Sweat the Small Stuff
An eye for detail
“Architecture is about aging well, about precision and authenticity. There is much more to the success of a building than what you can see. I'm not suggesting that gestural architecture is always superficial, but solid reasoning has its place.” — Annabelle Selldorf
“You don’t just have good taste,” German-born, New-York based architect Annabelle Selldorf (b. 1960) told the Wall Street Journal, “You may be interested in something, but then you have to learn, and look, and look more.” Selldorf is an incredible talent, famous as the art world’s architect (her private townhouse clients include Zwirner, Gladstone, Wirth, Gagosian, Van der Weghe and Starstedt), she has an incredibly refined eye, attuned to the nuances of gallerists, dealers and curators alike. She is in fact herself a collector and upon entering her airy white apartment, with its Zebrino marble floors (which given the stones vivid graphic stripes, somehow manage to look calm and understated — evocative of 1950s Rome), one is immediately confronted by a wire chair sculpture by Franz West (1947-2012) and a Joseph Beuys (1921-1986) felt suit. Elsewhere works by Donald Judd (1928-1944), Suzan Frecon (b. 1941) and Yves Tanguy (1990-1955) work in perfect harmony with Venetian glass and Chinese Ming-dynasty furniture. “It’s a restrained version of herself,” art dealer Gordon VeneKlasen, co-owner of the Michael Werner Gallery and friend of Selldorf’s says of the apartment. “It’s very much the way she lives. You sit a certain way, you read a book a certain way.” Selldorf has attached meaning to objects since childhood and is particularly interested in understanding the origins of material things, whether that be an antique or work of art, and how they impact our contemporary environment. In 2019 for e.g. Selldorf collaborated with artist Rachel Feinstein (b. 1971) on the design of her retrospective for the Jewish Museum, Maiden, Mother, Crone. The exhibition design was inspired by Feinstein’s dualistic approach: split into three distinct spaces, a sculpture gallery, a womb and a baroque garden, juxtaposing hard, geometric shapes against curvilinear edges and enclosures.
A collectors house designed by Annabelle Selldorf
A collectors house designed by Annabelle Selldorf
What sets Selldorf apart is an unerring eye for detail, both with regards those historical nuances that give styles and genres of design their specific charm and character and also those elements of contemporary design that, whilst perhaps not immediately identifiable, make a building feel thought about and considered. For e.g. when designing the Neue Gallery, New York, Selldorf made numerous trips to Austria’s capital so as to create her own honest interpretation of a Vienne-Secession inspired café, replete with Adolf Loos (1870-1933) bentwood chairs and banquettes upholstered in a fabric designed by Otto Wagner (1841-1918). “Devotion to specificity and detail is what brought this space together,” Selldorf explains. Whilst she sees the process of designing a building as an unsentimental and purely rational process, when it comes to the life within a space emotion enters the equation, for e.g. how it will be used, and where furniture should be placed so as to foster a sense of conviviality and bonhomie. Interestingly in that regard, and unlike a good many Architects who constantly strive to push boundaries (sometimes at the expense of a buildings inhabitants), Selldorf doesn’t see innovation as a necessary ingredient in comfort, but instead considers specificity and sensitivity to be the key factors — and it’s clear that these are principles employed in every one of her projects. “I like to create space,” Selldorf says of her process, “In some ways it’s about doing less, rather than doing more.” Indeed arguably her work in architecture, interiors and furniture — an exercise in restrained elegance — should be seen as a role model for all students of design.
The home of Annabelle Selldorf, Fifth Avenue, New York, with zebrino marble floors
Perhaps Selldorf is celebrated and championed by the art world because it is an industry populated by people who, on one hand, appreciate broad brush gestures such as scale, space and materiality, and on the other, have an eye for finer detail, both of which, undoubtedly, translate into the spaces they inhabit, whether that be at work or at home. To a true aesthete such minutiae as taps, hinges and joints etc. which, by and large, go unnoticed by a buildings occupants, can make or break an interior. Indeed if one speaks to any decorative arts dealer it soon becomes apparent that after years in the trade those showier items, though undoubtedly beautiful, start to make less of an impression; and ordinarily it’s the rarities or those pieces demonstrating a particularly fine construction method or the use of unusual materials that get them hot under the collar. Often, as might be expected, such pieces are then sold on to a relatively small niche of collectors who will appreciate what it is that makes such a piece special and are prepared to pay the requisite premium.
Indeed it’s no different in the world of architecture and interiors, and there are those designers who get it, who strive to work with the best makers and manufacturers, treating a house or apartment as if a Gesamtkunstwerk (a total work of art), agonizing over joinery, architraves and profiles, almost as if an interior were a piece of furniture where, understandably, every aspect of which is important, as it forms part of an easily perceptible whole. As an extreme example, Austrian-British philosopher-turned-architect Ludwig Wittgenstein (1889-1951) spent a year designing each of the radiators for his sister’s stark, stripped-back townhouse on the Kundmanngasse, Vienna, which, unusually, fold around corners so as to maintain the symmetry of the rooms (indeed in the absence of any decoration whatsoever, details like door-handles — simple bent brass tubes, with no covers or faceplates, fitted directly into the doors — become a guiding element of the overall interior aesthetic). As a designer one should endeavour to understand a client as best possible, or rather, to the extent that they will allow (though you do, in any event, get quite close to someone when they tell you where they want to put their underwear), so as to realise an interior that best reflects their character. Luxury is often thought of in terms of expense, for e.g. crystal chandeliers, marble and silks, but instead it should be about the everyday, in the sense of catering to a client’s lifestyle and all those particular qualities that are personal to them, such as how they eat, sleep and even how they like to get ready in the morning.
The Jill Stuart residence designed by Annabelle Selldorf, photograph by Simon Upton
Such a considered, restrained approach to design, whilst unlikely to result in maximalist spaces, at the same time, should not in any way be viewed as the sort of black and white, edgy minimalism associated with pristine, white gallery spaces — or rather, those interiors that should come with a health warning. (The term “minimalism” was in fact initially conceptualised as defining the criteria that a work must fulfil so to qualify as “art” in an institutional sense, becoming synonymous with a group of artists — Donald Judd (19280-1994), Dan Flavin (1933-1996), Carl Andre (b. 1935), Sol Le Witt (1928-2007) etc. — whose work focused on positioning primary geometric objects around a gallery space.) If anything, it’s an exercise in finding the essential, and designing something truly beautiful, not about making a statement.
When it comes to approaching an interior, or even a whole piece of architecture, so as to achieve something truly timeless and refined, one must eschew “fashions” and “trends” (both of which should be seen as dirty words), avoiding an overly dogmatic, or ostentatious approach to design, focusing instead on rationality and rigour. The same can be said when it comes to furnishings, as an item should be valued for its inherent aesthetic qualities and not merely for its being associated with a particular designer or maker; when one looks at all those incredible Renaissance still-life paintings an elaborate silver ewer might be seen juxtaposed against a simple basket. Much can be said for using a humble piece next to something more precious, and often, it makes the overall composition more interesting as a result. There is nothing worse than an interior that is just for show, and even the most traditional materials and processes can be used in a way that is appropriate for contemporary living, where the old mingles seamlessly with the new. Client is key and contrary to what the media would have us all believe, by no means does an interior need a “wow factor”, and far better are those designs that exude a quiet confidence — a quality equally desirable in people.