Radical Classicism
Casey Kenyon
“I was struck by [Jed Johnson’s] gentle demeanour and careful choice of words. He seemed to be aware of a tension between the words he chose and their limited ability to express his views and feelings. Observing him I recalled an old Dutch aphorism: Stille water, diepe grond, onder loop die duivel rond — still water conceals a deep well, and underneath the devil is walking around.” — Alan Greenberg
There are those twentieth-century American decorators whose work still resonates today, having a certain originality and freedom that makes it an endless source of inspiration, especially for young up-and-coming talents trying to find their own unique sense of style. Amongst a panoply of greats, Jed Johnson (1948-1996) and Paul Fortune (1950-2020) stand out as having an innate ability to juxtapose styles and genres, designing homes that varied wildly in terms of aesthetic, including anything and everything from Pop Art peppered arts and crafts, to Upper Eastside Art Deco. Before Andrew Rossi’s widely acclaimed biopic The Andy Warhol Diaries (2002), very few people outside the interior design industry had ever heard of Johnson, whose career, in effect, started in 1967, when still wet behind the ears, he delivered a telegram to the Decker Building — which was, at the time, being renovated by film director Paul Morrissey (b. 1938) to serve as the second incantation of Warhol’s (1928-1987) now infamous factory; deemed too handsome to work as a courier, Johnson accepted an on the spot job offer sweeping floors and running errands. With a sharp eye and creative sensibility, he quickly moved up the ranks, graduating from Janitor to Morrissey’s assistant, editing films such as Heat (1972) and L’Amour (1973), before making his directorial debut in 1977 with Bad — a warped black comedy about a Queen’s housewife who, to make ends meet, runs a murder-for-hire business, staffed exclusively by women and specialising in children and pets. After tanking at the box office — as Kevin Thomas (b. 1936) of the LA Times pithily put it, the film “isn’t so bad as it is merely morbid and depressing”— the blame fell squarely on Johnson’s shoulders, and as quickly as it started, the aspiring aesthete abandoned his fledgling film career and instead focused his atntion on decorating Warhol’s newly acquired East 66th Street townhouse.
In 1978 when fabled French couturier Hubert de Givenchy (1927-2018) acquired his first significant antique, a spectacular seventeenth-century armoire, he was, in terms of decoration, unsure how to recast his Napoléon III apartment on the elegant rue Fabert in Paris’ affluent seventh arrondissement (just down the street from Les Invalides, where he lived between 1968 and 1981), so as to avoid going all out Louis-XIV. “My next move,” he recalled, “was to call Charles Sevigny”, the ex-pat American decorator who rejected preconceived norms, creating rich, layered interiors, in which works of art from different eras and epochs were juxtaposed in happy harmony — in turn, igniting an international design revolution. Sevigny, effectively, influenced the taste of tastemakers, and through his tutelage, Givenchy acquired the courage to combine ancient regime and art moderne in a way that shocked the Parisian beau monde; Rothko (1903-1970), Miró (1893-1983), Picasso (1881-1973) and the Giacometti brothers, Alberto (1901-1966) and Diego (1902-1985), rubbed shoulders with Boulle furniture and Renaissance bronzes, the entire ensemble offset by smoked mirrored accent walls and banks of white potted orchids. Johnson took such avant-garde European sensibilities and reframed them for an American audience, as can be seen to great effect in the house he decorated in 1983 (a virtuoso replica of George Washington’s (1732-1988) Mount Vernon, designed by architect Allan Greenberg (b. 1938)), for his friends Sandra (b. 1955) and Peter Brant (b. 1947), who had already, by that time, assembled a significant collection of paintings and decorative arts, modern art and Art Deco furniture. Through today’s eyes, it might not seem all that shocking, perhaps even relatively conservative and sedate, but one has to remember, the sort of eclectic American interiors created by Steven Volpe, Peter Marino and Clements Design were very much in their infancy. “Before the Brant house, modern paintings were seen in modern architectural environments,” explains Los Angeles-based decorator David Netto (b. 1969), “after the Brant house, Pop Art — seen for the first time against Georgian panelling — came into the fullness of its inheritance and power to signify.”
