The Complete Picture: What Goes Into a Remodel Budget

As an architect, I'm often asked: "What can I build for $400,000?" or "What will a million dollars get me?" And almost always: "What's the typical cost per square foot for a remodel?"

Here's the truth: there is no "typical" - only a range. And it's higher than you think! More importantly, cost per square foot only tells you what the building costs, not what the project costs. When someone quotes you $500 or $700 per square foot (yes, really, and can be even more!), they're typically talking about construction alone. That number doesn't include design fees, permits, sales tax, engineering, landscaping, or contingency.

So I worked backwards from two different project totals to show where all the money actually goes.

These pie charts break down the real costs of a remodel, addition, or new construction in the Seattle area. Construction is obviously the biggest piece, but there are consultants, permits, sales tax, and other expenses that eat into your total budget in ways that often surprise first-time clients.

A few important caveats: These aren't meant to be exact for every project. You might spend zero on furnishings and double down on landscaping. Your engineering and consultant fees could be minimal for a straightforward project, or they could balloon if you're dealing with steep slopes, poor soils, or Environmentally Critical Areas. This line item covers structural, geotechnical, and mechanical engineers, as well as specialists like lighting consultants, landscape architects, arborists, and interior designers etc.

"Furnishings" here includes window coverings, appliances, and furniture - all the things that turn a finished space into a livable home.

I always recommend building in a contingency amount for unforeseen conditions and those inevitable mid-project decisions when you realize you want to upgrade something you hadn't considered before.

Permitting fees are set by the city and based on a per square foot cost of the project. Additional permit fees are street use fees, and any revisions you might make to the original. Additionally, if you are building a DADU (Detached Accesory Dwelling Unit) you will be charged a Sewer Capacity charge per month for up to 15 years. The fee helps fund the cost of sewer system improvements and expansion. 

My goal here isn't to discourage you, but to empower you. When you know where every dollar goes, you can make informed decisions, prioritize what matters most to you, and create a project that actually fits your budget. The more you understand upfront, the smoother your remodel will be - and the happier you'll be with the results.

A note of thanks: I'm grateful to fellow Seattle architects Karen Delucas , Jared Banks, and Hayden Robinson for generously reviewing these numbers with me. I respect their expertise and opinions, and their valuable input helped ensure this breakdown reflects current realities in our market.

An Architect's Guide to Surviving the Big Dark

We're in it now - the Big Dark, as we call it here in the Pacific Northwest. Forty-five more days of shrinking daylight before the winter solstice, before the slow climb back toward longer days begins. Darkness at 4:30 PM, gray skies that blur the line between day and dusk, rain that makes even midday feel dim.

As an architect, I think a lot about light and comfort —how it shapes space, how it affects us, how we can work with it or against it. These next 45 days? They're not something to just endure. They're an opportunity to be intentional about the spaces we inhabit.

The Danes call it hygge. I call it good design for dark days.

Books for When We're Inside

When the days are short and we're spending more time indoors, I find myself reaching for books that think deeply about space, light, and how we dwell:

The Timeless Way of Building and A Pattern Language by Christopher Alexander - These aren't just architecture books; they're about creating spaces that feel alive. Pattern 159, "Light on Two Sides of Every Room," hits differently when you're dealing with PNW gray.

Architecture: Form, Space, & Order by Francis D.K. Ching - A masterclass in understanding how light carves out space. Beautiful to page through on a dark afternoon.

Or just start to plan ahead for spring and become inspired by the amazing Piet Oudolf. I was fortunate to visit the amazing garden at the Vitra Museum this fall and was blown away by how stunning it was, even after its peak bloom. To learn about his beautiful-in-all-seasons gardens definitely read Planting: A New Perspective.

And when I want to dream of light entirely different from ours: The Hill Towns of Italy and The Villas of Palladio. That Mediterranean light, those limestone buildings glowing warm—it's a good reminder that light is different everywhere, and every place requires its own response.

