Financial Times Weekend 22-23Feb2020

(Dana P.) #1

2 ★ FT Weekend 22 February/23 February 2020


House Home


Taking a bath in


Smith’s bathroom
would feel like

splashing around
in Roald Dahl’s

writing shed


Tiles of the


unexpected


I am updating my bathroom, starting
with tiles. The choice is overwhelming,
but I am leaning towards something
bold. The room is very small, so I don’t
want it to be oppressive. What would
you suggest?
Bold tiles in a small bathroom are a
very good thing. A daring design may
feel domineering in a large space, but
in a small room, fearless tiles can shine
without inflicting a migraine.
Your smallest bathroom is the place
in your house in which to have the
most fun. If it is your private
bathroom, give yourself carte blanche
to create your sanctum. If it is a guest
bathroom, it will be used less regularly
— no need to worry about the design
being overbearing, and it should
surprise and amuse your visitors.
What tiles to choose will depend on
your overall idea. Bold is fabulous, but
do you want bold colour or bold
pattern — or both? Bold and graphic, or
painterly and pastoral? Are you
drawing inspiration from a hotel
bathroom in Sorrento that has not been
altered since the 1970s? Or should you
look to Morocco’s geometric designs?
I have written about my love for
Balineum before: this is the London-
based company I turn to for tile
inspiration again and again. It designs

and produces lots of tiles — and I mean
lots: from the Series S range, inspired
by the seaports of the Mediterranean
and handpainted in Italy, to Hanley
Traditional, which are available in 30
glazes and have been mixed by hand to
achieve the perfect blend of pigments.
I particularly love Hanley because the
various shapes (all 22 of them) can be
mixed and matched, meaning the
design possibilities are endless. See
interior designer Tara Craig’s en-suite
bathroom in Chelsea: dusty pink
square and ivory subway tiles with a
thin border of burgundy in between.
Balineum also makes patterned
decorative tiles (Hanley Tube Lined,
available in the same palette), allowing
you to combine plainer traditional
tiles with inlaid borders, and even
decorative “tapestries” set within tiled
walls. I love them all, but my favourites
are those decorated with diamonds,
triangles, diagonal stripes and, of
course, the classic and chic Greek key.
I have used a striking Balineum
black-and-white Greek key design in
the interiors of a Parisian hotel I am
working on: the tiles will sit in a single
line on the walls of the bathrooms
above plain, brightly coloured square
tiles (I like Johnson Tiles’ very
affordable range). Daffodil yellow in

some bathrooms, apple green or
candyfloss pink in others.
Another supplier: Belgium-based
Emery & Cie trades in a style
they describe as “in precarious
balance between baroque and
austerity”. Intriguing. I love their
Faux-Iznik tiles, decorated with
beautifully stylised flowers in shades
of blue and green.
My favourite? The Primula Arborea
(pictured), which features a bold motif
of primroses and comes in fabulously
zany colours: cobalt blue flowers on
an oxblood background, deep orange
on turquoise, shocking pink on olive
green. Emery & Cie has showrooms in
Brussels and Paris and a corner of

architectural-salvage and interior-
design company Retrouvius on
Harrow Road in London.
But for the ultimate in bathroom
luxury, you can forget your special
marbles and super high-tech showers.
I dream of decorating a bathroom with
unique, hand-painted tiles.
Recently, I have been inspired by
a photograph of Maude Smith’s
bathroom in her Victorian townhouse
in Stockwell, south London. Smith,
a set designer, decorator and
dressmaker, painted each tile in her
bathroom with a carnival of living
things: leaves and flowers, ladybirds,
butterflies, beetles and birds. The
effect is charming. Taking a bath in
Smith’s bathroom would feel like
splashing around in Roald Dahl’s
writing shed.
The New Craftsmen, a London
retailer, sells similar-looking hand-
dipped tiles designed by the illustrator
Laura Carlin. They are more African
jungle than soggy British countryside,
but why wouldn’t you want to bathe
with a baboon?

