José Solís Betancourt Refreshes the Interiors of a Tudor Revival House in Washington, D.C.

This article originally appeared in the April 2008 issue of Architectural Digest.

Tucked away in Washington, D.C., is a house that stands in a cocoon of beautifully modulated greenery and conveys an atmosphere of such refinement and tranquillity that it might easily belong to a piece of remote countryside instead of being minutes from Embassy Row. Houses like this don't come about by accident. They usually have some history behind them—a discerning owner who engages a skilled architect, a clever interior designer and sometimes a sensitive landscape architect as well. But even when—as here—all these pieces are put into place, occasionally it's another, more mysterious element that makes the finished whole seem more resonant than its individual parts.

何塞•索利斯贝当古,室内设计师who renovated this D.C. retreat, the resonance is located in his clients' love of art, antiquities and books. "In my line of work, you often come across people who like nice things and buy nice things and decorate with them," he says, "but it's very rare to find people who are deeply knowledgeable about, and engaged in, their collection. These clients have a love of learning and reading that distinguishes them—and their house."

When Solís Betancourt's clients, an accomplished D.C. couple, decided to look for a larger place in Washington, they sought the advice of both their interior designer and their architect, Richard Williams. After a long search, they happened upon a 1932 Tudor Revival house by architect James W. Adams. The two-story house was spacious and solidly built using a heavy-timber structural system, much of it exposed on the interior, with a clinker-brick façade, diamond-pane leaded-glass windows and a terra-cotta-tile roof.

"Basically, the house you see today doesn't seem like it had a lot of work done—though it did," Williams explains. "We took back most of the surfaces and installed new wiring, new systems, new windows, several new doors. We rebuilt a lot of the millwork and added to it, for the clients' ever-expanding library. We reconceived a smoking fireplace in the library, designed an entirely new kitchen and introduced natural light, through skylights, into some of the more buried second-floor spaces. We also did some modest reconfiguring of the floor plan. Throughout, we tried to be very respectful of the past—really, it was like channeling spirits."

Solís Betancourt also channeled spirits, though his reached back beyond the 1930s to the 18th century, the Renaissance and the ancient world, which are the areas of concentration in the clients' collecting. "What interested me as a designer," he recalls, "is that this was both a design project and a curatorial one. A central challenge I faced was how to edit, group, display and illuminate all this intriguing work without making the house look like a museum."

Solís Betancourt's clients were very clear about wanting their house to feel like a home. They wanted it to be handsome and to function. They wanted an inviting breakfast room. They wanted the library to be the heart of the house. There had to be a state-of-the-art music system. The living room had to be designed to accommodate a piano and a harpsichord, both of which they regularly play.

As for the interior design, it needed to reflect not only the clients' taste but their sensibilities. "These are formal people," Solís Betancourt remarks. "Their social gatherings tend to be small and end up in the library. They take tea most afternoons. Many hours are spent listening to or playing music and reading books. The collection might have looked just as terrific in a more contemporary setting, but the Tudor house, with its strong architectural elements, and the traditional furniture we collected dovetail with the lives that are lived against them."

The living room, a large space with a pleasing fireplace, exposed beams and abundant light, is certainly the house's most formal room. Solís Betancourt underlined its inherent qualities by installing a pair of carved mahogany bookcases (one period, the other a skillful copy), a large Aubusson rug and matched settees. But he was also mindful of the room's intended uses.

The library received close attention from both the architect and the interior designer. As part of the task of resolving the smoking fireplace, its wall was pulled forward, which in turn created additional space for books and for a sound system. The new oak millwork was darkened to replicate the beautiful patina of the old. The furniture, here as elsewhere, was acquired specifically for the house: "We traveled to France, England and New York," says Solís Betancourt, "in an attempt to find pieces that could hold their own against the paintings and antiquities."

For all its vigor and formality, the house has more informal, intimate spaces, too. Off the living room, for instance, a former covered terrace was turned into the wife's private study, a jewel of a room where the unexpected aqua-hued carpet and aubergine velvet lining of the bookcases were derived from Vittore Carpaccio's painting The Virgin and Child with Saints Cecilia and Barbara, which hangs in the living room. While there is a formal dining room for entertaining, the breakfast room, with its French doors that open onto the garden, its coffered ceiling, two-tone marble floor and (inevitable) warm wall of books, clearly gets regular relaxed use.

On the second floor, the atmosphere lightens further still. One guest room has a Japanese inflection, another French. The master bedroom has pale-lavender-tinted walls, gilt furniture, a custom four-poster bed, a large silk wall panel and a group of color-coordinated books.

Color-coordinated books? Is it Solís Betancourt the designer or Solís Betancourt the curator that drives him to organize down to this level of detail? "That's an easy question," he says with a laugh. "It's Solís Betancourt the obsessive—because without a touch of obsession, there's no such thing as interior design."