Lee Stanton Blog

Nestled in the sloping hills of Umbria, a rare architectural gem by midcentury visionary Tomaso Buzzi continues to mystify. His dramatic proposal for an ideal metaphysical city draws on Surrealist influences like Dalí and Calvino, as well as the Medieval, Renaissance, Baroque, and Brutalist architecture he was exposed to as a youth. Like something out of a mythic fever dream, La Scarzuola is a panoply of archetypal mashups. 

Buzzi worked on the project between 1958 and 1978, though at the time of his death it remained unfinished. In the 1980s however, the architect's nephew, Marco Solari, took on the complex task of completing his uncle's vision. Using original sketches and blueprints, Solari was able to finish what Buzzi started, and now presides as the site's director. 

With an emphasis on dreams, spirituality, and the natural world, Buzzi aimed to produce the means by which a visitor might psychically journey inwards, towards discovery of the self. The result, a Neo-Mannerist, mad-hatter mashup of style and symbology, abounds in monuments to various world religions and architectural masterpieces; replicas of the Acropolis and Colosseum brush up against triumphal arches, the Tower of Babel, a pyramid, and an enormous sea creature meant to invoke, as Buzzi imagined it, the personal transformation Jonah experienced after his three days in the whale.

Buzzi's fantastical creations are full of contradiction and surprise, reverence and abandon. Mixing together human, animal, and otherworldly features, the architect's creations are endowed with a mystical, sphinx-like appeal. "The stones will speak of you," he wrote.

La Scarzuola derives its name from a type of marsh grass native to the area known as scarza. It's significant for being the material St. Francis of Assisi used to first build his shelter on the site. Indeed, each of Buzzi's creations at La Scarzuola are possessed by a range of personal and esoteric significances. He felt the site was, in many ways, "an autobiography in stone."

The overall layout of La Scarzuola was designed to form a large ship, where its visitors are invited to metaphorically embark on a journey into their innermost soul. Here, a sharp-sided tower stands like a fortress at its helm. 

Buzzi's interest in various forms of spirituality, as well as the ways in which architecture finds its intersection produces a rich dialogue of reference. Utterly modern and yet driven by a love for the ancient, La Scarzuola feels like stumbling into the ruins of a lost city from another dimension.  

Photo: Pieter Estersohn for The World of Interiors

Photo: Paul Massey for House & Garden

Ever since seeing images of the fabulous Bloomsbury townhome of designer Erdem Moralioglu and architect Philip Joseph, I've been thinking a lot about the incredible design legacy left by the group's young bohemian visionaries. More specifically, the breathtakingly modern output of their design studio, Omega Workshops.  Located in London at 33 Fitzroy Square, the Omega Workshops was the darling of painter and critic Roger Fry, though its creative direction was also driven by the artistic husband and wife pair Vanessa Bell, sister of Virginia Woolf, and Duncan Grant, the creative polymath whose work in textiles, painting, costume and set-design spurned infinite copycat variations. Perhaps most known in the interior design world is the group's colorful, delightfully eclectic home and studio in Sussex, England, Charleston House, yet for these brave Modernists, home and work were never quite so distinct.

As an extension of the Bloomsbury group's artistic practices, the Omega Workshops incorporated the group's multifarious, far-reaching talents, and was, in many ways, a reflection of their radically avant-garde disposition. While indeed there had been similar artistic enterprises that had also attempted to bring art and design closer together--the Viennese Secessionists for one, and Art Nouveau, for another--none in England had perhaps quite such ebullience, nor quite such reverberant and lasting impact. While William Morris, John Ruskin and the Arts and Crafts movement--certainly the forebears of the intrepid Omega Workshops--espoused similar ideals, their thin-lipped concern for industrial reform lacked the rebel spirit of joie-de-vivre behind the Omega renegades. 

Menu card celebrating the opening reception for the Omega Workshops. © Tate Archive.

 Opening room of the Omega Workshops. © The Charleston Trust.

Bloomsbury members Nina Hammett (right) and Winnifred Gill (left) modeling Omega designed dresses at the Workshops. © The Charleston Trust. 

 Advertisement for Omega Workshops pottery. Image: Robjn Cantus.

The "Druad" chair, designed by Roger Fry for the Omega Workshops, Tate Archive. © Annabel Cole.

Postcard of 'Holland Park Hall' interior, designed by Omega Workshops, Tate Archive. © Annabel Cole

 Detail of the mantle at Charleston House.

Details of the living quarters at Charleston House. Photo: Paul Massey for House & Garden.