Good lighting helps

I love cordless lamps. The freedom to move them around and create puddles of light exactly where you need them changes everything. My favorites are the Pina Pro and Poldina Micro from Zafferano. They last a long time on a charge, the light is warm and dimmable, and I can carry them from room to room as the evening unfolds.

And don't forget outdoor lighting. I have solar string lights in my backyard. They're not too bright, require zero maintenance, and turn themselves off. When you look out the window on a dark evening and see that warm glow, it extends your sense of home beyond four walls.

What I'm Cooking

Cozy simple meals are key. NYTimes Marry Me Chicken is hard to beat. Rich, comforting, the kind of thing that fills the house with good smells on a cold night. It's become a regular in my winter rotation.

Another recipe is what my kids call “Peppercorn Chicken”. I don’t have a link to a particular recipe, but basically you brown 1.5-2lbs of chicken thighs in a dutch oven, then add in 1/2 cup each of water, olive oil and white wine, a couple tablespoons of peppercorns, several cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of salt, and a few threads of saffron… and cook it for 30 ish mins at 375- 400 degrees and its delicious. Serve over rice. Its SO good and cozy.

Small Moves, Big Impact

You don't need a renovation to make your space feel better during these dark months:

Layer your light sources. Overhead lighting is the enemy of hygge. Think lamps, candles, multiple sources at different heights. If you haven’t discovered Glassybaby yet, have a look. Little works of art for your table. Their holiday collection is gorgeous.

Pay attention to light temperature. Not all LED lights are the same. Be sure to get warm (2700K) bulbs. It matters!

Bring in flowers. Fresh flowers always help. They're a reminder that life continues, even in the dark months. For inspiration, check out Frances Palmer’s instagram. She’s a wonderful potter showcasing her work with stunning arrangements.

Create cozy spots to sit and read. A good chair, a soft blanket, light that's just right. Make it intentional.

Speaking of blankets - have them within reach. Texture and warmth matter. I love all the throws at Room and Board

Most important: invite friends over. For conversation, for games, for dinner. Hygge isn't just about solo comfort—it's better shared.

The light will return. But until then, we can be intentional about the spaces we're in and the people we're with. These 45 days don't have to be something we just get through. They can be their own season—one we've designed well.

Why a dandelion?

My logo is a simplified dandelion seed pod, taken from one of my favorite photos I've ever captured. When I was searching for a symbol for my work - both art and architecture - I kept coming back to this image. And then I realized: I've always loved dandelions.

Here's why.

A dandelion doesn't grip its seeds anxiously, trying to control exactly where they'll land. It creates them with care, then lets go completely. The wind takes over. The seeds land where they land - and that's not a failure, that's the entire point.

Creatively, this is so hard to do. We want to know the outcome before we start. We want guarantees. But the best ideas come when we're loose enough to let them drift and land somewhere surprising.

And here's the other thing: one dandelion makes hundreds of seeds. Not all of them take root. Many land on concrete. Some get eaten by birds. But that abundance is the strategy.

As a creative person, I need that same permission - to generate prolifically, to not precious-guard every single idea, to know that some won't work and that's completely fine.

Whether I'm working on a painting or designing a new kitchen for a client, I let the ideas flow. I plant seeds. Some grow into something beautiful. Others don't. And that's exactly how it should be.

the artists in my life

I’ve just spent this beautiful sunny Sunday, running and painting (see my previous post about those two things   - I’m hoping to do a half marathon this year).  And while I run, or paint, I often listen to the Jealous Curator podcasts.  I highly recommend these for inspiration, art, humor, and learning about all types of creative people. 

Most recently I listened to Danielle and her mom, Judi.   It was a wonderful conversation about Judi’s life in art and made me wish I had my mom to chat with. Or my grandmother or, my great grandmother. They all were practicing artists and fortunately, I surrounded in my home with the beautiful work they made throughout their lives. I also have a few of their art books from art school- including one from my great-grandmother (who I am named after) and it has her fabulous signature. 

