How Not To Decorate (A Lesson)

I was originally going to call this post 'How To Decorate In A Day'. (Or a week.) But then I realised, with some consternation – and a small sigh of resignation – that I am a rubbish decorator. Truly. I am simply a journalist and an author. I wouldn't know how to position a cushion if you paid me to do a PhD in it.

Furthermore, with all of the turmoil of the past month (refer to post before previous one), including travelling overseas, moving house, band-aiding our family back together, and generally juggling writing, work projects and life, I haven't really had much time to think about colourways and creative spaces. In fact, I was so weary after 'decorating' our library (and I use that word loosely), that I thought about calling it a day on the interior design.

As such, our bedroom is still full of cardboard tea chests and liable to stay that way until we decide to move again. I did contemplate painting it navy, which would 'intimatise' the space (design code for making it sexier), but it's not a priority. So the aesthetic will remain 'tea-chest chic' for the moment. At least we'll have somewhere to sit. Even if we're not getting any.

So this is my warning to you all, dear readers. This is how NOT to decorate. And if you're a professional interior designer or architect, please look away now. Because the following images are liable to offend all of you with any taste. Or decency. Or indeed desire to declutter your lives. I can only apologise.

HOW NOT TO DECORATE: 

FIVE EASY STEPS

STEP ONE: Choose a colour palette and choose it quickly. I plucked out this Parisian green shade, called 'Blade', at Porter's Paints five minutes before closing time last Friday night. It looked pretty. Like Paris' Palais Royal gardens in spring. Or Ladurée's signature green boxes. It even seemed to be the same as the cover of my first bestseller La Vie Parisienne. Surely a good sign? "It'll do," I said nervously to the Porter's Paints girl. "Are you sure?" she said, questioning my judgement (and perhaps my sanity). I looked at the hundreds of other colours and felt slightly faint at the prospect of picking one. "I think so," I replied, and shrugged. That's when I knew I wasn't really a decorator. A decorator would never be this blasé.

That weekend, I slapped two coats on our new library. "What do you think?" I asked RR. "It's very green," he said in his typically understated way. (And yes, I know a great many of you abhor green. That's okay. It's not for everyone, I know.)

Here's where I painted around a big spider. This is called Arachnid Decorating.

STEP TWO: Find fabrics to match. Now 'real' decorators (professionals) don't believe in being too 'matchy-matchy'. Apparently, it's amateurish. Well, in Magazine Land we were taught that if you wanted a stylish cover you never used more than two colours, three at most. I'm going to stick with matchy-matchy, I'm afraid. Real designers, please look away, because I don't know how to decorate any other way. (And yes, I know French ticking is passé. But I love these monogrammed cushions. Perhaps nobody will notice?)

STEP THREE: Find the cheapest furniture this side of a Hard Rubbish Collection. After a month in the US and a new mortgage, we couldn't afford Moooi or Fornasetti (my favourite brands), or any other dazzling piece. So I went looking for a bargain. Fortunately, it's the end of the financial year, so places like Town & Country are having 50%-off sales. I nabbed a beautiful black library for half price. (Tax time. I tell you, it's the best time to decorate!) It was still expensive, but I wanted something to 'anchor' the room, and this handsome piece was begging to be taken home. No, not the Brazilian delivery guy. The library.

STEP FOUR: Pull out the sewing machine. My mother kindly loaned me her new sewing machine a few years ago. I haven't returned it. It's been the most useful thing in our lives since the blender. Last week, desperate to finish decorating, I whipped up some covers for a few ottomans. Slip covers. I tell you. They're the best thing ever. This was made with a remnant of Ralph Lauren pinstripe. (NB Professional decorators, please don't look too closely. There's no piping. And the ends aren't tied off.)

STEP FIVE: If in doubt, fill the room with books. The problem, is, we always forget to hide the trashy reads. We file the Fifty Shades of Grey next to the Graham Greene.

STEP SIX: Create a welcoming bar in the corner, so you can offer guests a drink upon arrival. I pinched this idea from Bunny Williams' guest house. I was in awe of her guest bar: an enormous antique table FILLED with top-shelf spirits that was conveniently placed within a few feet of the front door. "I'd like to emulate that!" I thought. But there were a few problems. I didn't have an antique sideboard. OR the budget for Chateau Lafitte. So we just have water. Or water.

STEP SEVEN: Always have a vase of flowers to scent the room. Dead tulips, such as these (above), are not recommended.

STEP EIGHT: Throw a throw or three around. They offer 'visual warmth'. Unfortunately, they're usually just for show. If guests are cold in our house, they're told to go and put a sweater on.

STEP NINE: Stack the sofa with cushions, so guests can't sit down. This discourages them from lingering too long.

STEP TEN: Clutter away. Clutter like your life depends on it. This is our entrance library before we moved in. (The furniture is the former owner's. I'm not a black leather kinda gal.) 

And this is our entrance library after...

No wonder my mother was horrified.

