Silver Criswell shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.
Silver, a huge thanks to you for investing the time to share your wisdom with those who are seeking it. We think it’s so important for us to share stories with our neighbors, friends and community because knowledge multiples when we share with each other. Let’s jump in: What is something outside of work that is bringing you joy lately?
Gardening brings me a kind of joy I never expected. There’s just something about getting your hands dirty, tending to things, watching them grow — it feels really grounding. It all started with gardenias. My grandfather had these big, beautiful bushes in his front yard when I was growing up. Every time I visited, the scent would hit me before I even got to the porch — sweet and strong, like the air itself was blooming. That smell stuck with me.
When I started my own garden, those gardenias were the inspiration — dark, glossy leaves and these huge, biscuit-sized flowers that make the air smell so sweet you almost forget how hot it is outside. I’ve been taking care of them for six years now, and it still amazes me. Watching lizards dart through the branches or bees and butterflies stopping by for their daily visit — it’s become this small, daily joy I never knew I needed. It just makes life feel a little more magical.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
Jacque Criswell Decor has been a part of the Houston community since 1998, and in 2003, we made our home in Champion Forest, where we spent over two decades crafting custom furnishings, decor, lighting, and more for our amazing clients. But when Hurricane Harvey hit in 2017, everything changed. Our neighborhood, like so many others, had to rebuild, redesign, and refresh. We saw that the needs of our clients — many of whom were facing new chapters in life — were evolving, and we knew we had to adapt too. That’s when we started shifting towards design-build, carefully curating a team of subcontractors we’ve worked with for years to help bring new life to homes.
Our approach has always been about listening. We take the time to understand our clients’ needs, wants, and the rhythms of their daily lives — and then we create spaces that feel like a true reflection of them. It’s not just about checking off boxes; it’s about giving more than what they imagined, crafting a space that feels uniquely theirs. With the years of experience and a sharp, refined eye, we elevate every detail to make sure it’s not just functional but beautiful, too.
Recently, we’ve seen a shift — many of our clients have been moving closer into the heart of the city. So, we thought, why not join them? Our new location in Spring Branch at 1549 Campbell Road is a fresh start, and we’re loving the energy of our new neighbors and the heart of this vibrant community.
As the Creative Director, I have the honor of taking our designs to new heights, challenging the team to rethink traditional concepts in ways that make sense for today’s modern living. I personally look over every design to find that one element — whether it’s lighting, wall finishes, or a piece of furniture — that can elevate the whole space and create that “livable wow factor.” For me, it’s about more than just beautiful design; it’s about creating atmospheres where families host dinner parties, unwind after long days, raise their children, and simply breathe in their own little haven.
At the end of the day, designing a home — whether it’s a cozy loft or an expansive estate — isn’t about chasing trends or what’s trending on social media. It’s about creating a place that brings peace and respite from the noise of the world. That’s the heart of what we do, and it’s a true privilege
Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. Who taught you the most about work?
The most profound lessons about work have come from my family. I come from a long line of entrepreneurs, artisans, and dreamers. There’s a rich tapestry of skills woven through our lineage — carpenters, plumbers, chefs, retail store owners, and interior designers — each of them creating something from the ground up, often with their bare hands. But more than that, they’ve taught me the true essence of work: that it’s not just about a paycheck or a title. It’s about building something that lasts, something that connects people, something that serves a community.
My family believes in the power of business not just to succeed, but to strengthen bonds — to give back and build spaces where others can thrive. From watching my grandfather carve out beautiful pieces of wood to seeing my mother and aunts create bustling and lucrative businesses with love and precision, I learned that work is more than a means to an end; it’s a way to contribute to something larger than yourself, to create a legacy that impacts lives.
They taught me that integrity, passion, and purpose are the foundation of every endeavor. And above all, they showed me that work is about the relationships it fosters — the community it nurtures. That’s a lesson I carry with me every day.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
That’s such a beautiful question. I think suffering taught me patience, not just with others, but with myself. It’s in those moments of struggle that you realize things aren’t always going to go as planned. As a designer, it’s easy to chase perfection — to think that everything has to be just right. But suffering, whether in life or in design, teaches you that sometimes things break before they bloom. That’s when the real beauty emerges, not in the flawless execution, but in the journey of getting there.
