Glimpses of Mon Repos

Walking up the long, pine sheltered drive, past an impressive pair of pillared gate houses that seem to be watched over by a scarcely interested caretaker, I asked a question in Greek and was treated to a full and knowledgeable survey of Mon Repos' 250 acre estate, nudging out over a slight promontory near Corfu town. I knew of the place only distantly and had seen photos of it in disrepair in the late 1990s. I was a little surprised then when I rounded the final curve in the paved road and saw the building in reasonable repair, doors and shutters tightly closed, several loud male voices evident from inside. I walked round the entire building searching for the source of this spirited discussion. Finally I tried a small door tucked in to the side of the front entrance and... Chaotic but welcoming I was told there was no admission fee and was free to wander around. I must admit to being disappointed at not getting to come in through the front doors to experience the hall's scale as I imagine the architect had in mind for anyone entering the building, but I had the place completely to myself apart from the attendants who moved around the polished floors turning on lights for me as I glided through or when I wanted a photo of the the lovely sweeping staircase. 

A view to the sea from the portico

Built on the ruins of St Pandeleimon church, and believed to be the site of the ancient city of Corfu, Mon Repos was first called The House of St Pandeleimon then The Casino by Sir Frederick Adam and his Corfiot wife. The regency style building was designed by architect Sir George Whitmore who also designed the palace of St Michael and St George in Corfu town. Sadly, the couple never enjoyed the palace as they were posted to Madras as Governor. Unfortunately Adam, although well-loved by the aristocrats on the island, left Corfu's coffers empty with his extravagance. After cession of Corfu to Greece in 1864 the palace was gifted to King George I of Greece and came to be known eventually as Mon Repos. It is also known also as the birthplace of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, in 1921. After his birth the family remained in residence for eighteen months until the political winds of change overtook them in late 1922.

During the 1970s the building fell into disrepair. Furnishings were sold, sent to other houses and some disappeared, plundered. Being a hopeless romantic I found the building beautiful in its shabby repose. Of course the harsh climate would have turned it into a ruin eventually had its refurbishment in the 1990s not occurred. (Note: dates listed are approximate as different sources state widely variable dates) 

The rotunda lights the first floor hall and is supported by massive Ionic columns,
reception rooms leading off it in all directions

These days the building is The Paleopolis museum, probably in need again of a touch up here and there, as damp is invading in many places. Each room is a gallery; containing historical photos, documents, watercolours of the islands flora, artefacts from the various important archaeological sites both within the grounds and elsewhere on Corfu. It feels institutional, with lighting in the cornice and period furniture dotted around the place, the obligatory audio visual tour and displays, which admittedly are very informative. The interiors leave only a little sense of their former royal and official occupants. But there are some wonderful ancient figures and other artefacts in the galleries, evocative photos of the island's more recent past. I've always admired too the reproduction quality of bits of sculpture and ancient jewellery, not precious just a powerful reminder of an ancient past.

Miraculous BC survivor

The building has a feeling of being in transition, like many public buildings that have been repurposed from private homes, and of course like many buildings in Greece possibly earmarked for a firesale. I like to think of the building full of life; the smell of beeswax polish, children laughing and sliding down the banister in fancy clothes when the grown ups aren't looking, mother making an entrance on the same staircase in a somewhat more dignified manner, candles aglow, music in the background, the scent of night flowers wafting in through thrown open french doors. This should be a place for celebration.

The elegant staircase hall with pretty pink and white marble floor

Instead it is only me, dressed in humble linen, dreaming of a more glorious present for this place, a place where judgement of the Greeks, from each other and in the eyes of the world, is not afoot.

A view of women's portraiture

Recently I've been researching women's portraits with a particular project in mind. I popped round to Philip Mould's eponymous gallery and was immediately drawn to a portrait occupying a discreet corner  in the front gallery. For weeks now I've awakened thinking about this picture, apparently an important find. Philip is holding his cards very close to his chest, so I don't know what it will take for him to part with her. But I've been told that unless an appropriate suitor comes forward, she may be taking her chances at Sotheby's.