Fry was foremost interested in removing what he saw as the falsely imposed division between the fine and decorative arts. His vision and aim was to see the dominant ideas in modern art, namely, a bright, expressive use of color and a simplified approach to form, applied to the world of design. Fry also believed in the collective, and as a means of emphasizing the aesthetic value of the object over the cult of the artist's personality, insisted that every object remain unsigned. Instead, each object was marked with the Greek symbol of Omega. This focus on anonymity and the prioritization of  a collective vision has been a strategy since taken up by such influential and diverse creative powerhouses as Fluxus and Maison Martin Margiela. At bottom, they share an appealing unification of theory and form, a way of actualizing the material synthesis of their innovative ideals. I believe it is largely for these reasons that their work continues to be so relevant and lasting today. 

Details from a bathroom at Charleston House.  Photo: Paul Massey for House & Garden.

Bloomsbury member Henry Harris’s London townhouse in Bedford Square, designed by Omega Workshops. Image: Robjn Cantus.

Vanessa Bell’s Charleston bedroom dresser tableau features the Bloomsbury artist Stephen Tomlin’s 1931 plaster bust of her sister, Virginia Woolf.

Photo: Gavin Kingcome for The New York Times.

With spartan simplicity, Cy Twombly's 16th-century Italian palazzo continues to inspire. It was its cavernous scale and raw, elemental charm that first led the artist to purchase his pastoral retreat in 1977, when it was mostly still in ruins. Located about sixty miles north of Rome, in the tiny Medieval village of Bassano in Teverina, Twombly's renovation bears the same lightness of touch and spatial sensitivity one sees throughout his paintings.  

Preserving as much of the original architecture as possible, Twombly carried its principles into his renovation, repeating the original materials and following its dominant features as a guide. It was in this way that the artist was able to retain the centuries-old spirit of the building's original Renaissance architecture. Indeed, the palazzo's sparse, voluminous rooms seem to exist in the peripheries of time. Its atmosphere of monastic tranquility draws on a humble infrastructure, yet its effect is heightened by a number of highly precious appointments. 

Twombly's edit of antique furnishings and works of art is both luxurious and severe, a highly concentrated distillation of his most prized and cherished objects. This tender, poetic minimalism has a three-dimensional flow; the rooms seem to unfurl like a long deep breath. Cavernous ceilings with original raw wood beams, softly burnished terracotta tile floors and thick white stucco walls create a peaceful, zen-like atmosphere, and indeed a noble setting for his extensive, artfully displayed collection of Classical sculpture and architectural elements. Like a museum or gallery, Twombly keeps decoration of any excess to a minimum, inviting the eye to meander freely unencumbered about his impressive collection.

Perhaps, however, what I find most successful about Twombly's terse romanticism is the renovated palazzo's sense of evacuation; each room feels possessed by its coming undone. This produces a wonderfully rich dialogue with the ruins and relics on display. In many ways, it seems to also be an extension of Twombly's art practice. His flair for rhythm and fragmentation are manifest not just on the walls in his own works, but in the textures and patterning of his home's architecture and furniture design. A delicately tuned harmony of levity, gravity, and grace, Twombly's Roman countryside retreat may be his most underrated masterpiece yet.

Photo: Tim Beddow for The World of Interiors

When I think of John Saladino's work, I think of a classic, easygoing graciousness. I'm certainly not thinking Studio 54. It's come as a delightful surprise then to find, in these rare images of his 1971 Manhattan apartment, the designer's take on the disco era. A far cry from the look he's known for today, it's amazing to see the breadth and facility of his vision. With the same eye for scale and proportion we see throughout his later work, Saladino's swank Beekman Place pad is at once classically Saladino, and yet again, something else entirely. 

Absent of the more rustic, romantic turns for which he's known, the apartment is defined by a sleek, Halston-esque modernism. Yet, with its spare opulence and feeling of understated luxury, one can sense the early workings of the young designer's ethos. I love all the fabulously '70s features abundant throughout the space he then shared with his wife, Virginia, and newborn. The sunken living room, for one thing, with its wall-to-wall carpeting and inset strip lighting has a sexy, if deliciously kitsch appeal.  

Gutting the place entirely, Saladino renovated the apartment in the International style and, counter to convention at the time, juxtaposed its smooth, minimalist lines with antiques from different periods and cultures. Maverick from the start, the sensibility Saladino pioneered continues to remain surprising and fresh. I believe it is his unfailing commitment to simple geometries that allows him to make such bold and daring statements of contrast. A sense of rhythm pervades on the level of both texture and scale, and in this way Saladino harmonizes the inherent tensions of his materials. 

