’s adorned the town with hand-painted signs and a freethinking bohemian spirit. “That culture and community shaped us,” Churchill recalls of the timeworn houses and charming antique shops along Main Street. “It’s what we look for in our projects today.” The lessons of practicality and artistry they absorbed from growing up among carpenters and creatives still shapes their work, informing projects ranging from their own Connecticut farmhouse renovation and a Carnegie Hill apartment imbued with Shaker simplicity to the creation of Place in Mind, a unique hotel brand slated to debut early next year with the transformation of a historic inn near Bennington, Vermont.
In the below interview, which has been edited and condensed for clarity, the duo reflect on their parallel upbringings, the winding paths that led them into practice together, and how they’ve developed an approach that keeps longevity and tradition at the forefront.
Heide Hendricks: Having been raised by artists, their whole outlook—how we lived, what they did, where we went—shaped my perspective completely. It gave me this sense that wherever we lived, it had to immediately reflect us. It didn’t matter what the budget was. It was problem solving. In one of our first apartments, we had no money to furnish it. We lived with a futon—Rafe is 6’5, mind you!—and we decorated it with paint. That became the backdrop, the foundation that made the space feel uniquely ours. We weren’t afraid of contrast trim, for instance. You can imagine us pushing boundaries with color and decorative surfaces.
Part of our attraction to each other was how aligned we were in our aesthetic appreciations—not only in how our house looked, but what we did in our free time. We’d spend days driving around looking at historic houses, or visiting Shaker community buildings. Those places were so sophisticated, yet so sublimely simple. We’d marvel at the craftsmanship, the skill, and how they looked great back then and only improved with patina over time. That’s the ethos of our firm today. It has to be well-crafted, stand the test of time, and be authentic.
Rafe Churchill: The clearest shared parts of our history weren’t actually shared at the time, but they distill down to the foundation of our marriage and our partnership. We grew up in the same small town in rural Connecticut, about 2,300 people. We went to different schools, but the funny part is Heide’s mom was my father’s high school art teacher in the ’60s. Her parents were the artists in town, and my family were the carpenters.
Woodbury, Connecticut, is a beautifully historic town. Route 6, the main street, was lined with gorgeous old houses—about 100 of them were antique shops. We grew up surrounded by traditional architecture and furnishings, went to the country fair, and saw Heide’s dad’s hand-painted signs everywhere. That culture and community shaped us. It’s what we look for in our projects today. Not because we’re stuck in a time warp, but because it’s at our core.
As much as I love true modernist architecture—and I do, I worship it when I’m around it—it’s not what glows from me. My father was a builder, his father was a builder, his brother, all their cousins. My dad fixed up houses we lived in and sold them. My mother enjoyed decorating and furnishing those spaces. I went along on those day trips. Thanksgiving dinner usually included tradespeople and their spouses, and we talked about construction all night. Architecture became maybe the responsible path for a working-class kid who wanted to be an artist. It proved to be the right choice for me because it combined everything I loved: architecture, art, design, real estate, construction.
Heide was a publicist for a while, and even then we were doing dump runs. She would come home with these Italian leather chairs and I’d ask, “Where did you get these? We don’t have any money!” And she’d say, “At the dump, dude, chill out!”
HH: Sharon, Connecticut, has a section of the dump called the Swap Shop. A lot of towns do—a place where you can take things people are throwing out that still have life left. One of the best things I found was a gray leather chair. We had it for more than 15 years.
RC: That’s where it all started. We were the worst tenants because we insisted on making our apartments nicer. We’d repaint places we were only leasing for a year, often in contrasting colors. What landlord wants to deal with that? Heide once brought home a gorgeous Chesterfield sofa in this greenish-brown color. We had it in our little apartment with all the bold trim we painted. That’s when we thought, “Okay, this is starting to come together,” even though it was happening without clients. It was organic, which is really special.
HH: Around that time, I was working as a publicist for museums and at Ruder Finn. I enjoyed it, but Rafe and I were flipping houses nights and weekends. We’d buy fixer-uppers, do the construction and renovations ourselves, completely furnish them, and sell. Our first purchase was a cottage for around $30,000. Over the years, we kept upgrading and moving up.
My PR work gave me amazing opportunities by promoting museum expansions with architects like Frank Gehry and Daniel Libeskind. But then one of Rafe’s clients, who had become a friend, asked me to decorate their new house. They liked the vibe of ours. I applied what I knew from my day job—budgets, spreadsheets, logistics—plus what Rafe taught me about furniture and lighting plans and paint schedules. It went surprisingly well! Then I decorated their Brooklyn townhouse. After that, someone who stayed in their house asked me to do hers in Oyster Bay. By the end of that year, I was working on six house projects. It was a circuitous way of getting here, but it feels like what I was always meant to do. I don’t think I’d do it as well if I hadn’t flipped houses with Rafe or been raised by bohemian parents who gave me my eye.