The home of Pop Art progenitor Andy Warhol, a nineteenth-century townhouse, with interiors by American decorator Jed Johnson, photograph Antonio Lopez
The former home of fashion designer Marc Jacobs, with interiors a collaboration between Paul Fortune and Gachot Studios, photograph Victoria Stevens c/o Sotheby’s
Such commissions were, in effect, a continuation, and evolution of the interiors Johnson created for Warhol’s townhouse, where twentieth-century works by Jean Dunand (1877-1942), Pierre Legrain (1889-1929), Man Ray (1890-1976) and Jean Arp (1886-1966), proved a perfect foil for heavily ornamented nineteenth-century interiors. The entry for July 29, 1984, in Warhol’s diaries reads, “We went out to the Brants’ big spread in Greenwich. Jed decorated the house and everything and it was my first time seeing it. Rolling hills and white columns. It’s impressive … I went into the big room where they had a Marilyn over the mantel in a gold frame and it looked just beautiful. Really beautiful. It looked like a million dollar painting … so right in that room with all the American stuff.” Prior to Johnson’s work at White Birch Farm, modern art, by and large, was shown in modern interiors and, in terms of Old Masters, vice versa. In effect, through his sensitively conceived approach, Johnson re-contextualised classicism, showing it could be simultaneously both radical and patrician, in stark contrast to the cartoon-like imaginings that preceded it; in turn, opening the door to contemporary designers such as Alyssa Kapito, Billy Cotton (b. 1982) and Alexandra and Michael Misczynski, the husband-and-wife team behind architecture and design firm Atelier AM. During the course of their artistic collaboration, Warhol and Johnson embarked on an intimate and complicated relationship, which ultimately, Johnson ended after twelve years, when the artist’s inclination for hardcore sex films and Studio 54 excess became too much for him to handle. Outside Warhol’s destructive, somewhat warped orbit, Johnson continued to flourish, creating homes for a veritable who’s who of jet-set glitterati including Jerry Hall (b. 1956), Mick Jagger (b. 1943), Pierre Bergé (1930-2017) and Yves Saint Laurent (1936-2008), as well as a panoply of culturally astute blue-chip collectors. When Johnson tragically died in the 1996 TWA crash en route to Rome, Interview editor-in-chief and doyenne of art and fashion Ingrid Sischy (1952-2015), wrote: “In general, the work of Johnson ... stands out because it endows rooms with that most important of architectural qualities, spirit. That spirit is very close to Johnson’s personal spirit. Like the work he did, Johnson was not flashy; instead, he was deep, modest, sensitive, and wry.”
Fortune was similarly empathic in his approach, with an extraordinary ability to conjure carefully curated spaces, at once familiar and unexpected, that exude elegance and warmth. The British-born decorator arrived in LA in 1976, and after a career in entertainment, creating an album cover for the Eurythmics and art-directing music videos, segued into interior design; sought out by an array of aesthetically inclined clients such as Marc Jacobs (b. 1963), Sofia Coppola (b. 1971), Aileen Getty (b. 1957) and art world “it” girl Dasha Zhukova (b. 1981) who appreciated his luxurious, pared back and indisputably modern style. Not one to circulate amongst the design elite, he set himself apart from such LA-based heavy hitters as Rose Tarlow (b. 1944) and Michael S. Smith (b. 1963), adopting a somewhat more eclectic, unconventional way with decoration, occupying a middle ground, somewhere at the intersection of style and comfort. “He has a lithe sophistication, and his approach is relaxed and nonchalant,” enthuses interiors photographer Tim Street-Porter (b. 1939). “What he does is very refreshing; it’s very comfortable. He avoids cliche completely. It would be nice to have more designers like that.” Fortune never pulled punches, both in terms of his interiors, and opinions on the world around him; the explosion of interest in design, he wrote, has pushed authenticity into the shadows, “the truly authentic has all but disappeared. Lifestyle catalogues abound and we seem to be in their thrall. I call it Nightmare-on-West-Elm-Street disease”. Fortune was truly prescient in predicting the way in which the industry would succumb to the same fads and trends as seen in fashion, explaining in a 1997 LA Times interview that his job as a designer was, in essence, “quality control,” adding, “We must stop the reversion to the lowest common denominator”. Having raised a multitude of carefully manicured eyebrows when Billionaire property tycoon Peter Morton (b. 1947) took him up on his suggestion to put a 1962 Cadillac through the roof of his newly opened LA hot spot, Hard Rock Café, Fortune found himself well and truly bitten by the hospitality bug.