Luke answers readers’ questions on design
and stylish living every week. Email him at
[email protected] and follow him
on Instagram @lukeedwardhall

Luke Edward Hall


Readers’ questions


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investment. They contain more than
50,000 documents, some dating back as
far as the Italian renaissance, and Mor-
ris’s own wooden printing blocks for
intricate, handmade wallpapers, which
the company still uses.
Last year was disappointing for
Walker Greenbank, with sales across
the whole group of eight brands down
2 per cent. But Morris & Co was an
exception. Sales were up more than 22
per cent in 2019 compared with the
previous year — and by nearly 30 per
cent in Scandinavia.
“Our new customer is young,” says
Montague. “Morris drew from nature,
which seems to resonate with an [eco-
logically aware] generation.” Its best-
selling design is Strawberry Thief, a
dense repeat pattern of flowers, fruit
and birds, first designed by Morris in
1883 after watching thrushes stealing
berries from his Oxfordshire garden.
But like Svenskt Tenn, William Mor-
ris was out of fashion for decades. His
designs enjoyed a hippy-ish resonance
and resurgence in the 1960s and 1970s,
but by the end of the 1980s, “the trend
had drifted into minimalism again”,
says Montague. “It’s cyclical.” She sus-
pects Morris’s new customers are nos-
talgic for prints they remember from
their grandparents’ homes.
Yet even with its legacy and archive,
Morris & Co’s studio in Buckingham-
shire releases new designs — about one a
year, with a full collection every two or
three years. Most recent was Melsetter,
an intricate trellis pattern based on,
though not identical to, embroidery
hangings designed in 1893 by May,
William Morris’s daughter.
Melsetter is intended to be resonant of
William’s 19th-century work for the
English middle classes, but with its
exotic birds and blushing flower heads
trailing against an inky background, it is
aimed firmly at modern Asian consum-
ers. Montague says Melsetter is “in keep-
ing” — an interpretation rather than a
faithful reproduction of Morris’s work.
“Our in-house designers redraw, recol-
our and restyle — what they produce is
more usable.”

Remember rattan?
In Stockholm, in a cane-strewn work-
shop beneath the pavements of the old
town of Gamla Stan, a fourth-genera-
tion family firm is also thriving. Arti-
sans at Larsson Korgmakare have
fashioned rattan furniture in the city
since 1903. This morning, they are
hard at it — reweaving the arched
backs of vintage Josef Frank-designed
dining chairs, bought in the 1960s and
delivered for repair. Beside them sits a
queue of battered, neglected and
dilapidated cane chairs. “It seems eve-
rone wants to mend,” says Erica Lars-
son, who owns the workshop, co-
founded by her great-grandfather.
Rattan — ubiquitous in early 20th-
century furniture — is in demand:
antique and vintage items sell for high

Continuedfrompage1

prices at auction, and high-street
retailers such as Habitat have offered
modern versions in their recent
ranges. Most new rattan chairs and
tables are made in Vietnam or China,
says Larsson, but her Stockholm
workshop is the place where many of
Joseph Frank’s designs are repaired.
“My grandfather got to know Frank in
the early 1930s,” she says. “They worked
together, and my grandfather loved him
because he listened to craftspeople. He
sat with them.” She retrieves a well-
worn book of 1940s pencil designs by
Frank used by her grandfather, with
model numbers, instructions and meas-
urements for bending the cane at inter-
vals, a manual still used by Larsson. She
remarks on how unusual this collabora-
tive approach would be today: modern
designers often send workshops their
designs created with software.

Repairs are one of her business’s
biggest growth areas. She points to a
dilapidated — yet still elegant — rattan
rocking chair in one corner, rescued
from an auction house and made by
Larsson Korgmakare, probably in the
1950s. Most of the caning is discol-
oured, bleached grey rather than pale
brown, after sitting out its unfashion-
able decades in a Swedish garden.