{Terrible photography. Had to use an old point-and-click as my SLR is dying. I think it's horrified by the interior design too.)

And lastly, a gratuitous shot of our just-washed puppies. Just because...

And one more of my study. Yes, more clutter here, I'm afraid. I need Faux Fuchsia to come and work her magic. But at least it's not green.

Miss Scarlett, In The Greenhouse, With Secateurs

{Bunny Mellon's conservatory via current issue of Vanity Fair}

It's 3AM and I'm up late writing the story about the story behind Picnic at Hanging Rock. Specifically, I'm writing about the fictional orphan called Sara Weybourne, who came to a tragic death after she was pushed (or jumped, but I'm with the Push Verdict) out of an attic window of an elite girls' school called Appleyard College. If the fall/push wasn't tragic enough, poor Sara fell directly into the roof of the school's greenhouse, where the gardener only discovered her twisted body amid the broken pansy pots a day or so later.

This terrible and utterly heartbreaking point in the narrative is pivotal to the plot because it heralds the decline of not only the school but also its headmistress, the terrifying and formidable Mrs Appleyard. If you haven't read Picnic at Hanging Rock, it's perhaps too much to explain here, however the short version is that there's a scandal, schoolgirls disappear, and the school never recovers. Mrs Appleyard eventually goes to the top of Hanging Rock and throws herself and her Edwardian corset off. It's worth a read. If you can't be bothered though, just watch the film.

Curiously, Picnic's author, Joan Lindsay, knew something about greenhouses and gardens, having grown up in an enormous estate that had its own enormous garden. She also knew about death. And ghosts. And indeed pansies, which is the flower she plucked to use as a metaphor for little Sarah's death. There's a lot in this pansy scene; far more than most readers realise. In fact, it could almost be the key to the whole story.

I can't reveal too much, as I'm still writing. But in tribute to Miss Sara, I thought I'd do a greenhouse / conservatory post. Just to show they can also be places of beauty, serenity, growth and pure horticultural glory. I don't think any whodunnit novels were set in these splendid spreads? Then again, I could be wrong. I often am.

Bunny Mellon's famously theatrical conservatory in Virginia, featured in the latest Vanity Fair. Doesn't it have something of a stage set about it? I think this is quite possibly the ultimate in private conservatories. Imagine pottering about with your botanicals here?  

A detail of the trompe l'oeil in Bunny Mellon's conservatory. This wall-length mural was designed / painted by Fernand Renard.

The gorgeous conservatory breakfast room of Number Sixteen hotel in South Kensington, London; part of the Firmdale Hotel group. I always stay here whenever I'm in London – or at the Dean Street Townhouse, which is just as pretty. I think I like this hotel just for this beautiful space – and the sublime garden hidden behind it.

The exquisite orangerie of the Moet et Chandon estate in France.

The Palmenhaus in Vienna, which has been turned into a stunning brasserie and bar. I think I'd travel to Vienna just to see this extraordinary building. www.palmenhaus.at

The beautiful buy-off-the-shelf conservatories of Going Going Green. You can have these for a mere $50,000. Imagine this as an office in the corner of the garden?

The sweet make-your-own, pop-up conservatory, 'Plantini', designed by the whizzes at Another Studio / PostCarten and Finch & Fouracre. These even come with a DIY planting scheme. (Okay, so they only provide viola or alfafa seeds, but they could look like the palms at Kew Gardens!) I love the marketing spiel that comes with it – "Experience the grandeur of the Victorian botanical garden in the palm of your hand. Raise your own specimen of ‘Lepidium sativum’ under the ornate arches of your miniature plant house - within a week you can invite your friends and rivals to wonder at the magnificent fauna you have cultivated." Just fantastic. www.postcarden.com

Another cute paper conservatory design from the Another Studio gang. www.postcarden.com

Even table decorations are starting to be inspired by the conservatory aesthetic! Via Traditional Home.

The new pop-up greenhouse created by the imaginative designers behind the REDValentino label,

 Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli. Think clusters of delicate white butterflies, garments and gardening items intertwined in delightful style, lovely scarves enclosed in sheer glass bulb containers, and gumboots suspended over  wooden counters, while the colored jewelry look like seeds planted inside small white pots. Exquisite. And all to promote a new collection. This was on show in St Tropez this month. I wish it would tour the world.

A solar-powered greenhouse in Finland, which the owners use as a spare bedroom. I'd never get out of bed with this view. {Unsure of source; please notify me if you know.}

NB We, too, have been inspired by the conservatory style. Our new library is an ode to these serene green spaces. Will fill you all in once I get a chance to take some snaps!

Crossing To Safety

Things have been quite in The Library, and for that I'd like to sincerely apologise. A little over a month ago, I was in New York, frantically shooting a book. Three weeks ago we were packing up 50 tea chests and just as many pieces of furniture in preparation for our move back to the city, and our new home. Then, two weeks ago, my older brother hit one of life's brick walls.