American interior decorator Casey Kenyon, seen here at home in his New York apartment, photograph by Nick Newbold
An interior by decorator Casey Kenyon, the home of theatre director Stephen Sposito, Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan, where an eclectic array of furnishings work in happy harmony, photograph by Christian Harder
Partnering with eccentric French fashion designer-turned-restauranteur Michelle Lamy (b. 1944), he created the interiors for Les Deux Café; a formerly derelict Craftsman-Style bungalow, reputedly once belonging to actor, dancer and director James Cagney (1899-1986) — of Angels with Dirty Faces (1938) fame — which Lamy moved several blocks to the back of a seedy parking lot behind Hollywood Boulevard. Fortune’s atmospherically charged milieu had the feeling of a 1940s film noir — its mahogany panelling and olive green upholstered banquettes evoking the spirit of Hollywood classics such as the Brown Derby and Musso & Frank. During the late 1990s and early 2000s, it was the place to be and be seen for LA’s “it-crowd” — and with only sixty seats, it was nigh on impossible to get a reservation; the phone would ring endlessly, and only on occasion, would exasperated callers be greeted by Lamy’s husky “allo?” On any given night one might find Madonna (b. 1958) and costume designer Arianne Phillips (b. 1963) at one table, Tom Ford (b. 1961) and L’Wren Scott (1964-2014) at another, while drag queens smoked in the wisteria-festooned garden and writer Gore Vidal (1925-2012) sat quietly, sipping a single malt by the fireplace. Despite its cult-like status, Les Deux died a not-so-slow-death when in 2003 Lamy followed her partner, American fashion designer Rick Owens (b. 1962), back to her native France, so he could design furs for Révillon (a decision in part precipitated by his being mugged in LA). Fortune’s restoration and renovation of the Sunset Tower Hotel was the decorator’s last-ditch attempt at reinjecting the sort of old Hollywood glamour he sorely missed, but, despite its elegantly understated interiors, he lamented, “it was overrun by the new Hollywood, and that was that”. Like many decorators, Fortune had an atavistic longing for the past — a time when glamour and refinement seemed inextricably bound up in day-to-day living. “Interiors should be comfortable and reveal themselves slowly and sensually,” he explained of his approach, adding that “a successful room has layers that have been applied over years.”
His own home, a sprawling 1920s villa, set into the hillside in Laurel Canyon (reputed to have been the personal gin den of Anglo-American comedy duo Stan Laurel (1890–1965) and Oliver Hardy (1892–1957)) was a veritable vitrine for his unique sense of style, an amalgam of modern refinement and old-world charm, where the bed remained unmade, and books and CDs were piled precariously on every surface; a visual manifestation of his personal mantra that homes are not museums and should be lived in. “Things can’t be so precious, so immobile, that a spilt drink would cause a heart attack” he proffered wryly, in reference to the trend for white-walled gallery-like spaces. Its mise-en-scène was so seductive visitors were captivated as soon as they set foot across the threshold — with one particularly enamoured invitee offering to buy the entire kit and caboodle, exactly as was, right down to the last brass tack. To their surprise, Fortune accepted, and he and his husband, ceramicist Chris Brock, handed over the keys and decamped to a low-slung cottage, perched high in Ojai’s oak-and chaparral-covered hills. In typically anachronistic style, Fortune acquired a vintage Spartan trailer to stand in as a guest house, to which he added a pine-panelled interior; this somewhat unexpected addition was in homage to a bedroom built in the 1940s by the original owners of his Laurel Canyon eyrie, for their young nephews, kitted out in leftovers from the set of the 1935 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer film Mutiny on the Bounty. In essence, Furtune’s USP was simple: he could make a house feel like a home, whilst at the same time giving it a sense of a future or a past, and in turn, creating an atmosphere of effortlessly refined chic that never felt ostentatious. “So many places in this town are about a facade, a look, or it’s all about ego,” Fortune told the LA Times. “Much of what I see is not about a way of life, like having a great chair and a great lamp so you can sit down and read or look out a window. We need wombs — places we can retreat to and live in.” We spoke to up-and-coming decorator Casey Kenyon, who, having worked with Marc Jacobs, Fortune and Gachot Studios has a somewhat unique take on the world of interiors.
