Filmmaker Aviva Kempner on creating a forever home

While many baby boomers downsize as they grow older, documentary filmmaker Aviva Kempner counterintuitively went bigger. Way bigger.

She gained 800 square feet of living and party space, not including the basement and attic she finished later, by moving from a duplex to a Colonial large enough to contain her multiple collections, her filmmaking enterprise and her wide circle of friends, family and colleagues.

The northwest Washington house and its nearly quarter-acre lot, bought with an inheritance from an uncle who survived Auschwitz, met all of her exacting requirements.

"First, I wanted to age in place and never move again. They'll have to carry me out of here in a box," says Kempner, 68, citing the new elevator that links her lower-level office to the first and second floors, and the outdoor ramps, front and rear, to be used when she can no longer navigate stairs.

Kempner also wanted expansive entertaining spaces. A frequent host of gatherings large and small, she can now welcome 100 guests inside or outside, at events as disparate as book parties, bar mitzvah receptions, political meet-and-greets, potluck buffets, seated dinners, movie screenings and even a memorial service. (At a recent fundraiser for Maryland Democratic congressional hopeful Jamie Raskin, the ramps intended for her dotage proved helpful to a 20-something with a broken leg and an 80-ish gent leaning on a cane.)

There had to be enough wall space for the oversize abstracts by her late mother, artist Helen Ciesla Covensky, along with Kempner's own impressive collection of photos, etchings, drawings, sculpture, ceramics, paintings, tiles and textiles by numerous artists, nameless to famous.

Her filmmaking enterprise, the Ciesla Foundation, had to fit into the basement that she finished to include a surprisingly bright three-room suite where young staffers research, edit and schedule showings of her films.

All five of Kempner's documentaries, including a well-received biopic about baseball great Hank Greenberg, have some connection to Judaism.

Her recent release, "Rosenwald," which scored a 95 percent positive rating on Rotten Tomatoes, focuses on former Sears, Roebuck president Julius Rosenwald of Chicago, who worked with Booker T. Washington to help black communities build more than 5,300 schools in the brutally segregated South (several of the interviews were shot in Kempner's living room).

In addition to copious living and exhibit space, Kempner wanted custom metal- and tilework that would pay homage to Antoni Gaudi­, the Catalan architect famed for his use of sinuous ironwork, intricate mosaic and stained glass throughout Spain, and to the vivid colors of her mother's art. Kempner also sought to showcase handmade tiles from the Middle East, Europe and the Americas.

The eight-month renovation was sufficiently complete in 2011 for Kempner to move in and start to decorate and curate what easily could be an intimate house museum: elaborately carved antique French china cabinets and sideboards, and charming primitive folk pieces, modernist leather furniture and carefully chosen pieces of Judaica, baseball and political memorabilia.

For those who dwell at the beige-and-pastel end of the spectrum, and for minimalists who believe less is more, Casa Aviva can be overwhelming. But the blunt-spoken chatelaine has always lived out loud, and the house reflects its owner's many passions.

Katja Tenenbaum, a friend from Rome, was struck by Kempner's style, which reminded her of the way artworks and artifacts are grouped at Philadelphia's Barnes Foundation.

Candidate Raskin called the house "completely enchanting. It was like the first time I saw Mardi Gras, full of color and pizzazz and exuberance."

In her neighborhood, where a 1994 mansion near Kempner's home carries a $22 million price tag, not everyone delights in the transformation of her grassy front lawn into a Gaudi­-esque sculpture garden complete with a five-foot painted hand meant to promote D.C. voting rights.

"It's very different than the neighborhood," comes the occasional murmuring. "It stands out. It's not subtle."

"If anyone is unhappy, they've never told me," said Kempner.

To help execute her singular vision of home, she gave much-appreciated creative license to three artisans who have worked for her over the years, including Axel Vasquez, 25, and his brother Byron Vasquez, 31. After Kempner showed them books of Gaudi's work, especially Barcelona's Park Guell, Axel, a self-taught mosaic master, tiled parts of the walkways, stairs and retaining walls built by Byron.

Meanwhile, her longtime landscaper, Donald Redditt of Accokeek, Maryland, came alive when Kempner asked him to paint her kitchen cabinets the same steely, tealy sage of a primitive Amish cupboard. Instead, he faux-finished them in what seems like 50 shades of blue.

"Clearly he had other ideas, and I loved it," said Kempner.

Kempner spends much of her time in a cozy green study to the left of the entrance. But the second floor is her refuge, with the master bedroom painted a deep rose and cream, and filled with Victorian, art nouveau and art deco furnishings and lighting. A door at the far end of the room opens to reveal another salute to Gaudi­, a wrought-iron Juliet balcony overlooking the back yard.

Here, "I lie in bed and feel like I'm in a treehouse," she said.

One flight up is a finished attic that could become a sitting or sleeping area, were it not crammed with unpacked boxes. The elevator, too, is filled with papers "and will probably stay that way until I can no longer walk and actually need to use it."

And she intends to use it. "This is the house I always wanted," Kempner said. "And this is the last place I plan to live."

This story was originally published November 4, 2015 at 10:08 PM with the headline "Filmmaker Aviva Kempner on creating a forever home ."