In between unpacking, writing books and 'decorating' (aka slapping some paint on the walls!) I drove to my parents' house, where he was staying while they were away, to help him through it. As I am not the world's greatest cook, I bought him soups and chocolate-chip cookies, refilled the toilet paper and laundry powder containers, did the washing, cleaned the house and gathered up the remnants of a broken heart. Sadly, he and my other brother have cut ties (my other brother is siding with my sister-in-law), but I decided not to be a 'sider'. I decided to simply be a sister who cares. Because I believe that sometimes you have to show a little compassion.

In Wallace Stegner's book Crossing To Safety (did you catch it on Jennifer Byrne's First Tuesday Book Club?), Terry Tempest Williams wrote in his Introduction that we need to "make accommodations" for people, meaning we need to show humanity, compassion, even generosity. We need to make space for people in our lives, he said. Accommodations. "In reading Crossing to Safety" I began reading my own relationships, wondering what accommodations I have made, (and) need to make" he wrote. The road to maturity, he said, flows through these accommodations.

{Via Country Style magazine and Brabourne Farm}

I liked that. Perhaps more than I liked the actual book. I liked the idea that we need to live a dignified life; and in order to do that we need to treat others with a little dignity too. I also like the concept that life is like a house, and the more we open our 'house' up to people, the more our house becomes a home.

{By Sheila Creighton}

Watching my older brother go through his traumatic life crisis broke my heart, but it also reminded me why humanity is so important. Just as important as family. I have invited him to live with us for a little while, just so I can keep an eye on him.

Soon, my mother-in-law may also be shifting in, only she's in a wheelchair so it's going to be a challenge tackling the stairs. Nevertheless, we will love having her here too, curmudgeonly comments and all.

Welcome to life in The Modern Family. Wallace Stegner would have surely approved.

Our bedrooms are now all booked up. Our 'accommodations' are well and truly full.

It's just as well I snaffled the study early on, so I have a small space to hide.

Armani, Gardens & A Verdant New Trend

If you're averse to green – and many people are – then look away now. I have become seriously obsessed with this fresh, sophisticated colour, and it seems I'm not the only one. {Image via Vogue Italia 2008}

Mr Armani used it for most of his recent 2012 couture collection, sending models out looking like fairies in a Cotswold garden. (Albeit very tall ones. With funny hats.)

Mr Oscar de la Renta is also fond of it (love the emerald frock with the cute turquoise heels above) – and no wonder, when his Connecticut weekender is a haven of greenery.

Mr Jeffrey Bilhuber also loves it for its therapeutic qualities. I shot his Oyster Bay / Long Island mansion two years and just photographing his kitchen garden made my heart lighter. Interestingly, Mr Bilhuber believes that green is dazzling to the complexion. "Green brings out the pink in you," he says. I believe him.

Green has integrity. Strength. Life. It speaks of new beginnings (think spring), fresh starts, growth, and hope. It elevates the spirits and brightens the heart. All of which is just what we need in this economic climate. No wonder we're all looking to it for decorating inspiration. {Images above and immediately below from a recent issue of Veranda magazine. Loved this cover. Loved it.}

I just adore it because it reminds me of gardens. Seeing it is like looking out a window to a view of spring. Nothing makes me happier.

"I love Farrow & Ball's Cooking Apple Green. I've just used it in the great room of a New England barn and the walls just pull all the green out of the landscape". Christopher Ridolfi

"Green works just as well in Palm Beach with hot pinks as in New York with black and white." DD Allen.

"I first saw [a luminous green] in the dining room of Charlotte Moss's shop, Townhouse. Trust Charlotte to know!" John Yunis 

"I just did green in a parlour in Charleston with a lot of white woodwork. Dogs love it!" Mario Buatta

"There's a cafe in Paris near the Place des Voges that has an unusual green on the walls, a kind of old-world colour that makes you feel calm. Think of a mossy garden after the rain. It would be a beautiful colour with black and white toile – or stripes." Stephen Shubel

Chair by Thibault Design

A recent advertisement from Travers.

The glorious cover of Charlotte Moss' bestselling book.

Litchfield style.

Princess Sophia of France, via Fallon Elizabeth. (A great little site.)

A modern kitchen with a traditional edge, via House Beautiful. Love the gingham ceiling.

Our Jack Russell X, Coco, at Como Park yesterday. She adores green too.

Washington Mews, New York, photographed on our recent trip. (This street is full of the prettiest houses.)

A vintage tulle gown in a SoHo, New York, store, shot on our recent trip. I loved the colour of this against the worn floorboards.

Vogue, June 1959.

The view from our sitting room. (The 'I Haven' sign is Danish for 'Out in the garden'. It's a vintage sign I picked up while visiting family in Denmark. It was only 10 kroner. I just love it.)

A corner of our new library. The Louis Vuitton poster was one of my few purchases from New York.

Another corner of our new library. More on this in the next few posts.