RC: Renovation is where my heart lies. When someone brings us an antique farmhouse, the first question is, “What are we not going to do?” We’re not putting on an addition that will double the square footage. We’re not adding five ensuite baths. We’re often working on a client’s second or third house. Their kids will visit, of course, but they probably don’t need a 5,000-square-foot house. At that point, you abandon what you fell in love with.
My goal is to renovate in a way where people say, “What did you actually do?” I don’t want new doors and trim to jump out. I don’t want level floors if it means losing character. Remember, you bought a 200-year-old house—variation is part of the deal. My philosophy now is “leave no trace.” Sometimes you can tile a whole fireplace wall surround, but if you choose the right materials and proportions, it looks like it’s been there 50 years. Less-than-perfect is often the secret ingredient. That can be difficult to explain to highly skilled tradespeople, but sometimes you need to back off so the wall doesn’t look like a mirror. We want it to integrate and blend.
The same applies to art. I love contemporary work, but when I’m choosing pieces, I lean toward vintage. I don’t want a vintage photograph, an Ansel Adams, in a shiny new frame—it loses context. Heide does her own thing with interiors, but it’s a similar approach.
HH: Rafe wants you to walk into a house and appreciate its history, not say, “This is a Rafe Churchill project.” I feel the same. I don’t want people to walk in and say, “The designer just left the room.” I want it to feel like a layered home—safe, comfortable, and just ready, as if the client had always been living there. That comes from getting to know them closely, understanding what they find sophisticated and beautiful. It’s also a serious editorial course on what to leave out and bring in. If I’m successful, people will say “this feels good” when looking at the space. They may not be able to articulate why, but I’m going for that emotional reaction.
Most of our clients arrive without any furniture, but I love when they bring family heirlooms they don’t know what to do with. One client gave me curtains from his mother’s house. They weren’t in great condition, but I upholstered a headboard with them for his guest bedroom. It was the only tangible thing he had of hers. The reveal was very moving. That’s what I love—taking something with memory and giving it new life. I love solving problems like that.
RC: Every designer struggles to describe their firm unless they’ve deliberately distilled it down to an elevator pitch. We’ve been at it for 30 years. You evolve, you refine. People often tell us our work feels very American. That’s how we landed on the title Distinctly American for the book. Sometimes you don’t know what you’re doing until someone reflects it back.
HH: Rafe came up with the title. As soon as he said it, I thought, “That’s it.” Our love of New England vernacular and our appreciation for tradespeople whose skills were handed down or learned through apprenticeship ties our projects together. Whether renovation or a new build, we try to embrace and not stray too far from each project’s setting and local history.
RC: Our next chapter is called Place in Mind, a hospitality brand we’re launching with Casey Sunderland, our firm’s managing director. After 30 years of designing and decorating private houses, we started thinking about legacy. We turn down hundreds of inquiries a year because budgets don’t align or the project is too small. Most people don’t get to experience our projects. We wanted to reach more people.
Our first two properties are in Old Bennington, Vermont: the Seminary, which is nearly finished, and the Walloomsac Inn, the oldest inn in the state, which has been closed for 40 years. The Seminary has six rooms. It’s deliberately light touch—no front desk, more like visiting a friend’s eccentric old house. You’re given a digital key, told what room you’re in, and the place is yours. Each room is unique, from linens to artwork. Nothing is replicated. The Walloomsac Inn will follow. It’s a 51-room property, so it requires significant fundraising. We’ve also got our eyes on towns in Maine near colleges or cultural anchors. The idea is to create authentic, layered environments in historic structures, not branded hotels.
HH: Place in Mind makes what we do more accessible. Instead of a million-dollar renovation, you can have the Hendricks Churchill experience for a few hundred dollars a night.
RC: What people recognize about us is that we haven’t changed who we are. Even though we’re more comfortable now, we’re not fancy. We’re not competing with clients’ lifestyles. The project is always the most important relationship. Our legacy is staying true to that.
HH: I hope our legacy is also honoring historic structures and contemporizing them for daily living. That’s the common thread. With Place in Mind, we can bring that to more people.
RC: Our biggest frustration now is the influence of Pinterest and Instagram. It’s all “shop the look.” Our legacy, hopefully, is reminding people to slow down, to build environments for themselves, to question the quick-fix algorithm. We want to create opportunities for people to feel something familiar—like places from childhood or from their imagination when reading. Those places are hard to find. That’s what we’re trying to build.