And what materials they are. The paneled doors wrapped in padded raw silk, sumptuous modular leather sofas and space agey aluminum Rothko-like paintings are Saladino's own creations. Offset by orb-shaped Danish wicker chairs and a rare celadon Ziegler Sultanabad carpet, the living area has a spacious, zen-like feeling. Elsewhere, collections of clean-edged pieces complement the repetition of luxurious oyster tones. Massive fur throws, plush café-au-lait carpeting, woven Indian ottomans, and grisaille Renaissance etchings create all together a polished and peaceful effect. 

Details aside, there's something absolutely thrilling to me about the chance to peer into the early imaginings of so unique and iconic a designer. One can see continuities and departures, trials and revisions. One can see, in essence, the spirit of a vision at work. I think that as concerns matters of style, we stand to remember that we needn't limit ourselves to any one particular "look" per se. Rather, by allowing our creative intuition to take over, we can explore and even radically reinvent our preferences, time and time again.

Photo: Graham Saladino for Frederic Magazine

Every now and then I come across a home that hits like a jolt. So it was encountering the 18th-century Brittany farmhouse of Atelier Vime founders Benoit Rauzy and Anthony Watson. Airy and relaxed, the pair's renovated country home seems to me a vision of perfect retreat. With thick stucco walls, exposed lintels and deeply worn hardwood floors, the home's substantial bones make a perfect setting for the rustic whimsy Atelier Vime has come to be known for. Tying together centuries-old architecture with Modernist and contemporary pieces, the pair have created a look that's grounded in history, yet forward-looking. 

Perhaps this stems from the duo's deep love for the ancient craft and art of wickerware. Their creations are celebrated for adopting traditional processes while transforming and expanding upon wickerware's classical design rhetoric. Atelier Vime is, after all, a play on the Latin vimen, a noun which means both slender woody shoot and basket, and examples of their passion can be seen all throughout the home. From wicker lampshades to wicker curtain cornice boxes, the pair's appreciation for this versatile and ecological material has led to a number of unlikely applications. Treating wicker as one would a fabric, for example, or a bit of wire, the pair finds seemingly never-ending ways of imagining wicker afresh. I believe it is this spirit of the fanciful that gives their visions such appeal--like true artists, they both honor their craft and reinvent its foundations, expertly weaving together past with present.

One thing that particularly struck me was the home's devotion to natural light. The abundant deep-set French windows invite nature's beauty in, flooding each room with a breezy sense of spaciousness and warmth. Perhaps an extension of the pair's appreciation for the natural world, the way each room is energetically anchored around its window seems a constant reminder of the scenic beauty all around. I love the way the old wood beams have been painted white, heightening the ceiling and giving it a greater feeling of levity, while the French windows are accentuated with a pop of cheery blue. 

Embracing items with a raw or natural patina, the pair infuses their home with a charming singularity. Each item feels personal, lived-with, and cherished. The selection is at once spare and eclectic; Rauzy and Watson curate and design with an admirable lightness of touch. One might even call them today's masters of sprezzatura; their flair for color and sense of utility allows them to create environments defined by a feeling of unstudied rustic ease. Deeply informed by their Provençal roots, the pair draws on the creative wellspring of inspiration the region has to offer, beyond just its legacy of exceptional wickerwork. From Vallauris ceramics to paintings by Breton artists Max Jacob and Michel Jamar, the pair effortlessly blend styles and periods by sticking with a regional focus. Indeed, in achieving that layered, lived-in mix, it might be a strategy worth considering...

Photo: Joanna Maclennan for The World of Interiors  

Whenever I need a jolt of inspiration, I often find myself returning to images of Elsa Peretti's breathtaking Casa Grande in the 11th-century village of San Martín Vell, Spain. Known for her embrace of minimal, organic forms, the legendary Tiffany designer acquired the dilapidated estate in 1968, when the surrounding town, just north of Barcelona, was no more than a cluster of ruins. This was at the height of New York’s disco-fueled Studio 54 era, when Peretti, then working as an in-demand model, was becoming increasingly desperate for a quiet retreat. 

Photo: Alvaro Bujons

Photo: Solvi dos Santos

It was thus that Casa Grande became her salvation. With a few thousand dollars scraped together from her modeling career, Peretti purchased the main house based largely on a photograph her friend had shown her. Working with local albiñes--specialty bricklayers--along with other craftsmen and artisans, she began slowly to give the town a distinctly Peretti touch. Indeed, what began as a village in disarray soon became the total extension of her vision. From the local chapel to the village water tower, Peretti oversaw all renovations with her signature flair for the bold yet minimal, yet with scrupulous attention paid towards preservation.  

Peretti's appreciation for the forms of nature and deep commitment to questions of scale and proportion are wonderfully manifest throughout Casa Grande. The cavernous ceilings and myriad windows keep the thick, sand-colored stone walls from feeling heavy, while the earthy, sculptural furniture elements draw on their surroundings. The emphasis on raw elements--stone, wood, concrete, and iron--reflects Peretti's interest in simplicity and purity of material. 

