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The renowned graphic designer Tom Bonauro, then 46, embarked on a significant life and professional transition at the turn of the millennium, migrating from the vibrant, yet increasingly commodified, urban landscape of San Francisco to the serene, verdant hills of Sausalito. This move, chronicled in Dwell’s August 2001 issue, represented not merely a change of address but a profound shift in lifestyle, creative environment, and a deliberate recalibration of his relationship with the modern world, particularly its burgeoning technological and urban pressures. Bonauro’s journey mirrors a broader trend observed in the San Francisco Bay Area during the late 1990s and early 2000s, where the economic boom led to rapid gentrification, pushing artists and creative professionals to seek solace and affordability in quieter, more contemplative surroundings.
A Creative’s Northern Trajectory: From Silicon Valley to San Francisco’s Avant-Garde
Bonauro’s migratory pattern began decades earlier. In the late 1970s, seeking an escape from the burgeoning suburban sprawl and nascent tech-centricity of Silicon Valley’s Sunnyvale, he moved north to San Francisco. This initial relocation was driven by a desire to immerse himself in the city’s dynamic art and club scene, a cultural crucible where he aimed to "plug into pop culture" and forge his professional identity. San Francisco, at that time, was a magnet for counter-culture movements and artistic experimentation, offering fertile ground for emerging talents.
He quickly established himself as a formidable force in graphic design, recognized for his iconoclastic print and video work. His client roster was diverse and prestigious, including global brands like Swatch, musical acts such as Voice Farm, celebrated choreographers like Margaret Jenkins, avant-garde filmmakers like Gus Van Sant, and cultural institutions like MTV and SFMoMA. Bonauro’s signature style was characterized by "dreamy pieces" featuring "hyperevocative images," often meticulously curated from his extensive personal collection of artifacts and photographs. A prime example of his distinctive approach was the "501 Reasons" campaign for Levi’s, which famously showcased out-of-focus marbles, spirographs, tornadoes, and DNA molecules across America’s bus shelters and billboards – conspicuously omitting the jeans themselves, thereby focusing on the evocative power of abstract imagery rather than direct product promotion. This campaign underscored his philosophy of indirect communication and visual metaphor, cementing his reputation for innovative and thought-provoking design.
The Shifting Sands of San Francisco: Urban Transformation and Artistic Displacement
After years of inhabiting various studio apartments, a common rite of passage for artists in metropolitan centers, Bonauro settled into a raw live/work loft rental in Potrero Hill in 1989. This sunny, formerly industrial neighborhood had long been a haven for artists and noncorporate individuals, attracted by its spacious, affordable industrial buildings and burgeoning creative community. However, the urban landscape of San Francisco was undergoing a dramatic transformation. The late 1990s witnessed the meteoric rise of the dot-com industry, which fundamentally reshaped the city’s economy and demographics. Potrero Hill, once a bohemian frontier, rapidly morphed into a "dot-com spawning ground," its warehouses and lofts converted into tech offices and high-priced residences.
This economic boom, while bringing prosperity to some sectors, precipitated an acute housing crisis and widespread gentrification. Rents skyrocketed, and the cost of living became prohibitive for many artists and long-term residents. Stories of displaced artists became front-page news, highlighting the growing tension between urban development and cultural preservation. For Bonauro, the rapid changes in his immediate environment spurred a growing yearning for stability and a personal sanctuary. "I had done the whole underground thing, gone to the clubs, been part of the scene," he reflected. "The city was changing all around me, especially outside my front door. After 20 years, it was time to leave and find someplace more private and personal to call home." This sentiment was echoed by many creatives who found their communities and living spaces increasingly untenable amidst the "raging real-estate bidding wars" that characterized the Bay Area at the close of the millennium. The search for a "home of his own" became an urgent, almost biological imperative.
A Serendipitous Acquisition in Sausalito: A Mountain Retreat Emerges
By the end of the millennium, Bonauro’s search culminated in the acquisition of a two-level, mid-1950s California bungalow in the cool, green hills of Sausalito, just across the iconic Golden Gate Bridge. This move represented a stark contrast to his previous urban existence. "Suddenly I went from living in a box within a larger box in the city to this very intimate mountain cabin in a town that I never would have imagined living in," he remarked.
Sausalito, a bayside village with a population of approximately 7,835 at the time, boasts a rich history as a former artists’ colony. However, by the late 1990s, it had evolved into one of the Bay Area’s most exclusive real estate markets, also serving as a significant tourist destination, with visitors often congregating around its New Age-y galleries and souvenir shops by the waterfront. Despite its newfound affluence and tourist appeal, Sausalito retained pockets of natural tranquility and a distinct character.
