Modernism is, for many people, a source of great pleasure. It is the excitement of living in the moment, the pursuit of the new in the belief that this represents a positive attitude to life, as opposed to a nostalgia for the past, this being seen as sentimental and negative. Architectural historicism, except for the restoration of important buildings, is a manifestation of the same romanticism. Modern designers tend to value creative originality above all else. As stimulating as this can be, too persistent a pursuit of unique architectural conceits is more likely to isolate clients, putting at risk that need for empathy on which genuine collaborative relationships depend. The best of all homes are those in which the client’s emotional and practical needs are given the opportunity for full expression. To abandon this is to set self interest above that of the client. Here lies a dichotomy, the balance between creative independence and sympathy for a client’s temperament.

The hubris of many great modern architects inclined them to ignore this. Consider Fritz and Grete Tugendhat commissioning Mies van der Rohe c1928 to design a new villa for them near Brno in what is now the Czech Republic. Grete was an avowed modernist and a collector of contemporary art, and apparently the owner of two Van Goghs. However, due to Mies’s planning and walling details, she ended up with a house in which hanging paintings of any sort became an impossibility. As a consequence, there are none at all in any of the principal rooms. Fritz expressed a wish to use some of his existing furniture in the villa, but was outmanoeuvred by the architect, so none appeared. History applauds Van der Rohe’s achievement, while the family’s responses are undocumented. Years later, however, a colleague of mine who knew the architect well noted that his own Chicago apartment was filled with great lumpy pieces of comfortable upholstery, and a traditional sideboard on which personal mementos were prominent.

Not all modernist architects were blind to the needs of the occupants. Eileen Gray, in collaboration with Jean Badovici, created that celebrated modern house, E-1027, c1924-29, in the South of France. In spite of her aesthetic orientation, she was more open minded in her ideology. Le Corbusier, who interestingly enough had proposed a professional collaboration with her without success, was much more autocratic. Gray declared that ‘a house is not a machine to live in. It is the shell of man, his extension, his release, his spiritual emanation.’ This is altogether a more humanitarian perspective than the agendas of most modernists. Hers by implication accepts the inclusion of the owner’s personal choices; a Dan mask, modern ceramics and prized archaic sculpture, as seen in her 1920 interiors for Mme Lévy’s apartment on the Rue de Lota in Paris. A similar license is evident in the house Pierre Chareau designed for a client in Paris, the Maison de Verre c.1928-31. By accommodating items for which the client had a particular attachment, Jean Lurçat’s decorative tapestry for use on upholstery, English 19th century dining chairs, an enormous library, a grand piano and a few collected paintings, the combination of which produced the most engaging juxtapositions, a humanizing counterpart to Chareau’s brilliant industrial aesthetic.

Chester Jones winner of our Lifetime

A reception room designed for Ridley Scott’s London house. The contents consist of a pair of 18th-century Irish chairs, a huge 18th-century console table (out of picture) accompanied by Chester’s furniture. Modern art by Mimmo Paladino plus a few tribal pieces were set within the enriched panelling of a George I room by Henry Flitcroft. This interaction, while respecting the quality of the architecture by matching it’s scale, creates a mood that reflects his client’s interests and is of our time.

Behind every practical need in a home there is an even greater emotional one, the place to which we may retreat. This should be a sanctuary of resource and reflection, a place where we can empathise with the people who are most dear to us. We live in an increasingly complex world, marked by contending theories and conflicting opinions, from which we need occasional respite and a measure of independence. We feel it is in the client’s interest that the implications of these should be explored with them. It is through access to their heritage, their intellectual inclinations, their curiosity, that empathy is established and more personal options be developed.

Stephen Bayley, the critic and author of books on design introduced me to the writer Stewart Brand’s dictum ‘that you don’t finish a building, you start it’ This insight into the life of a building in relation to the human condition is profound. This truth is particularly relevant regarding people’s homes where the occupants’ presence needs to flourish. Homes without this objective lack connectivity. A program involving all the participants in any preferences and choices should be compiled to facilitate this. In our work, we use eclecticism as a means of achieving it. We design much of our modern furniture and yet we might in addition recommend antiques. We design carpets and textiles or deliberately choose antique ones that even bear the distressed imprint of long and cherished use as a particular aspect of their appeal. The fine art we recommend is modern; of our own time; to parry the antique pieces that have been agreed upon.

We consider our work to be contemporary, a new category of modernism, which considering its mix of styles and references is open to much incredulity. But our approach is to humanise the interiors through an interplay between disparity and harmony, practicality and perversity. This is a creative exercise that is subject to the client’s participation. Interiors when they are culturally and aesthetically free enough from conventional attitudes can then explore many individual possibilities. As time passes family requirements change, so rooms might need reassigning, the furniture and decorations adjusted. Eclecticism, with its less formulaic approach to design, can accommodate these changes more easily. Homes can then evolve to become more than ever an expression of family identity adding to the satisfaction of life within.

About the author: Trained as an architect, Chester Jones has been designing houses for over 50 years and is the winner of the House & Garden Lifetime Achievement Award 2020 sponsored by Cox London. He set up his own studio in 1990, having spent 20 or so years at Sibyl Colefax & John Fowler. He is, with-out doubt, one of our best designers, creating spare, intelligent interiors that exude calm and balance. The 2014 book The Interiors of Chester Jones should be on the shelf of anyone involved in interiors; it perfectly illustrates his use of colour, line and texture, and placement of objects and art. His work is underpinned by his view that ‘the architecture of a home’s interior may be excellent, but to my way of thinking, it is through the contents and the details of people’s lives that the most memorable rooms emerge’.

source: house garden