An interior by interior decorator Casey Kenyon, in Midtown West, Manhattan, in the bedroom, a custom headboard clad in a Dualoy shearling, photograph by Christian Harder
A classic West Village townhouse, designed by Casey Kenyon, where an elegant amalgam of furnishings creates a truly timeless interior, photograph by Chris Mottalini, Styled by Mieke ten Have
What was it that initially drew you to a career in design?
It’s been an organic journey. I’ve always been drawn to fashion, art and design, but never dared to dream I could make it my career. The person who singularly changed everything for me was [fashion designer] Marc Jacobs. During the six years I spent working with him, he bought a townhouse in the West Village, which was fully renovated and decorated. During that time, I became his eyes and ears. I went to every construction meeting, every auction preview and every design meeting. We were working with an all-star group of designers — Thad Hayes, John Gachot and Paul Fortune — and it was, without a doubt, an incredible experience; an accelerated master class in design and decoration, as well as construction. Gradually, that experience began to build within me a sense that this was something I could do as a career.
Straight out of college, you spent six years working with Marc, which you’ve referred to as “the greatest secondary education anyone could ever have” — but what exactly was it about the experience that proved so formative in terms of your perception of art and design?
Marc has an incredible memory and knowledge of a very wide range of subjects. It’s well-known he’s an avid collector of contemporary and decorative arts, and I was lucky to have met him at a moment in his life when he was deeply interested in exploring new avenues. It’s impossible to overstate how formative such a wealth of knowledge and generosity was to an, admittedly, very green twenty-three-year-old. Marc has deep and trusting friendships with some of the most brilliant and talented people in the world of art and design, and I was lucky enough to be able to spend time with so many of these people — particularly, specialists at auction houses and galleries, which led me to form my own very real friendships with so many intelligent and wonderful people. I always say this: Marc pushes me to be better, more prepared, more thoughtful and more curious. He’s spent his life working with fabrics, hardware and imagery, which makes him an incredible teacher, mentor and friend. Not to mention, both of us really love the conversation around art, design and fashion.
Stylistically speaking, what would you say defines your approach to interiors?
Interiors should be personal, layered and lived in. Paul [Fortune] wrote in his book that “interiors should be comfortable and reveal themselves slowly and sensually”. It doesn’t need to wow you with one thing after another. I think that holds true for the way in which I approach interiors. Of course, we strive to get the right combination of pieces, which are in conversation with one another — which for me doesn’t necessarily mean everything should match. Sometimes the wrong thing is exactly the right thing when considered in the context of the overall scheme.
In the past, in terms of interiors, we’ve talked about what might be described as a “universal look”, in the sense that there are certain “superstar” designers, whose style has become so incredibly fashionable, that it’s copied by a multitude of lesser talents, who, essentially, want to ride their coattails to success, in terms of hooking clients and attracting the attention of glossy interiors mags. The result, sadly, is that the original, source material, as it were, becomes increasingly less interesting as watered-down versions are seen ad infinitum on Instagram and Pinterest. A similar phenomenon can be seen with twentieth-century design, where pieces by Pierre Jeanneret and Charlotte Perriand, for example, have lost their shine due to over-saturation and the prevalence of fakes and forgeries. Do you think there’s a solution, and can we only assume the problem will become more acute as the popularity of “interior design” continues on its upward trajectory?
