Homebodies
Dee tang and desmond sweeney live in palmyra, western australia, with their daughter rafa. dee is a designer; desmond is a painter.
When Dee Tang and Desmond Sweeney first moved into their 1939 bungalow, they needed to let the light in – literally and metaphorically. The previous owners had left a jumble of stuff scattered across gloomy rooms, and dark jarrah floorboards sucked away any sunlight that made it through huge surrounding trees. So they made a decision that raised more than a few eyebrows: they painted everything white – including those prized floorboards. “People were freaking out,” Dee says. “I guess around these parts they have more of that classic Federation style, very Fremantle. We came on in like, ‘We’re from Sydney’s northern beaches, this is what we do! Everything white!’ Des pretty much hand-painted every single plank. It took him ages, but it was quite therapeutic at the time.”
Such a meditative task was a blessing in disguise, because an unimaginable tragedy had befallen the couple just weeks earlier. After flying to Perth to inspect the bungalow, which they immediately decided to buy, Dee and Desmond headed to Bali with their two young daughters for a short holiday. They planned to return to Sydney afterwards to pack up their lives, before making the 4000-kilometre journey west to their new home – a return to the place where Dee grew up.
But, on the last day of their holiday, Dee faced every parent’s worst nightmare: she found her three-year-old daughter Kawa unconscious at the bottom of a swimming pool. A doctor, who happened to have been surfing nearby with Desmond, managed to get the little girl’s heart beating again, and she was flown back to Perth for treatment. But little could be done to help Kawa, and Dee and Desmond soon made the heartbreaking decision to turn off her life support. “Our lives just unfolded,” Dee says. “I’m so glad Kawa got to run through this house and this garden before we moved in. She knows exactly where we are. There’s this really beautiful light that filters into the garden, and I feel like that’s the way Kawa’s presence is felt now she’s in spirit.” Dee, Desmond and their youngest daughter, Rafa, moved into the bungalow about a month later, in August 2017. Their lives were in disarray. On top of the all-consuming grief, the couple faced weeks of work to make their new house a livable home. For the first three months, the family bunked down in a little studio out the back, while inside the renovations slowly uncovered the bungalow’s beautiful bones.
“Because she’s an Art Deco period home, she’s beautiful. The ceilings are incredible with all the frescoes; we have the keyhole doorway and curves in all the right places,” Dee says. “She already embodied so many features that we only needed to make a clean palette so you could actually take in the details. I can sense she’s grateful and, because of that, she’s looking after us. There’s a lot of soul in this home. I think of her as an old lady of that Deco era. You know, those ladies who smoked using cigarette holders and had shell purses? She’s like that – but she has to smoke outside now.” Dee and Desmond brought just one container of their former belongings over to Western Australia with them, including plenty of Kawa’s clothes and toys, now gifted to Rafa. Most of their new possessions Dee scavenged secondhand and at flea markets. “Gumtree is like my therapy, my version of TV, and we also have the awesome local Melville Markets,” she says. “My husband’s used to it by now, but I’m always dragging him and the van to random places to haul random shit out of people’s houses.” It helps that Dee already has a honed eye for relaxed and beachy homeware vibes – she’s the creative designer behind the popular, surf-inspired lifestyle label Kawaiian Lion. In fact, that’s where much of the palm tree-themed decor dotted around the bungalow comes from.
But her background as a visual merchandiser and stylist also means Dee is happier than most to constantly add and subtract new bits of furniture and homewares from their house. “I just give it a go, and if it doesn’t work, I sell it,” she says. “Shit is constantly
moving in and out of our house. It drives Des nuts. But I think that’s part of who I am. I relinquish attachment. I have this constant fear of being a hoarder, so that keeps me in check.”
Desmond, for his part, shuffles things in and out of the bungalow, too – specifically, his incredible artworks, which are given pride of place for a few weeks or months until they sell. Lately, it’s been pastel beachscapes painstakingly hand-painted across bamboo matchstick blinds. He’s also started playing around with oil on canvas for the first time in 24 years – Western Australia’s drier climate makes working with acrylics tricky.
Des trained in signwriting and airbrushing, but is perhaps best known for his enormous murals splashed across everything from walls in famed Aussie bars and hotels to Perth Zoo’s animal enclosures. He spent five years painting stunning backdrops for Opera Australia and, in 2014, launched 8footwalls for his solo work and commissions. While his on-location mural work involves a fair bit of travel, a lot of his solo magic now happens in the studio space out the back. “The previous owners built it by salvaging old windows from the tip,” Dee says of the light-filled dual-space studio.
It’s still a work in progress, but Dee and Desmond are slowly transforming the studio into an Airbnb rental for folks “looking for a space out of the ordinary to stay”. They’re working hard on the sprawling garden, too, which has probably presented the sharpest learning curve. After years of apartment living, “we’re not naturally green thumbs,” Dee says. Their strategy so far? Water less and see what survives. “Because it’s so dry in Western Australia, we wanted to make sure we weren’t consuming too much water. So anything that lives can stay, then we can get more of those things,” she laughs. As they poke around the backyard, they often find odd pieces of glass and crystals – leftovers from the previous owners, who were both glass artists. “When we moved in, they left us a handmade glass orb and a note that said: ‘We hope you enjoy living here as much as we have.’” Dee reckons their decades of creativity on the property have imbued the place with a special vibe. “There’s a very beautiful, creative spirit. This home transcends time and space, and we forget that we once again live in Perth, the most isolated city in the world.” That isolation can be tough, especially when working from home, but Dee says social media helps: “I have a strong network of designer mamas who help me stay connected.” The house is also just a stone’s throw from Fremantle’s bustling and progressive centre, and the couple has quickly found friends within the local creative crowd. “I love having a space where people feel welcome, where they can sit around, read and be in the present. I don't like things feeling fancy or overdone. I love a lived-in, comfortable space,” she says. Dee firmly believes the little house has helped her family deal with the terrible shock of losing Kawa, allowing them space to tune in to their deep sadness, regroup and look to the future. The big gum tree in the backyard has offered shelter, both physical and emotional, she says. The “dodgy extension” out the back is the perfect place to meditate while watching the afternoon light pour into the garden. “I don’t think we’ll ever sell this house,” Dee says. “I think she’s ours until the end of time.”