The Duchess of Parma, attributed to Zoffany, is certainly beautiful, undeniably the portrait of a richly dressed, powerful, cultural woman. It is amusing to note her husband relegated to a portrait within a portrait in the background. Swift, almost coarse brushstrokes have produced an astonishingly sumptuous and precise portrayal of a lady's finery and accoutrements. It flatters the sitter, yet asks many questions.

Duchess of Parma, attributed to Zoffany, Philip Mould

"Philip's picture is a little gem and a very important subject," remarked Tim Corfield of specialist fine and decorative art advisors Corfield Morris during a spirited discussion over my current infatuation. My remark that Philip had referred to the eighties love of all things Zoffany led me to ask Tim what he thought the value of these sort of pictures is now. "The Zoffany market hasn't moved much in the last twenty years or so, but indications are that it could be coming back in fashion."

Further afield, I was reminded of another portrait that, although it is in a museum in Vienna, its subject created The Achilleion on the Greek island of Corfu. I was there recently looking at projects on this breathtaking island, awash with wildflowers in the temperate Spring air, the majestic olives telling the stories of many centuries. I am smitten and vow to deepen my passable knowledge of modern and ancient Greek.

The Achilleion is the palace created between 1889 and 1892 as a summer residence for the Empress Elisabeth of Austria. Her peripatetic existence, spurred by an aversion to her philandering husband, grief over the death of two of her children and her dislike of political duties, ensured that she spent very little time here. Her initial love affair with the island and the palace eventually waned as a reflection of her inner turmoil. The building, based on the lost structures of Pompeii and conceived by Warsburg with the help of Neopolitan architect Rafael Carito (although not finished by them), is beautifully sited where a modest villa once stood. And although many criticised its architectural pomposity, it has a beauty brought to life by the embracing climate of the island. As is often the case in Greece, as a museum it is wonderfully free of people breathing over one's shoulder to check whether one is stealing the family silver or destroying precious textiles with hated fingerprints! Windows were blessedly open to catch the breeze on this sweeping hilltop stucco confection overlooking the sea a few miles south of Corfu town. I was struck by the youthful exuberance of this painting, a quality I daresay the Empress lost later in life, but was captured here during a moment of hope, when her life was still an uncharted map of dreams yet to be revealed.

The Empress Elisabeth of Austria in dancing dress,
by Franz Xavier Winterhalter, 1865, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

"I wander lonely in this world,
Delight and life long time averted,
No confidant to share my inner self,
A matching soul never revealed."
(Sisi, The Poetic Diary)

The Peristyle of The Muses, a stunning space which sweeps out beyond a grand reception room connected by equally grand columns, surrounds this enviable tree sheltered expanse. It calls out for dancers to spill out of the brightly lit rooms in the palace on sultry summer nights. I envision Terpsichore swaying and strumming the lyre until she is moved to glide off her marble plinth and on to the swathe of black and white marble, the breeze teasing her hair out of its fillet.

The Nine Muses; Terpischore Muse of the dance,
The Achilleion, Corfu

The colonnade, busts of bards and poets cast towards
The Nine Muses and The Gardens. Striding along here one is reminded
of the raw emotive power of architectural scale and symmetry

The Achilleion's terrace, the Ionian barely visible in the distance, where
even the most scholarly would concede to a night of dancing and music
beneath the stars.

TV Design Shows - why we love them, why we don't

The popularity of interior design related shows on TV has probably done more than anything else to open the general public's eyes to the innumerable possibilities out there when it comes to creating interior spaces. How does this impact upon professionals in the industry, and what do we make of the shows?

Here's the rub. The type of project that we as designers and clients all want makes for extremely boring television. We receive a clear brief, concepts are drawn up, reasonable changes agreed, a budget is agreed, work begins and everything comes together on time to the delight of a satisfied client. Who wants to sit in front of that for an hour when you could be watching Downton Abbey on the other side? No, the pleasure in these shows comes from the fights, the disasters, the delays, the walkouts, the unpaid contractors threatening blue murder, the painter and decorator spilling a 5 litre tin of Little Greene over a £50,000 carpet, the architects and designers shouting at each other and calling each other unspeakable names, the stuff the 4am night terrors are made of. 

First conceptual sketch for a weekend bolthole, 20 weeks away from smart and cosy furnishings arriving...