It’s something I think about all the time. It’s very much a chicken or egg sort of conversation; which came first, the warm-white plaster walls or staid interiors? There’s an issue with overexposure for clients – they’re all on Instagram, and Pinterest, reading all the magazines and can be scared of taking a risk on something different. There are, of course, certain publications, like The World of Interiors, that are actively working against the grain, showcasing unique, individual spaces. That’s not to say there aren’t those special projects in other magazines, when an adventurous client meets a talented decorator, that really stand out; like the townhouse Billy Cotton designed for Lily Allen, photographed for American Architectural Digest which, of course, went viral as only something like that can. Though on the whole, celebrity-driven shelter content is really not helping the cause. It might drive clicks and sales figures, but it very rarely pushes the design conversation forward. I actually think it’s proliferating the market in fakes and knock-offs, particularly [Pierre] Jeanneret. Personally, I struggle with Jeanneret. It’s completely over-saturated; you can buy a knock-off chair from a million places. For me, we all need to move on from it — and I can’t even imagine trying to convince a client to buy, say, a cane-back “Office” chair, for the prices they’re currently fetching when it’s almost impossible to guarantee authenticity. The market has been flooded. Plus, as we all know, there are other chairs and other pieces that can feel more personal than something that’s so over-used.
On the refurbishment of Marc’s West Village townhouse, you worked as client rep alongside a trifecta of designers, including the late, great Paul Fortune, someone whose work I’ve always admired. Was there anything you learned from him that you’ve taken forward in your approach to interiors?
Paul certainly permeates a lot of what I do — as does John Gachot, who I also worked with for many years after the house was finished. I think Paul had a very original sensibility. His ease around interiors and arranging things is an approach I think about all the time. I was lucky enough to get to work with him on a number of projects over the years, and the singularity of his approach was always so inspiring to me … [continued]
… Paul really strove to make a room comfortable. There was always a place to put a cup of tea or glass of wine within easy reach and, for that matter, seats were close enough so that you could have an intimate conversation or a larger group discussion. He was also a natural entertainer, so interested in literally every single detail — from the crockery and silverware needed to set a table properly, and beautifully, to the correct glasses for cocktails, even finding soaps for the powder room. I still think about it in approaching every project — and my love of lamps, lampshades, and trims, certainly comes from darling Paul.
On that note, the worlds of fashion and interiors are becoming increasingly intertwined, often, even, overlapping; this can be seen at The Row, where, in their three stores, works of design by the likes of Alexandre Noll, Tiffany and Le Corbusier, sourced via decorative arts dealers including Jacques Lacoste, Patrick Seguin, Galerie 54 and Oscar Graf, are displayed alongside their latest collections. With a background straddling the worlds of fashion and interiors, why do you think people are, increasingly, coveting an Ours Polaire sofa as much, if not more so, than a Hermès Birkin?
The team at The Row do an incredible job; it’s a combination of the most covetable design along with the most covetable clothes — for me at least. In terms of the Ours Polaire, in particular, again, it suffers from overuse and the sheer number of knock-offs. I really do think Instagram, TikTok, etc. have made specific items of furniture or decorative arts desirable based purely on their celebrity owners; in exactly the same way it can happen with an it bag. This is certainly the case with Jeanneret — just see any one of the Kardashian-Jenner homes! In part, it’s down to celebrities oversharing on social media and certainly the celebrity-driven shelter magazines. Everyone gets to see what everyone else has in their homes and that feeds a sort of frenzy around particular pieces of furniture, real or fake, as with fashion.
You’ve talked previously about the need to give interiors a sense of depth and history, and to build a narrative. Perhaps the most extreme example of such an approach might be the work of Studio Peregalli, who, in their architectural and decorative interventions, seem able to layer times and civilisations, thus giving the impression of interiors built over decades, or even centuries; but to what extent should we embrace the past in terms of moving forward in design?