I am lucky to have such wonderful art, ephemera and inspiration from these amazing women: Grace Cosgrove Gale, Sarah Gale Barnes, Gale Barnes Schlitt everyday in my life. And even though they never met them, somehow by having their work around I know that they are a part of my children's lives as well. And yes, my daughter, Frances Gale, definitely has a good eye for art and design to carry on the tradition of creativity in our family.   

5 lessons from a successful end-of-year studio sale

Here are 5 important lessons I have learned this year.

1. Just do it. Without hesitation:  Just. Do. It. Do those things you’ve been talking about. Paint. Write. Draw. Play. Explore. It won’t be perfect, and it may not even be pretty, but it will be good, and good for you. As so many of my artist friends say, #doitfortheprocess. And, as Yoda said, “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”
2. Share it with friends. Plan a show; get some drinks, cheese, crackers, and brownies, then invite your friends to see what you’ve been up to, or to listen to you read your own writing, or to listen to you play music and/or sing. These friends will give you more support and love than you can imagine. And you will be filled up and forever grateful. 
3. Don’t be afraid to sell. Sell (or barter) your work. It has significance. It has meaning. Your creation will continue to exude the thought, meaning and energy you put into it, long after it has left your studio. That has great value to an untold number of people. Your time making it is really only just the start. 
4. Take stock and begin again. After sharing the afternoon with friends, chatting about what inspires them (and me, both through my work and in life), I came away with a great energy and focus to keep going. I hope to draw more, paint more, and create more throughout the next year. Interestingly, the work that people commented on most on were the ones I am most at ease creating. Perhaps “following the path of least resistance” applies here.
5. Give thanks. I send a heartfelt thank you to everyone who came, who chatted, who purchased, who helped out, and who asked great questions. I am also thankful for the opportunity, time, and space to make more art. I am thankful for the inspiration that floods into me; beginning with the beautiful place I live in to the amazingly creative, smart, and compassionate people I’m surrounded by everyday. XOXO

Learning lessons from my teenage son

My son's rosin coated instrument

This summer has come to a close, after the first day of school for my kids has come to a close. I’m always a bit excited to have time the uninterrupted time to work, but sad too, as each new school year reminds me of how fast they are growing up. It’s a good, but bittersweet day. For now I will remain uber grateful of how healthy and strong they are… I don’t take that lightly.

This year is also significant because I have learned a great lesson from my 16 year old son. He plays violin in his school’s orchestra. The school has 3 orchestras, levels noted as A, B and C. All freshman start in level C, then audition into B and then A. While they are all fabulous orchestras, A is top notch, and there aren’t many high schools in the country with similar talent, direction and commitment to the quality of music these kids perform. We are lucky to be a part of this amazing public school program.

Last spring, my son auditioned for A Orchestra. He did not make the cut. I was not too surprised because throughout the year he did what he needed to get by, but did not commit to working hard and improving like he needed to to nail this audition. (This is where the lesson starts for me. In my art practice I have always drawn and painted, but have not fully committed to improving and exceeding. And, much like my son, I get disappointed when my peers get selected for shows, or their art sells, or they are recognized for an outstanding piece of work. But, the only thing separating me from them is my lack of commitment to practice and improvement. But I digress...)

After his failed attempt, my son asked the orchestra director if he could have a second chance and redo his audition. The director agreed and set a tentative time of two months out. Peter accepted this and set to work. He practiced nearly everyday, (except for times we were out of town), listened to various recordings of the music he chose to play, practiced many different scales, and techniques and sought out individual instruction. In addition he felt that he needed to perform in front of people so he sought out places to play in public to work on his performing confidence

As the two month time came to a close, he then had to communicate with not one but two directors (as there was a change of hands in the lead orchestra director) and set a time to audition for both of them. After that, he sent a thank-you for the opportunity to try again and waited for a response. I am happy to say his hard work paid off. He was accepted into the A Orchestra! He is extremely proud and so am I. I am beyond pleased he has made it into this top notch group, but honestly I am more proud that he accepted a challenge to improve, stayed committed, worked hard even when it didn’t feel like he was getting any where, and carried out the correspondence before and after with grace. 