I’ve learned that real success doesn’t come from always getting it right the first time, but from trusting the process, even when it feels messy or uncertain. That’s how you create something truly meaningful — something with depth and character. It’s in those imperfections that the most magical things happen. So, while success can teach you how to win, suffering teaches you how to build with more heart, more soul, and more authenticity. It’s the contrast that makes the light shine even brighter.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? What’s a cultural value you protect at all costs?
When we talk about the rise of mega-mansions in older communities, it’s impossible not to feel a sense of urgency. What are we losing in our rush to build bigger, shinier homes? Sure, these grand estates are beautiful on the surface, but they come at a much deeper cost. It’s not just about displacing people — it’s about erasing a history, a culture, and the very soul of a community.
Communities are like gardens, nurtured by generations of people who’ve planted roots, shared meals, and built lives together. The old homes, the local mom-and-pop shops, the familiar faces on every street corner — those are the things that make a place feel alive, vibrant, and connected. But when we drop a mansion into that space, it feels like the land itself is being gutted. It’s not just about the land changing; it’s about the people being pushed aside, their stories replaced by walls that speak only of wealth and exclusivity.
In my heart, I believe that growth and progress can be beautiful, but they have to come with deep respect for the people who’ve come before. These communities are a living history, a tapestry woven together by the everyday lives of the people who’ve called them home. And when we build in ways that erase that, we’re not just displacing families — we’re robbing ourselves of something precious. These aren’t just houses we’re designing; they’re the spaces where people create memories, where they raise children, where they celebrate life, and where they find rest from the chaos of the world.
Progress should elevate, not erase. It should lift people up, not push them out. The true beauty in any community lies in its collective spirit — the way people care for one another, the way they nurture their shared spaces. When we build homes that ignore this, we’re losing something that can never be replaced. So, I ask: How can we call it progress if it leaves behind the very heart of what makes a place worth living in?
Before we design the future, we must first honor the past — and the people who shaped it. Only then can we build spaces that truly have meaning, that hold the weight of history, and that welcome everyone into a future worth living.
Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. If you knew you had 10 years left, what would you stop doing immediately?
If I knew I had only ten years left, I would stop designing for perfection and start creating for pure, unfiltered connection. I’d let go of the deadlines, the high-profile pitches, and the pressure to keep climbing—and instead devote myself to something more timeless: bringing dignity, beauty, and warmth into the lives of those who need it most.
I’d stop saying ‘someday.’ No more waiting for the perfect moment to take the leap. I’d leave behind the unnecessary stress, the self-doubt, and the illusion that productivity is the only measure of a meaningful life. I would immediately stop postponing the life I’ve always dreamed of living—and finally live it.
As a Creative Director and Interior Designer, I’ve spent years shaping spaces to tell stories, to hold emotion, to reflect identity. But if I had only a decade left, I’d take that gift and give it away—freely, radically, and intentionally. I’d retire from the traditional industry and reimagine what design can do in forgotten places: shelters, senior homes, transitional housing. I’d transform overlooked corners into sanctuaries—soft textures, warm light, colors that calm, and spaces that remind people they still matter.
I picture myself in a solar powered RV (if there is such a thing)—part home, part mission—bohemian and battered, filled with swatches, tools, and handwritten letters of thanks. I’d hit the road like a nomadic designer-philanthropist—part artist, part advocate. I’d travel not to sightsee, but to soul-see. To walk beside people in their stories. To sit on city benches sharing meals, to hold hands in quiet nursing homes, and to turn cold, institutional spaces into places that feel like love itself.
I’d trade boardrooms for community centers, meetings for meals cooked together, and spreadsheets for stories. I’d find adventure not in grandeur, but in humanity. I wouldn’t just create interiors—I’d create impact. I’d trade luxury for legacy. Because in the end, beauty means nothing if it’s not shared.
And I can’t think of anything more romantic, more hopeful, or more true to my heart than devoting the last chapter of my life to building a more compassionate world—one soulful space, one human moment, at a time. In those ten years, I wouldn’t just live—I’d give my life away in the most beautiful and meaningful ways possible.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.jacquecriswelldecor.com
- Instagram: @jacque.criswell.decor