Bonauro attributes his fortuitous acquisition to a sense of "things always having a way of just falling into place," delivered in what he describes as his "best Zen delivery." This second northward migration had roots years prior, initiated by his professional connections within San Francisco’s creative community. Among his collaborators were John Randolph and Bruce Tomb, co-founders of the innovative Interim Office of Architecture (IOOA). In 1987, Bonauro was invited by Randolph and Tomb to Sausalito to see their remodel of a house for fine-arts photographer Lewis Baltz. Impressed by their work, Bonauro subsequently commissioned IOOA to design his own San Francisco loft. The firm’s distinctive approach, and the spaces they crafted, garnered significant attention, with a 1994 Elle Decor article featuring both Baltz’s Sausalito house and Bonauro’s urban loft.
The opportunity for Bonauro to acquire Baltz’s house arose years later, following the dissolution of IOOA. Lewis Baltz, who had since moved to Paris, offered the upstairs portion of his Sausalito house to John Randolph for use as an office. It was then, "on a whim," that Bonauro inquired about Baltz’s plans to sell the property. "I asked if Lewis planned to sell, because I could really imagine living in this space. It feels so protected," Bonauro explained. The transaction was gradually worked out, and Bonauro purchased the unique property, establishing a shared office arrangement with John Randolph in the city. This serendipitous sequence of events allowed Bonauro to bypass the fierce competition of the Bay Area real estate market and secure a home that resonated deeply with his evolving personal and creative needs.
Architectural Adaptation and Personal Curatorial Vision
The move to Sausalito, while a welcome change, presented Bonauro with a unique creative challenge. A designer known for his meticulous curation of possessions – from religious reliquaries to antique shoe forms and amulets – and his rigorous arrangement of environments, he approached the relocation as "another creative project." This allowed him to "edit and refine" his extensive collection and adapt pieces custom-designed for his previous loft to a new context.
The continuity provided by IOOA’s prior work on the house was a significant comfort. Bonauro brought with him furniture and design elements that Randolph and Tomb had created for his loft, and the Sausalito house already contained pieces they had designed for Lewis Baltz, including a table, benches, and a couch. Randolph continued to refine the space after Bonauro moved in, focusing on minimalist interventions. He famously advocated for softer, less intrusive closures over traditional doors, which he deemed "ugly" and space-consuming. Consequently, doors were replaced with fabric or sliding panels, featuring frosted glass in the bathroom and metallic mesh at the living room threshold. Complementing these architectural modifications were half a dozen sculptural cabinets commissioned over the years from his friend, furniture designer and builder Philip Agee.
Remarkably, all these disparate elements slid into place, albeit with a new spatial dynamic. Bonauro observed a fundamental difference between his former and current living situations: "Where the loft was one big sensation—dominated by work—this house is more a collection of intimate encounters, so I let that be my guide." In the living room, Agee’s custom pieces were strategically placed to imply distinct "zones" within the larger room. By extending out from the walls rather than sitting flush, these cabinets effectively created subtle nooks and areas of privacy, fostering a sense of compartmentalized intimacy in contrast to the expansive, open-plan nature of a loft. This approach reflects Bonauro’s deep understanding of how objects and spatial arrangements influence human experience and perception, turning a house into a carefully composed narrative.
An Inward-Looking Sanctuary: Integration with Nature
The Sausalito house’s appeal, particularly its "cloistered quality," is immediately evident upon approach. From the street, it is easy to miss, nestled discreetly amidst its natural surroundings. As architect John Randolph observed, "With its inward-looking aspect, it’s perfect for someone who wants to be insulated from the distractions of the outside world."
The first layer of defense and privacy is a wooden fence and gate, backed by dense stands of pine trees and other foliage, creating a natural buffer. The act of ringing the bell evokes the feeling of a "novitiate awaiting admittance to some holy retreat." A bridge leads to the front door, flanked by a plasterwork deer (transplanted from the loft) on the left, looking down from a hill. To the right, a deck and hot tub, typical amenities for Marin County, awaited Bonauro’s eventual use.
Upon entering, visitors are greeted by the distinct smell of incense, followed by an immediate immersion into the view, which Bonauro likened to "walking into a tree house." Randolph further emphasized this integration with nature, describing it as a "true garden home; you can see right through it." Bonauro highlighted his increased awareness of the seasons in this new setting, noting, "where the loft was like living in the air, this is almost subterranean. And I’m much more aware of the seasons." He pointed to a Japanese redwood beginning to flower and the interplay of shadows cast by leaves across the window shades. Despite its location in Sausalito’s "sun belt," the hills are often cloaked in a "Hobbit-like mist," enhancing the sense of a cozy, secluded vacation cottage regardless of the weather.