A sense of history is important, it gives a space a feeling of gravity and depth and, most importantly, it doesn’t look as if it’s straight out of a catalogue! I lean heavily on vintage furniture and decorative objects in my projects — mostly, because I find them more aesthetically appealing and, if you get lucky, more unique in their shape, silhouette and the impact they have on an interior. I have not, as of yet, created the sense of age and history Peregalli are able to achieve. Their approach is rooted in history — both real and imagined — which takes a particular client who understands that. At a time when a lot of decorators are working for clients who have multiple homes around the world, I think it’s important to have spaces that feel anchored in their surroundings, and collected over time; and that can be achieved by mixing different epochs and eras. Certainly, there are a lot of decorators doing this, but it can sometimes feel as if they’re designed for an editorial, as opposed to real life. Working with Marc for so long means I tend to resist flashy interiors, instead looking for shapes, silhouettes and proportions that are classic, without feeling Old Lady or boring. I think the most interesting homes and interiors are the ones that are hard to place in time. Honestly, this is why I’m such a fan of Jed [Johnson]. His work for me, still feels fresh and beautiful and not at all trendy — which is something we should all try to avoid.
Bringing a number of threads together, in terms of copycat design, fakes, forgeries and the need to embrace history, where do you think the balance lies between reproducing and reinventing the past?
This is a very tough question! I’m forever inspired by the past — in all ways. Furniture layouts, fabrics, carpets, architectural details, art hanging, etc. Though I do, actively, try to interpret those references through a modern lens, so as to avoid interiors feeling too retro. There are, of course, great rooms I come back to over and over again — such as Saint Laurent’s apartment on Rue de Babylone, Warhol’s Manhattan Townhouse, the Maureen and Marshall Cogan apartment by Jed Johnson, Valentino in Rome or New York in the 1970s, any house the Agnelli’s ever owned and Henri-Samuel’s Paris apartment, to name a few. When I look at those rooms they still feel modern, collected and incredibly personal. I think such projects are magical in their own ways and can inform not only combinations of materials, or use of furniture from different eras, but also the sense of lifestyle one hopes to create. Unfortunately, the decorative arts market is largely unregulated. It’s never certain you’re buying an original – even at big-name galleries. Vetting antiques is a very legitimate concern, at any price point, but in particular in the more collectable design eras. Whether good or bad fakes – there are a lot of them. Certain clients are happy to have a Pierre Chareau, Jean-Michel Frank or Eugene Printz-inspired piece, but if you’re paying gallery or top auction prices for such items, you need some security that they’re what they say they are. All designers are inspired by the greats — and in terms of pure practicality, we often need furniture, such as sofas, to be very specific sizes — which, in reality, often means making a new inspired piece, as opposed to buying an antique or original.
In terms of the decorative arts, what would you consider your particular area of interest or expertise?
This may not be particularly surprising, but I’ve always been interested in the French Art Deco period — which has reached an absolute fever pitch in the last ten years or so. I learnt a lot about the period, both from working with Marc, who built an incredible collection of twentieth-century decorative arts, and also through relationships with specialists and gallerists. Though recently, I’ve found I’m increasingly drawn to arts and crafts and art nouveau movements; whose originality and creativity I find particularly inspiring.
A pair of vintage Italian side chairs flank a parchment-clad table in this Manhattan apartment, designed by Casey Kenyon, a vignette reminiscent of Paul Fortune’s eclectic interiors, photograph by Christian Harder
Who are your favourite twentieth-century designers?
Immediately I’d say Jed Johnson, Marc du Plantier, Henri Samuel, Jacques Quinet, Andre Arbus and Maison Jansen. For me, Johnson’s work speaks for itself — it’s creative, yet also incredibly controlled. Unique projects and unique methodologies, everything from Neo-gothic sitting rooms to grotto-designed bathrooms, that you can still tell came from the same brain, with the same attention to detail and sensibility. Samuel is an undisputed master of mixing; his own apartment, in Paris, where he juxtaposes a César Baldaccin console, with a table by Guy de Rougemont and [Philippe] Hiquily chairs, all within a classic, eighteenth-century shell, is absolutely phenomenal — not to mention his use of colour and textiles!
