What Leanne Ford Can’t Live Without

I have a pottery studio downstairs. It's been an amazing creative outlet for me. In my career as an interior designer, it's not just you and the art, you rely on so many people to bring your art to life. You have to hope the plumber shows up and the electrician and the contractors and the permit office approves the idea and so on. Ceramics is something I can do solo, start to finish. It's just me by myself, on my own time. I am not what you would call "good" at it, but luckily I like "bad art" so I'm good enough. In my opinion, the wonkier it is the better. I mostly give them away, but only to people who appreciate wonky. Most of my work is strewn about my house. Sometimes I put them in the shop to sell, but that's for special people who like special, imperfect things.

I've spent this year reading the Bible cover to cover. If all goes well, I'll be done by December 31 — I'm actually very impressed that I've been sticking to it! And it's been eye-opening. I've always felt very connected to God, so I love digging deeper into all of it. I still have the first Bible that my parents gave me in 1995, she's my daily driver — it's so trashed from writing all over it, but that's why I love it. It's pretty much my prized possession. I actually got a fresh Bible to mark up for my "research and development" this year, something simple and clean that I could start new notes in, something to scribble all over it again. Though you better believe I covered the new one with stickers and tape too. I think my connection to God is why I feel so free to create in the first place. It's such a feeling of joy, of contentment — I have nothing to prove. I'm free to be me, free to create with zero expectation or need of success. And that freedoms opens up everything.

It was very, very early into quarantine when my husband, Erik, and I decided to leave Los Angeles. We had a 1-year-old at the time and decided to get her closer to family and to find our family a slower, happier, easier life. We knew very well that leaving L.A. might be very bad for our careers, but at the end of the day, we chose family and quality of life. And it turns out it didn't hurt my career at all.

The house we moved into was built in 1900 and is amazing. The Slow Down is an ode to this home, this family, and this quality of living. The house sat empty for four years or more before we found it. Apparently, everyone would walk into this massive house and see it as too big of a project. When we finally rolled in, I felt like this place had been waiting for us. We didn't touch any of the bones or trim, in fact, we kept everything pretty much intact. But by adding modern lighting and furniture, we were able to create a space that a young family could feel comfortable in.

My dear friends Amy Neunsinger, a photographer, and Hilary Robertson, a stylist, came over to shoot the house one day, and we realized that this house could actually stand to have its own book, an ode to this beautiful historical building. It's a love story to the house and to fixing up a historical home in general. I'm also a huge proponent of small-town living. I feel like it's been so great for me creatively and personally and for our family. Leaving the big city at that time was a big move and it was a big decision, but it turned out to be the right thing to do. The Slow Down is all about that move. Spoiler alert: There were tears. In construction — there are always tears.