Zones of Living and a Philosophy of Disconnection
Bonauro conceptualized the upstairs of his home as being divided into three distinct zones. The main living area comprises the living room and kitchen, seamlessly connected by a pass-through that IOOA had cut into the wall, itself lowered approximately a foot from the ceiling. A window strategically added over the fireplace frames and crops the flue, creating a quirky, almost artistic "picture of the house’s guts." The second zone is an older suite of three rooms—bedroom, den, and bathroom—retaining its original whitewashed outer wall, indicative of the house’s layered history. The third zone, an "alfresco room," is the deck, accessible through multiple doors and windows along the back of the house. While everything is flung open in summer, Bonauro deliberately covers the windows in winter to preserve warmth and cultivate a "snug, cave-like feeling," even sealing off one bedroom window that offered a view of neighboring houses with cork as part of his "fortification" process. This meticulous control over light, temperature, and visual access underscores his desire for a deeply personal and insulated environment.
Within this carefully orchestrated space, Bonauro’s objects are omnipresent, arranged in "tablescapes" and "composed in tableaux" on benches, shelves, tables, and cabinets. Yet, despite the abundance of artifacts, there is an "uncanny absence of clutter." Every "prosaic object"—from paperclips to electrical cords—is gently hidden from view. A wood-and-raffia screen by Philip Agee, for instance, once shielded a cardboard box and a pack of film. This extreme tidiness and intentional concealment extend to technology. Speakers are "defaced" to blend into the background, and conspicuously absent is any sign of a Macintosh computer, "that most ubiquitous of design tools."
Bonauro articulated a clear philosophy regarding technology: "I love how low-tech it feels out here. In a world where everyone uses a computer to do art, I’d rather use my own methods, as long as the support system is out there." He viewed computers as intrusive, altering the physical environment and representing "work more than pleasure." His preference for tactile, analog methods was evident in his statement: "As for the Web, I’d rather play with a Polaroid camera." This stance is particularly notable given his profession, though he acknowledged the necessity of modern tools, designing websites for clients like George, an innovative pet products company. His home, therefore, serves as a deliberate counterpoint to the digital intensity of his professional life, a sanctuary where analog processes and curated objects take precedence.
The Subterranean Creative Core and Reflections on a New Rhythm of Life
While much of Bonauro’s contemplative work—pondering "color-saturated images" for current projects on his "table of consideration"—occurs upstairs, the true engine of his professional life lies below. Accessible via the back door and down a set of stairs, these subterranean spaces benefit from Sausalito’s natural springs (one running at the edge of the property), which keep them cool and quiet, creating an almost "grotto-like" or "very yin" atmosphere, as described by Randolph. Lewis Baltz’s former darkroom was repurposed into a reference room and office, featuring a rough-hewn, polished-granite work surface overlooking a picture-window view of the Japanese redwood. An archive room offers an inward-looking perspective, revealing the "bowels of the house," while a self-contained guest room is nestled at the far end, enveloped by trees. At the heart of the garden stands a potting shed, a potent symbol of land ownership and rootedness.
Reflecting on his transition from urban street life to a world of flora and fauna, Bonauro noted the unique duality of his new existence. "In some ways, Sausalito is like another part of the city, it’s so close, and I’m often in town for meetings. But I don’t miss living there," he clarified. While the spontaneous social encounters of city life were less frequent, he found himself "initiating social activities" more often, which, paradoxically, led to "more fun" when he did venture into the city. The greatest reward, however, was the return home: "I love coming back here at night."
The profound quiet of Sausalito was a stark contrast to his previous urban dwellings. "It’s so quiet," he mused, "like being in the country. There are all kinds of creatures and critters. Now, when I hear something on the roof at night, I know it’s a raccoon or a squirrel, not someone trying to break into my apartment." This final observation encapsulates the essence of his migration: a move towards greater peace, security, and a deeper connection with the natural world, a deliberate choice to trade the relentless pulse of the city for the soothing rhythm of a mountain cabin.
Broader Implications: The Artist’s Retreat in a Changing Bay Area
Tom Bonauro’s move from San Francisco to Sausalito is more than a personal anecdote; it serves as a microcosm of broader demographic and cultural shifts occurring in the San Francisco Bay Area during a period of intense economic transformation. His story highlights the challenges faced by the creative class in a rapidly gentrifying urban environment, where the forces of commercialization and rising living costs often displace the very artists who contribute to a city’s cultural vibrancy. The dot-com boom, while fueling unprecedented economic growth, irrevocably altered San Francisco’s character, pushing many, like Bonauro, to seek refuge in surrounding communities.
His choice of Sausalito, a historic artists’ haven that itself had become increasingly affluent, underscores the complex interplay of preservation and development. Bonauro’s meticulous approach to curating his environment, integrating architectural elements by IOOA with his personal collection, speaks to a desire for intentional living and a handcrafted aesthetic in an increasingly digital and mass-produced world. His deliberate embrace of a "low-tech" home environment, despite his profession as a graphic designer, offers a compelling counter-narrative to the pervasive influence of technology, advocating for spaces that foster contemplation and direct engagement with the physical world. Ultimately, Bonauro’s mountain cabin in Sausalito stands as a testament to the enduring human need for sanctuary, creative freedom, and a personal connection to place, even amidst the relentless pace of modern life.