There’s an increasing focus on interiors being designed so as to be “Instagrammable”, in the sense of them being bold, eye-catching and editorial. In your opinion, in today’s design world, and moving forward, is there still a place for quiet, refined interiors, that don’t necessarily scream and shout?
I think there’s certainly a place for those interiors — and I pray there will always be! I don’t know if they’ll ever perform as well in the world of social media likes and reposts, etc. but there will always be clients who want to live like that. We may not see them published anywhere, but they will exist. And an unashamed ploy: if you’re reading this, and want that kind of home, call me!
In an ever-changing world, what would you say is the biggest problem facing today's designers, and indeed for that matter, the industry en masse?
The industry needs to do some soul-searching around sustainability. I’m certainly trying, although it’s incredibly complex. I try to think about fibres in fabrics, waste, consolidated shipping, etc. This really comes into play around disposable, throw-away furniture. We all rely on chain stores from time to time — but we have to think more about what happens in the long run. Markets change in terms of desirability, but there’s always a place for things that are made to last and will, hopefully, continue to do so.
Who would be your ideal client and why?
I love to work with people who are invested, curious and want to be involved from start to finish. Clients with a genuine interest in the process are always the most compelling, as they push me to be more creative. I’m not as interested in those who come to me with a magazine spread asking for the latest trends. Ideally, I like to work with people who want something unique, ever-evolving and reflective of who they are as people, as opposed to what’s in fashion.
What’s your favourite work of art or design?
This is a really, really hard question. I love Marc du Plantier’s crystal objects and lamps; they’re so beautiful in their simplicity and combination of design and energy — man-made and natural. Also, although it’s an exhibition, as opposed to a particular piece, I found the Monet - Mitchell show at Fondation Louis Vuitton last year to be overwhelmingly beautiful. I went for the first time in November and I loved it so much I tagged along on a work trip with my boyfriend Jonathon to see it again before it closed. I found the dialogue between the two artist’s work incredibly emotional, and I loved how they removed some of Monet’s paintings from their frames, hanging them the same way as Mitchell’s. It made two very different bodies of work tell a beautiful story.
What was the first important piece of art you ever owned?
We’re lucky enough to have a couple of paintings by Sam McKinniss — an American artist Marc introduced us to — which was our first foray into buying serious art. We were drawn to his still lives and landscapes, whereas Marc bought more of the pop culture-inspired work.
Which artists (or designers) would you collect if you could?
Du Plantier, John Currin, Picasso, Manet — I’m besotted with his dog paintings.
An object you would never part with?
A gold signet ring from my paternal grandmother.
What was the last thing you bought and loved?
An Ireland Wisdom painting through my dear friend Joe Sheftel. Joe and I were talking and I was telling him how I wanted to try to figure out how to collect Old Masters or paintings that have that feeling – but I was unsure whether they would work with our existing collection. He suggested Ireland’s work and it’s a perfect marriage, for me, of contemporary sensibility and Old Master methodology.
What would you like to own that you currently don’t possess?
An Hermès Kelly — call me basic, but I want an old 28 in box leather. I think the timelessness of it is really appealing; and to have one with character, that’s been loved, is much more interesting for me than one brand new and straight out of the box.
What’s the best gift you’ve been given?
Spending quality time with the people I love. We can all be so busy with work — myself included — and spending time with friends, whether dinner or an exhibition, to really connect, ignoring phones, or other distractions is the best possible gift. Even better if it’s a trip; the memories will last a lifetime!
What’s your biggest extravagance?
Honestly, I think my biggest extravagance is travelling or experiences — like theatre, opera, dance etc. One of the reasons New York still has such a hold on me after so many years is that there’s always something to see and be inspired by in that way.
What’s your biggest regret?
I wish I’d taken more art classes when I was growing up. I would love to be more confident in my drawing ability.
A custom table and banquette in the dining area of Stephen Sposito and Michael Brandley’s Manhattan apartment, designed by Casey Kenyon, photograph by Christian Harder
The site that most inspires you?
I live uptown now, and one of my favourite moments of any day is passing the Seagrams Building — which, in my opinion, is still the chicest building in New York! The other place I love is the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We live nearby and so sometimes I just go for an hour. There are so many things to see and do, it’s an infinite maze of inspiration; it really is a maze though — I still get lost from time to time!
