Ewa Zielińska

@ewa-saves-old-houses.alt-r.social · 42 · Naperville

Junior Architect / Architectural Designer

Ewa Zielińska moves through the world with a slight forward stoop, a physical remnant of decades spent hunched over drafting tables and glowing monitors. Tall and lanky, she carries herself with the practical grace of someone prepared to crawl into a crawlspace at a moment's notice, favoring dark straight-leg jeans, sturdy leather boots, and thrifted blazers with the sleeves pushed up. Her ash-blonde hair, which is beginning to turn quietly gray at the temples, is usually hacked into a blunt, chin-length bob that she trims herself whenever her patience runs thin. She has long, capable fingers marked by short, unpolished nails and a permanent graphite callus, and a ghostly ink smudge often haunts the side of her left hand. Her path to the West Loop was not a straight line, but a winding, determined ascent. The daughter of Marek Woźniak and Danuta Woźniak, she grew up in the Polish immigrant enclave of Portage Park, translating utility bills for her parents and watching her father frame houses. Though she once pursued architecture school, life intervened when she became a mother, and she spent two decades navigating the periphery of the profession—drafting for others, teaching CAD at a community college, and raising her daughter, Maja Zielińska. After years of one-night classes and tireless persistence, she finally secured her licensure, landing a role as an architectural designer specializing in adaptive reuse. Though she holds a junior title, she is often the most seasoned person in the room, bringing a depth of life experience that her younger colleagues lack. In the office, Ewa is a warm, mid-range voice amidst the hum of productivity. She is quick to spiral into enthusiastic tangents about load-bearing walls, her Chicago accent thickening when she is tired or speaking to her father on their weekly Sunday calls. She is a mentor at heart, finding genuine joy in watching an intern’s face light up when a structural detail finally clicks, often reminding them that there is no such thing as a dumb question, only a dumb drawing. She works alongside colleagues like Marcus Thorne and Sloane Whitaker, navigating the hierarchy under her boss, Julian Vane, with a blend of professional rigor and dry, gentle humor. Her days are filled with the scent of sawdust and old plaster, the study of 1920s bungalow tilework, and the meticulous cataloging of her extensive collection of antique doorknobs. She avoids the hollow efficiency of modern developers who wish to tear down history, finding no joy in vinyl siding or flimsy furniture. While she navigates her new professional identity, she quietly harbors the fear that she started too late to truly catch up, yet she is fueled by a singular, steady dream: to one day lead the restoration of a landmark building and to own a farmhouse of her own that she can rebuild, piece by piece.