Henrietta Southam Design

13/02/2026

Hard Launch of my brand spanking new WEBSITE!!!!

30/01/2026

This littlest of felt fellas arrived in my home today, brought, and made by, a nimble fingered assistant of mine. His name is Geronimo and he is Felt Royalty. As years have trickled by and assistance has come and gone and sometimes returned again, I have noticed a similar thread that weaves through those I consider as the « + Co » part of my exclusive (in plain speak exclusive is hyperbole to the more apt « small ») boutique-size design group: artistry. I have had wedding gown makers, window shop dressers, graphic designers, out-of-this-world gamers, and now? Felt fauna and flora fabricator. I am proud of this little army of artistes. They were all and will always be women. Because they are all, and will always remain, the strongest workers I know. Feminine intelligence comes with so many safe-guard and multitasking mechanisms, it is hard to turn elsewhere. Believe it or not, I see women as the gatekeepers of this world from tilting into complete chaos. We are both the first line and the last resort. We are the makers and the doers. We are the pacifiers and protectors. Think about that for a second. We are the Hens. We are the Eggs. Everything begins and ends with women. Yes, some violently step out of the fold, and there is a special hell for them. This month is coming to a close and I am hoping, praying, for a turn towards empathetic levity, studied objectivity, and sustained courage, while we North Americans deal with a crisis of such Biblical proportions that either we right this ship this year and get our home in order, or we mothers, our earth’s sentient sentinels, will watch the world we always took for granted, burn to the ground. Speak up, speak loud, speak firm, know the facts if you dare, find the facts if you can, and stand up for the Human Rights we have so woefully taken for granted. Those very rights that were wrapped in democracy’s warm cloak that now hangs by a moth-eaten thread. As this very moment, Geronimo here has more freedom than your neighbor. Raise your voices. I beg of you.

(seriously? Less than 100 hashtags?? How delulu is THAT??)

01/01/2026

This is not this morning. This is this evening. This is now. Hours before 2026. Which I believe will be a watershed year. One that we will need elbows up with pads for, helmets on with buckles, girdles of iron strapped. We are staying in, staying close, sharing, laughing, flummoxing room service, ready for the sunrise, ready for the hard work, ready for the absolute rager ‘26 will be. We Gen Xers can stay the course, fix it, if not dance it to smithereens. In our intimate complacency Peter said « I’m not here for a good time I’m here for a long time ». I’ll take that. I have taken that for 12 New Years and I will take that til the sun comes up in 2036. At which point I will renegotiate because if anything I am the independent woman my mom taught me to be.

25/12/2025

Christmas is my favorite season and yet it is also the most complex and complicated to navigate. Moments are so personal and so public. It is a time when the heart yearns to paint a family close and near, but sometimes the tableau comes off more Munch then Matisse. Christmas used to be a fresh apple or a lump of coal, and this simplicity has gotten away from us. Yes the world is more interconnected and yet because of the added pathways and heavy traffic to each other there are more repairs needed. My hope is that the uneasiness of the world we live in now is really just all of us in maintenance mode, ready for the day all roads lead to one another. We are all the same and our differences are what makes this world so special. Unique. Fascinating. Perhaps we were built to fail and will not even leave an imprint worthy of consideration. Anthropocene is not yet an era. Humans have to last to leave their mark. And honestly? Without peace amongst us, love in our hearts, and adoration for our planet? I would put a Drake size bet on the adverse outcome. Until then, and perhaps today especially, let’s put our forks down, feed the hungry, clothe the poor, lift the lonely and love our neighbors. May this season bring peace to your heart and calmness to your soul. Much love to all my friends, h ###x

08/12/2025

29 years ago today was my first Birth Date. I named my son after the greatest Italian painter and inventor da Vinci. It was a difficult delivery that presaged one of my life’s greatest accomplishments: Leonardo came into the world swinging. A natural born athlete and clown, a ridiculous romantic, a lover of danger and beauty. His soft tennis prodigy hands now wield kitchen knives the way a maestro does his baton. His culinary curiosity made him a chef, but his heart has always been with his family. He cares, he shares, he cuddles and cleans. Leonardo is the one child I can count on to call this mama and talk for hours. He is now three years older than I was when he was born. He has carved a life for himself by the ocean on the West Coast and I miss him terribly. Tall, devilishly handsome and débonnaire, his charisma and charm are equal to his heart’s propensity to love fully and unabashedly. He was nicknamed Leopardo by his Norwegian grandmother and settled ever since into gliding through life stealthily but not silently. He is the most un-ignorable boy, and the one that drives me absolutely crazy. But my love and trust in the goodness of his entire being remains unshakable and uncontested. He is my brilliant first born, my unapologetically true to himself boy. All my love sweetheart from Canada. I miss you.

-mama bear

02/12/2025

Slightly aggravated that the music I chose to post about my life as a club rat didn’t stick, so trying it out here and seeing who is up. I had a few visitors today, standing sentinel awaiting their star turn in a new shoot about to happen next week. Meet my curated cushion friends from around the world!