One of the most intriguing projects we have seen recently was the redecoration of Avebury Manor in Wiltshire. Its core dates from the mid sixteenth century and, now in the hands of the National Trust, has had a long and chequered history. It is also close to our hearts as we were married in the neighbouring St James's Church.  For years it was tenanted by an interior designer and was recently the subject of a BBC series as a group of experts, historians and interior designers tried to work out what to do with it.

Trod on for hundreds of years, paving at Avebury Manor seen through the ghostly lattice of ironwork railings

The team took some bold decisions and many of these have been quite controversial. However, having visited Avebury Manor both before and after the restoration, I have to say that for the most part, there is much to like. I am left in disbelief at what was achieved for so little money, but that's television for you. When your stuff is going to be aired on TV all over the world, suppliers are inclined to give you advice and goods, if not for free, at a significantly marked down cost. Try ordering some of that luscious Fromental hand painted bespoke wallpaper for your own breakfast room, or the acres of sumptuous Watts fabric making up the curtains in the billiards room, and you might be in for a nasty shock.

The other area where TV design shows have us rolling our eyes is when it comes to timescales. Yes, projects have to be compacted into the allotted viewing hour, but the fact is rooms don't come together in a weekend. The best results take time. Sourcing the right pieces, living with the colours through seasonal light changes, discerning what works best can be a drawn out process. Viewers don't see the months of preparation leading up to what is in effect an installation. And because it's TV the room becomes a set with all that implies. Finishes which look fine on the screen can actually be awful close up. Nothing has to last beyond the show, and neither does it have to work particularly well, although to be fair this was not the case with Avebury Manor, with its thousands of visitors traipsing through every year combined with a policy of allowing people to touch and feel the furniture.

BBC TV's Restoration Home is a great example of the schadenfreude so beloved of armchair decorators. We saw two episodes recently. In the first, a woman took on a timber framed Manor House after falling in love with its stained glass, panelled hall and central staircase. From our years in the Black and White heartland of Herefordshire, there's one rule about timber framed houses and it is this. Don't go near them unless you absolutely have to live in one, whatever the cost may be. Because, believe me, the cost will be huge. Nothing is simple about these properties, and they have an ability to suck up money totally disproportionate to their size. This particular Restoration Home drama still has to play itself out, but as we left it the poor owner was left with a pile of sticks and not a whole lot else once pretty much everything had been discovered to be totally rotten and stripped away.  Although we can all be grateful to her for saving a piece of our heritage, financially she would have almost certainly been better off sourcing the Tudor panelling and staircase she so adored, not original to the house anyway, in an architectural salvage yard and starting from scratch.

The Hermitage, near Hounslow, badly damaged by fire in 2003
 and sitting empty, open to the elements

Would you save the building for this?

The second episode we viewed was a classic example of a couple getting in too deep and wildly underestimating the amount of money required to complete the project. Sure enough, the money was soon spent, the builders were on their way to the next job, and the couple were left with a ghastly mess. What happened next was little short of a miracle. They took over the project themselves and through sheer force of will and rolling their sleeves up, made it happen. It was a fine example of what the Americans call sweat equity, and a well earned result for the family. The interiors, which sadly perfectly illustrated the Conran style furnishings we mentioned in Classical Interiors, Part I, a few weeks ago, were an awkward solution for a vernacular building and made my heart sink. I see this so called design solution all over the UK, which is a sort of mindless adherence to our media driven purchasing.  Despite this, I was left with complete admiration for their determination and perseverance.   

Separated by a common language

Having spent six years practising interior design in the United States before returning to the United Kingdom, we are often asked about the differences in the way things are done on either side of the Atlantic. In our experience, the greatest difference is the willingness of American clients to hand over the task of designing and decorating the interiors of their home to a professional. Indeed, many a US client would no more consider embarking upon their own interiors than they would complete their own tax return or attempt to buy a house using a DIY legal kit.

As an interior designer, you are at the centre of a team of professionals clients surround themselves with to facilitate their vision. Americans are comfortable with professional relationships that encroach upon intimate aspects of their lives, because they want their homes to work hard for them. And they enjoy the camaraderie of sharing knowledge. Some of our US clients are incredibly knowledgeable about works of art or the history of architecture, or other areas of design and this in enriching for all of us.