Photo: Alvaro Bujons

While for the most part, the home is limited to an earthy color palette, Peretti couldn't help incorporating elements of her favorite color, blue. Cool and refreshing, the shade of pale indigo-lilac she used to paint the stuccoed walls and ceilings seems to glow. Peretti carried the color into the knave of the local chapel, and also painted some of the exterior walls of Casa Grande the same shade. This sense of rhythm and counterpoint I feel is key to Peretti's magic.

As to the overall decorative schema of Casa Grande, it feels to me a perfect blend of brutalist and biomorphic elements. Filled with her most cherished mementoes--keepsakes picked up on her travels, or given to her by friends--her spare, yet eclectic curation resonates. Each item is rich with personal history, and in-keeping the personal, informal spirit of the house. An utter labor of love, Casa Grande and the now thriving village of San Martín Vell feel rooted in an ancient past, yet fresh with Peretti's singular creative vision. 

Photo: Benedetta Pignatelli for Interiors Magazine; Alvaro Bujons; Vogue, March, 1986

Interior design books come and go; it is a rare tome that makes a permanent home on my shelf. But, Edith Wharton’s 1890 The Decoration of Houses, is one such tome. Written thirty-one years before her luscious and searing Age of Innocence would win her, the first woman ever, a Pulitzer Prize, the piece is an unusual text in the context of her oeuvre. The prose is of course, as rich and colorful as one might hope, but this is to be expected. Prose aside, what can we make of Wharton's design sense?

It's worth considering how her literary aesthetic might inform her stance towards such matters. Literature and architecture make easy bedfellows; the aptitude for metaphor between them has been written about at some length. Besides, someone so perceptive to the tragicomedies of social theater must surely know a thing or two about scene-setting. Environment is, of course, of intense importance to Wharton. Rather than something inherent, the behavior of her characters is shown to be in response to their surroundings. Recall for a moment, the somewhat shabby if enchanting pied-à-terre of Countess Ellen Olenska, its isolated otherworldliness. How it might compare with the open airiness, the sense of freedom associated with Lawrence Selden's dignified bachelor pad. For Wharton, conditions are largely what determine a person's fate, so it makes sense why she would be particular about the experience and impression of her own habitation. 

The library at the Mount--a writer's Arcadia.

The text's blend of canny architectural criticism with statements of abject opinion is an intoxicating cocktail, but there is unfortunately little in the way of photographic illustration. We must therefore turn to images of Wharton's own decorative schemes in order to better see her design principles played out. As far as such opportunities go, Wharton had no lack. Born to an old aristocratic New York family, the Jones, (of the expression, 'keeping up with the Jones''), her access to the brilliant rooms of architecture's finest knew no limit. Her sprawling, well-preserved Massachusetts country pile, The Mount, was beautifully outfitted by herself and her design collaborator, Ogden Codman Jr., yet images of the original outfit at her Newport estate, and Pavilion Colombe, the small French chateau she acquired later in life, are near impossible to come by. The scant images of her Park Avenue apartment reveal the sort of decorative program which continues to dominate the upper avenue today.

Wharton was a huge fan dogs and bent willow chairs. Here she is with a pair of each at her Riviera retreat, Pavilion Colombe.

Perhaps it might be better to consider her broader advice on matters of decorative style, as opposed to the ways in which they've materially manifest. Styles come and go, but The Decoration of Houses is stuffed with a number of juicy bon-mots that feel as brightly considered as her fiction. Direct and exacting, Wharton is a circumspect analyst of all matters interior. Below, I've compiled some of my favorite examples; excerpts and passages that to my mind, seem as fresh and relevant as they surely must have some hundred and thirty years ago.

***

“There is no necessity for having bad bric-à-brac. Trashy ‘ornaments’ do not make a room more comfortable; as a general rule, they distinctly diminish its comfort.”

“Plain shelves filled with good editions in good bindings are more truly decorative than ornate bookcases lined with tawdry books.”

“If proportion is the good breeding of architecture, symmetry, or the answering of one part to another, may be defined as the sanity of decoration.”

“The supreme excellence is simplicity.”

“...all good architecture and good decoration (which, it must never be forgotten, is only interior architecture) must be based on rhythm and logic. A house, or room, must be planned as it is because it could not, in reason, be otherwise; must be decorated as it is because no other decoration would harmonize as well with the plan.”

“I believe I know the only cure, which is to make one’s center of life inside of one’s self, not selfishly or excludingly, but with a kind of unassailable serenity—to decorate one’s inner house so richly that one is content there, glad to welcome anyone who wants to come and stay, but happy all the same when one is inevitably alone.”