By Tamara Hill, Founder of The Hill House Group
There’s a certain kind of clarity that comes when you’re living close to the land — in a home touched by time, under a sky that hasn’t changed in centuries. That’s where I found myself in the early mornings and long evenings while writing The Threads of Becoming, my first book.
It was a home I had restored and made my own — a haven tucked into the quiet hills of Puglia, where stone met sunlight and every room held a mood. It’s the place where I wrote most of the poems that now make up the book. But, like so many things in life, that home was never meant to be mine forever.
I’ve since sold it. And now, I’m restoring something new: a historic palazzo that will become both a home and a living work of art.
This is the story of what it means to create from transition — to write a book while redesigning a life, and to restore a place while learning to let go.
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A House That Held a Story
The home where I wrote the book was never just a backdrop. It was a character in the narrative. It gave me the stillness to reflect, the views that made me feel small in the best way, the quiet to hear my own voice again.
As I revised poems about childhood wounds, the walls around me held warmth. As I shaped verses on independence and motherhood, the kitchen filled with light. The book — a memoir told through poetry — was written in a space that mirrored its tone: intimate, timeless, quietly powerful.
And like the stories in the book, that home had its own arc. It came into my life, offered me healing, and moved on.
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Restoration as Reinvention
Now, I’m restoring a palazzo — an entirely different kind of space, and a different kind of project. This one is bolder. More complex. More exposed to the public. It’s not just for me; it’s for guests, for travelers, for art, for celebration.
The process of restoration is, once again, teaching me to be patient. To revise. To rethink. To honor history while creating something new. In many ways, it feels like writing a second book — this time in stone, texture, and light.
What I’ve learned is this: whether you’re telling your story in verse or in vaulted ceilings, you must be willing to begin again.
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Living Between Chapters
Creating The Threads of Becoming while living in my previous home taught me that space can be both sanctuary and springboard. It held me while I remembered who I was — and helped me release what I no longer needed.
Now, with the palazzo, I’m designing something future-facing. It will include art exhibits. A rooftop that watches the sun rise over the Adriatic. A private spa and spaces for stillness. It’s where others will come to reconnect with themselves — just as I did.
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What I Hope to Share
If you’re dreaming of building a life that blends creativity, beauty, and movement, here’s what I’ve come to believe:
1. A home can hold a season of your life — not your whole life.
Let it evolve with you. Let it go when it’s time.
2. Restoration is more than architecture.
It’s about choosing what to preserve and what to change — in homes, and in ourselves.
3. Your story matters, even in design.
The textures you choose, the art on the walls, the way light moves through your space — it’s all storytelling.
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What’s Next
The Threads of Becoming will be released in October — a memoir told in fragments, verse, and memory. The palazzo will open to guests soon after — a space designed for rest, beauty, and inspiration.
One is written in words. The other is built in stone.
Both are part of the same story.
Because becoming is never just one thing. It’s layers. It’s seasons. It’s space — and the grace to move through it.
