Perfect Imperfection
Wabi-sabi
“Nature is our greatest master. They said that I must find a reason for everything that I do and seek to express that reason. They told me never to be decorative - to avoid it at all costs. To be decorative is to do things just to please others, to create beauty for the sake of beauty.” — Axel Vervoordt
For the past decade (at least) film, television and magazines have told us we can “have it all” and do it all, and whilst intended as a positive, motivational mantra, for a good many of us the pressure to juggle work, relationships, family and friends, whilst appearing stylish and put together, with perfectly coifed hair and an elegantly appointed home is becoming increasingly overwhelming. Indeed the quest for perfection is inevitably counter-productive; it doesn’t exist, it’s impossible to achieve, and yet, it can be difficult to turn off those niggling inner voices, that fill our heads with messages like “Never good enough” and “What will people think?”. Perfectionism is, inherently, not the same as trying to be our best, or rather, to grow and to achieve our dreams, desires and ambitions. It’s a defence mechanism — we believe it will protect us, that if we look perfect, live perfect lives and act perfectly then we can avoid judgment, doubt and perhaps even, on some level, self-doubt. We live in a society in which, on a daily basis, we are bombarded with entirely unattainable and unrealistic expectations on any and every topic imaginable — from what we should be eating, to our appearance, beliefs and values, as well as how often we should be having sex and what colour we should be painting our sitting rooms. This has only been amplified by the emergence and rapid expansion of social media, and in particular Instagram, as a result of which, the lives of the rich and famous are now more visible than at any time before — with a broad demographic spectrum, everyone from models and “influencers” to gallerists and collectors, posting carefully curated images of their lifestyle and interiors. For many it goes further than mere “curation”, with filters and air-brushing giving an entirely misleading (and often largely fictitious) image which, understandably, can be very easy buy into, resulting in feelings of inferiority and inadequacy. This is something of an enigma as for the most part, on a day-to-day basis, we’re drawn to those people who are real and down-to-earth, with no artifice or pretention; we know that life is often messy and far from perfect — and in that vein, it might be high time we embrace a healthy, more meaningful lifestyle.
Castle 's-Gravenwezel, Antwerp, the home of Axel Vervoordt, image c/o Vendome Press
The home of Andrew Allfree, Normandy, photograph by Miguel Flores-Vianna
For many people the idea of accepting flaws and imperfections is easier when it comes to their homes, which might, to some extent, explain the ever increasing popularity of Wabi-sabi — a philosophy of life, a way of living and perceiving the world that has, perhaps most famously, been championed by internationally acclaimed art dealer, collector and interior designer Axel Vervoordt (b. 1947). Wabi-sabi is a Japanese concept that derives from simplicity and honesty and above all else values the beauty of imperfection; peacefully accepting the natural cycle of growth and decay that is inherent in life. Richard Powell, author of Wabi-Sabi Simple states that “Wabi-sabi cultivates all that is authentic by recognising three simple realities: nothing lasts, nothing is complete and nothing is perfect”. While there is no literal translation, it derives from two distinct roots, “wa”, which refers to peace, harmony and balance, and “sabi” which refers to the natural, on-going movement of time. Wabi-sabi is a welcome antidote to a world that ever increasingly operates on a non-stop 24-hour cycle — a broad concept, quiet and slow, it transcends trends and conventional design movements; for that matter, it isn’t bound up in any one aesthetic, and is, accordingly, universally applicable across the world of design. “I find the spirit of things much more important than the look of things,” Vervoordt has explained of his attitude to design, “I really don’t mind if things are ugly. They have their own beauty, if only one looks hard enough.” Vervoordt’s focus on authenticity and history is unyielding, never swayed by decorative “trends” or the purely superficial. Indeed the designer’s enigmatic, and yet instantly identifiable touch, is visible across a broad spectrum of aesthetic styles, from his extraordinary Castle 's-Gravenwezel outside Antwerp, where he manages to successfully fuse the philosophies of Japanese design with an old world European sensibility, to a series of slick, super-yachts, which, within the genre, are equally pared back and understated. Perhaps somewhat unexpectedly, given the cyclical, ever-changing nature of hotel design, Vervoordt’s Wabi-sabi sensibility can also be seen to great effect in the penthouse he designed at New York’s infamous Greenwich Hotel — which is captivating in its intelligent simplicity.