So much to learn here. With my son as example I am more committed than every on a daily art practice, sharing it with friends far and wide, and taking the challenge of submitting for shows, setting up a shop and putting myself out there. Hard work always pays off in big and small ways. So does asking and communicating with kindness and hope. I look forward to working hard and sharing the process and success with you!

Must run. Must paint. Repeat.

After a long hiatus from consistent exercise and creative pursuits, I started running and painting again in January of 2016. Somehow, for me, these two things have always gone hand in hand. I never considered myself a 'runner' but I’ve always been fit, and would run without much effort from time to time. Similarly I never would allow myself to say “I am a painter” although I have painted off and on for years… no... actually, my whole life. So why is it that I couldn’t call myself an artist? More on that later. For now, my reboot story:

During Christmas break of 2015, I decided to train for a race in the Methow Valley. I organized a team of amazing women and found a trainer who helped put it all in perspective; who truly felt the potential had. I worked hard, through shin splints, achy muscles, exhaustion, and crappy weather (nothing like starting training for a race in the winter in the Pacific Northwest).  Concurrently I found an online art class taught by Lisa Congdon, called none other than "I Am An Artist". I debated whether or not to do this, and at the 11th hour, I signed up. I am so glad I did! Not only did Lisa debunk my feelings of the ways I am NOT an artist, but through her leadership I created a manifesto for myself and my art, I allowed myself to paint regularly by making it a priority, and I met a fantastic group of artists, worldwide, who continue to feed me daily via Instagram and Facebook.

So, how’d the race go? I ran with my friends over Mothers’ Day weekend, in May. I enjoyed the run immensely and ended up with a personal best time that truly surprised me. Needless to say, I was pleased. 

How’s the painting? I am painting in many mediums now, sharing with family and friends as much as I can and have two paintings in a show in August in Seattle. I have created a body of work I am proud of and have a zillion more ideas in the works. 

And I’m training for my next race… so stay tuned!

Welcome!

Welcome to my studio website, and a heartfelt thanks for reading! To begin this journey, I wanted share a bit about the three women in my family who greatly influenced who I am, and continue to help me focus on who I want to be:

In the beginning, there was my great grandmother, Grace Cosgrove Gale (aka Mimi). Though I never met her in person, she lives on in my home, my cousins’ homes, and in the hearts of all the people who had the pleasure of meeting her through her artwork. She was a prolific artist around the turn of the century, teens and twenties in Evanston, Illinois. The family lore I have learned was that she attended Pratt Art Institute in NYC, and was an oil painter, a water colorist, a ceramic artist and needlework artist (just to name a few mediums). I've also learned that she often took people into her home for long stays to help them out, when times were tough. I am always amazed at the amount of work she produced, all while taking care of many other people.

Next was my grandmother, Sarah Marian Barnes, (aka Sally to adults, and Ranny to us kids). She was also an oil and watercolor painter, and studied at the Art Institute of Chicago. Together with her husband, my hilarious grandfather Chuck, she created beautiful furniture pieces in a Shaker style, complete with lovely stencils and artful embellishments. I loved visiting her home, studying her box of paints and brushes, and hanging out in my grandfather’s workshop. Pure creative joy!

Then along came my mom, Gale Barnes Schlitt, who always painted, doodled and drew house plans. She is probably the reason I became an architect! She loved surrounding herself with other artists, whenever she could. She was also an avid gardener, and I think her palette was her gardens, carefully curated with specific textures and colors. My mother died in 1994, but when I think back to her happiest times I can still hear her wonderful laughter, while with the people whose creativity and joy reflected hers.

I’m so lucky to be a part of this amazing, creative group of women. With everything I paint or draw, I offer up a grateful nod to these women, and honor them.