High and low, cheap and expensive
Back on Strandvägen on a February
evening, Thommy Bindefeld, Svenskt
Tenn’s creative director, unveils the lat-
est item in its range — a deep, boat-
shaped sofa upholstered in tangerine
velvet, with curved frame and stubby
lacquered legs. Its style is reminiscent of
the postmodern furniture of the Mem-
phis Group of the 1970s — another herit-
age brand loved by maximalists.

The frame is made by Swedish car-
penters who have worked with the com-
pany for nearly 40 years. “They can do
things you cannot do with normal pro-
ducers,” says co-designer Mattias Stahl-
bom of architecture studio TAF. At
more than €7,000 without upholstery, it
is an expensive piece, but as Stahlbom
points out: “It is meant to last for ever.”
Fashion is cyclical and maximalism will
fall out of vogue again. But like its
archive items, the company is banking
on the sofa being in production for dec-
ades to come.
About 20 per cent of its products are
commissioned from modern design-
ers such as TAF, who approach the
design process in different ways from
Ericson and Frank, says Bindefeld.
TAF, for example, is more technical
than decorative. The remainder are
made in accordance with Ericson and
Frank’s written instructions, pre-
served in the archives.
Today, among the rattan chairs and
dishwasher-averse ceramics, elabo-
rate fabric designs by Frank are repro-
duced on lampshades, table linen,
soft furnishings and Formica trays.
“High and low, cheap and expensive,”
says Bindefeld. “Everything he did
was accidentistic.
“Estrid and Frank were modernists,
definitely. But for them, the human was
at the centre: everything should always
be comfortable.”

HelenBarrettiseditorofHouse&Home

Mad


maximalism


Rachel Chudley, 33, describes the
heritage names whose designs she
works with, such as Morris & Co,
Wedgwood and Mylands Paint, as
“anti-brands” — with their emphasis
on craftsmanship, carrying the weight
of their own heritage.
“I’m only now discovering the
significance of William Morris, the
history of it,” she says. “I grew up in
the 1990s, which was all about new
things, about chucking out chintz.
People rejected old design. Now they
are definitely back.”

Chudley, who works mostly on old
houses, used a dark, intensely
decorative Morris & Co wallpaper
called The Brook in the kitchen of a
recent restoration of a Grade II-listed
Georgian townhouse in Bloomsbury,
central London.
Some might consider it an
incongruous choice. But she was
certain that hanging Victorian-style
wallpaper in a Georgian home was the
right thing to do: “The kitchen was on
the ground floor, and the rest of it was
high ceilings, light filled, typical

Georgian. Everyone wants a light-
filled kitchen.” But because of the
house’s listing, the kitchen could not
be reconfigured. “So I just went with
the darkness.”
Chudley filled the room with heavy,
dark furniture and used the Morris
design to reflect — and lead to — the
hidden courtyard garden outside.
To Chudley and her generation,
Morris’s designs are fresh. “They are a
reaction against that very flat, very
digital, very image-based world we live
in,” she says. “Morris is a challenge.”

Interior designer Rachel Chudley: why I love William Morris


The kitchen
in Rachel
Chudley’s
restoration of
a Bloomsbury,
London house;
the wallpaper
is by Morris
& Co— Sean Myers

(Clockwise from
above left)
Melsetter, a
recent Morris &
Co wallpaper —
the company
is enjoying
newfound
popularity
among young
consumers;
Morris printing
blocks; block
printing the
Golden Lily
motif at the
Morris factory,
c1897; Larsson
Korgmakare
has been
making rattan
furniture, also
finding a new
fanbase, in
Stockholm
since 1903
Anna Kern

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FEBRUARY 22 2020 Section:Weekend Time: 19/2/2020 - 17: 53 User: rosalind.sykes Page Name: RES2, Part,Page,Edition: RES, 2, 1

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