The home of Alessandro Twombly, Lazio, Italy, photograph by Miguel Flores-Vianna
Vervoordt’s is of course a Westernised version of Wabi-sabi, which, in its bare bones, often features untreated boards, distressed plaster walls and an abundance of soft, muted colours. Not blind to the inherent cost of such deceptively simple interiors the designer jokes: “It looks poor but it’s very costly. It’s the opposite of what most people want, which is something that looks expensive but is cheap.” His style is clearly not to everyone’s taste, and some might not understand Vervoordt’s carefully-constructed emptiness; yet for many his pared back, distressed interiors are the ultimate in calm, understated elegance. Rodman Primack, executive director of Design Miami recalls visiting the designer’s sprawling medieval castle and wanting “to hide in a wardrobe and stay there forever”. Most strikingly, perhaps, the designer’s quietly confident interiors appear to have been built gradually over time; they have a degree of depth, character and patina that’s far removed the sort of sprayed MDF panelling and polished book-matched marble seen in the majority of high-end luxury developments.
The way in which Vervoordt is able to achieve such artfully curated interiors — as if assembled over the aeons — is at least in part as a result of his Kanaal complex, a former gin distillery on the eastern outskirts of Antwerp. There a staff of over a hundred employees work in offices, ateliers, warehouses and showrooms, restoring, archiving and shipping some14,000 objects. Relentless in his pursuit of authenticity and patina, Vervoordt, along with and his eldest son, Boris, a renowned gallerist and curator, buy around two hundred pieces a month; resulting in an ever-increasing and eclectic inventory of design, including row upon row of broken Jeanneret (1896-1967) chairs. This cavernous, carefully curated repository is somewhat unique in the world of design, and enables Vervoordt to create “instant” collections for a discerning, often demanding, clientele, as to do so from scratch, whilst working to tight deadlines, and wrangling various trades and artisans would otherwise be nigh impossible. Indeed this decorators paradise extends to every aspect of an interior, including art and objet, with room after room of blue-chip post-war art from the likes of Lucio Fontana (1899-1968), Antoni Tàpies (1923-2012) and Günther Uecker (b. 1930). In an attempt at describing his instantly identifiable, oft imitated, Wabi-sabi style, Vervoordt has said that he doesn’t like the “bourgeois look” or “minimalism” — that it’s about the inherent warmth a piece conveys and objects that get better with time, i.e. with age and wear.
The home of Umberto Pasti and Stephan Janson, Rohuna, Morocco, photograph by Miguel Flores-Vianna
Fundamentally, Wabi-sabi is not a style, fad or fast-fashion trend, it is not defined by specific design details, colours or accents to invest in or disregard — it’s a way of life that’s about recognizing, accepting and embracing imperfectness; arguably, it consciously advocates simplicity and authenticity, something which in an increasingly fractured and uncertain world can, surely, only be a positive. Those without recourse to Vervoordt’s personal design services should turn to nature as their main source of inspiration; favouring materials in their honest, pure form over synthetic imitations which, even putting questions of sustainability aside, never come close in terms of character. In doing so the key is to accept that such materials are often unique, they carry imperfections and are, inherently, never identical; shades of wood will differ, as will the veining of marble and the precise hue of hand-dyed fabrics — the benefit, of course, is that they will develop patina and look only more beautiful over time. This is a key tenet of the Wabi-sabi aesthetic and access to an airplane hanger of furniture and blue-chip art is entirely unnecessary — as for that matter, is a complete interior overhaul; patience and resourcefulness of spirit are a virtue. One should remember that there can be no singular “perfect” Wabi-sabi “look”; it would be a contradiction in terms, as it is, after all, a philosophy which wholeheartedly embraces imperfections. “If an object or expression can provoke in us a feeling of serene melancholy and spiritual longing, then that object can be considered Wabi-sabi,” explains Andrew Juniper in Wabi Sabi: The Japanese Art of Impermanence. Perhaps we might all benefit from a more holistic approach to living, where we put aesthetics on a back burner and instead focus on embracing honesty, sincerity and reality.