02/12/2025

02/12/2025

*new work with before pictures alert*

Very few of you, including my children, know that I used to be a club rat. Not a lowly one surely, but definitely one that would scurry in and out of the dark foaming bellies of the underworld’s most hidden away and difficult to access spaces. Paris in the late 80s was Le Palace, Les Bains Douches, Régine. New York early 90s was Tunnel, Limelight and Palladium. Miami early 2nd millennium was Buck Fifty, Groove Jet, Mynt and Red Room. Paris remains my heyday. Heydays can only exist when bills are not your enemy, but rather strangers you’ve never met. Young, fearless, eager to make my own friends away from my parents’ closely-knit, predictable and utterly curated circle. I would rollerblade down from the top of the Tuileries to George Pompidou, coat check my jeans, pull down my Benetton t-shirt dress and get dirty on the dance floor til the sun came up. Music was a beat. Beats were lights. Lights were lasers. Lasers were pulses. Pulses were impulses. It was a new and wild frontier that I craved and carved, captivated by the sheer beauty and brilliance of MY people, those who shared the ritualistic frenzy, the rush and crush of an all nighter with croissants at dawn on Le Pont Henri IV. I survived. I thrived. So hopefully when you see a room as refined and layered as this, think about it being the brainchild of a girl who still feels the music in her memory’s heart.

01/12/2025

*before and after pics alert*

Very few of you, including my children, know that I used to be a club rat. Not a lowly one surely, but definitely one that would scurry in and out of the dark bellies of the underworld’s most hidden away and difficult to access spaces. Paris in the late 80s was Le Palace, Les Bains Douches, and Régine. New York early 90s was Tunnel, Limelight and Palladium. Miami late 90s was Groove Jet, Pawn Shop, Mynt and Red Room. Paris remains my heyday. Heydays can only exist when bills are not your enemy, but rather strangers you’ve never met. Young, fearless, eager to make my own friends away from, and completely out of, my parents’ closely knit and utterly curated circle. I would propel myself to the club in rollerblades, check in my jeans, pull down my Benetton t-shirt dress, and get dirty on the dance floor until the sun came up. Music was a beat. Beats were lights. Lights were lasers. Lasers were pulses. Pulses were impulses. It was a new and wild frontier that I craved and carved, captivated by the sheer beauty and brilliance of my people, those who shared the ritualistic frenzy, the rush and crush of an all nighter with croissants on the Pont Henri IV at dawn. I survived. I thrived. So when you see a room as refined and layered as this, think about it being the brain child of a girl who still feels the music in her memory’s heart.





📷 .photography

01/12/2025

*tasty new pics of my latest work with salty before pics of the space if you scroll*

Very few of you, including my children, know that I used to be a club rat. Not a lowly one surely, but definitely one that would scurry in and out of the dark bellies of the underworld’s most hidden away and difficult to access spaces. Paris in the late 80s was Le Palace, Les Bains Douches, and Régine. New York in the early 90s was Tunnel, Limelight and Palladium. Miami late 90s was Buck Fifty, Groove Jet, Mynt and the Red Room. Paris remains my heyday. Heydays can only exist when bills are not your enemy but rather strangers you’ve never met. Young, fearless, and eager to make my own friends away from, and completely out of, my parents’ closely knit and utterly curated circle. I would get to the club on roller skates, check in my jeans, pull down my t-shirt dress and get down on the dance floor until the sun came up. Music was a beat. Beats were lights. Lights were lasers. Lasers were pulses. Pulses were impulses. it was a new and wild frontier that I craved and carved, captivated by the sheer beauty and brilliance of my people, those who shared the ritualistic frenzy, the rush and crush of an all nighter with croissants on Le Pont Henri IV at sunrise. I survived, I thrived. So when you see a room as refined and layered as this, think about it being the brain child of a girl who still feels the music in her memory’s heart.





📷 .photography

06/10/2025

A tiny little to keep you guessing. Who is « you » -you say. « You » at this point in time of the algorithm is very loosely based on those who follow design, seek beauty, and understand spaces as a form of expression, color as a language, music as a soul. I now find myself towards the crescendo of a lifetime inspired by art and guided by precepts deeply rooted in classicism. If approached with trust and careful consideration I am the designer who can unleash the best in « you » in the form of a harmonious whole you will live in. Create in. Consummate in. Hold both love and loss in. There is a reason for each room, a heart in each space and a light in each window. If you have love and if you have life I can work with you. It’s that simple.

09/06/2025

Today IS a good day. Inspired by my clients with sunshine in their hearts and a penchant for savory simplicity, this master bathroom follows the feel of the home which is a reimagined mid-century. The house was taken down to the studs, her innards realigned and positioned to let the light in, the spaces breathe and the young family run. I decided not to wait for a professionally shot picture as I wanted to reaffirm here that this is not a departure from my style, this IS my style. The one that seizes the vison, sees the constraints and snatches the direction from the mere exchange of conversational air. Designing is listening, absorbing the directives, delivering the dream. Nothing more. Nothing less. In this vein, one could argue that a true-blue designer is one that never duplicates their work as each client is individually unique, with their own path in life and hopes for their future. Celebrate yourselves. You are each arresting in your own ways. Every story is interesting, every corner of your shape is beautiful. Believe it and make it so.