In certain circles in Britain it's almost as if hiring an interior designer or a decorator is tantamount to admitting to the world at large that you have bad taste and simply aren't up to the task. Though this attitude is changing, it still persists in some places. It was most famously epitomised in the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, who seemed to bundle interior designers in with management consultants and considered both to be a waste of time and money. (Though hers is a somewhat unfair case as her unique talents mean she is probably more effective than many practitioners in either field.) Thanks to the media and the heightened status of celebrity designers, British clients are becoming more adventurous, but there is still a tendency amongst chatelaines and even moguls to think of the friend who helps me pick out curtain fabric or accessories before going on to a chummy lunch at Daphne's.

Making sense of the infinite possibilities out there

Over the past two decades the US interior design industry has undergone continuing profound changes that many practitioners are still struggling to come to terms with. Internet shopping dominates clients' perceptions and expectations, whatever market segment they come from. Traditional industries such as furniture manufacturing and carpet weaving, both centred around North Carolina in the US, have been hugely affected by cheaper imports from India and Asia.

Whilst this opens up more choice for many consumers, it has resulted in a loss of craftsmanship, particularly at the higher end. Dying skills are being replaced but it becomes harder and harder to find people to undertake important restoration work or entrust with significant new commissions. For example, we found we had to retrain curtain makers to hand sew as many US clients simply weren't accustomed to paying for that skill set in the finished product, even though North Carolina was renowned in the past for its fine seamstresses. The American College of The Building Arts is one gem in the Southeast founded by John Paul Huguley. In Britain, with its tradition of listed buildings and plentiful supply of repair, restoration and renovation work, the situation is slightly healthier, although as with the United States skilled labour now constitutes one of the most expensive elements of any project and is not always readily available.

A hook, part of a set of hardware specially commissioned by Killian-Dawson
from students at the American College of the Building Arts

There is a common perception that whilst the Brits are imbued with a stoic patience, Americans demand instant gratification and want everything now. Though there is some truth in this, there is also some convergence as internet savvy British clients develop a taste for quick results and Americans discover that reduced margins and tougher credit mean suppliers are all running stock inventory at the absolute minimum levels and almost everything is now manufactured to order, with 12 to 16 week minimum lead times the norm.

Created over centuries, reproducing a classical scenario like this takes craftsmanship, time and money.

What cannot be replaced is the interior designer's depth of industry knowledge, space planning skills, and long term supplier relationships, to name but a few. And as Nicky Haslam famously said, "Why would you want to do up a house on your own if you can afford help? It is extremely difficult and time consuming." The bottom line is that any professional interior designer worth their salt will have many years of experience to carry you through a project. They will be able to liaise with other professionals and be tough at times to fight your corner when another professional says it can't be done. And they will, if they are very good, be able to interpret your taste and wishes in a way that you never could yourself as they are there to see the bigger picture. Finally, in more stringent financial times, a designer can be an all important pair of eyes and ears to recognise potentially expensive problems before it is too late and can keep costs from spiralling by making firm decisions at the beginning of a project rather than making decisions on the fly when the pressure of a deadline looms.

Classical Interiors (Part 2)

In a purely classical room, sheltered by the embrace of classical form, there is a singular intention, a thread of decorative motif that will carry throughout in varying degrees. An acanthus leaf that snakes around the cornice will embellish the leg of a chair. The shape of that cornice will be echoed in the rug. This decorative harmony is pleasing to the eye and although to us it may look a bit staid or overly formal, it was a revelation in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Nearly as soon as it was introduced though, we were busy chipping away at classicism, or perhaps reforming it for our own purposes, and responding to the cycle of industrialisation and war. With industrialisation came cheap, mass produced pictures and furnishings. Today we are not accustomed to exercising rigourous restraint when creating or renewing rooms. Few of us will seek to freeze a room in time when putting it together. This is usually the preserve of the rare historic house where a collection of furnishings has remained intact, where the original collection is being pieced back together as much as possible, or where the owner seeks to create a particular period.

