The Kettle’s On and the Door’s Unlocked: Rebuilding a Website That Behaves Like a Front Room

I rebuilt my website this year, and the most useful thing I did was stop pretending it was a shop window. For a long time, karenizod.com had that slightly desperate quality you see on high streets: a banner shouting about news, a pop-up asking me to sign up before I had read a word, and three different buttons all begging me to ‘find out more’. It worked, in the sense that it existed. But it did not feel like me. It felt like a leaflet taped to a lamppost.

The change started with a simple question: if someone came round to my flat to talk about a project, what would I actually do? I would put the kettle on, clear a space on the sofa, and let the conversation find its own shape. I would not hand them a laminated list of services at the door. So why was my website doing exactly that?

First, I Took Down the Shouting

The old homepage had a carousel. I am not proud of it. It rotated through images with all the grace of a fridge door closing. There were badges, a newsletter box, and a strapline that tried to say three things at once. I replaced the lot with a short note in plain English: who I am, what I make, and where someone might start looking. One image. One sentence. One clear way to get in touch.

That was the first proper edit, and it felt oddly exposing. A shop window lets you hide behind the display. A front room asks you to be in the room. But once the banners were gone, the site immediately felt calmer — and, I think, more trustworthy.

The Homepage as a Hallway

I stopped thinking of the homepage as the place where everything must happen. Instead, I treated it like a hallway: a place to hang your coat, work out which door you want, and not feel interrogated. There are now three obvious routes — Project News, Reflections, and Contact — and each one says what it is without dressing up.

I also added a small ‘Start here’ line for people who have never come across my work before. It is not a sales funnel. It is more like a friend saying, ‘If you’ve got five minutes, try this one.’ That tiny bit of guidance has made more difference than any clever layout.

Project News Without the Press Release Voice

Project News used to read like a form I had filled in for someone else. Dates, venues, funders, logos. All useful, none of it alive. Now each post starts with what actually happened: the thing that went wrong, the bit that surprised me, the note someone left on a feedback card. Then the practical details follow.

I am not suggesting every creative needs to publish their wobbles. But there is a middle ground between a corporate bulletin and a confessional. For me, it is writing the way I would talk to a colleague after a workshop: honestly, briefly, and with the useful bits included. I keep the dates and the credits — people need those — but I let the human part come first.

The Contact Page Is an Invitation, Not a Form

The old contact page had a form with seven fields and a captcha that made me doubt my own eyes. I replaced it with a plain email address, a short note about what to include if you are getting in touch about a project, and a rough idea of when I reply. I also added the sort of detail I would give someone on the phone: ‘If you are wondering whether your idea is too small, it probably isn’t. Ask anyway.’

That last line has led to some genuinely lovely messages. Not a flood. Just the right sort. A contact page should lower the threshold, not build a little gate in front of it.

Human, Not a Live Stream

There is a difference between being welcoming and oversharing, and I have had to learn it the hard way. My rule now is three questions: is this useful to someone else, is it mine to tell, and would I be comfortable saying it in a cafe to a person I had just met? If the answer to any of those is no, it stays out.

The site can be warm without being a diary. It can have a voice without turning every page into a therapy session. For UK creatives especially, there is a real pressure to perform openness — to post the messy desk, the difficult client, the crying-in-the-car moment. You do not have to. A front room can be tidy and still feel lived in.

Small Things That Made a Difference

A few practical bits, in case they are useful. I made sure the site works on a phone without pinching and squinting. I wrote proper alt text for images. I turned off autoplay on everything. I checked the reading level of the main pages and cut the jargon. I added a simple privacy note in plain English. None of this is glamorous, but it all says the same thing: I have thought about the person on the other side of the screen.

I also stopped using the word ‘journey’. That alone improved the tone by about forty per cent.

What I Would Tell Another Creative

If you are rebuilding your own site in 2026, start with one page. Ask a friend to look at it for thirty seconds and tell you what you do. If they cannot, the homepage is still a shop window. Then ask them where they would click if they wanted to get in touch. If they hesitate, the hallway needs better signs.

My site is not finished. It never will be. But it feels less like a pitch and more like a place. The kettle is on, the door is unlocked, and there is a chair if you want it. That is all I wanted, really.