Where’s the most unforgettable place you’ve travelled?
The temples of Angkor Wat — which are incredibly powerful. I would wake up super early, bike there at sunrise and stay all day till sunset – eating lunch near the main temple. I wish I could recommend somewhere to stay, but I was on a shoestring budget, and sleeping in cheap hotels!
Where would you like to go next?
Japan or The Middle East — UAE, Oman, Jordan, Lebanon — I really love travel that is transportive; in the sense of going to places with new cultures, customs and ways of living. I’ve always learnt so much when immersed in a culture and environment that’s entirely new to me — it’s a truly unique experience. My boyfriend is currently working on a project in the UAE and from the photos it looks amazing.
What’s the best souvenir you’ve bought home?
I’m a trinket shopper. I love to find an old piece of silver, lacquer or something small that will fit in our apartment. My favourite is an antique silver tea caddy we bought in London last year — every day it reminds me of a really wonderful trip!
Tell us about a recent “find”?
We recently spent a date night at Corner Bar on Canal Street. The chef, Ignacio Mattos, is incredible and the food delicious. It was designed by Fernando Santangelo – a master of colour who really excels at creating a sense of atmosphere in a commercial space. Sitting in the dining room, with its Prelle et Cie fabrics, there are beautiful details everywhere you look, it’s incredibly inspiring. Highly recommended!
If you didn’t live in New York, where would you live?
It would have to be London. It’s an incredibly inspiring city — amazing art and architecture, and so international. When we were last there, after a long day visiting museums and galleries, it was cold, starting to drizzle and we went to Trishna, an Indian restaurant in Marylebone; the smell and warmth of the room combined with the food was absolutely perfect.
If you had to limit your shopping to one neighbourhood, in one city, which would you choose?
Tough! Though I think it would have to be Paris — the Left Bank. Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Paris, but I find shopping in that neighbourhood incredibly inspiring. There are, of course, the old guard, blue-chip galleries like Marcilhac, Vallois, Anne-Sophie Duval etc. but also newer galleries like Chenel and AT Bauer — not to mention all those amazing old dealers on side streets selling ceramics, faux bois tables etc. Plus if you go further down toward the Quai d’Orsay there’s Galerie Kugel, which is like visiting a museum. There’s such a rich history, even in terms of galleries that are no longer there, such as Claude de Muzac, who sold her exquisite lamps and objet d’art alongside antiques and found objects.
What’s your favourite room in your apartment?
The living room. Our apartment faces south over 79th Street — it has beautiful old casement windows and, if you look the right way, this great city view, through buildings towards the park; plus, we can see the peak of the Carlyle Hotel, which feels quintessentially New York!
What’s the best book you’ve read in the past year?
Well, I know this might be daring to say, but I read A Little Life by American writer Hanya Yanagihara for the second time this year and I find it an incredibly powerful, gut-wrenching and emotional book. I love New York in novels or on-screen – imagining the locations, scenes and spaces, etc.
What would you do if you didn’t work in design?
I would definitely be running a dog camp in the country. I couldn’t think of anything more joyful than spending the day with dogs in a field!
What ambition do you still have?
There’s so much! I really do love what I do and I want to keep doing it for a long time. I think my biggest ambition is to find clients I enjoy working with who inspire me to push myself creatively; who understand the value of a beautiful home; who want something unique and are willing to take a risk here and there.
What’s the greatest challenge of our time?
The need for instant gratification and short attention spans.
What’s next?
I’m working on a loft in the Flatiron district for clients who don’t want anything cookie-cutter or predictable – which is exciting. We haven’t started working on the decoration yet, but I think there’s an opportunity to lean into my client’s Indian heritage in a really interesting way. I continue to toy around with the idea of a small collection of furniture — but I struggle with the idea of what I might say that’s not currently being said or hasn’t been said in the past. I’ve had some thoughts ruminating for a while, but I need to put pen to paper, to work through my ideas and see if there’s actually something there!