The double parlours at Millford, 1840, in South Carolina, repaired and restored, including many of the original Duncan Phyfe furnishings, sought out and returned to the house by owner Dick Jenrette. He believes Millford to be the finest example of Greek Revival Architecture in America. 

Especially in Britain, we are often happiest to create a pleasing jumble out of all our possessions, or as Nicky Haslam said recently on Radio 4, "to create a story of objects". The decorator Nancy Lancaster was famous for creating this look, perfected at the home bought with Ronald Tree, Ditchley Park. She and her husband had little in the way of important pictures and furnishings for theit vast pile. Instead she created atmosphere using pieces that were the precursors of what is detestably referred to today as shabby chic. Brought up in a lovely house in Virginia that had suffered much during the American civil war, a bit of pleasing decay was important to her. Whilst we try to make things old using special finishes and dyes and paint finishes, she would leave a newly upholstered sofa lying out in the rain until she had the result she was after.

The elegantly proportioned hall with Palladian chimneypiece and stone flags,
comfortably yet sparsely furnished by Nancy Lancaster in the mid 1950s

What we do today, often unconsciously, is use classsical principles as a reference point for our rooms. The anything goes approach often termed eclectic, which in real terms means a mixture of furnishings, art and pictures from many different periods and styles, in a room that may have no architectural context for its contents, predominates. We are literally bombarded with choice and to some degree I believe that is reflected in the way we furnish our rooms and why we furnish them this way. It is what we see everywhere. Media exposure, for better or ill, has become our version of The Grand Tour. Despite the pendulum swing at the end of the last century towards modernism, classical influence is still apparent.

Classical architectural details such as the early dado and panelling in this intimate drawing room, and the cornice added by antiques dealer owner Michael Rainey, although incongruous, provide a suitable backdrop for its contents.  The fine bibelots and furniture, combined with contemporary sofa and chairs,  are almost whimsically placed.  Decorative scheme by Killian-Dawson  

"Happy are those who see beauty in modest spots where others see nothing. Everything is beautiful, the whole secret lies in knowing how to interpret it." French painter Camille Pissarro

Classical Interiors (Part 1)

When one says "classical interiors", what do people visualise? A ubiquitous google search yielded nothing I expected - just pages and pages of links to shops selling mostly reproduction furnishings and accessories that one could perhaps think of as classical, occasionally a design firm, a wikipedia entry on classical architecture. So what comprises a classical interior? Are classical design principles rigorously applied when designing new interior spaces and rooms? How do we express classical design principles in historic interiors today?

The Great Hall at The Queen's House, Greenwich

Inigo Jones, England's sixteenth century classical architect, was transformed by his years in sun-kissed Italy and returned to England filled with his vision of classical architecture and consequently classical interiors. Simply expressed, if the exterior of a building is regular, symmetrical and in proportion according to the golden mean, that translates to an interior filled with more light, a more rhythmic and regular placement of doors,  fireplaces, windows, a hierarchy of ornamentation and consequently a greater sense of direction and aesthetic pleasure.  It means the surfaces will be embellished within a framework of architectural ornamentation expressed in carved cornices, plasterwork, architraves and other mouldings. The furnishings echo the ornamental motif and are often more comfortable, with upholstered settees, sofas and chairs taking the place of hard chairs, benches and stools. A few years ago I attended a wedding at The Queen's House Greenwich, a precious survivor of Jones' interior work. Furnished by him in the 1630s, The Great Hall is a masterpiece of elegant geometry, the Tulip Staircase appearing to float into eternity. It never fails to invoke in me a sense of the possible and to fill me with both serenity and longing.

The Tulip Staircase at The Queen's House

That's all very well but what does that mean to us today? As a result of what is popular, we notice a look that might be called "eclectic" tends to dominate period or period inspired interiors. Those living in a Georgian farm house will have a Magnet fitted kitchen, and Conran style furniture throughout, with the odd Georgian secretary (or Victorian copy) or sofa table dotted around. Is this just going with the flow of what is readily available and what is considered up to date by peers and the media, is it comfortable, is it simply a modern expectation of what constitutes home? Or are we coldly influenced by the perceived resale value of the house? Do we picture a dream and find the reality of a period house is not comfortable enough and so fill it with incongruous furnishings? Something must surely be taking place at an emotive level because in real terms, it will usually be a better investment to buy period furniture than to buy mass produced furnishings that will be largely worthless shortly after purchase. Also, antiques can be continually repaired and renewed - and carefully placed look peerless in a modern setting.

Robert Adam, in conjunction with artists and makers, in particular the renowned furniture maker Thomas Chippendale, created some of the most important neo classical interiors known today. He was an architect with a complete vision, in an era which celebrated the harmony that he created in a room where everything was connected by repeated motif.  He created a cohesive world which included the design of the lighting, mirrors, furnishings, carpets, every single architectural moulding and bit of plasterwork. Though his vision was initially implemented only for the very rich, elements of it eventually trickled down to most homes. Classical elements, widely copied by those who could not afford architects like Adam, are also evident in the simplest of terraced houses, whether in the architraves and entablatures of doors, ceiling roses, regular window placements, plasterwork and balanced arrangements of furniture, paintings and ornaments.

The Long Gallery at Syon House, by Robert Adam

Next week we'll explore how these historic examples of Classical interiors influence how we create rooms today...

Classicism in today's world

Recently, whilst meeting with Hugh Petter of Adam Architecture at their new offices in Winchester, I began to think about the notion of modern classicism. How is it viewed in the world of design where seemingly anything goes, and what does it mean to the average person who is spoon fed media opinion visually, aurally and virtually?

When classical architects like Robert Adam began their careers in the early 1970s, classicism was dead or at least deeply unfashionable. Brutalism, modernism, cubism, these were terms in the public domain that had energy, that looked to the future, that won the largest public monument and institutional competitions, that forced public housing skyward, and resulted in the continued pulling down of many classical buildings. It takes enormous ego, strength of character, self belief and vision to rise against the tide of public opinion. Architects like Robert Adam, founding director at Adam Architecture, and QuinlanTerry, both with thriving multigenerational practices today, swam against that tide but they could only do so because of the patronage of clients who wanted what they had to offer.

Today, the buzz is all about sustainable urban development, and classicism plays a major role in it. This often translates into closely built structures with shared green space in existing or brownfield urban sites, or fiercely fought for undeveloped and redeveloped spaces in the countryside. According to recent studies, people are flocking to cities globally. Towns and cities will, over the coming decades, continue to be under enormous pressure to support burgeoning populations. Countries like China will lead the way as their people grow more affluent. Yet we seem to be under greater economic and environmental pressure than ever before, and this is no doubt influencing how we look at the way we live and the buildings we live and work in.

A successful example of Vernacular sustainable urban development in a regenerated area of downtown Charleston, designed by Andrew Gould of New World Byzantine

Architects and planners shape these environments, and it can be difficult to assess what people really want, although even in the thrust of modernist building trends, traditional buildings still predominate in the residential sector. Some communities are a great success, sometimes quickly like I'On in America. Poundbury, an ambitious project instituted by HRH The Prince of Wales, is a slower growing example. Our colleague, Tom Abel Smith at Savills, has said that at the top end of the market new country houses are being planned and built throughout the UK, and fetching prices in line with the period houses they are modelled on. Why? They are far more energy efficient, and they can be built to accomodate modern family life, and they allow scope for the owners to create their own dream.

Modern Classical Villa, Cheltenham, designed by Hugh Petter of Adam Architecture

Are we inherently drawn to classical design or is it just familiar? In these uncertain economic times, many of our colleagues believe that looking towards the past engenders continuity, security and helps us to cope with uncertainty. A cynic might say it creates instant pedigree for those who are newly affluent. Or that a structure has greater marketable value. Many believe a classical structure melds more gently with the past and creates a harmonious whole in a country where we live cheek by jowl and our heritage is fragile and worth preserving and enhancing. Or that its very regularity of form is somehow more pleasing and emotionally coherent. A modernist might say we must break with the past to create something new and vital, to contrast completely, to continually challenge what is accepted form and seek yet a new vocabulary of expression, or to sharply contrast old and new to create a dialogue of truth.

The Great Court at The British Museum by Foster and Partners (2000), a marriage of Classicism and Modernism 

How do you respond to the built environment... Classicist, Modernist or something else? Next week we'll be turning our attention to classical interiors.